第47章 A GAMBLER'S DEATH(3)

Young Mr.Flapper had a small pair of pocket-pistols, which the tipsy barrister had suddenly remembered, and with which he proposed to sacrifice the West Indian.Gortz was nothing loth, but was quite as valorous as the lawyer.

Attwood, who, in spite of his potations, seemed the soberest man of the party, had much enjoyed the scene, until this sudden demand for the weapons."Pshaw!" said he, eagerly, "don't give these men the means of murdering each other; sit down and let us have another song." But they would not be still; and Flapper forthwith produced his pistol-case, and opened it, in order that the duel might take place on the spot.There were no pistols there! "I beg your pardon," said Attwood, looking much confused; "I--I took the pistols home with me to clean them!"I don't know what there was in his tone, or in the words, but we were sobered all of a sudden.Attwood was conscious of the singular effect produced by him, for he blushed, and endeavored to speak of other things, but we could not bring our spirits back to the mark again, and soon separated for the night.As we issued into the street Jack took me aside, and whispered, "Have you a napoleon, Titmarsh, in your purse?' Alas! I was not so rich.My reply was, that I was coming to Jack, only in the morning, to borrow a similar sum.

He did not make any reply, but turned away homeward: I never heard him speak another word.

Two mornings after (for none of our party met on the day succeeding the supper), I was awakened by my porter, who brought a pressing letter from Mr.Gortz:--"DEAR T.,--I wish you would come over here to breakfast.There's a row about Attwood.--Yours truly,"SOLOMON GORTZ."I immediately set forward to Gortz's; he lived in the Rue du Helder, a few doors from Attwood's new lodging.If the reader is curious to know the house in which the catastrophe of this history took place, he has but to march some twenty doors down from the Boulevard des Italiens, when he will see a fine door, with a naked Cupid shooting at him from the hall, and a Venus beckoning him up the stairs.On arriving at the West Indian's, at about mid-day (it was a Sunday morning), I found that gentleman in his dressing-gown, discussing, in the company of Mr Fips, a large plate of bifteck aux pommes.

"Here's a pretty row!" said Gortz, quoting from his letter;--"Attwood's off--have a bit of beefsteak?""What do you mean?" exclaimed I, adopting the familiar phraseology of my acquaintances:--"Attwood off?--has he cut his stick?""Not bad," said the feeling and elegant Fips--"not such a bad guess, my boy; but he has not exactly CUT HIS STICK.""What then?"

"WHY, HIS THROAT." The man's mouth was full of bleeding beef as he uttered this gentlemanly witticism.

I wish I could say that I was myself in the least affected by the news.I did not joke about it like my friend Fips; this was more for propriety's sake than for feeling's: but for my old school acquaintance, the friend of my early days, the merry associate of the last few months, I own, with shame, that I had not a tear or a pang.In some German tale there is an account of a creature most beautiful and bewitching, whom all men admire and follow; but this charming and fantastic spirit only leads them, one by one, into ruin, and then leaves them.The novelist, who describes her beauty, says that his heroine is a fairy, and HAS NO HEART.Ithink the intimacy which is begotten over the wine-bottle, is a spirit of this nature; I never knew a good feeling come from it, or an honest friendship made by it; it only entices men and ruins them; it is only a phantom of friendship and feeling, called up by the delirious blood, and the wicked spells of the wine.

But to drop this strain of moralizing (in which the writer is not too anxious to proceed, for he cuts in it a most pitiful figure), we passed sundry criticisms upon poor Attwood's character, expressed our horror at his death--which sentiment was fully proved by Mr.Fips, who declared that the notion of it made him feel quite faint, and was obliged to drink a large glass of brandy; and, finally, we agreed that we would go and see the poor fellow's corpse, and witness, if necessary, his burial.