Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/281

268 inflexion of grandeur, “for a man accustomed to his hunters, it is, you will confess, somewhat unpleasant for such a man—I speak hypothetically—to be reduced to his legs to that extent that it strikes him shrewdly he will run them into stumps. Nay, who shall say but that he is stumped?”

The stranger laughed, as if he knew the shrewdness of his joke, and questioned the moon aloud: “What sayest thou, O Queen of lunatics?”

The fair lady of the night illumined his face, like one who recognised a subject. Evan thought, too, that he knew the voice. A curious, unconscious struggle therein between native facetiousness and an attempt at dignity, appeared to Evan not unfamiliar; and the egregious failure of ambition and triumph of the instinct, helped him to join the stranger in his mirth.

“Pardon me,” cried the latter, suddenly. “That laugh! Will you favour me by turning your face to the moon?”

“Just a trifle more. She kisses you. ’Twill do!”

Evan smiled at him.

He was silent for some paces, and then cried, in brave simplicity: “Won’t you give your fist to a fellow?”

It needed but a word or two further for two old schoolmates to discover one another. Evan exclaimed, “Jack Raikes! Sir John!” while he himself was addressed as “Sir Amadis, Viscount Harrington!” In which, doubtless, they revived certain traits of their earlier days, and with a brisk shaking of hands, and interrogation of countenances, caught up the years that had elapsed since they parted company.

Mr. John Raikes stood about a head under Evan. He had extremely mobile features; thick, flexible eyebrows; a loose, voluble mouth; a ridiculous figure on a dandified foot. He represented to you one who was rehearsing a part he wished to act before the world, and was not aware that he perpetually took the world into his confidence.

“Me, then, you remember,” said Jack, cordially. “You are doubtful concerning the hat and general habiliments? I regret to inform you that they are the same.” He gave a melo-dramatic sigh. “Yes; if there is any gratification in outliving one’s hat, that gratification should be mine. In this hat, in this coat, I dined you the day before you voyaged to Lisboa’s tide. Changes have since ensued. We complain not; but we do deplore. Fortune on Jack has turned her back! You might know it, if only by my regard for the nice distinctions of language. The fact is, I’ve spent my money. A mercurial temperament makes quicksilver of any amount of cash. Mine uncle died ere I had wooed the maiden, Pleasure, and transformed her into the hag, Experience!”