Dick Nugent's Wager [pp. 80-88]

DICK N1UGENT'S WAGER.
Bulliondust on the homeward journey-Bentick,
who would have ridden upon the cow-catcher during
the morning; Nugent, who would have sacrificed
every woman in England to his post-prandial cigar!
The gallant captain artfully commenced a Crimean
story with the intention of breaking off at the most
critical moment, so as to enlist her sympathies, and
involuntarily compel her to beckon him to her side.
Bentick, inwardly cursing his companion's volubility,
after several ineffectual efforts to arouse her interest
in a "doosid fine cricket-match, begad! thirty overs
and no score, by George!" fell moodily into the rear
and trusted to luck.
"Gentlemen, we shall meet at Jersey City," said
Mr. Bulliondust, tucking his daughter beneath his
arm, and thereby razing a castle in Spain and level ing a house of cards.
"What a stunning fine girl!"
" WVhat a fascinating little creature!
These were the last waking thoughts of the dra goon and rifleman respectively as they floated into
slumber, and Morpheus closed upon them at the
Windsor Hotel.
The following morning found them bright as
Broadway in Indian summer, and one vast expan sive appetite.
"I was thinking of sending Miss Bulliondust a
bouquet," observed Dick Nugent, in a careless tone,
as if the idea had only just come to the surface to
breathe, although it had occupied his thoughts since
his eyes had encountered the morning light bobbing
about the corners of his bedchamber.
"Begad, and so was I!" sputtered Bentick,
wrestling with a hot roll.
"We can't both do it." The captain was de sirous of having this delicate attention placed to his
credit in the Bulliondust ledgers.
"Why not, Dick? Two are better than one,
begad."
Seeing that his friend clung to the idea with the
tenacity of an octopus, Dick Nugent settled the
question by suggesting that each should select a
bouquet at a different shop, and cause it to be forwarded anonymously. His taste was superlativemaiden - hair ferns kissing the velvet cheeks of
dreamy-looking orchids; while poor Bentick would
take a turnip for a camellia, or a radish-bulb for a
rose-bud!
At four o'clock they ascended the massive steps
of the banker's residence on the Fifth Avenue.
The carriage was at the door.
"Late for parade," exclaimed Julie, emerging
from a blue-satin boudoir. "Papa said three o'clock
for a drive in the Central Park."
"Doose take me, so he did!" gasped Bentick;
' it skated from my memory, begad."
"This is mamma!"
An elderly lady with coquettish gray curls of her
own, and a soft, pleasant face, greeted them courteously and cheerily.
"I trust you have made no dinner-engagement.
We expect you at seven o'clock."
This meant business, and safe business into the
bargain. Pot-luck is good luck. Never refuse such
an invitation! The viands are sure to be excellent,
and, if there is one bottle of wine better than another, it is produced in order to balance the account.
Close upon it, as if it were your best hat escaping
from your head on a vagabond puff of wind!
"Such exquisite bouquets!" cried Julie. "How
can I thank you for these cheering daughters of
Flora?" and she plunged her saucy little nose at
each of them in a way that caused the warriors not
only to envy the flowers, but the very bric-a-brac
bath in which they luxuriously reclined.
Dinners, drives, matinees, concerts, theatres,
balls, warmed up the tremulous hands of old Father
Time, who rattled his hour-glass as though it were a
dice-box, and wielded his scythe with the celerity of
a chef-d'orchestre. Day after day found Dick Nugent and his companion at the banker's hospitable
mansion. Latterly they had ceased to hunt in couples-the dragoon pleading business, a headache, letters, or a book; and the rifleman resorting to similar flimsy artifices, each for the purpose of playing
his own hand. Poor Julie was innocently constructing a Great Wall of China between them, opening a
gulf that no suspension-bridge could span. They
had become more reserved toward one another,
and, although she was ever in their thoughts, by a
sort of tacit consent they never directly referred to
her, and, while the theme was ever on their tongues,
contrived dexterously to keep clear of that dangerous shore, whose headlands were illuminated by the
bright, flashing eyes of the banker's daughter. They
had both been badly hit. The rosy archer had selected his arrows, and the two most formidable looking in the whole quiver had been launched against
the defenseless bosoms of the unsuspecting friends.
But time, that waits for no man, was spinning along,
and the tide that was to bear them back to Europe
was not very far from its flow. It was the 2Ist day
of November.
'I was thinking of telegraphing for an extension
of leave-I should like to see the Falls, and something of the country, before I return," yawned Dick
Nugent. "We won't fight; there is too much plateglass to be broken by going to war."
"Begad, I was thinking of doing the same
thing!" exclaimed Bentick.
' You!" cried Nugent.
"Ya-as."
"You'll never get it. Your colonel won't give
you an extra minute, and, in the event of a brush,
the Rifles will be dispatched to Constantinople at an
hour's notice."
"I was thinking of dropping out of the ranks;
though, hang it, not if we're going to fight, begad!"
said Bentick, gloomily.
"I haven't a moment to lose," mused Dick Nugent. "Julie" (he thought of her now as Julie)" has
given me every encouragement. Nothing definite,
of course-rno girl in her position asks a man to
marry her-but a few little exquisite nothings have
whispered hope. Shall I risk it to-day? Why
should it be a risk? It's like going up for a club:
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