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

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 such a dress and to be shown off by it."
"But what about my--my wooden legs, Dick?"
"Oh, I'll provide you with cork ones, and here they are," said Harvey, producing a pair.
And so it was settled.
Mr. Mole was to go to the ball, and his disguise was to be well-known spangles and colours of a harlequin.
Harvey himself chose a clown's costume and carried over his shoulder Mole's wooden legs, in case any thing happened to the cork ones he was walking on for the first time.
Harkaway was to go as a knight of old.
Magog Brand selected the character of Quasimodo, the hunchback of N?tre Dame.
Jefferson selected the character of Julius Caesar, a costume which his fine, stalwart form set off to considerable