Delamere hoped to find at the hotel some form of distraction5 to fill in an hour or two before going home. Ill fortune favored him by placing in his way the burly form of Captain George McBane, who was sitting in an armchair alone, smoking a midnight cigar, under the hotel balcony. Upon Delamere's making known his desire for amusement, the captain proposed a small game of poker7 in his own room.
McBane had been waiting for some such convenient opportunity. We have already seen that the captain was desirous of social recognition, which he had not yet obtained beyond the superficial acquaintance acquired by association with men about town. He had determined9 to assault society in its citadel10 by seeking membership in the Clarendon Club, of which most gentlemen of the best families of the city were members.
The Clarendon Club was a historic institution, and its membership a social cult11, the temple of which was located just off the main street of the city, in a dignified12 old colonial mansion13 which had housed it for the nearly one hundred years during which it had maintained its existence unbroken. There had grown up around it many traditions and special usages. Membership in the Clarendon was the sine qua non of high social standing14, and was conditional15 upon two of three things,—birth, wealth, and breeding. Breeding was the prime essential, but, with rare exceptions, must be backed by either birth or money.
Having decided16, therefore, to seek admission into this social arcanum, the captain, who had either not quite appreciated the standard of the Clarendon's membership, or had failed to see that he fell beneath it, looked about for an intermediary through whom to approach the object of his desire. He had already thought of Tom Delamere in this connection, having with him such an acquaintance as one forms around a hotel, and having long ago discovered that Delamere was a young man of superficially amiable17 disposition18, vicious instincts, lax principles, and a weak will, and, which was quite as much to the purpose, a member of the Clarendon Club. Possessing mental characteristics almost entirely19 opposite, Delamere and the captain had certain tastes in common, and had smoked, drunk, and played cards together more than once.
Still more to his purpose, McBane had detected Delamere trying to cheat him at cards. He had said nothing about this discovery, but had merely noted20 it as something which at some future time might prove useful. The captain had not suffered by Delamere's deviation21 from the straight line of honor, for while Tom was as clever with the cards as might be expected of a young man who had devoted22 most of his leisure for several years to handling them, McBane was past master in their manipulation. During a stormy career he had touched more or less pitch, and had escaped few sorts of defilement23.
The appearance of Delamere at a late hour, unaccompanied, and wearing upon his countenance24 an expression in which the captain read aright the craving25 for mental and physical excitement, gave him the opportunity for which he had been looking. McBane was not the man to lose an opportunity, nor did Delamere require a second invitation. Neither was it necessary, during the progress of the game, for the captain to press upon his guest the contents of the decanter which stood upon the table within convenient reach.
The captain permitted Delamere to win from him several small amounts, after which he gradually increased the stakes and turned the tables.
Delamere, with every instinct of a gamester, was no more a match for McBane in self-control than in skill. When the young man had lost all his money, the captain expressed his entire willingness to accept notes of hand, for which he happened to have convenient blanks in his apartment.
When Delamere, flushed with excitement and wine, rose from the gaming table at two o'clock, he was vaguely26 conscious that he owed McBane a considerable sum, but could not have stated how much. His opponent, who was entirely cool and collected, ran his eye carelessly over the bits of paper to which Delamere had attached his signature. "Just one thousand dollars even," he remarked.
The announcement of this total had as sobering an effect upon Delamere as though he had been suddenly deluged27 with a shower of cold water. For a moment he caught his breath. He had not a dollar in the world with which to pay this sum. His only source of income was an allowance from his grandfather, the monthly installment28 of which, drawn29 that very day, he had just lost to McBane, before starting in upon the notes of hand.
"I'll give you your revenge another time," said McBane, as they rose. "Luck is against you to-night, and I'm unwilling30 to take advantage of a clever young fellow like you. Meantime," he added, tossing the notes of hand carelessly on a bureau, "don't worry about these bits of paper. Such small matters shouldn't cut any figure between friends; but if you are around the hotel to-morrow, I should like to speak to you upon another subject."
"Very well, captain," returned Tom somewhat ungraciously.
Delamere had been completely beaten with his own weapons. He had tried desperately31 to cheat McBane. He knew perfectly32 well that McBane had discovered his efforts and had cheated him in turn, for the captain's play had clearly been gauged33 to meet his own. The biter had been bit, and could not complain of the outcome.
The following afternoon McBane met Delamere at the hotel, and bluntly requested the latter to propose him for membership in the Clarendon Club.
Delamere was annoyed at this request. His aristocratic gorge35 rose at the presumption36 of this son of an overseer and ex-driver of convicts. McBane was good enough to win money from, or even to lose money to, but not good enough to be recognized as a social equal. He would instinctively37 have blackballed McBane had he been proposed by some one else; with what grace could he put himself forward as the sponsor for this impossible social aspirant38? Moreover, it was clearly a vulgar, cold-blooded attempt on McBane's part to use his power over him for a personal advantage.
"Well, now, Captain McBane," returned Delamere diplomatically, "I've never put any one up yet, and it's not regarded as good form for so young a member as myself to propose candidates. I'd much rather you'd ask some older man."
"Oh, well," replied McBane, "just as you say, only I thought you had cut your eye teeth."
Delamere was not pleased with McBane's tone. His remark was not acquiescent39, though couched in terms of assent40. There was a sneering41 savagery42 about it, too, that left Delamere uneasy. He was, in a measure, in McBane's power. He could not pay the thousand dollars, unless it fell from heaven, or he could win it from some one else. He would not dare go to his grandfather for help. Mr. Delamere did not even know that his grandson gambled. He might not have objected, perhaps, to a gentleman's game, with moderate stakes, but he would certainly, Tom knew very well, have looked upon a thousand dollars as a preposterous43 sum to be lost at cards by a man who had nothing with which to pay it. It was part of Mr. Delamere's creed44 that a gentleman should not make debts that he was not reasonably able to pay.
There was still another difficulty. If he had lost the money to a gentleman, and it had been his first serious departure from Mr. Delamere's perfectly well understood standard of honor, Tom might have risked a confession45 and thrown himself on his grandfather's mercy; but he owed other sums here and there, which, to his just now much disturbed imagination, loomed46 up in alarming number and amount. He had recently observed signs of coldness, too, on the part of certain members of the club. Moreover, like most men with one commanding vice47, he was addicted48 to several subsidiary forms of iniquity49, which in case of a scandal were more than likely to come to light. He was clearly and most disagreeably caught in the net of his own hypocrisy50. His grandfather believed him a model of integrity, a pattern of honor; he could not afford to have his grandfather undeceived.
He thought of old Mrs. Ochiltree. If she were a liberal soul, she could give him a thousand dollars now, when he needed it, instead of making him wait until she died, which might not be for ten years or more, for a legacy51 which was steadily52 growing less and might be entirely exhausted53 if she lived long enough,—some old people were very tenacious54 of life! She was a careless old woman, too, he reflected, and very foolishly kept her money in the house. Latterly she had been growing weak and childish. Some day she might be robbed, and then his prospective55 inheritance from that source would vanish into thin air!
With regard to this debt to McBane, if he could not pay it, he could at least gain a long respite56 by proposing the captain at the club. True, he would undoubtedly57 be blackballed, but before this inevitable58 event his name must remain posted for several weeks, during which interval59 McBane would be conciliatory. On the other hand, to propose McBane would arouse suspicion of his own motives60; it might reach his grandfather's ears, and lead to a demand for an explanation, which it would be difficult to make. Clearly, the better plan would be to temporize61 with McBane, with the hope that something might intervene to remove this cursed obligation.
"Suppose, captain," he said affably, "we leave the matter open for a few days. This is a thing that can't be rushed. I'll feel the pulse of my friends and yours, and when we get the lay of the land, the affair can be accomplished62 much more easily."
"Well, that's better," returned McBane, somewhat mollified,—"if you'll do that."
"To be sure I will," replied Tom easily, too much relieved to resent, if not too preoccupied63 to perceive, the implied doubt of his veracity64.
"We'll let these notes stand for the time being, Tom," said McBane, with significant emphasis, when they separated.
Delamere winced66 at the familiarity. He had reached that degree of moral deterioration67 where, while principles were of little moment, the externals of social intercourse68 possessed69 an exaggerated importance. McBane had never before been so personal.
He had addressed the young aristocrat34 first as "Mr. Delamere," then, as their acquaintance advanced, as "Delamere." He had now reached the abbreviated70 Christian71 name stage of familiarity. There was no lower depth to which Tom could sink, unless McBane should invent a nickname by which to address him. He did not like McBane's manner,—it was characterized by a veiled insolence72 which was exceedingly offensive. He would go over to the club and try his luck with some honest player,—perhaps something might turn up to relieve him from his embarrassment73.
He put his hand in his pocket mechanically,—and found it empty! In the present state of his credit, he could hardly play without money.
A thought struck him. Leaving the hotel, he hastened home, where he found Sandy dusting his famous suit of clothes on the back piazza74. Mr. Delamere was not at home, having departed for Belleview about two o'clock, leaving Sandy to follow him in the morning.
"Hello, Sandy," exclaimed Tom, with an assumed jocularity which he was very far from feeling, "what are you doing with those gorgeous garments?"
"I'm a-dustin' of 'em, Mistuh Tom, dat's w'at I'm a-doin'. Dere's somethin' wrong 'bout8 dese clo's er mine—I don' never seem ter be able ter keep 'em clean no mo'. Ef I b'lieved in dem ole-timey sayin's, I'd 'low dere wuz a witch come here eve'y night an' tuk 'em out an' wo' 'em, er tuk me out an' rid me in 'em. Dere wuz somethin' wrong 'bout dat cakewalk business, too, dat I ain' never unde'stood an' don' know how ter 'count fer, 'less dere wuz some kin6' er dev'lishness goin' on dat don' show on de su'face."
"Sandy," asked Tom irrelevantly75, "have you any money in the house?"
"Yas, suh, I got de money Mars John give me ter git dem things ter take out ter Belleview in de mawnin."
"I mean money of your own."
"I got a qua'ter ter buy terbacker wid," returned Sandy cautiously.
"Is that all? Haven't you some saved up?"
"Well, yas, Mistuh Tom," returned Sandy, with evident reluctance76, "dere's a few dollahs put away in my bureau drawer fer a rainy day,—not much, suh."
"I'm a little short this afternoon, Sandy, and need some money right away. Grandfather isn't here, so I can't get any from him. Let me take what you have for a day or two, Sandy, and I'll return it with good interest."
"Now, Mistuh Tom," said Sandy seriously, "I don' min' lettin' you take my money, but I hopes you ain' gwine ter use it fer none er dem rakehelly gwines-on er yo'n,—gamblin' an' bettin' an' so fo'th. Yo' grandaddy 'll fin4' out 'bout you yit, ef you don' min' yo' P's an' Q's. I does my bes' ter keep yo' misdoin's f'm 'im, an' sense I b'en tu'ned out er de chu'ch—thoo no fault er my own, God knows!—I've tol' lies 'nuff 'bout you ter sink a ship. But it ain't right, Mistuh Tom, it ain't right! an' I only does it fer de sake er de fam'ly honuh, dat Mars John sets so much sto' by, an' ter save his feelin's; fer de doctuh says he mus'n' git ixcited 'bout nothin', er it mought bring on another stroke."
"That's right, Sandy," replied Tom approvingly; "but the family honor is as safe in my hands as in grandfather's own, and I'm going to use the money for an excellent purpose, in fact to relieve a case of genuine distress77; and I'll hand it back to you in a day or two,—perhaps to-morrow. Fetch me the money, Sandy,—that's a good darky!"
"All right, Mistuh Tom, you shill have de money; but I wants ter tell you, suh, dat in all de yeahs I has wo'ked fer yo' gran'daddy, he has never called me a 'darky' ter my face, suh. Co'se I knows dere's w'ite folks an' black folks,—but dere's manners, suh, dere's manners, an' gent'emen oughter be de ones ter use 'em, suh, ef dey ain't ter be fergot enti'ely!"
"There, there, Sandy," returned Tom in a conciliatory tone, "I beg your pardon! I've been associating with some Northern white folks at the hotel, and picked up the word from them. You're a high-toned colored gentleman, Sandy,—the finest one on the footstool."
Still muttering to himself, Sandy retired78 to his own room, which was in the house, so that he might be always near his master. He soon returned with a time-stained leather pocket-book and a coarse-knit cotton sock, from which two receptacles he painfully extracted a number of bills and coins.
"You count dat, Mistuh Tom, so I'll know how much I'm lettin' you have."
"This isn't worth anything," said Tom, pushing aside one roll of bills.
"It's Confederate money."
"So it is, suh. It ain't wuth nothin' now; but it has be'n money, an' who kin tell but what it mought be money agin? De rest er dem bills is greenbacks,—dey'll pass all right, I reckon."
The good money amounted to about fifty dollars, which Delamere thrust eagerly into his pocket.
"You won't say anything to grandfather about this, will you, Sandy," he said, as he turned away.
"No, suh, co'se I won't! Does I ever tell 'im 'bout yo' gwines-on? Ef I did," he added to himself, as the young man disappeared down the street, "I wouldn' have time ter do nothin' e'se ha'dly. I don' know whether I'll ever see dat money agin er no, do' I 'magine de ole gent'eman wouldn' lemme lose it ef he knowed. But I ain' gwine ter tell him, whether I git my money back er no, fer he is jes' so wrop' up in dat boy dat I b'lieve it'd jes' break his hea't ter fin' out how he's be'n gwine on. Doctuh Price has tol' me not ter let de ole gent'eman git ixcited, er e'se dere's no tellin' w'at mought happen. He's be'n good ter me, he has, an' I'm gwine ter take keer er him,—dat's w'at I is, ez long ez I has de chance."
Delamere went directly to the club, and soon lounged into the card-room, where several of the members were engaged in play. He sauntered here and there, too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that the greetings he received were less cordial than those usually exchanged between the members of a small and select social club. Finally, when Augustus, commonly and more appropriately called "Gus," Davidson came into the room, Tom stepped toward him.
"Will you take a hand in a game, Gus?"
"Don't care if I do," said the other. "Let's sit over here."
Davidson led the way to a table near the fireplace, near which stood a tall screen, which at times occupied various places in the room. Davidson took the seat opposite the fireplace, leaving Delamere with his back to the screen.
Delamere staked half of Sandy's money, and lost. He staked the rest, and determined to win, because he could not afford to lose. He had just reached out his hand to gather in the stakes, when he was charged with cheating at cards, of which two members, who had quietly entered the room and posted themselves behind the screen, had secured specific proof. A meeting of the membership committee was hastily summoned, it being an hour at which most of them might be found at the club. To avoid a scandal, and to save the feelings of a prominent family, Delamere was given an opportunity to resign quietly from the club, on condition that he paid all his gambling79 debts within three days, and took an oath never to play cards again for money. This latter condition was made at the suggestion of an elderly member, who apparently80 believed that a man who would cheat at cards would stick at perjury81.
Delamere acquiesced82 very promptly83. The taking of the oath was easy. The payment of some fifteen hundred dollars of debts was a different matter. He went away from the club thoughtfully, and it may be said, in full justice to a past which was far from immaculate, that in his present thoughts he touched a depth of scoundrelism far beyond anything of which he had as yet deemed himself capable. When a man of good position, of whom much is expected, takes to evil courses, his progress is apt to resemble that of a well-bred woman who has started on the downward path,—the pace is all the swifter because of the distance which must be traversed to reach the bottom. Delamere had made rapid headway; having hitherto played with sin, his servant had now become his master, and held him in an iron grip.
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1
debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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conditional
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| adj.条件的，带有条件的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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defilement
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| n.弄脏，污辱，污秽 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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installment
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| n.(instalment)分期付款；(连载的)一期 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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gauged
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| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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instinctively
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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56
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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temporize
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| v.顺应时势；拖延 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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perjury
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| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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