The Golden Ocean Read Online Free Page B

he was very much older. And yet on closer inspection he was not so ancient in fact: he wore his own hair (which was red), but it was powdered, and powderedhair, like a wig, made a man appear of an indeterminate age. On second thoughts Peter judged FitzGerald to be about his own age, though indeed his urbane and fashionable air, his very rich clothes and his general ease, made him appear five years older at least.
    FitzGerald talked on in the most agreeable way; but there were two things that prevented Peter from taking much share in the conversation, or indeed from absorbing much of what FitzGerald said. The first was extreme and raging hunger: Peter had had nothing since breakfast, and what with the excitement of the races, the disaster and the long-drawn-out waiting he was so hollow within that if he had been anywhere else he would have gnawed his craubeen with unspeakable joy. The second was the manner and form in which he should frame his request.
    It had seemed so easy when he cried, ‘I’ll ask him for five guineas or six,’ but now it appeared insuperably hard.
    ‘… and then Culmore assured me on his oath that the filly was sore of the near fore-foot—said his groom had it from hers, they being twins of a birth—and so I did not back
her
, either, ha, ha.’
    ‘Ha, ha,’ echoed Peter, suddenly aware that a response was called for, and wondering what FitzGerald’s topic had been.
    ‘But the truth of the matter, you know,’ said FitzGerald confidentially, ‘is that those stables are quite unfit to be used. I know my father would not even put one of the tenants into them, and …’
    ‘Now if I were to say to him, “Mr FitzGerald, please will you lend me some money?” ’ thought Peter; and he was still thinking when the explosion occurred.
    He did not see the beginning: there was a crowd filing along by their table, a great deal of talking, noise, laughter. And he was bent over the table, trying to hear FitzGerald through the din, and trying to think at the same time. Then there was a sharp cry, the crash of FitzGerald’s chair as it fell; the crowd was spread open, and a wig fell plump into Peter’s little puddle of porter. FitzGerald was out there on the wide floor,holding a young officer by the nose. The officer was pulling madly at his sword, but FitzGerald, with wonderful promptness, had his other hand on the hilt.
    From the wild hubbub of voices Peter gathered that Burke—the officer’s name—had trodden on FitzGerald’s foot. ‘Pull harder, your honour,’ cried Sean, with boundless delight, and then the two were heaved apart by a surge of violent peacemakers. For a moment FitzGerald and Burke were still attached, the grasping hand of the one extended to its utmost and the nose of the other to a great deal more than the usual length: then there was a wall of men between the two and FitzGerald, with a flush on his face and a brilliant gleam in his green eyes, was sitting down.
    ‘As I was saying,’ he said, ‘the course was entirely too soft for a horse with an action like that, so …’
    ‘My wig, sir, I believe,’ said a frosty-faced gentleman to Peter, very sharply.
    ‘… so although there is not his match over a measured mile on high, champaigne country,’ continued FitzGerald, ‘it would scarcely be wise to lay evens when he is to run in a plashy bottom like Derrynacaol after a week of rain.’
    ‘Just so,’ said Peter earnestly. ‘I am of your opinion entirely.’
    At this point two red coats approached the table. ‘We are from Burke, of course,’ said the elder, after the exchange of formal politeness.
    ‘My friend here will act,’ said FitzGerald. ‘Allow me to name Mr Palafox, of the Royal Navy—Captain Marney.’
    ‘Shall we discuss the details in an hour’s time?’ suggested the soldier. ‘I propose the Butler Arms.’
    ‘Charmed,’ said Peter, with a creditable appearance of phlegm, and Captain Marney walked away with his companion, humming the tune