the club of queer trades-第7部分

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〃My　dear　fellow；〃　he　cried；　shaking　Basil's　hand　again　and　again；　〃I　have　not　seen　you　for　years。　Have　you　beener〃　he　said；　rather　wildly；　〃have　you　been　in　the　country？〃

〃Not　for　all　that　time；〃　answered　Basil；　smiling。　〃I　have　long　given　up　my　official　position；　my　dear　Philip；　and　have　been　living　in　a　deliberate　retirement。　I　hope　I　do　not　come　at　an　inopportune　moment。〃

〃An　inopportune　moment；〃　cried　the　ardent　gentleman。　〃You　come　at　the　most　opportune　moment　I　could　imagine。　Do　you　know　who　is　here？〃

〃I　do　not；〃　answered　Grant；　with　gravity。　Even　as　he　spoke　a　roar　of　laughter　came　from　the　inner　room。

〃Basil；〃　said　Lord　Beaumont　solemnly；　〃I　have　Wimpole　here。〃

〃And　who　is　Wimpole？〃

〃Basil；〃　cried　the　other；　〃you　must　have　been　in　the　country。　You　must　have　been　in　the　antipodes。　You　must　have　been　in　the　moon。　Who　is　Wimpole？　Who　was　Shakespeare？〃

〃As　to　who　Shakespeare　was；〃　answered　my　friend　placidly；　〃my　views　go　no　further　than　thinking　that　he　was　not　Bacon。　More　probably　he　was　Mary　Queen　of　Scots。　But　as　to　who　Wimpole　is〃　and　his　speech　also　was　cloven　with　a　roar　of　laughter　from　within。

〃Wimpole！〃　cried　Lord　Beaumont；　in　a　sort　of　ecstasy。　〃Haven't　you　heard　of　the　great　modern　wit？　My　dear　fellow；　he　has　turned　conversation；　I　do　not　say　into　an　artfor　that；　perhaps；　it　always　was　but　into　a　great　art；　like　the　statuary　of　Michael　Angeloan　art　of　masterpieces。　His　repartees；　my　good　friend；　startle　one　like　a　man　shot　dead。　They　are　final；　they　are〃

Again　there　came　the　hilarious　roar　from　the　room；　and　almost　with　the　very　noise　of　it；　a　big；　panting　apoplectic　old　gentleman　came　out　of　the　inner　house　into　the　hall　where　we　were　standing。

〃Now；　my　dear　chap；〃　began　Lord　Beaumont　hastily。

〃I　tell　you；　Beaumont；　I　won't　stand　it；〃　exploded　the　large　old　gentleman。　〃I　won't　be　made　game　of　by　a　twopenny　literary　adventurer　like　that。　I　won't　be　made　a　guy。　I　won't〃

〃Come；　come；〃　said　Beaumont　feverishly。　〃Let　me　introduce　you。　This　is　Mr　Justice　Grantthat　is；　Mr　Grant。　Basil；　I　am　sure　you　have　heard　of　Sir　Walter　Cholmondeliegh。〃

〃Who　has　not？〃　asked　Grant；　and　bowed　to　the　worthy　old　baronet；　eyeing　him　with　some　curiosity。　He　was　hot　and　heavy　in　his　momentary　anger；　but　even　that　could　not　conceal　the　noble　though　opulent　outline　of　his　face　and　body；　the　florid　white　hair；　the　Roman　nose；　the　body　stalwart　though　corpulent；　the　chin　aristocratic　though　double。　He　was　a　magnificent　courtly　gentleman；　so　much　of　a　gentleman　that　he　could　show　an　unquestionable　weakness　of　anger　without　altogether　losing　dignity；　so　much　of　a　gentleman　that　even　his　faux　pas　were　well…bred。

〃I　am　distressed　beyond　expression；　Beaumont；〃　he　said　gruffly；　〃to　fail　in　respect　to　these　gentlemen；　and　even　more　especially　to　fail　in　it　in　your　house。　But　it　is　not　you　or　they　that　are　in　any　way　concerned；　but　that　flashy　half…caste　jackanapes〃

At　this　moment　a　young　man　with　a　twist　of　red　moustache　and　a　sombre　air　came　out　of　the　inner　room。　He　also　did　not　seem　to　be　greatly　enjoying　the　intellectual　banquet　within。

〃I　think　you　remember　my　friend　and　secretary；　Mr　Drummond；〃　said　Lord　Beaumont；　turning　to　Grant；　〃even　if　you　only　remember　him　as　a　schoolboy。〃

〃Perfectly；〃　said　the　other。　Mr　Drummond　shook　hands　pleasantly　and　respectfully；　but　the　cloud　was　still　on　his　brow。　Turning　to　Sir　Walter　Cholmondeliegh；　he　said：

〃I　was　sent　by　Lady　Beaumont　to　express　her　hope　that　you　were　not　going　yet；　Sir　Walter。　She　says　she　has　scarcely　seen　anything　of　you。〃

The　old　gentleman；　still　red　in　the　face；　had　a　temporary　internal　struggle；　then　his　good　manners　triumphed；　and　with　a　gesture　of　obeisance　and　a　vague　utterance　of；　〃If　Lady　Beaumont　。　。　。　a　lady；　of　course；〃　he　followed　the　young　man　back　into　the　salon。　He　had　scarcely　been　deposited　there　half　a　minute　before　another　peal　of　laughter　told　that　he　had　（in　all　probability）　been　scored　off　again。

〃Of　course；　I　can　excuse　dear　old　Cholmondeliegh；〃　said　Beaumont；　as　he　helped　us　off　with　our　coats。　〃He　has　not　the　modern　mind。〃

〃What　is　the　modern　mind？〃　asked　Grant。

〃Oh；　it's　enlightened；　you　know；　and　progressiveand　faces　the　facts　of　life　seriously。〃　At　this　moment　another　roar　of　laughter　came　from　within。

〃I　only　ask；〃　said　Basil；　〃because　of　the　last　two　friends　of　yours　who　had　the　modern　mind；　one　thought　it　wrong　to　eat　fishes　and　the　other　thought　it　right　to　eat　men。　I　beg　your　pardonthis　way；　if　I　remember　right。〃

〃Do　you　know；〃　said　Lord　Beaumont；　with　a　sort　of　feverish　entertainment；　as　he　trotted　after　us　towards　the　interior；　〃I　can　never　quite　make　out　which　side　you　are　on。　Sometimes　you　seem　so　liberal　and　sometimes　so　reactionary。　Are　you　a　modern；　Basil？〃

〃No；〃　said　Basil；　loudly　and　cheerfully；　as　he　entered　the　crowded　drawing…room。

This　caused　a　slight　diversion；　and　some　eyes　were　turned　away　from　our　slim　friend　with　the　Oriental　face　for　the　first　time　that　afternoon。　Two　people；　however；　still　looked　at　him。　One　was　the　daughter　of　the　house；　Muriel　Beaumont；　who　gazed　at　him　with　great　violet　eyes　and　with　the　intense　and　awful　thirst　of　the　female　upper　class　for　verbal　amusement　and　stimulus。　The　other　was　Sir　Walter　Cholmondeliegh；　who　looked　at　him　with　a　still　and　sullen　but　unmistakable　desire　to　throw　him　out　of　the　window。

He　sat　there；　coiled　rather　than　seated　on　the　easy　chair；　everything　from　the　curves　of　his　smooth　limbs　to　the　coils　of　his　silvered　hair　suggesting　the　circles　of　a　serpent　more　than　the　straight　limbs　of　a　manthe　unmistakable；　splendid　serpentine　gentleman　we　had　seen　walking　in　North　London；　his　eyes　shining　with　repeated　victory。

〃What　I　can't　understand；　Mr　Wimpole；〃　said　Muriel　Beaumont　eagerly；　〃is　how　you　contrive　to　treat　all　this　so　easily。　You　say　things　quite　philosophical　and　yet　so　wildly　funny。　If　I　thought　of　such　things；　I'm　sure　I　should　laugh　outright　when　the　thought　first　came。〃

〃I　agree　with　Miss　Beaumont；〃　said　Sir　Walter；　suddenly　exploding　with　indignation。　〃If　I　had　thought　of　anything　so　futile；　I　should　find　it　difficult　to　keep　my　countenance。〃

〃Difficult　to　keep　your　countenance；〃　cried　Mr　Wimpole；　with　an　air　of　alarm；　〃oh；　do　keep　your　countenance！　Keep　it　in　the　British　Museum。〃

Every　one　laughed　uproariously；　as　they　always　do　at　an　already　admitted　readiness；　and　Sir　Walter；　turning　suddenly　purple；　shouted　out：

〃Do　you　know　who　you　are　talking　to；　with　your　confounded　tomfooleries？〃

〃I　never　talk　tomfooleries；〃　said　the　other；　〃without　first　knowing　my　audience。〃

Grant　walked　across　the　room　and　tapped　the　red…moustached　secretary　on　the　shoulder。　That　gentleman　was　leaning　against　the　wall　regarding　the　whole　scene　with　a　great　deal　of　gloom；　but；　I　fancied；　with　very　particular　gloom　when　his　eyes　fell　on　the　young　lady　of　the　house　rapturously　listening　to　Wimpole。

〃May　I　have　a　word　with　you　outside；　Drummond？〃　asked　Grant。　〃It　is　about　business。　Lady　Beaumont　will　excuse　us。〃

I　followed　my　friend；　at　his　own　request；　greatly　wondering；　to　this　strange　external　interview。　We　passed　abruptly　into　a　kind　of　side　room　out　of　the　hall。

〃Drummond；〃　said　Basil　sharply；　〃there　are　a　great　many　good　people；　and　a　great　many　sane　people　here　this　afternoon。　Unfortunately；　by　a　kind　of　coincidence；　all　the　good　people　are　mad；　and　all　the　sane　people　are　wicked。　You　are　the　only　person　I　know　of　here　who　is　honest　and　has　also　some　common　sense。　What　do　you　make　of　Wimpole？〃

Mr　Secretary　Drummond　had　a　pale　face　and　red　hair；　but　at　this　his　face　became　suddenly　as　red　as　his　moustache。

〃I　am　not　a　fair　judge　of　him；〃　he　said。

〃Why　not？〃　asked　Grant。

〃Because　I　hate　him　like　hell；〃　said　the　other；　after　a　long　pause　and　violently。

Neither　Grant　nor　I　needed　to　ask　the　reason；　his　glances　towards　Miss　Beaumont　and　the　stranger　were　sufficiently　illuminating。　Grant　said　quietly：

〃But　beforebefore　you　came　to　hate　him；　what　did　you　really　think　of　him？〃

〃I　am　in　a　terrible　difficulty；〃　said　the　young　man；　and　his　voice　told　us；　like　a　clear　bell；　that　he　was　an　honest　man。　〃If　I　spoke　about　him　as　I　feel　about　him　now；　I　could　not　trust　myself。　And　I　should　like　to　be　able　to　say　that　when　I　first　saw　him　I　thought　he　was　charming。　But　again；　the　fact　is　I　didn't。　I　hate　him；　that　is　my　private　affair。　But　I　also　disapprove　of　himreally　I　do　believe　I　disapprove　of　him　quite　apart　from　my　private　feelings。　When　first　he　came；　I　admit　he　was　much　quieter；　but　I　did　not　like；　so　to　speak；　the　moral　swell　of　him。　Then　that　jolly　old　Sir　Walter　Cholmondeliegh　got　introduced　to　us；　and　this　fellow；　with　his　cheap…jack　wit；　began　to　score　off　the　old　man　in　the　way　he　does　now。　Then　I　felt　that　he　must　be　a　bad　lot；　it　must　be　bad　to　fight　the　old　and　the　kindly。　And　he　fights　the　poor　old　chap　savagely；　unceasingly；　as　if　he　hated　old　age　and　kindliness。　Take；　if　you　want　it；　the　evidence　of　a　prejudiced　witness。　I　admit　that　I　hate　the　man　because　a　certain　person　admires　him。　But　I　believe　that　apart　from　that　I　should　hate　the　man　because　old　Sir　Walter　hates　him。〃

This　speech　affected　me　with　a　genuine　sense　of　esteem　and　pity　for　the　young　man；　that　is；　of　pity　for　him　because　of　his　obviously　hopeless　worship　of　Miss　Beaumont；　and　of　esteem　for　him　because　of　the　direct　realistic　account　of　the　history　of　Wimpole　which　he　had　given。　Still；　I　was　sorry　that　he　seemed　so　steadily　set　against　the　man；　and　could　not　help　referring　it　to　an　instinct　of　his　personal　relations；　however　nobly　disguised　from　himself。

In　the　middle　of　these　meditations；　Grant　whispered　in　my　ear　what　was　perhaps　the　most　startling　of　all　interruptions。

〃In　the　name　of　God；　let's　get　away。〃

I　have　never　known　exactly　in　how　odd　a　way　this　odd　old　man　affected　me。　I　only　know　that　for　some　reason　or　other　he　so　affected　me　that　I　was；　within　a　few　minutes；　in　the　street　outside。

〃This；〃　he　said；　〃is　a　beastly　but　amusing　affair。〃

〃What　is？〃　I　asked；　baldly　enough。

〃This　affair。　Listen　to　me；　my　old　friend。　Lord　and　Lady　Beaumont　have　just　invited　you　and　me　to　a　grand　dinner…party　this　very　night；　at　which　Mr　Wimpole　will　be　in　all　his　glory。　Well；　there　is　nothing　very　ext