by R S Surtees
“To resume,” said he, after he had seen the back of the carriage cleared of the children, and the marmalade and things put straight. “‘Untin’, as I have often said, is the sport of kings — the image of war without its guilt, and only five-and-twenty per cent. of its danger. To me the clink of the couples from a vipper-in’s saddle is more musical than any notes that ever came out of Greasey’s mouth (cheers). I dosen’t wish to disparage the walue of no man, but this I may say, that no Nabob that ever was foaled, loves ‘untin’ better than me (cheers). It’s the werry breath of my body! The liver and bacon of my existence! I dosen’t know what the crazeyologists may say, but this I believes that my ‘ead is nothin’ but one great bump of ‘untin’ (cheers). ‘Untin’ fills my thoughts ay day, and many a good run I have in my sleep. Many a dig in the ribs I gives Mrs. J. when I think they’re runnin’ into the warmint (renewed cheers). No man is fit to be called a sportsman wot doesn’t kick his wife out of bed on a haverage once in three weeks! (applause, mingled with roars of laughter). I’m none of your fine, dandified Rottenrow swells, that only ride out to ride ‘ome again, but I loves the smell of the mornin’ hair, and the werry mud on my tops when I comes home of an evenin’ is dear to my ‘eart (cheers). Oh, my frinds! if I could but go to the kennel now, get out the ‘ounds, find my fox, have a good chivey, and kill him, for no day is good to me without blood, I’d — I’d — I’d — drink three pints of port after dinner ‘stead of two! (loud cheers). That’s the way to show Diana your gratitude for favours past, and secure a continuance of her custom in future (cheers). But that we will soon do, for if you’ve—”’‘Osses sound, and dogs ‘ealthy, Earths well-stopped, and foxes plenty,’ no longer shall a master be wantin’ to lead you to glory (loud cheers). I’ll not only show you how to do the trick in the field, but a scientific course o’ lectors shall train the young idea in the art at ‘ome. I’ve no doubt we shall all get on capitally — fox ‘unters are famous fellows — tell me a man’s a fox-hunter, and I loves him at once. We’ll soon get quainted, and then you’ll say that John Jorrocks is the man for your money. At present I’ve done — hoping werry soon to meet you all in the field — I now says adieu.”
Hereupon Mr. Jorrocks bowed, and kissing his hand, backed out of the balcony, leaving his auditory to talk him over at their leisure.
CHAPTER XII. CAPTAIN DOLEFUL AGAIN.
WHEN MR. JORROCKS backed from the balcony into the “Moon,” after delivering the luminous address reported in our last chapter, Captain Doleful looked at his watch and found it wanted but ten minutes to the time he was to appear at the board of her imperial majesty, Mrs. Barnington; so ringing for Mr. Snubbins, the landlord, he hastily consigned the party to his protection and, quitting the room, ran through the town like a lamplighter, to re-arrange his toilette at his lodgings. Off went the old militia coat, the white moleskins and Hessians made way with pantomimic quickness for a black coat and trousers, which with a shrivelled white waistcoat, and a pair of broad-stringed pumps, completed the revised edition of the arbiter elegantiarum of Handley Cross Spa. The crowded incidents of the hour left no time for reflection, and fortunate, perhaps, it was for the Captain, that he had no time to consider of what had taken place, or even his creative genius might have discovered some little difficulty in reconciling the discrepancies that existed between his professions and performances. So quick, however, were his movements, and the transition of events, that John Trot, the under butler, who was one of the audience before the Dragon, had not time to detail the doings of the day to Mr. Mountford, the butler, to tell Mrs. Stumps, the housekeeper, for the information of Bandoline, to carry in broken English to her mistress, ere Captain Doleful’s half resolute tap of a knock announced his arrival at the door.
“Why here’s old Wo-begone himself, I do believe!” exclaimed John, breaking off in his narrative at the intrusion of the flag-poles into Stevenson the hatter’s window. “It is, indeed,” added he, casting his eye up the area-grating at the Captain, as he stood above; “I declare he has pealed off his uniform and come like a Christian. Dirty dog, he can’t have washed himself, for I saw him bolt out of the Dragon not three minute afore I left, and I only looked in at the Phoenix and Flower-pot, and took one glass of hot elder wine, and came straight home;” saying which, John, in the absence of Sam, the footman, settled himself leisurely into his coatee, and proceeded to let the Captain into the house.
“The dog’s come to dine,” said John, on his return, “and precious hungry he is, I dare say, for he don’t allow himself above two feeds a week they say. However, I gave him a bit of consolation, by telling him that missis had laid down at four o’clock, with orders not to be disturbed, and therefore it might be eight or nine o’clock before they dined; but ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘there’s the Morning Post,’ so I left him to eat that, and precious savage he looked. Now, I declare on the honour of a gentleman, of all the shabby screws I ever came thwart of in the whole of my professional career, that Doleful is the dirtiest and meanest. T’other night it was raining perfect wash-hand-stand basins full, and after sitting master out to bed, and missis until she began to yawn, he mustered courage to do the expensive, and asked me to fetch him a fly. Well, never had I seen the colour of his coin, often and often as he has darkened our door, and come with his nasty jointed clogs, dirty cloaks, and wet numbrellas; but thinks I to myself, this surely will be catching time, and it ‘ill all come in a heap in the shape of a golden sovereign pound cake; so out I splashed, silks and all, the first day on, too, and brought up Sam Fletcher’s yellow with the grey; skipped up-stairs, told him all was ready, handed him his hat, upon which I saw him fumbling in his upper pocket; he stepped into the fly, and just as I closed the door, slipped something into my hand — felt small — half sov., better than nothing, thought I— ‘thank you, sir, Miss Jelly’s,’ cried I to Master Sam, off he went, in comes I, looks in my hand — hang me, if it wer’n’t a Joey!”
“That beats everything!” exclaimed Mr. Mountford, the butler, laying down a handful of spoons he had been counting over; “why do you know he gave me one the very same day, and it lies on the entrance table now, to let him see how little we care for Joeys in our house.”
“Who’s that you’re talking about?” inquired Mrs. Stumps, whose room being on the other side of the passage from the butler’s pantry, enabled her to hold a dialogue without the trouble of moving herself across, she having been selected on account of her fatness and the volubility of he tongue.
“Only old Lamentable,” replied Mr. Trot; “what do you think the fellow’s done now? — complimented Mr. Mountford and myself with a Joey a-piece. Stop till I catch him with a decent coat on, and see if I don’t dribble the soup or melted butter over it.”
“Confound the mean dog,” observed Mrs. Stumps, “he’s the most miserable man that ever was seen. I do wonder that missis, with all her fine would-be-fashionable airs, countenances such a mean sneak. Master may be dull, and I dare say he is, but he’s a prince compared to old Doleful.”
“Master’s soft,” replied Mr. Mountford thoughtfully, “and he’s hard too in some things, but there are many worse men than he. Besides, the wife’s enough to drive him mad. She’s a terrible tartar.”
“She’s in one of her tantrums’s to-day,” observed Mrs. Stumps, “and has had Mademoiselle crying all the morning. She’s tried on thirteen dresses already and none will please her. It will be eight o’clock very likely before they dine, and that reminds me she had two notes this morning by post — one was from Lady Gillyfield, and Sam thought he saw something about dining, and staying all night, as he took it up-stairs, so just you keep your ears open at dinner, and find out the day, as I want to have a few friends to cards and a quadrille the first time the family go from home.”
“Oh, I dare say I can acquaint you all about it without waiting for dinner,” observed Mr. Mountford. “Sam, just step into the clothes-room, and feel in B’s brown frock-coat that he had on this morning, and bring me his letters.
” Sam obeyed, and speedily returned with three. Mr. Mountford took them, and casting an adhesiv’d one aside, as either a “bill or a begging letter,” opened a fine glazed note with blue edges, sealed with a transfixed heart on green wax:— “Monday, at ten, at the Apollo Belvidere,” was all it contained, and winking at Sam, who winked at John Trot, who passed the wink to Mrs. Stumps, Mr. Mountford refolded the note, and opened the one from Sir Gibeon Gillyfield, which contained a pressing invitation for the Friday following, to make one at a battu on the Saturday.
“You must find out whether they go or not,” observed Mrs. Stumps; “they will be sure to say something about it at dinner, so mind be on the look-out. There’s missis’s bell! my stars, how she rings! wouldn’t be near her for the world.” — A perfect peal!
After Doleful had had a good spell at the Post, beginning with the heading and ending with the printer’s name at the end, Mr. Barnington made his appearance from his room below, where he had been deceiving himself into the belief that he was reading, and saluted the M.C. in the way that a man generally takes his wife’s friends when he does not like her. After exchanging a few nothings, he looked with an air of easy indifference round the room, then at the French clock on the mantel-piece, next at his watch to see that it was not wrong, and finally composed himself cross-legged into a low douro with massive cushions at the back and sides. Doleful resumed his seat on the sofa. Thus they sat for half an hour, listening to the tickings of the time-piece, looking alternately at each other and the door. Seven o’clock came and no Mrs. Barnington, then the quarter chimed in that concise sort of way, that almost says, “Oh, it’s only the quarter!” the half hour followed with a fuller chorus and more substantial music, whereupon Barnington, who was beginning to be hungry, looked indignantly at his watch and the door, then at Doleful, but wisely said nothing. Doleful, who had only treated himself to a penny bun since breakfast, was well-nigh famished, and inwardly wished he had palmed himself off on the Jorrocks’s; when just as the time-piece was chiming away at a quarter to eight, a page in a green and gold uniform threw open the door, and in sallied the majestic Mrs. Barnington in lavender-coloured satin. With a slight inclination of her head to the Captain, who was up like an arrow to receive her, and a look of contempt at her husband, she seated herself on an ottoman, and glancing at a diminutive watch in her armlet, and seeing it correspond with the time on the mantel-piece, without a word of apology for keeping them waiting, she hurried off the page to order dinner instantly.
CHAPTER XIII. A FAMILY DINNER.
JUST AS MRS. Barnington was desiring Doleful to ring the bell to see why dinner was not ready, Mr. Mountford, with great state, and an air of the most profound respect, walked into the centre of the room, and announced that it was on the table, when, backing out, and leaving the page in charge of the door, he returned to the parlour to twist a napkin round his thumb, and place himself before the centre of the side-board to be ready to raise the silver cover from the soup tureen, and hand it to John Trot, to pass to Sam, to place on the tray the instant the party were seated. Mrs. Barnington, with an air of languid absence, mechanically placed her hand on Doleful’s arm, and sailed down the thickly-carpeted staircase, past the footmen in the entrance, and dropt into a many-cushioned chair at the head of the table. Doleful seated himself at the side opposite the fire, and Barnington of course took his place at the foot of the table. Soup and a glass of sherry passed round amid the stares and anxious watchings of the servants, before anything like a conversation was commenced, for Barnington was not a man of many words at any time, and fear of his wife and dislike of Doleful now sealed his lips entirely. Several indifferent topics were tried during the fish, alternately by Mrs. Barnington and Doleful. — The weather — the Morning Post — the last elopement — somebody’s band — the new French milliner, when, gathering up her napkin, and giving her head a toss in the air, she observed, in a careless easy sort of way, “By the by, Captain Doleful, I forgot to ask you if those Horrocks people arrived to-day?”
“Oh yes, marm, they came,” replied the Captain, with uneasiness on his brow, for he saw “Mountford and Co.” were all eyes and ears to catch what he said.— “A little malt liquor, if you please. Do you get your malt of Dobbs?” inquired he of Barnington, making a desperate effort to turn the conversation at the outset, the only chance of effecting it; “if you don’t,” observed he, “there’s a capital fellow come from Mortlake in Surrey, to establish an agency here for the sale of the same sort of beer the Queen drinks, and apropos of that, Mrs. Barnington, perhaps you are not aware that her Majesty is so truly patriotic as to indulge in the juice of the hop — takes it at luncheon, I understand, in a small silver cup, a present from the Prince, with the lion and the unicorn fighting for the crown, beautifully raised in dead gold upon it, made by Hunt and Roskill, who certainly have more taste in trinkets, and articles of vertu than all the rest of London put together, — but this beer is very good — clear — amber and hoppy,” added he, drinking it off, hoping to drown old Jorrocks, wife, niece, and all, in the draught.
“Who is Horrocks, that you were asking about, my dear?” inquired Barnington of his wife, for the purpose of letting Doleful see he didn’t consider him worth answering, and not from any motives of curiosity, — in infirmity from which he was perfectly free.
“Only some people the Captain and I were talking about this morning, any love, that were expected from London. They are not come, you say?” added she, turning to the Captain.
“Oh yes, marm, I said they were come. Allow me the honour of taking wine with you? Do you take champagne? Champagne to your mistress,” looking at Mr. Mountford. Mountford helped them accordingly, giving the Captain as little as possible.
“Well, and what sort of people are they?” resumed Mrs. Barnington, setting down her glass, and looking at Doleful as much as to say, “come, no nonsense, out with it.”
“Upon my word I can hardly give an opinion, for I saw so little of them; but I should say from what little I did see, that they are very respectable — that’s to say (haw, ha, hem), people well to do in the world (hem). He seems an uncommonly good-natured old fellow — rattles and talks at a tremendous rate; but really I can hardly fairly give an opinion upon their other qualifications from the very little I saw.”
“How many carriages had they?” inquired Mrs. Barnington.
“One, with a pair, but they came by the train; they will probably have more coming by the road.”
“Many servants?”
“Not many, I think. Perhaps they are coming by the road too.”
“What are the women like?”
“The old lady seems a monstrous good-natured, round-about, motherly sort of body, neither very genteel nor yet altogether vulgar — a fair average woman in fact — charitable, flannel-petticoat, soup-kitchen sort of woman. — This is capital mutton — never tasted better. By the way, Mr. Barnington, did you ever eat any Dartmoor mutton? it certainly is the best and sweetest in the world, and this is as like it as anything can possibly be.”
“No,” was all the answer Mr. Barnington vouchsafed our hero, who, bent on turning the conversation, and nothing disconcerted, immediately addressed himself to his hostess, with “Beautiful part of the country —— fine scenery — should like to live there — people so unaffected and hospitable — ask you to dine and sleep — no puddling your way home through dirty lanes in dark nights. The view from Æther rocks on the edge of Dunmore, most magnificent — there’s a fine one also on the road between Exeter and Tiverton — and near Honiton too — what food that country would afford your splendid pencil, Mrs. Barnington. I know no one so competent to do justice to the scenery as yourself,” and thereupon the Captain puckered his face into one of his most insinuating grins. Mrs. Barnington went on eating her “vole au vent,” inwardly resolving to know all about the Jorrocks’s, without compromising one jot of her dignity.
The conversation then took a brisk and rapid range over many topics and to divers
places — Bath, Cheltenham, Brighton, Tunbridge Wells, were all visited in succession, but at last Mrs. Barnington fairly landed the Captain back at Handley Cross. “I suppose we shall be having a ball here soon, sharn’t we, Captain?” inquired she. “That depends upon Mrs. Barnington,” replied the obsequious M.C. in the humblest tone. “If you are so disposed there’s no doubt of our having one. My ball at present stands first on the list, and that will take place to-morrow fortnight.”
“Oh, I forgot your ball entirely — true — oh dear, no! I shouldn’t wish for one before that — it might interfere with yours. Of course you will send me five tickets.”
The Captain bowed profoundly, for this as much as said there would be a five-pound note coming. “I hope you will have a good one,” added she. “There will most probably be some new comers by that time to amuse one with their strange faces and queer ways. — I wonder if the Horrocks’s will go?”
The idea at that moment flashed across the Captain’s mind too, and a prophetic thought assuring him they would, he determined to grapple with the subject instead of fighting shy, and ventured boldly to predict they would, and once more essayed to smooth their passage to Mrs. Barnington’s patronage.
“Oh, I have no earthly objection to them, I assure you, I can have none to people I never either saw or heard of. Of course, if they have letters of introduction I shall call upon them — if not, and you assure me, or rather convince me, of their respectability, I shall notice them the same as I do other people who come here as strangers.”
