Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/549

538 “One night  the  Colonel  was  in  bed,  and  heard his door  yield  its  lock,  and  open.

“You shall  hear  the  rest  in  Tom’s  words: —

“‘I knew  that  man  was  a coward,  sir;  so once  in  the  house,  and  sure  of  his  room,  I knew I had him. I knew the  bearings  of  the  bed. I watched how  the  light  fell  two  or  three  nights  before. The moment  I opened  the  door,  I threw  the light— carried a dark  lantern — threw  the  light slap on  his  face. I saw him  start. Did that  man open his  eyes? Deuce a bit  J Slept  as  sound  as tenpence. I laughed to  myself. Why, if  he  had got up,  it’d  have  been  a fair  struggle  between  us, and nabbed  I certainly  should  ’a  been. But deuce a bit did  he  stir. Colonel Badger,  thinks  I,  I’ll badger you! Well, I walked  slow  up  to  him, with the  lantern  in  one  hand,  and  my  pistol  in the  other,  levelled  at  his  head. There was  he sleeping  harder  and  harder. I couldn’t quite  see his heart  beat,  but  I’ll  lay  my  life  it  galloped.’

“I will spare  you  Tom’s  oaths.

“‘Well sir,’  he  went  on. ‘I’d half  a mind  at one  moment,  to  do  for  him  outright. For a coward  who’s  nothing  better  than  a villain,  what good’s he  for,  to  live? Close down  to  his  fore- head I put the  muzzle  of  the  pistol. It was tempting then. Just a hair,  and  he'd  have  had  an extinguisher  on  his  small  candle! Lor, sir,  his eyes was  shut,  but  I’ll  wager  he  saw  it  all  as  clear as day. And there  was  the  prespiration  a burstin’ out of  his  forehead,  and  rollin’  down  his  cheeks. I remember a large  drop  of  prespiration  on  his nose! And he  pretendin’  to  sleep  hard  all  the while! Why, the  stoopid  ass! did he  think  I didn’t  know  that  a chap  never  sweated  in  his sleep? Leastways not  natural  sweat. Well! I kept at  that,  drawing  the  pistol  away,  and  puttin’ of it  close,  for,  I should  think,  forty  minutes  or more; but  I took  no  account. I was cruel  glad, to be  sure,  and  he  prespiring  harder  and  harder. Not a move  right  or  left. / didn’t speak. I thought to  myself,  “Oh  you  villain! I dare say you think  yourself  better  than  me,  don’t  you? And if  you  had  me  in  your  power,  now,  wouldn’t you let  loose? But I ain’t  such  a coward  as  you! You shall  bleed,  my  fine  chap — in  the  pocket. That’ll do!” For,  said  Tom  to  me. I hadn’t come there and  run  the  risk,  only  to  frighten  the  Colonel Two birds  at  one  blow  was  always  my  game. So by-and-bye,’ Tom  pursued,  ‘ when  I thought  I’d given my  gentleman  a pretty  good  sweat  for  the benefit of  his  health,  I began  to  ransack. I knew the whereabouts  of  his  desk,  and  things — collared the desk  entire,  and  made  as  if  I’d  walk  away. He had  a chance  then. The cowardly  beast! There he stuck. He’d have  liked  to  snore,  just  to  persuade me  he  was  a snoozin’! And such  a fellow  as that  to  go  misleadin’  of  young  women! Ain’t it disgustin’,  sir?’

“Tom was  a bit  of  a moralist,  you  see.

“Well, the  end  of  it  was  that  Tom,  after  giving the Colonel  another  dose,  made  up  his  mind  to quit  the  premises. ‘And I went,  sir,’  said  Tom. ‘Got off  scot  free. I just spoke  these  -words  in  a solemn  voice. Colonel; whether you’re  asleep, or whether  you’re  awake,  just  you  keep  quiet  the next quarter  of  an  hour,  or  you’re  a dead  man. I ain’t going  yet,  but  my  comrades  is  (I  was  all alone,  sir,  I never  took  a pal,  if  I could  help  it; but  I thought  T’d  tell  him  so,  the  coward!) and I’ll stop  outside  the  door,  I says,  till  they’re  safe. So mind  your  eye,  I says. I’m in  earnest. And then I touched  his  forehead  with  the  cold  iron  and moved back,  pointin’  at  him  still,  and  his  face shinin’ with  the  cold  sweat. He won’t  forget  that hour I give  him,  in  a hurry. I knew very  well he’d sleep  on,  bless  you,  and  so  he  did,  and  I never  heard  nothin’  till  a month  ago,  when  they pounced on  me  for  it,  and  here  I am,  goin’  to  see foreign lands,  thanks  to  you,  Colonel. But you won’t forget  me,  so  don’t  try. And everybody’s talking of  the  story,  for  I outs  with  it  at  the  trial neck and  crop. I told it  all  about  his  sweatin’ and pretendin’  to  sleep. I saw the  people  laugh. I’ll swear  the  judge  enjoyed  it,  for  all  he  looked that grave  you’d  think  he  was  a owL  Ha! ha! Mr. Colonel! that’s what  I calls  strikin’  as  you  fly. They’ll call  you  a coward  in  Old  England; but they won’t  call  me  one  in  Van  Diemen.

And with  this  consolation  Mr.  Tom  Clayper departed on  his  voyage. You will  admit,  gentlemen, that  the  Colonel’s  night  must  have  been  sufficiently miserable.”

We all  agreed  that  we  did  not  envy  the  Colonel his position. Mr. Spence approved  his  conduct. The dealer  in  hops  sided  with  Mr. Tom Clayper. Mr. Lorquison  thought  he  should  have  given  the alarm when  the  audacious  burglar  left  the  room. The H.E.I.C.S.  was  of  opinion  that  Tom’s  judg- ment on the  Colonel  was  well  grounded,  and  I took  the  side  of  those  who  have  not  been  tried  as the  Colonel  was.

Mr. Spence  coughed — “Ahem!”

This, when  stories  are  beginning  to  flow,  is  always taken for  a sign  of  one  coming  in  sequence. We were not  disappointed.

“Well, gentlemen,”  he  commenced,  without any Apropos,  “you’ve  given  me  some  amusement, I’ll do  my  best  in  return. My story’s  professional. You won’t  object  to  that? In the  law  we hear  and  come  across  queer  things. I give you warning I had  nothing  to  do  with  this  in  question; but my  agents  in  London — a highly  respectable firm — were engaged  in  the  inquiry. It was  all in the  papers  some  years  ago,  but  I dare  say  you have forgotten  it. And, after  all,  a story  twice told may  pass  on  a winter’s  night.”

We applauded  the  observation,  and  bade  him proceed.

“I’ll make  it  short,”  said  Mr. Spence. “It’s a drama in  three  acts — there’s  blood  in  it; but don’t be  alarmed,  I beg.

“Act the  First,  then. I was fond  of  the  play when  I was  a young  man,  articled  in  London. The scene  opens  in  a dentist’s  room  in  the West-End  of  London. Mr. Filey was  a fashion- able dentist,  with  an  exceedingly,  what  is  called, gentlemanly  appearance. You might  have  taken him  for  a baronet,  and  so  might  I.  A carriage drove  up  to  the  house,  and  a lady  carefully attired — West-End  costume,  and  some  of  those women  do  look  very  captivating. I haven’t been in  London  now  for  four  years,  notwithstanding the  railways; and  when  I do  go  it’s  never  to  the