Jack Harkaway and his Sons Escape from the Brigands of Greece | Page 2

black."
"Dick, Dick!"
"However, there is no help for it; you will have to go to this ball."
"Never."
"You will, though. The contessa has heard of your fame in the ball
room--"
"What!"
"In bygone years, no doubt--and she does not know of the little matters
which have happened since to spoil your activity, if not your grace."
As he alluded to the "little matters," he glanced at Mr. Mole's wooden
legs.
Mr. Mole thought it over, and then he read through the letter again.
"You are right, Harvey," he said with an air of determination; "and my
mind's made up."

"Is it?"
"Yes."
"So much the better, for your absence would be sadly missed at the
ball."
"You misunderstand me, Harvey; I shall not go."
Dick looked frightened.
"Don't say that, Mr. Mole, I beg, don't; it would be dangerous."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean that this lady is English by birth, but she has lived in the land
of the Borgias, where they yet know how to use poison."
"Harvey!"
"And if her love were slighted, she might recollect it."
Mr. Mole looked precious uncomfortable.
"It is really very embarrassing, Harvey," said he; "my personal
attractions are likely to get me into trouble."
And yet, in spite of his embarrassment, Mr. Mole was not altogether
displeased at the fancy.
He strutted up and down, showing the fall in his back to the best
advantage, and was very evidently conscious that he was rather a fine
man.
"Yes, sir," said Harvey, with great gravity; "your fatal beauty is likely
to lead you into a mess."
At the words "fatal beauty," Mr. Mole made a grimace.

It was rather a strong dose for even him to swallow.
"Draw it mild, Harvey," said he, "pray draw it mild."
Dick shook his head with great seriousness.
"Don't you be deceived, Mr. Mole," said he; "use the greatest care, for
this poor countess is to be pitied. Her love is likely to turn to violent
hate if she finds herself slighted--the poignard or the poisoned chalice
may yet be called to play a part in your career."
Mr. Mole turned pale.
Yet he tried to laugh.
A hollow ghastly laugh it was too, that told how he felt more plainly
than words could have done.
"Don't, Harvey; don't, I beg!" he said in faltering tones; "it sounds like
some dreadful thing one sees upon the stage."
"In all these southern countries you know, Mr. Mole, a man's life is not
worth much."
"Harvey!"
"A hired assassin or bravo will cut a throat or stab a man in the back for
a few francs."
"Oh!"
"I should advise you not to keep out after dark--and avoid dark corners.
These people can poison you, too, with a bouquet or a jewel. Accept a
flower or a nosegay, but don't smell it."
"Harvey."
"Sir?"

"Is it your wish to make me uncomfortable?"
"How can you think it?"
"Do you wish me to dream all night, and disturb Mrs. Mole, and not to
get a wink of sleep?"
"Certainly not; that's why I am giving you advice; but pray understand
the contessa thinks you are a single man."
"Good gracious me; it is very unpleasant to have a contessa in love
with one."
"I don't know that; most men wouldn't say so. There are, I'll be bound,
forty men within a mile of this house who would give their ears to have
received such a letter."
Mr. Mole smiled--a self-satisfied, complacent smile,
"Do you think so?"
"I know it."
Mole lifted his collar and shot his cuffs over his hands, as he stomped
across the room, and looked into a glass.
"Well, well, Harvey, I suppose I must go to the ball; but you will bear
me witness that I only go for reasons of prudence, and that I am not
going to be led away by any little silly reasons of vanity?"
"Of course," returned Dick, gravely.
"Besides, I go disguised."
"Certainly"
"And what disguise would you recommend?"
"Why that is a matter for reflection," said Dick. "I should think that you

ought almost to keep up the character."
"The character!" said Mole. "What character?"
"A Terpsichorean personage," replied Dick, with the air of one
discussing a grave problem. "Say, for instance, a ballet girl."
Mr. Mole gasped.
"No, no; not a ballet girl."
"A fairy queen, then."
"Don't, Dick; don't, I beg."
"Or, if you object to the costume of the gentler sex, what do you say to
the spangles and wand of a harlequin?"
"Do you really think that such a costume would become me?"
"Do I think?" iterated Dick. "Do I _know!_ Of course it would become
you. You will look the part to the life: it wants a figure to show off