"No, no,--it was a row among the women. They laid some scheme for making Cashel propose for one of the girls."

"Not Olivia, I hope?" said Upton, as he lighted a new cigar.

"I rather suspect it was," interposed another.

"In any case, Linton," cried Jennings, "you are to be the gainer, for the rumor says, Cashel will give you the agency, with his house to live in, and a very jolly thing to spend, while he goes abroad to travel."

"If this news be true, Tom," said Frobisher, "I 'll quarter my yearlings on you; there is a capital run for young horses in those flats along the river."

"The house is cold at this season," said Meek, with a sad smile; "but I think it would be very endurable in the autumn months. I should n't say but you may see us here again at that time."

"I hope 'ours' may be quartered at Limerick," said an infantryman, with a most suggestive look at the comforts of the apartment, which were a pleasing contrast to barrack-room accommodation.

"Make yourselves perfectly at home here, gentlemen, when that good time comes," said Linton, with one of his careless laughs. "I tell you frankly, that if Cashel does make me such a proposal--a step which, from his knowledge of my indolent, lazy habits, is far from likely--I only accept on one condition."

"What is that?" cried a dozen voices.

"That you will come and pa.s.s your next Christmas here."

"Agreed--agreed!" was chorused on every side.

"I suspect from that bit of spontaneous hospitality," whispered Frobisher to Meek, "that the event is something below doubtful."

Meek nodded.

"What is Charley saying?" cried Linton, whose quick eye caught the glance interchanged between the two.

"I was telling Meek," said Frobisher, "that I don't put faith enough in the condition to accept the invitation."

"Indeed!" said Linton, while he turned to the table and filled his gla.s.s, to hide a pa.s.sing sign of mortification.

"Tom Linton for a man's agent, seems pretty like what old Frederick used to call keeping a goat for a gardener."

"You are fond of giving the odds, Frobisher," said Linton, who, for some minutes, continued to take gla.s.s after gla.s.s of champagne; "now, what's your bet that I don't do the honors here next Christmas-day?"

"I can't say what you mean," said Frobisher, languidly. "I've seen you do 'the honors' at more than one table where you were the guest."

"This, I suppose, is meant for a pleasantry, my Lord?" said Linton, while his face became flushed with pa.s.sion.

"It is meant for fact," said Frobisher, with a steady coolness in his air and accent.

"A fact! and not in jest, then!" said he, approaching where the other sat, and speaking in a low voice.

"That's very quarrelsome wine, that dry champagne," said Frobisher, lazily; "don't drink any more of it."

Linton tried to smile; the effort, at first not very successful, became easier after a moment, and it was with a resumption of his old manner he said,--

"I 'll take you two to one in fifties that I act the host here this day twelvemonth."

"You hear the offer, gentlemen?" said Frobisher, addressing the party.

"Of course it is meant without any reservation, and so I take it."

He produced a betting-book as he said this, and began to write in it with his pencil.

"Would you prefer it in hundreds?" said Linton.

Frobisher nodded an a.s.sent.

"Or shall we do the thing sportingly, and say two thousand to one?"

continued he.

"Two thousand to one be it," said Frobisher, while the least possible smile might be detected on his usually immovable features. "There is no knowing how to word this bet," said he, at last, after two or three efforts, followed by as many erasures; "you must write it yourself."

Linton took the pencil, and wrote rapidly for a few seconds.

"Will that do?" said he.

And Frobisher read to himself: "'Mr. Linton, two thousand to one with Lord C. Frobisher, that he, T. L., on the anniversary of this day, shall preside as master of the house Tubbermore, by due right and t.i.tle, and not by any favor, grace, or sanction of any one whatsoever."

"Yes; that will do, perfectly," said Frobisher, as he closed the book, and restored it to his pocket.

"Was the champagne so strong as you expected?" whispered Upton, as he pa.s.sed behind Frobisher's chair.

A very knowing nod of acquiescence was the only reply.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 146]

Indeed, it did not require the practised shrewdness of Lord Charles, or his similarly sharp-eyed friends, to see that Linton's manner was very different from his habitual calm collectedness, while he continued to drink on, with the air of a man that was resolved on burying his faculties in the excitement of wine.

Meek slipped away soon after, and, at Linton's suggestion a rouge-et-noir bank was formed, at which the play became high, and his own losses very considerable.

It was already daylight, and the servants were stirring in the house ere the party broke up.

"Master Tom has had a squeeze to-night," said Jennings, as he was bidding Upton good-bye at his door.

"I can't understand it at all," replied the other. "He played without judgment, and betted rashly on every side. It was far more like Roland Cashel than Tom Linton."

"Well, you remember he said--to be sure, it was after drinking a quant.i.ty of wine--'Master Roland and I may change characters yet. Let us see if he can play "Linton," as well as I can "Cashel."'"

"He's so deep, that I wouldn't say but there is something under all this." And so they parted, sadly puzzled what interpretation to put on conduct, the mere result of a pa.s.sing intemperance; for so it is, your "cunning men" are never reputed to be so deep by the world as when by some accident they, have forgotten their craft.

CHAPTER XIV. MR. KENNYf.e.c.k AMONG THE BULLS

With a bright flie upon his hook, He played mankind, as anglers play a fish.