The Duke's Sweetheart: A Romance. Dowling Richard
was absolutely nothing in the room, except the most wretched of all things-Antony Belmore himself. He was sitting on the box at the head of his miserable stretcher, when a knock came to the door.
"'"Come in," said Belmore. Only two people ever called on him now-his landlord and his friend Valentine de Montmorency.
"'Mr. Jeremiah Watkins entered. He was a stout prosperous-looking man of about the same age as Belmore. "Well," said Mr. Jeremiah Watkins, the landlord, coming into the room, "got any money for me, Mr. Belmore?"
"'The musician raised his head and shook it sadly. "Nothing yet, nothing yet."
"'"It is Saturday, you know, and I'm blowed if I don't think I've had plenty of patience. One eighteen six is no joke, you know."
"'Again Belmore shook his head. "I have earned nothing for months. Nothing."
"'"I know that. It's bad for you; but it's bad for me also. What am I to do about my money?"
"'"I can only ask you to wait-to wait until I get something to do; then I'll pay you. How am I to pay you when I am idle, and have been idle for months?"
"'"I own it's hard on you; but then, you see, this is harder on me. You are out of situation, and therefore you get no money, which is natural and proper, as I say; but here is my room in situation, as I may say, and it gets no wages. Now that's not fair or reasonable, I say."
"'"I cannot answer you, Mr. Watkins. I am as sorry as you can be that I am not able to pay. What can I do? tell me, what can I do?"
"'Mr. Watkins owned three houses in this alley. Each one was let in tenements, and in all he had sixteen tenants. But in Antony Belmore he knew he had a tenant far superior in mind and manners to any of his other lodgers. And yet, although he was not by nature a hard man, and although he knew he was dealing with a gentleman, and although he would not do anything harsh to poor old Belmore for a much larger sum, yet he could not be importunate with graciousness. He had one of those hard, blunt, direct natures which can never step out of the routine manner, no matter how much their minds may out of the routine course. Said he:
"'"But what I look at is this, how are you ever going to pay? You are out of situation; you see no chance of getting a situation. You've sold or pawned all you could sell or pawn. Even your old fiddle is gone-"
"'"It is," said Belmore, with laconic sadness.
"'"Then how, in the name of all that's black and blue, are you ever going to get any money if that old fiddle is up the spout? That's what's the puzzle to me."
"'Belmore rose, and clasping his long, knotty, emaciated hands in front of him, said:
"'"I cannot say more than that I am very sorry I cannot pay you Mr. Watkins. If you wish it, I am willing to go. If I go I have my choice of two things-the workhouse or the river-"
"'"And you would choose the river?"
"'"And I would choose the river."
"'"That is the way always with you-" Mr. Watkins paused. Belmore waited for him. "With all you fools," said Mr. Watkins, using the most tender word his nature would allow, instead of the most offensive, as he had intended when he had set out with the sentence.
"'"I will go if you wish it," said Belmore meekly, making a motion first to an old battered hat that lay on the floor, and then towards the door.
"'"Who asked you to go?" said Watkins doggedly.
"'"No one has asked me," answered Belmore; "but of course you have a perfect right to ask me to go if you wish."
"'"I didn't ask you to go, and I don't ask you to go, and it's manners to wait to be asked," said Watkins ungraciously. "You may stay another week. At the end of a week I hope you will have got some employment."
"'"Mr. Watkins, I should be deceiving you if I led you to suppose I shall have got anything to do in a week. This is the dull season," said the poor gentleman, dropping both his hands and looking hopelessly at his landlord.
"'"Now, Mr. Belmore," said Watkins; "don't you think it a little rough on me to take me so cool? I tell you, who owe me rent, you may stay another week, and I say I hope you may get something to do in the meantime; and you then round on me, and tell me there is no use in my hoping you'll be able to get anything to do. I say it's downright rough on me. It's like telling me I'm a fool for trusting you any further."
"'"Indeed I did not mean to imply anything of the kind," said the poor gentleman, in a tone of deep concern. "But if I told you I hoped to be able to get anything to do in a week, it would be a lie."
"'"But I am a business man, and I like to be dealt with in a business way; and a business man would never say there was no chance of his getting employment in a week."
"'"Unfortunately, I not am a business man. I never have been one."
"'"More's the pity. You see, if you were only a business man, you would have a much better chance of getting something to do, and you would not make such unreasonable answers. But there, there; don't say any more about it. I am only wasting my time talking to you."
"'"I am very sorry it should be so," said the poor gentleman; "very sorry. If I had any property-" He paused, and looked at the dilapidated chair, the soap-box, and the stretcher.
"'"Bah!" cried the landlord; "I'm not going to touch them. I'm a business man and no fool, but I'm not a wild beast. Do your best now this week, and try and get something to do."
"'"I am sure I am very grateful to you, Mr. Watkins."
"'"Grateful! grateful! What's the good of being grateful? Be businesslike; that's the main thing. Next week you'll owe me more than two pounds, so stir yourself and get something to do."
"'Without another word Mr. Jeremiah Watkins left the room, closing the door softly after him.
"'When the landlord had gone, Belmore took a few feeble steps across the room, and then staggered back again to his old place by the head of the bed. No fire burned in the huge yawning grate, on the bottom bars of which the cold grey light of a winter afternoon fell through the chimney-pot above. Through the skylight nothing could be seen but the leaden November sky. It was raw and damp and dismal.
"'Belmore dropped his head on his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. Thus he sat in thought for a long while without moving. At last he raised his head and shook it gravely, smiled sadly, and whispered:
"'"It is more than likely I shall have proved myself, according to his idea, a fool; for a gentleman" – at this word he drew himself together, paused for a moment, and then finished-"for a gentleman cannot afford to die of starvation in a garret."
"'Then his head fell once more. Once more he dropped his face into the hollow of his hands, and resting his elbows on his knees, sat motionless.
"'So deeply absorbed was he in his thought he did not hear a brisk step on the stairs or a faint knock at the door. The knock was repeated. Belmore heard it now. He raised his head slowly, compressed his lips for a moment, and then whispered: "If he says another word about the rent I will not look at to-morrow." He arose, and having steadied himself by holding the chimney-piece for a second, crossed the room with an air of dignity and breeding in pathetic contrast with his mean attire and squalid surroundings.
"'He opened the door and exclaimed, holding out his hand: "Ah, De Montmorency, is it you? I am delighted to see you. Come in."
"'All at once the firmness died out of his manner, and he uttered a sob. Of this the visitor took no notice, but, walking to the middle of the room where stood the chair with the board across it, he began humming a lively air as he put down on the board a few parcels. When he had given Belmore a minute to recover himself, he faced round briskly and said gaily:
"'"Any good news about yourself, Belmore?"
"'"No."
"'"I'm sorry. But, if your luck is bad mine has been good. I have come into money. What do you think of that, Belmore?"
"'"I am sincerely glad to hear it. You did not expect it, did you?"
"'"I had no more expectation of coming into money than you have. Blessed are those who expect nothing. I have run through three fortunes;