Mr. Burton

“ I was vexed to hear that we were to be delayed at Acapulco, and now this has proven our salvation.”
“God grant you are in the right, Mr. Burton.”
“God grant it. Do not fear that I shall fail, Richard. You have reason to be doubly cheerful. Don’t you trust me?”
“As much—more, than any person on earth.”
“Be true to your part, then; take good care of my child—meet me at the isthmus—that is your whole duty.”
“But, Mr. Burton, do you not place yourself in danger? Are you not incurring risks which you ought to share with others? ”

“ Burton, befuddled by the rapidity with which he was being passed from one hand to another, murmured a faint acquiescence. At the end of the act Farnam rose and shook hands with the Ledyards, talked to them a moment and presented Burton.
“You ought to be acquainted—similar tastes and all that,” he said easily. “This is Burton, the writer.”
“Mr. Burton is not more welcome for being famous,” said Ledyard pleasantly. “Alice and I finished 'Wreckage' just before we came to town—a book of power, undeniably. It's clear, Mr. Burton, that you know life!” ”

“ Burton felt his heart beat quickly as a little waft of familiar perfume swept out to him at the opening of the door. Mr. Waddington struck a match and held it over his head.
"So this is the room," he remarked. "Dashed if I've ever been in it!
It wants cleaning out and fumigating badly. What's this?"
He picked up the sheet of paper, which was lying exactly as Burton had left it. Then he lifted up the little dwarf tree and looked at it.
"It is finished. The nineteenth generation has triumphed. He who shall eat of the brown fruit of this tree, shall see the things of Life and Death as they are. ”

“ While Mr Burton was having his little discussion with the siphon, the man who had described himself as 'the Flyman' came into the room. He was rather over the average height, slightly built, with fair hair and moustache and very pale blue eyes. The eyes were his most peculiar feature. He was not bad looking, with an agreeable personality; at first sight, a likeable man, until you caught his eyes, then you wondered. ”

“ No one can imagine what treasures I may not discover. I shall even go on to a part of Africa—but I need not weary you with this. I simply wanted you to understand that the desire for wealth is not necessarily vulgar."
Burton yawned slightly. His eyes sought once more the velvety shadows which hung over the lawn. He wondered down which of those dim avenues she had passed.
"I am so sorry," he said apologetically. "You are a man of business, Mr. Bomford, and you, professor, see much further into life than I can, but I do not wish to have anything whatever to do with your scheme. ”

“ Burton.
“Yes,” pursued his wife, “she was a very indistinct talker, and her age was almost the only thing we could actually make out. She said she was five; and that was about what she looked.”
“Do you think, now,” continued “Cobbler” Horn, with another glance at his sister, “that you could give us anything like a description of the child?”
“My wife can do that very well,” said Mr. Burton. “She has often told Miss Owen what she looked like when we found her crying in the road.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Burton, “I remember exactly what she was like. ”

“ Burton was suddenly white. Mr. Waddington plunged in.
"Dry old stick, the professor, anyway, from what I've heard," he said. "Now don't you forget, Mr. Bunsome. I shall be round at your office at ten o'clock sharp to-morrow, and I expect to be let into the company. Three beans I've got, and remember they're worth something. They took that old Egyptian Johnny—him and his family, of course—a matter of a thousand years to grow, and there's no one else on to them. Why, they're unique, and they do the trick, too—that I can speak for. Paid the bill, Burton?" ”

“ Burton interrupted, savagely. "One must be a little human now and then. By Jove, old man, there are some ties, if you like! I always did think a yellow one would suit me."
Mr. Waddington pressed him gently along.
"I am not sure," he muttered, "that we are quite in the mood to buy ties. I want to ask you a question, Burton."
"Go ahead."
"You were telling me about this wonderful scheme of your friend the professor's, to make—Menatogen, I think you said. Did you part with both your beans?"
"Both," Burton replied, almost fiercely. "But I've another fortnight or so yet. ”

“ She heard Miss Hayden's voice and smothered scream in the hall; then Mr. Burton came running back with his hands free and a length of rope.
"Now, then!" he cried. "How shall I tie him?"
"Tie him to a chair. Put a chair behind him. Now, you, please sit down—but don't lower your hands!" The burglar sat down. "Now, Theodore, feel in his coat-pocket—the right hand one. . . . I thought so!"
Mr. Burton had extracted a revolver from the pocket, and now he held it gingerly. ”

“ A circumstance has come to light which connects him with an affair which I am investigating—that is, if he is the person I think he is—a sort of a doctor, I believe?”
Miss Sullivan did not answer the question so skillfully put; she still watched us with shining, half-sullen eyes, as if ready to put forth a claw from the velvet, if we approached too near.
“Come, Leesy, you must tell me what I want to hear.” Mr. Burton’s air was now that of a master. “Time is precious. I can not wait upon a woman’s whim. ”

“ Burton sighed.
"I tried to work this morning," he declared. "I gave up simply because I found myself thinking of you all the time. Genius is so susceptible to diversions. This afternoon I couldn't settle down because I was wondering all the time whether you were wearing blue linen or white muslin. I just looked out of the window to see—you were asleep in the hammock . . . you witch!" he murmured softly. "How could I keep sane and collected! How could I write about anybody or anything in the world except you! ”

“ Burton considered the subject thoughtfully.
"There must be occupations," he murmured, "where instinctive truthfulness would be an advantage."
"I can't think of one," Mr. Waddington answered, gloomily. "Besides, I am too old for anything absolutely new."
"How on earth did you succeed in letting Idlemay House?" Burton asked suddenly.
"Most remarkable incident," his host declared. "Reminds me of my last two sales of antique furniture. This man—a Mr. Forrester—came to me with his wife, very keen to take a house in that precise neighborhood. ”

“ I'm no wishy-washy creature, to be your wife one moment and something you can't bear even to look at, the next. No, I don't want none of your monkey tricks, opening the door!" she went on angrily, as Burton rose to see her out. "Stay where you are. I can find my way out of the place."
She departed, slamming the door after her. Mr. Waddington came and sat down by his former clerk's side.
"Tell me, Burton," he asked kindly, "how did you come to do this thing?"
"It was the professor and the girl," he murmured. "They made it seem so reasonable."
"It is always the girl," Mr. Waddington reflected. ”

“ There was Ellen!
CHAPTER III MR. ALFRED BURTON'S FAMILY There certainly was Ellen! Like a man on his way to prison, Alfred Burton took his place in a third-class carriage in his customary train to Garden Green. Ned Miles, who travelled in the oil trade, came up and smote him upon the shoulder.
"Say, cocky, what have you been doing to yourself?" he demanded in amazement. "Have you robbed a bank and going about in disguise, eh? Why, the missis won't know you!"
Burton shrank a little back in his place. His eyes seemed filled with some nameless distaste as he returned the other's gaze. ”

“ He made no reply. Speech, for the moment, was absolutely impossible. She stood and stared at him, her arms akimbo, disapproval written in her face. Her hair was exceedingly untidy and there was a smut upon her cheek. A soiled lace collar, fastened with an imitation diamond brooch, had burst asunder.
"What's come to your moustache?" she demanded. "And why are you dressed like—like a house-painter on a Sunday?"
Burton found his first gleam of consolation. A newly-discovered sense of humor soothed him inexplicably.
"Sorry you don't like my clothes," he replied. "You'll get used to them." ”

“ She had met her other self in Richard Burton. He was her affinity. A creature of impulse and emotion, there was a certain vein of thought in her temperament which responded to the recklessness in his own. She could no more stifle her love for him than she could stifle her nature, for the love she bore him was part of her nature, part of herself.
Meanwhile she and her sister Blanche, the sister next to her in age, had to take the place in society suited to young ladies of their position. Their father, Mr. Henry Raymond Arundell, though in comfortable circumstances, was not a wealthy man ”

“ Every page bears evidences of hurry. We have already told the story of the three appearances of Sir Richard just before the burning of The Scented Garden MS. Lady Burton persistently declared that after the third appearance her husband came again and never left her until she had finished her work. "He was constantly with me," she said to Mr. Murray, "appearing exactly as in life, and he advised and comforted me. He helped me most materially towards the compilation of his own biography, and gave me references to books and manuscripts so that the biography came comparatively easy to my hand. ”

“ Once the friends were the guests of a prosperous publisher, who gave them champagne in silver goblets. "Doesn't this," said Lord Houghton, raising a bumper to his lips, "make you feel as if you were drinking out of the skulls of poor devil authors?" For reply Burton tapped his own forehead.
About this time an anonymous letter of Burton's appeared in The World, but we forget upon what subject. It excited wide interest, however, and hundreds of persons wrote to Mr. Yates, the editor, for the name of the author.
"Did you see my letter in The World?" enquired Burton of Mrs. E. J. Burton. ”

“ The blood flows with the fast circulation of youth, excitement gives a new vigour to the muscles and a sense of sudden freedom adds an inch to the stature." Among the crew was a midshipman, C. R. Low, who became a life-long friend of Burton. Says Mr. Low, "We used to have bouts of single-stick in the pleasant evening sin the poop, and many's the time he has blacked my arms and legs with his weapons.... ”

“ Burton, what has come to you?"
Burton was looking a little sullen.
"It's all very well," he grumbled. "We're too jolly careful of ourselves. We don't get much fun. Here's your poky little restaurant. Let's see what it looks like inside."
They entered, and a maitre d'hôtel came hurrying to meet them. Burton, however, shook his head.
"This place is no good, Waddington," he decided. "Only about half-a-dozen stodgy old people here, no music, and nothing to look at. Let's go where there's some life. ”

“ The girl looked at him curiously.
"Not quite yourself, are you?" she inquired. "Don't get chippy before this evening. I don't think I'll give you anything else to drink. When a gentleman takes me out, I like him to be at his best."
Burton came back. It was a long journey from the little corner of the world into which his thoughts had strayed, to the ornate, artificial-looking parlor, with the Turkey-carpet upon the floor and framed advertisements upon the walls.
"I am sorry," he said. "I had forgotten. I can't take you out to-night—I've got an engagement. ”

“ You'll need your bean quickly. I believe I can hold off till after the sale. But—I've a curious sort of temptation at the present moment, Burton. Shall I tell you what it is?"
"Go ahead," Burton answered gloomily.
Mr. Waddington slapped his trousers pocket.
"Before we do another thing," he suggested, "let's go round to the Golden Lion and have just one bottle of beer—just to feel what it's like, eh?"
Burton sprang up.
"By Jove, let's!" he exclaimed. "I've had no breakfast. I'm ravenous. ”

“ It is to him that later followers, that Grant and Speke, and Baker and Stanley, Cameron, and all the other men that have ever followed, owe it, that he opened the oyster-shell for them, and they went in to take the pearl. I do not want to detract from any other traveller's merits, for they are all brave and great, but I will say that if Richard Burton had had Mr. Stanley's money, escort, luxuries, porterage, and white comrades, backed by influence, there would not have been one single white spot on the whole map of the great Continent of Africa that would not have been filled up. ”

“ XXIV. MENATOGEN, THE MIND FOOD XXV. DISCONTENT XXVI. THE END OF A WONDERFUL WORLD XXVII. MR. WADDINGTON ALSO XXVIII. THE REAL ALFRED BURTON XXIX. RICHES AND REPENTANCE XXX. A MAN'S SOUL THE DOUBLE LIFE OF MR. ALFRED BURTON CHAPTER I THE FRUIT OF THE TREE Mr. Alfred Burton, although he was blissfully and completely ignorant of the fact, stood at the door of Fate. He was a little out of breath and his silk hat was reclining at the back of his head. ”

“ She raised her fist and shook it.
"Bah!" she exclaimed. "Ought to be ashamed of yourself! You and your h'oil paintings!"
Mr. Waddington was too far off to hear her words but the character of her farewell was unmistakable! He glanced suspiciously towards his chief clerk. Burton, however, had at that moment been button-holed by a fidgety old gentleman who desired to ask him a few questions.
"I am a little puzzled, sir," the old gentleman said, confidentially, "about the absolute authenticity of this chippendale suite—lot number 101 in the catalogue. ”