I had a very particular engagement to breakfast in the Temple.It was a bitter north-easterly morning,and the sleet and slush lay inches deep in the streets.I could get no conveyance,and was soon wet to the knees;but I should have been true to that appointment,though I had to wade to it up to my neck in the same impediments.
The appointment took me to some chambers in the Temple.They were at the top of a lonely corner house overlooking the river.The name,MR.ALFRED BECKWITH,was painted on the outer door.On the door opposite,on the same landing,the name MR.JULIUS SLINKTON.
The doors of both sets of chambers stood open,so that anything said aloud in one set could be heard in the other.
I had never been in those chambers before.They were dismal,close,unwholesome,and oppressive;the furniture,originally good,and not yet old,was faded and dirty,-the rooms were in great disorder;there was a strong prevailing smell of opium,brandy,and tobacco;the grate and fire-irons were splashed all over with unsightly blotches of rust;and on a sofa by the fire,in the room where breakfast had been prepared,lay the host,Mr.Beckwith,a man with all the appearances of the worst kind of drunkard,very far advanced upon his shameful way to death.
Slinkton is not come yet,said this creature,staggering up when I went in;I ll call him.-Halloa!Julius Caesar!Come and drink!As he hoarsely roared this out,he beat the poker and tongs together in a mad way,as if that were his usual manner of summoning his associate.
The voice of Mr.Slinkton was heard through the clatter from the opposite side of the staircase,and he came in.He had not expected the pleasure of meeting me.I have seen several artful men brought to a stand,but I never saw a man so aghast as he was when his eyes rested on mine.
Julius Caesar,cried Beckwith,staggering between us,Mist.
Sampson!Mist'Sampson,Julius Caesar!Julius,Mist'Sampson,is the friend of my soul.Julius keeps me plied with liquor,morning,noon,and night.Julius is a real benefactor.Julius threw the tea and coffee out of window when I used to have any.Julius empties all the water-jugs of their contents,and fills 'em with spirits.
Julius winds me up and keeps me going.-Boil the brandy,Julius!'
There was a rusty and furred saucepan in the ashes,-the ashes looked like the accumulation of weeks,-and Beckwith,rolling and staggering between us as if he were going to plunge headlong into the fire,got the saucepan out,and tried to force it into Slinkton's hand.
Boil the brandy,Julius Caesar!Come!Do your usual office.
Boil the brandy!
He became so fierce in his gesticulations with the saucepan,that Iexpected to see him lay open Slinkton's head with it.I therefore put out my hand to check him.He reeled back to the sofa,and sat there panting,shaking,and red-eyed,in his rags of dressing-gown,looking at us both.I noticed then that there was nothing to drink on the table but brandy,and nothing to eat but salted herrings,and a hot,sickly,highly-peppered stew.
At all events,Mr.Sampson,said Slinkton,offering me the smooth gravel path for the last time,I thank you for interfering between me and this unfortunate man's violence.However you came here,Mr.
Sampson,or with whatever motive you came here,at least I thank you for that.
Boil the brandy,'muttered Beckwith.
Without gratifying his desire to know how I came there,I said,quietly,'How is your niece,Mr.Slinkton?'
He looked hard at me,and I looked hard at him.
I am sorry to say,Mr.Sampson,that my niece has proved treacherous and ungrateful to her best friend.She left me without a word of notice or explanation.She was misled,no doubt,by some designing rascal.Perhaps you may have heard of it.'
I did hear that she was misled by a designing rascal.In fact,Ihave proof of it.
Are you sure of that?'said he.
Quite.
Boil the brandy,muttered Beckwith.Company to breakfast,Julius Caesar.Do your usual office,-provide the usual breakfast,dinner,tea,and supper.Boil the brandy!
The eyes of Slinkton looked from him to me,and he said,after a moment's consideration,'Mr.Sampson,you are a man of the world,and so am I.I will be plain with you.
O no,you won't,said I,shaking my head.
I tell you,sir,I will be plain with you.
And I tell you you will not,said I.I know all about you.YOUplain with any one?Nonsense,nonsense!
I plainly tell you,Mr.Sampson,'he went on,with a manner almost composed,'that I understand your object.You want to save your funds,and escape from your liabilities;these are old tricks of trade with you Office-gentlemen.But you will not do it,sir;you will not succeed.You have not an easy adversary to play against,when you play against me.We shall have to inquire,in due time,when and how Mr.Beckwith fell into his present habits.With that remark,sir,I put this poor creature,and his incoherent wanderings of speech,aside,and wish you a good morning and a better case next time.
While he was saying this,Beckwith had filled a half-pint glass with brandy.At this moment,he threw the brandy at his face,and threw the glass after it.Slinkton put his hands up,half blinded with the spirit,and cut with the glass across the forehead.At the sound of the breakage,a fourth person came into the room,closed the door,and stood at it;he was a very quiet but very keen-looking man,with iron-gray hair,and slightly lame.
Slinkton pulled out his handkerchief,assuaged the pain in his smarting eyes,and dabbled the blood on his forehead.He was a long time about it,and I saw that in the doing of it,a tremendous change came over him,occasioned by the change in Beckwith,-who ceased to pant and tremble,sat upright,and never took his eyes off him.I never in my life saw a face in which abhorrence and determination were so forcibly painted as in Beckwith's then.