CHAPTER XLVI.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1636, 30 December 1882, Page 5

CHAPTER XLVI.

As usual the Count's sagacity KadTno,t>, im'sled him, for, in the well-written J but', illworded letter which another few days brought me from Harrison, there was not a word about giving up the book for a consideration ; nor, indeed, about giving it up at all. Par otherwise", the writer declared in terms of , the vilest abuse his intention of depriving me of what, as he expressed it, would clear up a certain adjective crooked business which was jnizzling my participle head. < Verb me 1 — did I think he'd forgotten the adjective choking I'd given him? No, he!; hadn't, be eduld tell me ; so I might whistle 'for the adjective noun ol a book, and remeinb'er.in addition, that any further adjective,slanf he could get of seiving me out, I might jb'e, adjective well sure he'd take it ! ' \' 'I "Very likely he has burnt the book," I said to the Count, when if l-; had' read to him this delectable epistle. ' "He would* scarcely do ttiat," was the reply. "He may at some future time have an urgent need for money, as his animosity may have cooled down sufficiently to give greater prominence to those pecuniary considerations which it is at present strong enough to keep in the back ground. One would think you had murdered his father, at the very least, instead of only giving himself a small portion of what he deserved." That same afternoon Mr. Sharpe Shuter was announced, and, leaving the Count to follow, I made my way to the drawing-room, where I found the gentleman in question in a state of effervescent high spirits. " Wish me joy, and all that sorfc of thing," he said, shaking me eagerly /by the hand. " Know what for, dpnjt you ?"' " I think I can giiess^'M answered. " Course you can. All right about Euth. Stone consented directly I.told him I was about severing my connection, as Fysshe would say, with journalism. Some trouble afterwards, though, to get him to accept the money he required. Consented at last to> take it as a loan. Fine old man — but obstinate on some points." " Is the amount large, may I ask ?" " Six thousand odd. Tidy sum, too ; but old Muckle swears it >would have made no difference if it had been three times the amount. Made his will in my favour ; so you must look upon me now, a? a man of capital, prospective capital, at anyrate. Count Giustiniani aflipme ?" ,-, " Yes ; he'ti^be'here directly." And even as I spoke"" the Count made his appearance ; whereupon the slight acquaintance Avhich had existed between him and Shuter was speedily renewed, though the latter was at first somewhat disconcerted by a half-audible but unwholly unconscious remark, which fell from the Count, about the shape of his visitor's cranium. "Noble-looking man, the Count," said Shuter to me, when, in compliance with his invitation, I had set out for Melbourne with him, " Looks like Robert the Devil, Charles the First, and Don Quisote, all rolled into one, with a touch of Sparafucile superadded." " Sparaf ucile ? The bravo in Eigoletto You are.iiot very flattering there." "Oh I 1I 1 only meant as regards the 'robustioness' of his frame and voice. What did he mean by that' remark about a ' typical Caucasian skull'?,^ Hope it was complimentry." " Oh, yes 1 That's an absent-minded habit of his. He is an enthusiastic ethnologist, and becomes occasionally so absorbed in observation as to be betrayed into uttering his thoughts aloud ; otherwise he is the most courteous of men. But you have not told me yet what you wanted me to come to town with you for." " Tell you now. Something of a yachtsman, are you not ?" "Yes. I have had some experience in that way.'",, ' * " Well,' you know old Mucklc's been a sailor in his time, amongst other things, and he's going for a trip round the coast a bit. Know where Western Port is ?" " I've heard the namq," I answered, " but I have noolear idea where the place is." "Not been long enough in Victoria, I suppose. Large harbour, about thirty miles south-east from here. Overland, that is— more.than twice that distance by water. Well, amongst the property which has fallen to* Muckle, there's a place down there. Small house by the shore, merely, with couple of ac'fesof ground, but Muckle has bought a little craft of about fifteen tons, and he's going to cruise round there in her. Want's you to. come. Say you will. Trip do you no end of good." else is to be of the party ?" " Only Fysshe. He's got a fortnight's holiday. Don't let that frighten you. Chuck lym overboard if he bores us too much 1" '" Oli, I wasn't hesitating on that account," I answered, laughing, " but I am very anxious to hear from Walter. He's at Yaramboona, you know, about that matter of which I gave you a hint." ' '/» Ah, yes ! I know. Strange affair. But you can have your letters forwarded. Qoach between Melbourne and Grantville — close to where we're going. Get back to town that way, if you wish, in .eight or nine hours. JMuckle's stopping at the old Black Stag: come and see him and then we can settle it" ' Arrived at the well-known hostelry which Mr. Mucklebody honoured with ' his patronage for the present, we found him standing jinder the verandah and surveying through 'the fumes of a strong, black cigar, the .kaleidoscopic bustle of Bourke street. His appearance was less fantastic than usual, for, in view, it was to be supposed, of his approaching cruise, he had arrayed himself in semi-nautical fashion, and /the trough serge suit in which he now appeared, was muoh^ more in harmony with his strong, awkward" figure than the 5 more 'elaborate attire to .which he had of late,,been given,., , ' >■ , „-' "A was justj.won'nerinV'he said, with a wave" of ,his, cigar in the' direction -of < the* Hous^ of, Parliament, u what t for .they've,, feenifehed the back, o' that place first;/ They say at hame that .things is a tapsy-turvy^ini ■ this country,' an' de'il's-in me. but'it), looks, like it; tae gang, an', trim aff the back). pairt; -that scarce onybody sees, an' leave [sicean a, grewsome-lookin^icht as /that tae front, the, preenoipal- street^d' ; the > ceety !' Wjel, -Mr. 1 , Raymond, /didytUthink ye'Uf come ;wi;t.us,? »A ; 'd tak'itad a faYquriif ,y6!did?:"a,'ith'e^ia'ir,; too, that^hairpeiihere, saysyeJceqacapstari,bar.fr,ae,a; spare Jtaprinasfc'-L l^*^' '<■ £!*s's*{■ < „' 'i^VSiendo you start?'/ jMskedis. \ntVs&.', ■ , f Taught s oi;Monday 4 neit;";saidt r Sh!iiter.i so, weUkeoasider^the^matter&as^sefef

kilatiug him upon bin relief from his enibarrassinents, and partly to inquire if he had heard anything of Harrison. I found the old man in his office, placid and plain as ever, but with a look in his face which told of the indelible impression made apon him. by the recent crisis in his &B&irs. " I am glad to see thee friend Raymond," he said; "and so would Euth have been, hadst thou come somewhat sooner ; she was with me but five minutes ago. She intendeth to call to-morrow upon friend Giustiniani and his daughter ; I trust they are well in health." " Both quite well, and both very desirous of having Euth at Cintra again. May I ask ! if you have heard anything of Eeuben Harrison?" '^Nay, nothing whatever. Ido now incline to thine opinion that it was he who stole the deeds. Thou hast heard how I have been enabled to meet the engagements I spoke to thee of." '• Yes ; and I have further heard of another engagement — between Mr. Snuter and your daughter." " Yea ; I meant to have told thee of it myself. Shuter goeth shortly on a voyage of pleasure with that strange Scottish man who hath adopted him as his heir. Art thou also to be of the party ?" " Yes ; I have agreed to go. I am a- bit of a sailor, you know." " I did not know it, friend," returned the Quaker, with implied condemnation of the superfluous phrase. " Truly it is a wonderful and useful calling — the mariner's — but one which would not have suited Silas Stone. The voyage out to these colonies was my first and only one, and had like to have been also my last ; I was sick almost to death." "I daresay; but if Fate had made you a sailor, you would have got over your sea-sick-ness in tirae." s "It is God who maketh us this thing or that," replied the literal "Quaker — "not Pate, as thou somewhat heathenishlyputtest it." " Well, I will not detain you longer," I said — " but, before I go, let me #ay that'l am glad Shuter has chosen so well, and that I do not think your daughter has chosen badly, either." "She hath not. I have long liked the young man Shuter, and I shall like him all the more now that he hath given up his doubtful and unsatisfactory calling." With a smile &t the Quaker's mistaken, but inveterate prejudice against the literary profession, I took my leave of him, and made my way back toßourke-street, where I entered a tobacconist's, to order some cigars. There were half-a-dozen customers in the shop, and, as I stood waiting my turn, my attention was attracted by a few words which passed between one of the shopmen and a tall, Jewishlooking man, whom I thought I had certainly seen before. " How do you get on down at the Tarwin, Ben ?" asked the former. " First-rate," was the answer. " It's an awful dreary hole, but the boss only comes over now and again, so I can do pretty much as I like ; and, as the screw a'int so dusty, I can manage to put up with it for a spell. I'm goin' back to-morrow." "What has bocome of that young chap that used to come here with you ? Harrison, his name was, I think. I haven't seen him for some time." "Left town," hurriedly replied the- other, whom I now recognised as the man who had fared so ill in his attempt to interfere between Eeuben Harrison and the Quaker. "At least, that's what I'ye been told ; I don't know anything about him myself." But the speaker had been evidently a good deal disconcerted by the inquiry, and I^came to the conclusion, as I watched him, that, notwithstanding his disclaimer, he did know 1 something of Harrisons whereabouts. "Perhaps he has had a finger in the pie himself," I thought, as the fellow swaggered out ; "if so, of course it would be folly to question him. He looks ruffian enough for anything."