CHAPTER XLII.
IN WHICH DR. STURK TRIES THIS WAY AND THAT FOR A REPRIEVE ON THE EVE OF
EXECUTION.
So time crept on, and the day arrived when Sturk must pay his rent, or
take the ugly consequences. The day before he spent in Dublin
financiering. It was galling and barren work. He had to ask favours of
fellows whom he hated, and to stand their refusals, and pretend to
believe their lying excuses, and appear to make quite light of it, though every failure stunned him like a blow of a bludgeon, and as he strutted jauntily off with a bilious smirk, he was well nigh at his wits' end. It was dark as he rode out by the low road to Chapelizod—crest-fallen, beaten—scowling in the darkness through his horse's ears along the straight black line of road, and wishing, as he passed the famous Dog-house, that he might be stopped and plundered, and thus furnished with a decent excuse for his penniless condition, and a plea in which all the world would sympathise for a short indulgence—and, faith! he did not much care if they sent a bullet through his harassed brain. But the highwaymen, like the bankers, seemed to know, by instinct, that he had not a guinea, and declined to give him even the miserable help he coveted.
When he got home he sent down for Cluffe to the Phoenix, and got him
to take Nutter, who was there also, aside, and ask him for a little
time, or to take part of the rent. Though the latter would not have
helped him much; for he could not make out ten pounds just then, were it
to save his life. But Nutter only said—
'The rent's not mine; I can't give it or lose it; and Sturk's not safe. Will you lend it? I can't.'
This brought Cluffe to reason. He had opened the business, like a jolly
companion, in a generous, full-blooded way.
'Well, by Jove, Nutter, I can't blame you; for you see, between
ourselves, I'm afraid 'tis as you say. We of the Royal Irish have done, under the rose, you know, all we can; and I'm sorry the poor devil has run himself into a scrape; but hang it, we must have a conscience; and if you think there's a risk of losing it, why I don't see that I can press you.
The reader must not suppose when Cluffe said, 'we of the Royal Irish,'
in connection with some pecuniary kindness shown to Sturk, that that
sensible captain had given away any of his money to the surgeon; but
Sturk, in their confidential conference, had hinted something about a
'helping hand,' which Cluffe coughed off, and mentioned that Puddock had
lent him fifteen pounds the week before.
And so he had, though little Puddock was one of the poorest officers in
the corps. But he had no vices, and husbanded his little means
carefully, and was very kindly and off-hand in assisting to the extent
of his little purse a brother in distress, and never added advice when
so doing—for he had high notions of politeness—or, in all his life, divulged any of these little money transactions.
Sturk stood at his drawing-room window, with his hat on, looking towards
the Phoenix, and waiting for Cluffe's return. When he could stand the
suspense no longer, he went down and waited at his door-steps. And the
longer Cluffe stayed the more did Sturk establish himself in the
conviction that the interview had prospered, and that his ambassador was
coming to terms with Nutter. He did not know that the entire question
had been settled in a minute-and-a-half, and that Cluffe was at that
moment rattling away at backgammon with his arch-enemy, Toole, in a
corner of the club parlour.
It was not till Cluffe, as he emerged from the Phoenix, saw Sturk's
figure stalking in the glimpses of the moon, under the village elm, that
he suddenly recollected and marched up to him. Sturk stood, with his
face and figure mottled over with the shadows of the moving leaves and
the withered ones dropping about him, his hands in his pockets, and a
crown-piece—I believe it was his last available coin just then—shut up
fast and tight in his cold fingers, with his heart in his mouth, and
whistling a little to show his unconcern.
'Well,' said Sturk, 'he won't, of course?'
Cluffe shook his head.
'Very good—I'll manage it another way,' said Sturk, confidently. 'Good-night;' and Sturk walked off briskly towards the turnpike.