mr. dulger arose in the morning dull and early. he stood several hours over the industrious prolétaire who was mending miss center’s parasol. meantime billy smoked weak cigars, pulled at his sporadic moustache, and studied at a formula of words he meant to use, but would forget.

at eleven, he might have been seen walking in millard’s halls, uneasily, with a neat parasol in hand.

at 11.03, miss millicent descended jacob’s ladder equipped for a walk. she was evidently oblivious of her appointment, and taking no notice of poor dulger at the lower turn of his beat, she turned into the parlour and sat there quite alone, playing with her gloves. surely she was waiting for someone.

trepidatingly dulger approached—— when they returned from their walk, an hour afterward, it was announced, proclaimed, thundered, through millard’s and through newport, that miss center and mr. dulger were engaged. bulletins to that effect were dispatched to postoffices from the aroostook[221] to the rio grande, as members of congress say. billy telegraphed to his friend, the bookkeeper, to send a thousand-dollar diamond ring from tiffany’s by express; it came, and glittered on her finger that evening at the hop. billy’s investment for the ring was one-tenth of one per cent. on her million, and, certes, was not extravagant. rich milly! poor milly! poor dulger! rich dulger! poor, rich mr. and mrs. dulger!—the man never forgetting his long and sulky apprenticeship—the woman, unapproached any more by exhilarating flirtations, and never forgetting that her yielding was part compunction and part pis-allerage. so ends the billy-dulgerid.

dunstan came down to inquire about to-morrow’s race. mr. waddy begged him not to withdraw, unless diana’s condition should be critical. no one else could ride pallid. peter skerrett, in search of mr. waddy, came up and mentioned the new engagement. no one was surprised.

“it was as sure as shooting,” said gyas cutus. “he treed her. i gaads! i knew she’d have to come down. he’s been lamming her with bouquets ever since she came out.”

“and now,” says peter, “she has come down in a shower of gold, reversing the fable of danae.”

“there’s no fable about the million,” said cloanthus. “i wonder if billy would lend me a v on the strength of it?”

[222]“i think it’s a case of dépit amoureux,” whispered to dunstan, peter skerrett, penetrating sage.

dunstan said nothing, and presently walked off. this gossip was distressing to him; he could only think of his love regained, his love perhaps dying. he must not see her that day. absolute repose was necessary.

“the old wound,” he thought; “the old wound,” and thinking of it, he shuddered again.

peter skerrett took mr. waddy’s arm, and walked him away to a quiet corner.

“that damned scoundrel of a frenchman wouldn’t accept your proposition,” he began. “he said it was wealth for him, but the infernal coxcomb also said he wanted to range himself and become a virtuous man, and a happy father of a family. he must have the ‘fair arabella, whom he loved and whom he believed was secluded from him by the decree of a harsh parent’; some such stuff he uttered and then blew a kiss from his bruised, swelled lips. faugh!”

mr. waddy echoed the exclamation; he shared in all peter’s disgust, and all his anxiety.

“it’s lucky,” continued peter, “he can’t come out to-day. everyone’s inquiring about the row, and sir comeguys says he will only keep still until the fellow is out of bed and able to speak for himself.”

“well,” said waddy, as peter paused again,[223] “what’s to be done? is that all the scoundrel said?”

“not by a blamed sight; but it’s so damned unpleasant i hate to repeat it. after refusing your offer, he repeated his threat of exposing mrs. b., and he gave me details. he said he wanted to see her, and if he sent a waiter, she would have to come. i knew that would never do, so i bullied him a little and said i would see her myself. by jove! think what a box i was getting into. mrs. b. is cool; perhaps i may as well put it, brassy. she was complimentary enough to say that she was surprised a man of my experience should listen to the idle talk of a man bruised and angry; that possibly arabella (blinking entirely the question, as touching herself—i had stated his threat as delicately as i could) had given him so much encouragement as to persuade him he had rights. very probably, for she herself had hoped that he and arabella would make a match, and still hoped it. as to the slanders of that young brute of an englishman, they were pure jealousy. she was satisfied of de châteaunéant’s position, and thought his abuser a vile coward for profiting by his personal strength to put a rival out of the way. she would talk over the matter with arabella and see me in an hour.”

“yes?” said waddy encouragingly, as peter paused again, choked with rage. he rather wondered at peter’s emotion, for that gentleman usually[224] held himself well in hand—but then this was an extraordinary case.

“well,” continued peter, “in an hour, i happened to pass through the corridor. arabella, cried to a perfect jelly, was just opening the door for her mother. how the harridan must have been bullying that poor girl! and yet she was as cool, and smiling, and handsome, as if she was coming out of st. aspasia’s after her sunday afternoon nap. she said she had found a little proper ladylike hesitation on the part of miss arabella; that young ladies did not like this courting by proxy; and that she had no doubt that when de châteaunéant was able to plead his own cause, that her daughter’s long-existing inclination for him would develop immediately into the desirable degree of affection. by jove! i couldn’t help admiring the woman as she stood and told me all this, perfectly self-possessed, though she knew i believed it was every word a lie. then she said that, as i was quite the confidential friend of the family, she would ask me to go with her to m. de châteaunéant. and i went! what do you think of that, waddy?”

“i don’t know what to think,” answered ira. “and yet it was probably the best thing to do.”

“so i thought,” agreed peter. “she sat down by the beggar’s bedside and told him, by jove! that she thought he needed a little motherly sympathy; that she had always looked with great favour upon[225] his suit for her daughter, and that she hoped and had no doubt the young lady would smile upon him. she could promise it, in fact, after an interview this morning. i tell you, waddy, she took my breath away. i could have screamed with laughter.”

“no doubt,” said mr. waddy grimly. “how did the farce end?”

“it ended with a few minutes’ earnest whispering on the part of the lady. then she got up triumphantly, and that blackguard turned his ugly swollen face towards me.

“‘monsieur skarrette,’ he said, in his dirty, broken english, ‘i veel vate faur ze promesse auf mees arabella teele aftare to-morrah. i veel not be anie maur cheete. ef she do not agree, i sall tale all to meestare buddilung.’

“well,” continued peter, “i was white hot—i don’t think i shall be ever quite so angry again—i certainly hope not. i think mrs. b. saw it and feared some further injury to the gaul, for she said good-bye hastily and carried me away with her. out in the hall, she turned to me again, cool as a cucumber.

“‘you see he is quite reasonable,’ she said, with amazing impudence, ‘though naturally rather ardent for his object. we are much obliged to you, mr. skerrett.’

“she gave me her hand and the only sign of emotion she showed in the whole interview was to grasp[226] mine like a vice. a few minutes afterward, i saw belden help her into his buggy and they drove off together. do you suppose it possible that she meditates some escapade with him? of course all this couldn’t be told to poor old flirney; he should be saved, if possible. but i could not bear to think of arabella being the victim of such an infernal plot, without a friend. the matter had gone too far for ceremony, so i went up and knocked at her door. there is so much of that familiarity going on, that i supposed no one would notice it. she opened the door and, when she saw me, burst into tears. i felt so sorry for the poor child that i couldn’t help——”

“oh, you did, did you?” interrupted ira, seeing a great light.

“yes, i did; and she shall be mrs. peter skerrett, if her step-mother is a—— she shall, by jove!”

“peter, you’re the king of trumps!” cried mr. waddy, and held out his hand. “and, by curry! you deserve to be congratulated. she’s a nice girl.”

“she is!” agreed peter, with conviction. “i’ve known it a long time. well, to return, the poor thing was actually bewildered with terror. she said that she liked the fellow well enough at first—you know he has the talents of an adventurer—he flattered her and led her on, always speaking french, until he had got up a great intimacy. then mrs. budlong,—she no longer called her mother,—began to persuade her to accept him, and then to treat the[227] matter as settled; and then to bully her and say that her honour was engaged, and her character would be gone if she did not marry him.

“imagine the poor girl, so young, and totally uneducated to think for herself, in the grasp of that infernal crocodile! then her brother, that mean little squirt, tim, made some heavy gambling debts to the frenchman, and he told her he thought the marriage was just the thing, and wouldn’t listen to a word from her. mrs. budlong said that her father had given his full approval to the match. arabella felt utterly abandoned, and i do believe that horrid hag would have carried her point before this, if ambient hadn’t stepped in with his timely licking. at the picnic the frenchman was continuing to treat her with tyrannical familiarity. she hated him so much that she longed to go to diana and clara for protection, but she feared they would think her a silly little snob and send her to her mother. mother!” repeated peter with emotion, and swallowed hard.

mr. waddy also felt an unaccustomed lump in his gullet.

“peter,” said he, a little huskily, “i’m proud of you. by jove! i’m proud to know you. you’re the best man in the lot. the rest of us would have stood around and seen that girl sent to the devil and never have lifted a finger to prevent it.”

“oh, come,” protested peter, “i know better[228] than that. and then, besides, you see, you—you didn’t have my incentive. she needed someone, waddy; she said she’d always thought me one of her best friends—but she couldn’t speak to any gentleman about her troubles, much less me. and then she began to cry again and i had to kiss her again like a brother and tell her that i was her best friend and would save her. luckily, no one happened to pass; so i let her sob herself quiet in my arms and told her to have courage and not to speak to anyone on this subject. what a damnable infamy it is! i don’t care for mrs. budlong, and would let her be exposed and go to the devil, but it will kill the old gentleman. he’s a good old boy, and actually loves that woman. we must save him if we can. here is old mellasys, saccharissa’s father; couldn’t we get him to kidnap the frenchman for a fugitive slave?”

“peter,” said waddy, “we may get the frenchman off, but there is left behind a man much more dangerous than any frenchman—belden!”

about eight o’clock that evening, mr. waddy sent chin chin to inquire of diana’s health. on his return, chin chin made a circuit to a shop he knew of. his object was lager beer, a washy beverage, favoured by chinamen, germans, and such like plebeian and uncouth populaces. feeling sleepy after his draught, he gradually subsided into a ball and[229] sank under the table. except, perhaps, box brown and samuel adams, packed some years ago by john c. colt, corner broadway and chambers street, no being is known, bigger than an armadillo or a hedgehog, capable of such compact storage as a slumbering chinaman.

chin chin under the table was therefore not perceived by two men who came in to get beer and mutter confidences over it. he, however, waking and craftily not stirring until he could do so without disturbing legs endowed with capacity to kick, heard this secret parley. he could not recognise the legs, but could the voices.

as soon as he was released, he ran to the millard, and gave his message to mr. waddy; then, in consequence of the beer-shop discoveries, he crept along like a quick snake to his master’s hired stable. the night was very dark, the clouds obstructing the moon. chin chin’s mission and his plan were perfectly suited to his crafty malayan nature. he knew the stable intimately. he had often found it a handy place to snooze away the effects of beer or gluttony—larger and more airy than his usual habitation, and much less liable to rude invasion. he had prepared a secret means of ingress and egress; now, after a quick glance around, he glided along to one corner, moved a board slightly and crept inside through the crevice thus revealed.

in the stable were mr. waddy’s three horses.[230] pallid stood next to a vacant stall. a roughly contrived manger, with no division, passed through all the stalls. the back door of the stable opened upon a yard, separated by a low fence from a dark lane. there was a locked door through this fence; both the stable doors were also locked.

pallid recognised the chinaman and whinnied a welcome nearly as articulate as the other’s reply. chin chin’s plan was already laid. he did not seem to need light to execute it. he groped about for a billet of wood in a spot he knew of, and drawing a fine fishing line from his pocket, made it fast to the billet, which he then threw over a beam running the length of the stable. he drew the billet up to the beam by his line, and holding the end, wormed himself in under a heap of hay that filled the stall next to pallid’s. he found that, without changing his position, he could pass his hand into the adjoining manger. it seemed he had a fancy of possible danger, for he took from his breast pocket a perilous piratical knife and laid it in the manger at his side.

“pigeon—all same—hi yah!” said he, with gleaming teeth and a grin.

chin chin waited, probably dreaming of the central flowery land and fancying himself under the shade of his native tea plant, offering a tidbit of rat pie to the fair pettitoes in sabots, skewered hair, talon finger-nails, and brocaded raiment.

[231]his tender, nostalgic reverie was disturbed by the cautious turning of a key. the door opened and two men armed with a slide lantern entered. they drew up the slide and stood revealed, a precious pair, belden and figgins, come to superintend the training of pallid for to-morrow’s race.

they peered cautiously round the stable—nothing but horses and hay. they could not see that snake-in-the-grass watching them with glittering eye and keen delight.

“we must do it quick, figgy,” said belden; “give me the ball. you hold the light. whoa, pallid!”

he stepped to the stall, and patting pallid on the neck, placed a very suspicious-looking horse-ball in the manger. pallid was beginning to turn it over and sniff at it, when—slam, bang!—chin chin let go the billet. it crashed to the floor, knocking down sundry objects with a terrible clatter.

the conspirators started, looked at each other fearfully, and sprang back as if to escape. the noise ceasing, they looked about with anxiety. belden caught sight of the billet and its effects.

“bah!” said he. “nothing but a stick of wood fallen down——” and turned back to the horse.

meantime, under cover of the noise and panic, chin chin had snatched away the dosed sausage from pallid’s manger, and thrown in a handful of oats. the horse champed them.

[232]“the greedy brute has swallowed his pill and is licking his damned chops,” belden announced. “well, you black devil, so much for you for throwing me, and so much for your master. you won’t win any race to-morrow nor this year.”

again examining suspiciously everywhere, they went out as cautiously as they had entered.

chin chin chuckled. he was fond of pallid and fond of the turf, a novel fancy for a chinaman. he knew if he revealed this adventure to mr. waddy, that the race would come to an end, so far as that gentleman was concerned, at least. chin chin wanted to see the fun. unluckily for figgins, he had bets with him. chin chin determined to consider himself the executive of retribution and keep his own counsel till after the race. he looked at the ball; he smelt it.

“pose good for chinaman,” he said, “ebryting all same pigeon eat em rat; eat em puppy; pose eat em sossidge. hi yah! first chop good, all same.”

he nibbled a little bit, ate a little bit, and then looking out and finding the coast clear, cautiously crept homeward in the shadow. as he ate, he seemed at first very well satisfied, then less satisfied, and finally not at all satisfied, and throwing away the remnants of the ball, he made for the millard, pressing both his hands on that part of his person which seemed the centre of dissatisfaction.