The Manxman

"Then it's you that's taiching the spelling-book, darling; so we'll put it back on the shelf."

For a fortnight Kate read and replied to Pete's correspondence. It was plentiful and various. Letters from heirs to lost fortunes offering shares in return for money to buy them out of Chancery; from promoters of companies proposing dancing palaces to meet the needs of English visitors; from parsons begging subscriptions to new organs; from fas.h.i.+onable ladies asking Pete to open bazaars; from preachers inviting him to anniversary tea-meetings, and saying Methodism was proud of him.

If anybody wanted money, he kissed the Blarney Stone and applied to Pete. Kate stood between him and the worst of the leeches. The best of them he contrived to deal with himself, secretly and surrept.i.tiously.

Sometimes there came acknowledgments of charities of which Kate knew nothing. Then he would shuffle them away and she would try not to see them. "If I stop him altogether, I will spoil him," she thought.

One day the post brought a large envelope with a great seal at the back of it, and Kate drew out a parchment deed and began to read the indors.e.m.e.nt--"'Memorandum of loan to Caesar Cre-----'"

"That's nothing," said Pete, s.n.a.t.c.hing the doc.u.ment and stuffing it into his jacket-pocket.

Kate lifted her eyes with a look of pain and shame and humiliation, and that was the end of her secretarys.h.i.+p.

II.

A month after their marriage a man came through the gate with the air of one who was doing a degrading thing. The dog, which had been spread out lazily in the sun before the porch, leapt up and barked furiously.

"Who's this coming up the path with his eyes all round him like a scallop?" said Pete.

Kate looked. "It's Ross Christian," she said, with a catch in her breathing.

Ross came up, and Pete met him at the door. His face was puffy and pale, his speech was soft and lisping, yet there lurked about the man an air of levity and irony.

"Your dog doesn't easily make friends, Peter," he said.

"He's like his master, sir; it's against the principles of his life,"

said Pete.

Ross laughed a little. "Wants to be approached with consideration, does he, Capt'n?"

"You see, he's lived such a long time in the world and seen such a dale," said Pete.

Ross looked up sharply and said in another tone, "I've just dropped in to congratulate you on your return home in safety and health and prosperity, Mr. Quilliam."

"You're welcome, sir," said Pete.

Pete led the way indoors. Ross followed, bowed distantly to Kate, who was unpicking

"I must not conceal from you, however, that I have another object--in fact, a private matter," said Ross, glancing at Kate.

The dress rustled in Kate's fingers, her scissors dropped on to the table, and she rose to go.

Pete raised his hand. "My wife knows all my business," he said.

Ross gave out another little chirp of laughter. "You'll remember what they say of a secret, Captain--too big for one, right for two, tight for three."

"A man and his wife are one, sir--so that's two altogether," said Pete.

Kate took up the scissors and went on with her work uneasily. Ross twisted on his seat and said, "Well, I feel I _must_ tell you, Peter."

"Quilliam, sir," said Pete, charging a pipe; but Ross pretended not to hear.

"Only natural, perhaps, for it--in fact, it's about our father."

"Tongue with me, tongue with thee," thought Pete, lighting up.

"Five years ago he made me an allowance, and sent me up to London to study law. He believes I've been called to the English bar, and, in view of this vacant Deemsters.h.i.+p, he wants me admitted to the Manx one."

Pete's pipe stopped in its puffing. "Well?"

"That's impossible," said Ross.

"Things haven't come with you, eh?"

"To tell you the truth, Captain, on first going up I fell into extravagant company. I thought my friends were rich men, and I was never a n.i.g.g.ard. There was Monty, the patron of the Fancy"--the scissors in Kate's hand clicked and stopped--and Ross blurted out, "In fact, I've _not_ been called, and I've never studied at all."

Ross squirmed in his chair, glancing under his brows at Kate. Pete leaned forward and puffed up the chimney without speaking.

"You see I speak freely, Peter--something compels me. Well, if a man can't reveal his little failings to his own brother, Peter----"

"Don't let's talk about brothers," said Pete. "What am I to do for you?"

"Lend me enough to help me to do what our father thinks I've done already," said Ross, and then he added, hastily, "Oh, I'll give you my note of hand for it."

"They're telling me, sir," said Pete, "your notes of hand are as cheap as cowries."

"Some one has belied me to you, Captain. But for our father's sake--he has set his heart on this Deemsters.h.i.+p--there may still be time for it."

"Yes," said Pete, striking his open hand on the table, "and better men to fill it."

Ross glanced at Kate, and a smile that was half a sneer crossed his evil face. "How nice," he said, "when the great friends of the wife are also the great friends of the husband."

"Just so," said Pete, and then Ross laughed a little, and the clicking of Kate's scissors stopped again. "As to you, sir," said Pete, rising, "if it's no disrespect, you're like the cormorant that chokes itself swallowing its fish head-ways up. The gills are sticking in your gizzard, sir, only," touching Ross's shoulder with something between a pat and push, "you shouldn't be coming to your father's son to help you to ram it down."

As Ross went out Caesar came in. "That wastrel's been wanting something,"

said Caesar.

"The tide's down on him," said Pete.

"Always was, and always will be. He was born at low water, and he'll die on the rocks. Borrowing money, eh?" said Caesar, with a searching glance.

"Trying to," said Pete indifferently.

"Then lend it, sir," said Caesar promptly. "He's not to trust, but lend it on his heirs.h.i.+p. Or lend it the ould man at mortgage on Ballawhaine.

He's the besom of fire--it'll come to you, sir, at the father's death, and who has more right?"

The shank of Pete's pipe came down from his mouth as he sat for some moments beating out the ash on the jockey bar. "Something in that, though," he said mechanically. "But there's another has first claim for all. He'd be having the place now if every one had his own. I must be thinking of it--I must be thinking of it."