Beulah - Page 284/348

In the early days of summer Mr. and Mrs. Graham left the city for

one of the fashionable watering-places on the Gulf, accompanied by

Antoinette. Eugene remained, on some pretext of business, but

promised to follow in a short time. The week subsequent to their

departure saw a party of gentlemen assembled to dine at his house.

The long afternoon wore away; still they sat round the table. The

cloth had been removed, and only wine and cigars remained; bottle

after bottle was emptied, and finally decanters were in requisition.

The servants shrugged their shoulders, and looked on with amused

expectancy. The conversation grew loud and boisterous, now and then

flavored with oaths; twilight came on--the shutters were closed--the

magnificent chandelier lighted. Eugene seized a crystal ice bowl,

and was about to extract a lump of ice when it fell from his fingers

and shivered to atoms. A roar of laughter succeeded the exploit, and, uncorking a fresh bottle of champagne, he demanded a song.

Already a few of the guests were leaning on the table stupefied, but

several began the strain. It was a genuine Bacchanalian ode, and the

deafening shout rose to the frescoed ceiling as the revelers leaned

forward and touched their glasses. Touched, did I say; it were

better written clashed. There was a ringing chorus as crystal met

crystal; glittering fragments flew in every direction; down ran the

foaming wine, thick with splintered glass, on the rosewood table.

But the strain was kept up; fresh glasses were supplied; fresh

bottles drained; the waiters looked on, wondered where all this

would end, and pointed to the ruin of the costly service.

The brilliant gaslight shone on a scene of recklessness pitiable indeed.

All were young men, and, except Eugene, all unmarried; but they

seemed familiar with such occasions. One or two, thoroughly

intoxicated, lay with their heads on the table, unconscious of what

passed; others struggled to sit upright, yet the shout was still

raised from time to time.

"Fill up, and let us have that glorious song from Lucrezia Borgia.

Hey, Proctor!" cried Eugene.

"That is poor fun without Vincent. He sings it equal to Vestvali.

Fill up there, Munroe, and shake up Cowdon. Come, begin, and--"

He raised his glass with a disgusting oath, and was about to

commence, when Munroe said stammeringly: "Where is Fred, anyhow? He is a devilish fine fellow for a frolic.

I--"

"Why, gone to the coast with Graham's pretty wife. He is all

devotion. They waltz and ride, and, in fine, he is her admirer par

excellence. Stop your stupid stammering, and begin."