Tales and Fantasies

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'Naseby,' returned Dick.

The other treated him at once to an exciting beverage, and
expatiated on the pleasure of meeting a compatriot in a
foreign land; to hear him, you would have thought they had
encountered in Central Africa. Dick had never found any one
take a fancy to him so readily, nor show it in an easier or
less offensive manner. He seemed tickled with him as an
elderly fellow about town might be tickled by a pleasant and
witty lad; he indicated that he was no precision, but in his
wildest times had never been such a blade as he thought Dick.
Dick protested, but in vain. This manner of carrying an
intimacy at the bayonet's point was Van Tromp's stock-in-
trade. With an older man he insinuated himself; with youth
he imposed himself, and in the same breath imposed an ideal
on his victim, who saw that he must work up to it or lose the
esteem of this old and vicious patron. And what young man
can bear to lose a character for vice?

At last, as it grew towards dinner-time, 'Do you know Paris?'
asked Van Tromp.

'Not so well as you, I am convinced,' said Dick.

'And so am I,' returned Van Tromp gaily. 'Paris! My young
friend - you will allow me? - when you know Paris as I do,
you will have seen Strange Things. I say no more; all I say
is, Strange Things. We are men of the world, you and I, and
in Paris, in the heart of civilised existence. This is an
opportunity, Mr. Naseby. Let us dine. Let me show you where
to dine.'

Dick consented. On the way to dinner the Admiral showed him
where to buy gloves, and made him buy them; where to buy
cigars, and made him buy a vast store, some of which he
obligingly accepted. At the restaurant he showed him what to
order, with surprising consequences in the bill. What he
made that night by his percentages it would be hard to
estimate. And all the while Dick smilingly consented,
understanding well that he was being done, but taking his
losses in the pursuit of character as a hunter sacrifices his
dogs. As for the Strange Things, the reader will be relieved
to hear that they were no stranger than might have been
expected, and he may find things quite as strange without the
expense of a Van Tromp for guide. Yet he was a guide of no
mean order, who made up for the poverty of what he had to
show by a copious, imaginative commentary.

'And such,' said he, with a hiccup, 'such is Paris.'

'Pooh!' said Dick, who was tired of the performance.

The Admiral hung an ear, and looked up sidelong with a
glimmer of suspicion.

'Good night,' said Dick; 'I'm tired.'

'So English!' cried Van Tromp, clutching him by the hand.
'So English! So BLASE! Such a charming companion! Let me
see you home.'

'Look here,' returned Dick, 'I have said good night, and now
I'm going. You're an amusing old boy: I like you, in a
sense; but here's an end of it for to-night. Not another
cigar, not another grog, not another percentage out of me.'

'I beg your pardon!' cried the Admiral with dignity.

'Tut, man!' said Dick; 'you're not offended; you're a man of
the world, I thought. I've been studying you, and it's over.
Have I not paid for the lesson? AU REVOIR.'

Van Tromp laughed gaily, shook hands up to the elbows, hoped
cordially they would meet again and that often, but looked
after Dick as he departed with a tremor of indignation.
After that they two not unfrequently fell in each other's
way, and Dick would often treat the old boy to breakfast on a
moderate scale and in a restaurant of his own selection.
Often, too, he would lend Van Tromp the matter of a pound, in
view of that gentleman's contemplated departure for
Australia; there would be a scene of farewell almost touching
in character, and a week or a month later they would meet on
the same boulevard without surprise or embarrassment. And in
the meantime Dick learned more about his acquaintance on all
sides: heard of his yacht, his chaise and four, his brief
season of celebrity amid a more confiding population, his
daughter, of whom he loved to whimper in his cups, his
sponging, parasitical, nameless way of life; and with each
new detail something that was not merely interest nor yet
altogether affection grew up in his mind towards this
disreputable stepson of the arts. Ere he left Paris Van
Tromp was one of those whom he entertained to a farewell
supper; and the old gentleman made the speech of the evening,
and then fell below the table, weeping, smiling, paralysed.

CHAPTER II - A LETTER TO THE PAPERS

OLD Mr. Naseby had the sturdy, untutored nature of the upper
middle class. The universe seemed plain to him. 'The
thing's right,' he would say, or 'the thing's wrong'; and
there was an end of it. There was a contained, prophetic
energy in his utterances, even on the slightest affairs; he
SAW the damned thing; if you did not, it must be from
perversity of will; and this sent the blood to his head.
Apart from this, which made him an exacting companion, he was
one of the most upright, hot-tempered, hot-headed old
gentlemen in England. Florid, with white hair, the face of
an old Jupiter, and the figure of an old fox-hunter, he
enlivened the vale of Thyme from end to end on his big,
cantering chestnut.

He had a hearty respect for Dick as a lad of parts. Dick had
a respect for his father as the best of men, tempered by the
politic revolt of a youth who has to see to his own
independence. Whenever the pair argued, they came to an open
rupture; and arguments were frequent, for they were both
positive, and both loved the work of the intelligence. It
was a treat to hear Mr. Naseby defending the Church of
England in a volley of oaths, or supporting ascetic morals
with an enthusiasm not entirely innocent of port wine. Dick
used to wax indignant, and none the less so because, as his
father was a skilful disputant, he found himself not seldom
in the wrong. On these occasions, he would redouble in
energy, and declare that black was white, and blue yellow,
with much conviction and heat of manner; but in the morning
such a licence of debate weighed upon him like a crime, and
he would seek out his father, where he walked before
breakfast on a terrace overlooking all the vale of Thyme.

'I have to apologise, sir, for last night - ' he would begin.

'Of course you have,' the old gentleman would cut in
cheerfully. 'You spoke like a fool. Say no more about it.'

'You do not understand me, sir. I refer to a particular
point. I confess there is much force in your argument from
the doctrine of possibilities.'

'Of course there is,' returned his father. 'Come down and
look at the stables. Only,' he would add, 'bear this in
mind, and do remember that a man of my age and experience
knows more about what he is saying than a raw boy.'

He would utter the word 'boy' even more offensively than the
average of fathers, and the light way in which he accepted
these apologies cut Richard to the heart. The latter drew
slighting comparisons, and remembered that he was the only
one who ever apologised. This gave him a high station in his
own esteem, and thus contributed indirectly to his better
behaviour; for he was scrupulous as well as high-spirited,
and prided himself on nothing more than on a just submission.

So things went on until the famous occasion when Mr. Naseby,
becoming engrossed in securing the election of a sound party
candidate to Parliament, wrote a flaming letter to the
papers. The letter had about every demerit of party letters
in general; it was expressed with the energy of a believer;
it was personal; it was a little more than half unfair, and
about a quarter untrue. The old man did not mean to say what
was untrue, you may be sure; but he had rashly picked up
gossip, as his prejudice suggested, and now rashly launched
it on the public with the sanction of his name.

'The Liberal candidate,' he concluded, 'is thus a public
turncoat. Is that the sort of man we want? He has been
given the lie, and has swallowed the insult. Is that the
sort of man we want? I answer No! With all the force of my
conviction, I answer, NO!'

And then he signed and dated the letter with an amateur's
pride, and looked to be famous by the morrow.

Dick, who had heard nothing of the matter, was up first on
that inauspicious day, and took the journal to an arbour in
the garden. He found his father's manifesto in one column;
and in another a leading article. 'No one that we are aware
of,' ran the article, 'had consulted Mr. Naseby on the
subject, but if he had been appealed to by the whole body of
electors, his letter would be none the less ungenerous and
unjust to Mr. Dalton. We do not choose to give the lie to
Mr. Naseby, for we are too well aware of the consequences;
but we shall venture instead to print the facts of both cases
referred to by this red-hot partisan in another portion of
our issue. Mr. Naseby is of course a large proprietor in our
neighbourhood; but fidelity to facts, decent feeling, and
English grammar, are all of them qualities more important
than the possession of land. Mr. - is doubtless a great man;
in his large gardens and that half-mile of greenhouses, where
he has probably ripened his intellect and temper, he may say
what he will to his hired vassals, but (as the Scotch say) -

here
He mauna think to domineer.

'Liberalism,' continued the anonymous journalist, 'is of too
free and sound a growth,' etc.

Richard Naseby read the whole thing from beginning to end;
and a crushing shame fell upon his spirit. His father had
played the fool; he had gone out noisily to war, and come
back with confusion. The moment that his trumpets sounded,
he had been disgracefully unhorsed. There was no question as
to the facts; they were one and all against the Squire.
Richard would have given his ears to have suppressed the
issue; but as that could not be done, he had his horse
saddled, and furnishing himself with a convenient staff, rode
off at once to Thymebury.

The editor was at breakfast in a large, sad apartment. The
absence of furniture, the extreme meanness of the meal, and
the haggard, bright-eyed, consumptive look of the culprit,
unmanned our hero; but he clung to his stick, and was stout
and warlike.

'You wrote the article in this morning's paper?' he demanded.

'You are young Mr. Naseby? I PUBLISHED it,' replied the
editor, rising.

'My father is an old man,' said Richard; and then with an
outburst, 'And a damned sight finer fellow than either you or
Dalton!' He stopped and swallowed; he was determined that
all should go with regularity. 'I have but one question to
put to you, sir,' he resumed. 'Granted that my father was
misinformed, would it not have been more decent to withhold
the letter and communicate with him in private?'

'Believe me,' returned the editor, 'that alternative was not
open to me. Mr. Naseby told me in a note that he had sent
his letter to three other journals, and in fact threatened me
with what he called exposure if I kept it back from mine. I
am really concerned at what has happened; I sympathise and
approve of your emotion, young gentleman; but the attack on
Mr. Dalton was gross, very gross, and I had no choice but to
offer him my columns to reply. Party has its duties, sir,'
added the scribe, kindling, as one who should propose a
sentiment; 'and the attack was gross.'

Richard stood for half a minute digesting the answer; and
then the god of fair play came upper-most in his heart, and
murmuring 'Good morning,' he made his escape into the street.

His horse was not hurried on the way home, and he was late
for breakfast. The Squire was standing with his back to the
fire in a state bordering on apoplexy, his fingers violently
knitted under his coat tails. As Richard came in, he opened
and shut his mouth like a cod-fish, and his eyes protruded.

'Have you seen that, sir?' he cried, nodding towards the
paper.

'Yes, sir,' said Richard.

'Oh, you've read it, have you?'

'Yes, I have read it,' replied Richard, looking at his foot.

'Well,' demanded the old gentleman, 'and what have you to say
to it, sir?'

'You seem to have been misinformed,' said Dick.

'Well? What then? Is your mind so sterile, sir? Have you
not a word of comment? no proposal?'

'I fear, sir, you must apologise to Mr. Dalton. It would be
more handsome, indeed it would be only just, and a free
acknowledgment would go far - ' Richard paused, no language
appearing delicate enough to suit the case.

'That is a suggestion which should have come from me, sir,'
roared the father. 'It is out of place upon your lips. It
is not the thought of a loyal son. Why, sir, if my father
had been plunged in such deplorable circumstances, I should
have thrashed the editor of that vile sheet within an inch of
his life. I should have thrashed the man, sir. It would
have been the action of an ass; but it would have shown that
I had the blood and the natural affections of a man. Son?
You are no son, no son of mine, sir!'

'Sir!' said Dick.

'I'll tell you what you are, sir,' pursued the Squire.
'You're a Benthamite. I disown you. Your mother would have
died for shame; there was no modern cant about your mother;
she thought - she said to me, sir - I'm glad she's in her
grave, Dick Naseby. Misinformed! Misinformed, sir? Have
you no loyalty, no spring, no natural affections? Are you
clockwork, hey? Away! This is no place for you. Away!'
(waving his hands in the air). 'Go away! Leave me!'

At this moment Dick beat a retreat in a disarray of nerves, a
whistling and clamour of his own arteries, and in short in
such a final bodily disorder as made him alike incapable of
speech or hearing. And in the midst of all this turmoil, a
sense of unpardonable injustice remained graven in his
memory.

CHAPTER III - IN THE ADMIRAL'S NAME

THERE was no return to the subject. Dick and his father were
henceforth on terms of coldness. The upright old gentleman
grew more upright when he met his son, buckrammed with
immortal anger; he asked after Dick's health, and discussed
the weather and the crops with an appalling courtesy; his
pronunciation was POINT-DE-VICE, his voice was distant,
distinct, and sometimes almost trembling with suppressed
indignation.

As for Dick, it seemed to him as if his life had come
abruptly to an end. He came out of his theories and
clevernesses; his premature man-of-the-worldness, on which he
had prided himself on his travels, 'shrank like a thing
ashamed' before this real sorrow. Pride, wounded honour,
pity and respect tussled together daily in his heart; and now
he was within an ace of throwing himself upon his father's
mercy, and now of slipping forth at night and coming back no
more to Naseby House. He suffered from the sight of his
father, nay, even from the neighbourhood of this familiar
valley, where every corner had its legend, and he was
besieged with memories of childhood. If he fled into a new
land, and among none but strangers, he might escape his
destiny, who knew? and begin again light-heartedly. From
that chief peak of the hills, that now and then, like an
uplifted finger, shone in an arrow of sunlight through the
broken clouds, the shepherd in clear weather might perceive
the shining of the sea. There, he thought, was hope. But
his heart failed him when he saw the Squire; and he remained.
His fate was not that of the voyager by sea and land; he was
to travel in the spirit, and begin his journey sooner than he
supposed.

For it chanced one day that his walk led him into a portion
of the uplands which was almost unknown to him. Scrambling
through some rough woods, he came out upon a moorland
reaching towards the hills. A few lofty Scotch firs grew
hard by upon a knoll; a clear fountain near the foot of the
knoll sent up a miniature streamlet which meandered in the
heather. A shower had just skimmed by, but now the sun shone
brightly, and the air smelt of the pines and the grass. On a
stone under the trees sat a young lady sketching. We have
learned to think of women in a sort of symbolic
transfiguration, based on clothes; and one of the readiest
ways in which we conceive our mistress is as a composite
thing, principally petticoats. But humanity has triumphed
over clothes; the look, the touch of a dress has become
alive; and the woman who stitched herself into these material
integuments has now permeated right through and gone out to
the tip of her skirt. It was only a black dress that caught
Dick Naseby's eye; but it took possession of his mind, and
all other thoughts departed. He drew near, and the girl
turned round. Her face startled him; it was a face he
wanted; and he took it in at once like breathing air.

'I beg your pardon,' he said, taking off his hat, 'you are
sketching.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'for my own amusement. I despise the
thing.'

'Ten to one, you do yourself injustice,' returned Dick.
'Besides, it's a freemasonry. I sketch myself, and you know
what that implies.'

'No. What?' she asked.

'Two things,' he answered. 'First, that I am no very
difficult critic; and second, that I have a right to see your
picture.'

She covered the block with both her hands. 'Oh no,' she
said; 'I am ashamed.'

'Indeed, I might give you a hint,' said Dick. 'Although no
artist myself, I have known many; in Paris I had many for
friends, and used to prowl among studios.'

'In Paris?' she cried, with a leap of light into her eyes.
'Did you ever meet Mr. Van Tromp?'

'I? Yes. Why, you're not the Admiral's daughter, are you?'

'The Admiral? Do they call him that?' she cried. 'Oh, how
nice, how nice of them! It is the younger men who call him
so, is it not?'

'Yes,' said Dick, somewhat heavily.

'You can understand now,' she said, with an unspeakable
accent of contented noble-minded pride, 'why it is I do not
choose to show my sketch. Van Tromp's daughter! The
Admiral's daughter! I delight in that name. The Admiral!
And so you know my father?'

'Well,' said Dick, 'I met him often; we were even intimate.
He may have mentioned my name - Naseby.'

'He writes so little. He is so busy, so devoted to his art!
I have had a half wish,' she added laughing, 'that my father
was a plainer man, whom I could help - to whom I could be a
credit; but only sometimes, you know, and with only half my
heart. For a great painter! You have seen his works?'

'I have seen some of them,' returned Dick; 'they - they are
very nice.'

She laughed aloud. 'Nice?' she repeated. 'I see you don't
care much for art.'

'Not much,' he admitted; 'but I know that many people are
glad to buy Mr. Van Tromp's pictures.'

'Call him the Admiral!' she cried. 'It sounds kindly and
familiar; and I like to think that he is appreciated and
looked up to by young painters. He has not always been
appreciated; he had a cruel life for many years; and when I
think' - there were tears in her eyes - 'when I think of
that, I feel incline to be a fool,' she broke off. 'And now
I shall go home. You have filled me full of happiness; for
think, Mr. Naseby, I have not seen my father since I was six
years old; and yet he is in my thoughts all day! You must
come and call on me; my aunt will be delighted, I am sure;
and then you will tell me all - all about my father, will you
not?'

Dick helped her to get her sketching traps together; and when
all was ready, she gave Dick her hand and a frank return of
pressure.

'You are my father's friend,' she said; 'we shall be great
friends too. You must come and see me soon.'

Then she was gone down the hillside at a run; and Dick stood
by himself in a state of some bewilderment and even distress.
There were elements of laughter in the business; but the
black dress, and the face that belonged to it, and the hand
that he had held in his, inclined him to a serious view.
What was he, under the circumstances, called upon to do?
Perhaps to avoid the girl? Well, he would think about that.
Perhaps to break the truth to her? Why, ten to one, such was
her infatuation, he would fail. Perhaps to keep up the
illusion, to colour the raw facts; to help her to false
ideas, while yet not plainly stating falsehoods? Well, he
would see about that; he would also see about avoiding the
girl. He saw about this last so well, that the next
afternoon beheld him on his way to visit her.

In the meantime the girl had gone straight home, light as a
bird, tremulous with joy, to the little cottage where she
lived alone with a maiden aunt; and to that lady, a grim,
sixty years old Scotchwoman, with a nodding head,
communicated news of her encounter and invitation.

'A friend of his?' cried the aunt. 'What like is he? What
did ye say was his name?'

She was dead silent, and stared at the old woman darkling.
Then very slowly, 'I said he was my father's friend; I have
invited him to my house, and come he shall,' she said; and
with that she walked off to her room, where she sat staring
at the wall all the evening. Miss M'Glashan, for that was
the aunt's name, read a large bible in the kitchen with some
of the joys of martyrdom.

It was perhaps half-past three when Dick presented himself,
rather scrupulously dressed, before the cottage door; he
knocked, and a voice bade him enter. The kitchen, which
opened directly off the garden, was somewhat darkened by
foliage; but he could see her as she approached from the far
end to meet him. This second sight of her surprised him.
Her strong black brows spoke of temper easily aroused and
hard to quiet; her mouth was small, nervous and weak; there
was something dangerous and sulky underlying, in her nature,
much that was honest, compassionate, and even noble.

'My father's name,' she said, 'has made you very welcome.'

And she gave him her hand, with a sort of curtsy. It was a
pretty greeting, although somewhat mannered; and Dick felt
himself among the gods. She led him through the kitchen to a
parlour, and presented him to Miss M'Glashan.

'Esther,' said the aunt, 'see and make Mr. Naseby his tea.'

And as soon as the girl was gone upon this hospitable intent,
the old woman crossed the room and came quite near to Dick as
if in menace.

'Ye know that man?' she asked in an imperious whisper.

'Mr. Van Tromp?' said Dick. 'Yes, I know him.'

'Well, and what brings ye here?' she said. 'I couldn't save
the mother - her that's dead - but the bairn!' She had a
note in her voice that filled poor Dick with consternation.
'Man,' she went on, 'what is it now? Is it money?'

'My dear lady,' said Dick, 'I think you misinterpret my
position. I am young Mr. Naseby of Naseby House. My
acquaintance with Mr. Van Tromp is really very slender; I am
only afraid that Miss Van Tromp has exaggerated our intimacy
in her own imagination. I know positively nothing of his
private affairs, and do not care to know. I met him casually
in Paris - that is all.'

Miss M'Glashan drew along breath. 'In Paris?' she said.
'Well, and what do you think of him? - what do ye think of
him?' she repeated, with a different scansion, as Richard,
who had not much taste for such a question, kept her waiting
for an answer.

'I found him a very agreeable companion,' he said.

'Ay,' said she, 'did ye! And how does he win his bread?'

'I fancy,' he gasped, 'that Mr. Van Tromp has many generous
friends.'

'I'll warrant!' she sneered; and before Dick could find more
to say, she was gone from the room.

Esther returned with the tea-things, and sat down.

'Now,' she said cosily, 'tell me all about my father.'

'He' - stammered Dick, 'he is a very agreeable companion.'

'I shall begin to think it is more than you are, Mr. Naseby,'
she said, with a laugh. 'I am his daughter, you forget.
Begin at the beginning, and tell me all you have seen of him,
all he said and all you answered. You must have met
somewhere; begin with that.'

So with that he began: how he had found the Admiral painting
in a cafe; how his art so possessed him that he could not
wait till he got home to - well, to dash off his idea; how
(this in reply to a question) his idea consisted of a cock
crowing and two hens eating corn; how he was fond of cocks
and hens; how this did not lead him to neglect more ambitious
forms of art; how he had a picture in his studio of a Greek
subject which was said to be remarkable from several points
of view; how no one had seen it nor knew the precise site of
the studio in which it was being vigorously though secretly
confected; how (in answer to a suggestion) this shyness was
common to the Admiral, Michelangelo, and others; how they
(Dick and Van Tromp) had struck up an acquaintance at once,
and dined together that same night; how he (the Admiral) had
once given money to a beggar; how he spoke with effusion of
his little daughter; how he had once borrowed money to send
her a doll - a trait worthy of Newton, she being then in her
nineteenth year at least; how, if the doll never arrived
(which it appeared it never did), the trait was only more
characteristic of the highest order of creative intellect;
how he was - no, not beautiful - striking, yes, Dick would go
so far, decidedly striking in appearance; how his boots were
made to lace and his coat was black, not cut-away, a frock;
and so on, and so on by the yard. It was astonishing how few
lies were necessary. After all, people exaggerated the
difficulty of life. A little steering, just a touch of the
rudder now and then, and with a willing listener there is no
limit to the domain of equivocal speech. Sometimes Miss
M'Glashan made a freezing sojourn in the parlour; and then
the task seemed unaccountably more difficult; but to Esther,
who was all eyes and ears, her face alight with interest, his
stream of language flowed without break or stumble, and his
mind was ever fertile in ingenious evasions and -

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