A Prince of Sinners | Page 6

a decided weakness for patronizing younger
and less successful men, and he went everywhere with Kingston
Brooks' name on his lips. Then came the election, and the sudden
illness of Mr. Morrison, who had always acted as agent for the Radical
candidates for the borough. Another agent had to be found. Several
who would have been suitable were unavailable. An urgent committee
meeting was held, and Mr. Bullsom at once called attention to an
excellent little speech of Kingston Brooks' at a ward meeting on the
previous night. In an hour he was closeted with the young lawyer, and
the affair was settled. Brooks knew that henceforth the material side of
his career would be comparatively easy sailing.
He had accepted his good fortune with something of the same cheerful
philosophy with which he had seen difficulty loom up in his path a few
months ago. But to-night, on his way home from Mr. Bullsom's
suburban residence, a different mood possessed him. Usually a
self-contained and somewhat gravely minded person, to-night the blood
went tingling through his veins with a new and unaccustomed warmth.
He carried himself blithely, the cool night air was so grateful and sweet
to him that he had no mind even to smoke. There seemed to be no

tangible reason for the change. The political excitement, which a few
weeks ago he had begun to feel exhilarating, had for him decreased
now that his share in it lay behind the scenes, and he found himself
wholly occupied with the purely routine work of the election. Nor was
there any sufficient explanation to be found in the entertainment which
he had felt himself bound to accept at Mr. Bullsom's hands. Of the wine,
which had been only tolerable, he had drunk, as was his custom,
sparingly, and of Mary Scott, who had certainly interested him in a
manner which the rest of the family had not, he had after all seen but
very little. He found himself thinking with fervor of the desirable things
in life, never had the various tasks which he had set himself seemed so
easy an accomplishment, his own powers more real and alive. And
beneath it all he was conscious of a vague sense of excitement, a
nervous dancing of the blood, as though even now the time were at
hand when he might find himself in touch with some of the greater
forces of life, all of which he intended some day to realize. It was
delightful after all to be young and strong, to be stripped for the race in
the morning of life, when every indrawn breath seems sweet with the
perfume of beautiful things, and the heart is tuned to music.
The fatigue of the day was wholly forgotten. He was surprised indeed
when he found himself in the little street where his rooms were. A
small brougham was standing at the corner, the liveries and horse of
which, though quiet enough, caused him a moment's surprise as being
superior to the ordinary equipages of the neighborhood. He passed on
to the sober-fronted house where he lived, and entering with his
latch-key made his way to his study. Immediately he entered he was
conscious of a man comfortably seated in his easy-chair, and apparently
engrossed in a magazine.
He advanced towards him inquiringly, and his visitor, carefully setting
down the magazine, rose slowly to his feet. The young man's surprise at
finding his rooms occupied was increased by the appearance of his
visitor. He was apparently of more than middle age, with deeply-lined
face, tall, and with an expression the coldness of which was only
slightly mitigated by a sensitive mouth that seemed at once cynical and
humorous. He was of more than ordinary height, and dressed in the

plainest dinner garb of the day, but his dinner jacket, his black tie and
the set of his shirt were revelations to Brooks, who dealt only with the
Medchester tradespeople. He did not hold out his hand, but he eyed
Brooks with a sort of critical survey, which the latter found a little
disconcerting.
"You wished to see me, sir?" Brooks asked. "My name is Kingston
Brooks, and these are my rooms."
"So I understood," the new-comer replied imperturbably. "I called
about an hour ago, and took the liberty of awaiting your return."
Brooks sat down. His vis-a-vis was calmly selecting a cigarette from a
capacious case. Brooks found himself offering a light and accepting a
cigarette himself, the flavour of which he at once appreciated.
"Can I offer you a whisky-and-soda?" he inquired.
"I thank you, no," was the quiet reply.
There was a short pause.
"You wished to see me on some business connected with the election,
no doubt?" Brooks suggested.
His visitor shook his head slowly. He knocked