"Sir," said I, "may I remind you that I have work to do?"
"A deuced interesting place though, this," he smiled, staring
round imperturbably through his glass; "so--er--so devilish grimy
and smutty and gritty--quite a number of horseshoes, too. D'ye
know, cousin, I never before remarked what a number of holes
there are in a horseshoe--but live and learn!" Here he paused to
inhale a pinch of snuff, very daintily, from a jewelled box. "It
is a strange thing," he pursued, as he dusted his fingers on his
handkerchief, "a very strange thing that, being cousins, we have
never met till now--especially as I have heard so very much about
you."
"Pray," said I, "pray how should you hear about one so very
insignificant as myself?"
"Oh, I have heard of good Cousin Peter since I was an imp of a
boy!" he smiled. "Cousin Peter was my chart whereby to steer
through the shoals of boyish mischief into the haven of our Uncle
George's good graces. Oh, I have heard over much of you, cousin,
from dear, kind, well-meaning relatives and friends--damn 'em!
They rang your praises in my ears, morning, noon, and night. And
why?--simply that I might come to surpass you in virtue,
learning, wit, and appearance, and so win our Uncle George's
regard, and, incidentally, his legacy. But I was a young demon,
romping with the grooms in the stable, while you were a young
angel in nankeens, passing studious hours with your books. When
I was a scapegrace at Harrow, you were winning golden opinions at
Eton; when you were an 'honors' man at Oxford, I was 'rusticated'
at Cambridge. Naturally enough, perhaps, I grew sick of the name
of Peter (and, indeed, it smacks damnably of fish, don't you
think?)--you, or your name, crossed me at every turn. If it
wasn't for Cousin Peter, I was heir to ten thousand a year; but
good Cousin Peter was so fond of Uncle George, and Uncle George
was so fond of good Cousin Peter, that Maurice might go hang for
a graceless dog and be damned to him!"
"You have my deepest sympathy and apologies!" said I.
"Still, I have sometimes been curious to meet worthy Cousin
Peter, and it is rather surprising that I have never done so."
"On the contrary--" I began, but his laugh stopped me.
"Ah, to be sure!" he nodded, "our ways have lain widely separate
hitherto--you, a scholar, treading the difficult path of
learning; I--oh, egad! a terrible fellow! a mauvais sujet! a sad,
sad dog! But after all, cousin, when one comes to look at you
to-day, you might stand for a terrible example of Virtue run
riot--a distressing spectacle of dutiful respect and good
precedent cut off with a shilling. Really, it is horrifying to
observe to what depths Virtue may plunge an otherwise well-balanced
individual. Little dreamed those dear, kind, well-meaning
relatives and friends--damn 'em! that while the wilful Maurice
lived on, continually getting into hot water and out again, up
to his eyes in debt, and pretty well esteemed, the virtuous
pattern Peter would descend to a hammer and saw--I should say,
chisel--in a very grimy place where he is, it seems, the
presiding genius. Indeed, this first meeting of ours, under
these circumstances, is somewhat dramatic, as it should be."