"You drive a very handsome turnout," said he at last.
"It is neat, isn't it?" nodded Slingsby, his eye brightening.
"Very!" said Barnabas, "and the horses--"
"Horses!" cried the Captain, almost himself again, "ha, b'gad--there's action for you--and blood too! I was a year matching 'em. Cost me eight hundred guineas--and cheap at the money--but--"
"Well?"
"After all, Beverley, they--aren't mine, you see."
"Not yours?"
"No. They're--his!"
"You mean--Gaunt's?"
The Captain nodded gloomily.
"Yes," said he, "my horses are his, my curricle's his, my clothes are his--everything's his. So am I, b'gad! Oh, you needn't look so infernal incredulous--fact, I assure you. And, when you come to think of it--it's all cursed humorous, isn't it?" and here the Captain contrived to laugh, though it rang very hollow, to be sure.
"You owe--a great deal then?" said Barnabas.
"Owe?" said the Captain, turning to look at him, "I'm in up to my neck, and getting deeper. Owe! B'gad, Beverley--I believe you!" But now, at sight of gravefaced Barnabas, he laughed again, and this time it sounded less ghoul-like. "Debt is a habit," he continued sententiously, "that grows on one most damnably, and creditors are the most annoying people in the world--so confoundedly unreasonable! Of course I pay 'em--now and then--deserving cases, y' know. Fellow called on me t' other day,--seemed to know his face. 'Who are you?' says I. 'I'm the man who makes your whips, sir,' says he. 'And devilish good whips too!' says I, 'how much do I owe you?' 'Fifteen pounds, sir,' says he, 'I wouldn't bother you only'--well, it seemed his wife was sick--fellow actually blubbered! So of course I rang for my rascal Danby, Danby's my valet, y' know. 'Have you any money, Danby?' says I. 'No sir,' says he; queer thing, but Danby never has, although I pay him regularly--devilish improvident fellow, Danby! So I went out and unearthed Jerningham--and paid the fellow on the spot--only right, y' know."
"But why not pay your debts with your own money?" Barnabas inquired.
"For the very good reason that it all went,--ages ago!"
"Why, then," said Barnabas, "earn more."
"Eh?" said the Captain, staring, "earn it? My dear Beverley, I never earned anything in my life, except my beggarly pay, and that isn't enough even for my cravats."
"Well, why not begin?"
"Begin? To earn money? How?"
"You might work," suggested Barnabas.
"Work?" repeated the Captain, starting, "eh, what? Oh, I see, you're joking, of course,--deuced quaint, b'gad!"
"No, I'm very serious," said Barnabas thoughtfully.
"Are you though! But what the deuce kind of work d'you suppose I'm fit for?"
"All men can work!" said Barnabas, more thoughtfully than before.
"Well,--I can ride, and shoot, and drive a coach with any one."
"Anything more?"
"No,--not that I can think of."
"Have you never tried to work, then,--hard work, I mean?"
"Oh Lord, no! Besides, I've always been too busy, y'know. I've never had to work. Y' see, as luck would have it, I was born a gentleman, Beverley."
"Yes," nodded Barnabas, more thoughtful than ever, "but--what is a gentleman?"
"A gentleman? Why--let me think!" said the Captain, manoeuvring his horses skilfully as they swung into the Strand.
And when he had thought as far as the Savoy he spoke:
"A gentleman," said he, "is a fellow who goes to a university, but doesn't have to learn anything; who goes out into the world, but doesn't have to--work at anything; and who has never been blackballed at any of the clubs. I've done a good many things in my time, but I've never had to work."
"That is a great pity!" sighed Barnabas.
"Oh! is it, b'gad! And why?"
"Because hard work ennobles a man," said Barnabas.
"Always heard it was a deuce of a bore!" murmured the Captain.
"Exertion," Barnabas continued, growing a little didactic perhaps, "exertion is--life. By idleness come degeneration and death."
"Sounds cursed unpleasant, b'gad!" said the Captain.
"The work a man does lives on after him," Barnabas continued, "it is his monument when he is no more, far better than your high-sounding epitaphs and stately tombs, yes, even though it be only the furrow he has ploughed, or the earth his spade has turned."
"But,--my dear fellow, you surely wouldn't suggest that I should take up--digging?"
"You might do worse," said Barnabas, "but--"
"Ha!" said the Captain, "well now, supposing I was a--deuced good digger,--a regular rasper, b'gad! I don't know what a digger earns, but let's be moderate and say five or six pounds a week. Well, what the deuce good d'you suppose that would be to me? Why, I still owe Gaunt, as far as I can figure it up, about eighty thousand pounds, which is a deuced lot more than it sounds. I should have been rotting in the Fleet, or the Marshalsea, years ago if it hadn't been for my uncle's gout, b'gad!"
"His gout?"
"Precisely! Every twinge he has--up goes my credit. I'm his only heir, y'know, and he's seventy-one. At present he's as sound as a bell, --actually rode to hounds last week, b'gad! Consequently my credit's--nowhere. Jolly old boy, though--deuced fond of him--ha! there's Haynes! Over yonder! Fellow driving the phaeton with the black-a-moor in the rumble."
"You mean the man in the bright green coat?"
"Yes. Call him 'Pea-green Haynes'--one of your second-rate, ultra dandies. Twig his vasty whiskers, will you! Takes his fellow hours to curl 'em. And then his cravat, b'gad!"
"How does he turn his head?" inquired Barnabas.
"Never does,--can't! I lost a devilish lot to him at hazard a few years ago--crippled me, y' know. But talking of my uncle--devilish fond of him--always was."
"But mark you, Beverley, a man has no right--no business to go on living after he's seventy, at least, it shows deuced bad taste, I think--so thoughtless, y'know. Hallo! why there's Ball Hughes--driving the chocolate-colored coach, and got up like a regular jarvey. Devilish rich, y'know--call him 'The Golden Ball'--deuce of a fellow! Pitch and toss, or whist at five pound points, damme! Won small fortune from Petersham at battledore and shuttlecock,--played all night too."
"And have you lost to him also?"
"Of course?"
"Do you ever win?"
"Oh, well--now and then, y'know, though I'm generally unlucky. Must have been under--Aldeboran, is it?--anyhow, some cursed star or other. Been dogged by ill-luck from my cradle, b'gad! On the turf, in the clubs and bells, even in the Peninsular!"