The Man and the Moment | Page 2

remarked upon it
presently. Alexander Armstrong was the old retainer, who now enjoyed
the position of guide to the Castle upon the two days a week when
tourists were allowed to walk through the state rooms, and look at the
splendid carvings and armor and pictures, and the collection of plate.
Johnson had had time to glance over his master's correspondence that
morning, which, with characteristic recklessness, that gentleman had
left upon his bed while he went to his bath, so his servant knew the

cause of his bad temper, and had been prudent and kept a good deal out
of the way. But the news was so interesting, he felt Alexander
Armstrong really ought to share the thrill.
"Mrs. Hatfield's husband is dying," he announced, as Armstrong, very
diffidently, peeped through the window from the balcony, and then,
seeing no one but his friend the valet, entered the room.
Alexander Armstrong spoke in broad Scotch, but I shall not attempt to
transcribe this barbaric language; sufficient to tell you that he made the
excuse for his intrusion by saying that he had wanted to get some order
from the master about the tourists.
"We shan't have any tourists when she's installed here as mistress!" Mr.
Johnson remarked sepulchrally.
Armstrong was heard to murmur that he did not know what Mr.
Johnson meant! This was too stupid!
"Why, I told you straight off Mrs. Hatfield's husband is dying,"
Johnson exclaimed, contemptuously. "She wrote one of her mauve billy
doos this morning, telling the master so, and suggesting they'd soon be
able to be married and happy--pretty cold-blooded, I call it, considering
the poor man is not yet in his grave!"
Armstrong was almost knocked over by this statement; then he
laughed--and what he said meant in plain English that Mr. Johnson
need not worry himself, for no Arranstoun had ever been known to be
coerced into any course of conduct which he did not desire himself--not
being hampered by consideration for women, or by any consideration
but his own will. For the matter of that, a headstrong, ruthless race all
of them and, as Mr. Johnson must be very well aware, their own
particular master was a true chip of the old block.
"See his bonny blue eye--" (I think he pronounced it "ee"), "see his
mouth shut like a game spring. See his strong arms and his height! See
him smash the boughs off trees when they get in his way! and then tell
me a woman's going to get dominion over him. Go along, Mr.

Johnson!"
But Johnson remained unconvinced and troubled; he had had several
unpleasant proofs of woman's infernal cunning in his own sphere of life,
and Mrs. Hatfield, he knew, was as well endowed with Eve's wit as any
French maid.
"We'll ha' a bet about it if you like," Armstrong remarked, as he got up
to go, the clock striking three. He knew the first batch of afternoon
tourists would be clamoring at the gate.
Mr. Johnson looked at the riding-boots in his hand.
"He went straight off for his ride without tasting a bite of breakfast or
seeing Mr. Fordyce, and he didn't return to lunch, and just now I find
every article of clothing strewn upon the floor--when he came in and
took another bath--he did not even ring for me--he must have galloped
all the time; his temper would frighten a fighting cock."
Meanwhile, Michael Arranstoun was tramping his park with giant
strides, and suddenly came upon his friend and guest, Henry Fordyce,
whose very presence in his house he had forgotten, so turbulent had his
thoughts been ever since the early post came in. Henry Fordyce was a
leisurely creature, and had come out for a stroll on the exquisite June
day upon his own account.
They exchanged a few remarks, and gradually got back to Michael's
sitting-room again, and rang for drinks.
Mr. Fordyce had, by this time, become quite aware that an active
volcano was going on in his friend, but had waited for the first
indication of the cause. It came in the course of a conversation, after the
footman had left the room and both men were reclining in big chairs
with their iced whiskey and soda.
"It is a shame to stay indoors on such a day," Henry said lazily, looking
out upon the balcony and the glittering sunshine.

"I never saw anyone enjoy a holiday like you do, Henry," Michael
retorted, petulantly. "I can't enjoy anything lately. 'Pon my soul, it is
worth going into Parliament to get such an amount of pleasure out of a
week's freedom."
But Henry did not agree that it was freedom, when even here at
Arranstoun he had been pestered to patronize the local bazaar.
"The penalty of greatness! I wonder