by R S Surtees
“Never saw it afore,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
Mr. Marmaduke helped the pie very sparingly, just as he had seen the butler at Onger Castle helping a pâté de fois gras; and putting as much on to a plate as would make about a mouthful and a half to each person, he sent Stiffneck round with a fork to let people help themselves. Fortunately for Mr. Jorrocks, neither Mr. nor Miss De Green, nor Miss Slowan nor Mr. Muleygrubs took any, and the untouched plate coming to him, he very coolly seized the whole, while the foot-boy returned to the dismayed Mr. Muleygrubs for more. Putting a few more scraps on a plate, Mr. Muleygrubs sent off the pie, lest any one should make a second attack.
By dint of playing a good knife and fork, our friend cleared his plate just as the second course made its appearance. This consisted of a brace of partridges guarding a diminutive snipe at the top, and three links of black pudding at the bottom — stewed celery, potato chips, puffs, and tartlets forming the side-dishes.
“Humph!” grunted our friend, eyeing each dish as it was uncovered. “Humph!” repeated he— “not much there — three shillins for the top dish, one for the bottom, and eighteen-pence say for the four sides — five and six — altogether — think I could do it for five. Howsomever, never mind,” continued he, drawing the dish of game towards him. “Anybody for any gilier, as we say in France?” asked he, driving his fork into the breast of the plumpest of the partridges.
Nobody closed with the offer.
“Pr’aps if you’d help it, and let it be handed round, some one will take some,” suggested Mr. Muleygrubs.
“Well,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “I’ve no objection — none wotever — only, while these clumsey chaps o’ yours are runnin’ agin each other with it, the wittles are coolin’ — that’s all,” said our Master, placing half a partridge on a plate, and delivering it up to go on its travels. Thinking it cut well, Mr. Jorrocks placed the other half on his own plate, and taking a comprehensive sweep of the crumbs and bread sauce, proceeded to make sure of the share by eating a mouthful of it. He need not have been alarmed, for no one came for any, and he munched and cranched hi portion in peace. He then eat the snipe almost at a bite.
“What will you take next, Mr. Jorrocks?” asked his hostess, disgusted at his rapacity.
“Thank ‘ee, mum, thank ‘ee,” replied he, munching and clearing his mouth; “thank ‘ee, mum,” added he, “I’ll take breath if you please, mum,” added he, throwing himself back in his chair.
“Have you killed many hares, Mr. Jorrocks?” now asked his persevering hostess, who was sitting on thorns as she saw an entering dish of blancmange toppling to its fall.
“No, mum, none!” responded our Master, vehemently, for he had an angry letter in his pocket from Captain Slaughter’s keeper, complaining bitterly of the recent devastation of his hounds — a calamity that of course the keeper made the most of, inasmuch as friend Jorrocks, as usual, had forgotten to give him his “tip.”
Our innocent hostess, however, never listened for the answer, for the blancmange having landed with the loss only of a corner tower, for it was in the castellated style of confectionery, she was now all anxiety to see what sort of a savoury omelette her drunken job-cook would furnish, to remove the black puddings at the other end of the table.
During this interval, our Master having thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his canary-coloured shorts, reconnoitered the table to see who would either ask him to take wine, or who he should honour that way; but not seeing any very prepossessing phiz, and recollecting that Mrs. J. had told him the good old-fashioned custom was “wulgar,” he was about to help himself from a conveniently-placed decanter, when Stiffneck, seeing what he was at, darted at the decanter, and passing behind Mr. Jorrocks’s chair, prepared to fill to his holding, when, missing his aim, he first sluiced our Master’s hand, and then shot a considerable quantity of sherry down his sleeve.
“Rot ye, ye great lumberin’ beggar!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, furiously indignant; “Rot ye, do ye think I’m like Miss Biffin, the unfortunate lady without harms or legs, that I can’t ‘elp myself?” continued he, dashing the wet out of his spoon cuff. “Now, that’s the wust o’ your flunkey fellers,” continued he in a milder tone to Mrs. Muleygrubs, as the laughter the exclamation caused had subsided. “That’s the wust o’your flunkey fellers,” repeated he, mopping his arm; “they know they’d never be fools enough to keep fellers to do nothin’, and so they think they must be constantly meddlin’. Now, your women waiters are quite different,” continued he; “they only try for the useful, and not for the helegant. There’s no flash ‘bout them. If they see a thing’s under your nose, they let you reach it, and don’t bring a dish that’s steady on the table round at your back to tremble on their ‘ands under your nose. Besides,” added your Master, “you never see a bosky Batsay waiter, which is more than can be said of all dog un’s.”
“But you surely couldn’t expect ladies to be waited upon by women, Mr. Jorrocks,” exclaimed his astonished hostess.
“I would though,” replied our Master, firmly, with a jerk of his head— “I would though — I’d not only ‘ave them waited upon by women, but I’d have them served by women i’ the shops, ‘stead o’ those nasty dandified, counter-skippin’ Jackanapes’s, wot set up their himperences in a way that makes one long to kick ’em.”
“How’s that, Mr. Jorrocks?” asked the lady with a smile, at his ignorance.
“‘Ow’s that, mum?” repeated our Master—”’Ow’s that? Why, by makin’ you run the gauntlet of pr’aps a double row o’ these poopies, one holloain’ out— ‘Wot shall I show you to-day, mum?’ Another, ‘Now, mum! French merino embroidered robes!’ A third, ‘Paisley and French wove shawls, mum! or Russian sables! chinchillas! hermines!’ or ‘Wot’s the next harticle, mum?’ as if a woman’s — I beg pardon — a lady’s wants were never to be satisfied — Oh dear, and with Christmas a comin’ on,” shuddered Mr. Jorrocks, with upraised hands; “wot a lot o’ squabbles and contentions ‘ill shortly be let loose upon the world — bonnets, ribbons, sarsnets, bombazeens, things that the poor paymasters expected ‘ad come out of the ‘ouse money, or been paid for long ago.”
While Mr. Jorrocks was monopolising the attention of the company by the foregoing domestic “lector” as it may be called, the denounced domestics were clearing away the sweets, and replacing them with a dish of red herrings, and a very strong-smelling, brown soapey-looking cheese.
Our Master, notwithstanding his efforts, being still in arrear with his appetite, thought to “fill up the chinks,” as he calls it, with cheese, so he took a liberal supply as the plate came round — nearly the half of it in fact.
He very soon found out his mistake. It was strong, and salt, and leathery, very unlike what Paxton and Whitfield supplied him with.
“Good cheese! Mr. Jorrocks,” exclaimed his host, up the table; “good cheese, eh?”
“Humph!” grunted our Master, munching languidly at it.
“Excellent cheese, don’t you think so, Mr. Jorrocks?” asked his host, boldly.
“C-h-i-e-l-dren,” drawled our Master, pushing away his unfinished plate, “would eat any q-u-a-a-n-tity of it.”
The clearing of the table helped to conceal the ill-suppressed titter of the company.
And now with the dessert came an influx of little Muleygrubs, who had long been on guard in the passage intercepting the return viands, much to the nurse’s annoyance, lest they should stain their red-ribboned white frocks, or disorder their well-plastered hair. The first glare of light being out of their eyes, they proceed to distribute themselves according to their respective notions of good-natured faces; Magdalene Margery going to Mrs. Slowan, Leonora Lucretia to Miss De Green, and Victoria Jemima to Mr. Jorrocks, who forthwith begins handling her as he would a hound.
“And ’ow old are you, Sir?” asks he, mistaking her sex.
“That’s a girl,” explained Mrs. Muleygrubs; “say four, my dear.”
Mr. Jorrocks— “Charmin’
child!” (aloud to himself) “little bore.”
“And wot do they call you, my little dear?” asked he; “‘Gravity,’— ‘Notable,’— ‘Habigail,’— ‘Mischief,’ p’r’aps?” added he, running over the names of some of his lady hounds.
“No: Victoria,”— “Victoria, what?” asked mamma.
“Victoria Jemima,” lisped the child.
“Ah, Wictoria Jemima,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks. “Wictoria Jemima — Wictoria arter the Queen, I presume; Jemima arter who? arter mamma, I des say.”
Mrs. Muleygrubs smiled assent.
“Werry purty names both on ’em,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“And ’ow many pinches did the nus give your cheeks to make them this pretty pink?” asks our Master, making a long arm at the figs.
“Thre-e-e,” drawled the child.
“Hash! nonsense!” frowned Mrs. Muleygrubs, holding up a forefinger.
“She d-i-i-i-d!” whined the child, to the convulsion of the company.
“No, no, no,” responded Mrs. Muleygrubs, with an ominous shake of the head, and trying to direct her attention to a dish of sticky sweets that were just placed within reach.
“How many children have you, Mr. Jorrocks?” now asked the lady thinking to pay him off for some of his gaucheries.
“‘Ow many chi-e-l-dren ‘ave I, mum,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, thoughtfully. “‘Ow many chi-e-l-dren ‘ave I. Legally speakin’, mum, none.”— “Chi-e-l-dren,” continued our Master, dry-shaving his stubbly chin, “are certain cares, but werry uncertain comforts, as my old mother siad when I hupset her snuff-box into the soup.”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid you’ve been a sad mischievous boy, Mr. Jorrocks,” observed the lady, motioning Stiffneck to put the almond-backed spongecake rabbit straight on the table.
“Poopeys and buoys never good for nothin’ unless they are— ‘Opes yours are well found that way?”
The enquiry was lost upon the lady, who was now in a state of desperate tribulation at seeing Stiffneck secundus bent on placing a second course sweet on the table instead of the dessert dish. A significant cough, and a slight inclination of the head drew Stiffneck’s attention to the mistake, and our hostess has at length the satisfaction of seeing all things in their right places. Apples, pears, foreign grapes, all sorts of unwholesome fruit, having been duly handed round, the wine next set out on its travels; and Mr. Jorrocks, who had looked in vain for a water-biscuit, again turned his attention to the now lip-licking child.
“Well, my little dear,” said he, stroking down her head, and then tempting her to rise to a piece of sponge-cake held above her nose, “well, my little dear,” repeated he, giving her it, “do you like barley-sugar?”
“Yeth, and thugar candy,” lisped the child.
Mr. Jorrocks— “Ah, sugar candy; sugar candy’s grand stuff. I sell sugar candy.”
Victoria Jemima (in amazement).— “Thell thugar candy! I thought you were a gempleman!”
Mr. Jorrocks— “A commercial gen’leman, my dear.”
Victoria Jemima— “Not a great gempleman like Pa?”
Mr. Jorrocks (with humility)— “No; not a great gempleman like Pa. He’s a Peerage man, I’m only a Post Hoffice Directory one,” Mr. Jorrocks looking slyly at his host as he said it. “Howsomever, never mind,” continued our Master, helping himself liberally as the fleet of bottles again anchored before him, “Howsomever, never mind, when you comes to see me at Andley Cross, I’ll give you a pund o’ sugar candy, and show you my ‘ounds,” added he, passing the bottles.
“And the bear!” exclaimed the delighted child.
“Bear, my dear! I’ve no bear,” replied Mr Jorrocks soberly.
Mrs. Muleygrubs (with a frown, and a fore-finger held up as before)— “Hush, Victoria Jemima! don’t talk nonsense.”
Victoria Jemima (pouting)— “W-a-l-e m-a-a-r, you know you said Mr. Jonnocks was next door to a bear.”
Mrs. Muleygrubs, whose quick apprehension saw the mischief her daughter was drawing up to, cannoned a smiling glance at Mrs. Slowan off on Miss De Green on the opposite side of the table, and rose, vowing as she drove the party out before her, that one ought “never to say any thing before children.”
CHAPTER XL. THE TWO PROFESSORS.
THE LADIES BEING gone, the usual inquiries of “Are you warm enough here, sir?” “Won’t you take an arm-chair?” “Do you feel the door?” having been made and responded to, the party closed up towards Mr. Muleygrubs, who now assumed the top of the table, each man sticking out his legs, or hanging an arm over the back of his chair, as suited his ease and convenience. Mr. Jorrocks being the stranger, the politeness of the party was directed to him.
“Been in this part of the country before, sir?” inquired Professor Girdlestone, cornering his chair towards Professor Jorrocks.
“In course I’ave,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “I’unts the country, and am in all parts of it at times — ven I goes out of a mornin’ I doesn’t know where I may be afore night.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the professor. “Delightful occupation!” continued he: “what opportunities you have of surveying nature in all her moods, and admiring her hidden charms! Did you ever observe the extraordinary formation of the hanging rocks about a mile and a half to the east of this? The—”
“I ran’ a fox into them werry rocks, I do believe,” interrupted Mr. Jorrocks, brightening up. “We found at Haddington Steep, and ran through Nosterley Firs, Crampton Haws, and Fitchin Park, where we had a short check, owin’ to the stain o’ deer, but I hit off the scent outside, like a workman as I am, and we ran straight down to these werry rocks, when all of a sudden th’ ‘ounds threw up, and I was certain he had got among ’em. Vell, I gets a spade and a tarrier, and I digs, and digs, and houks as my Scotch ‘untsman calls it till near night, th’ ‘ounds got starved, th’ ‘osses got cold, and I got the rheumatis, but, howsomever, we could make nothin’ of him; but I—”
“Then you would see the geological formation of the whole thing,” interposed the professor. “The carboniferous series is extraordinarily developed. Indeed I know of nothing to compare with it, except the Bristol coal-field, on the banks of the Avon. There the dolomitic conglomerate, a rock of an age intermediate between the carboniferous series and the lias, rests on the truncated edges of the coal and mountain limestone, and contains rolled and angular fragments of the latter, in which are seen the characteristic mountain limestone fossils. The geological formation—”
“Oh, I doesn’t know nothin’ about the geo-nothin’ formation o’ the thing,” interposed Mr. Jorrocks hastily, “nor does I care; I minds the top was soft enough, as most tops are, but it got confounded ‘ard lower down, and we broke a pick-axe, a shovel, and two spades afore we were done, for though in a general way I’m as indifferent ‘bout blood as any one, seein’ that a fox well fund w’e me is a fox as good as killed, and there is not never no fear o’ my ‘ounds bein’ out o’ blood, for though I says it, who p’raps shouldn’t, there’s no better ‘untsman than I am, but some’ow this begger had riled me uncommon, ‘avin’ most pertinaciously refused to brik at the end o’ the cover I wanted, and then took me a dance hup the werry steepest part o’ Higham Hill, ‘stead o’ sailing plisantly away over Somerby water meadows, and so on to the plantations at Squerries—”
“That’s the very place I’ve been cudgelling my brains the whole of this blessed day to remember,” exclaimed the Professor, flourishing his napkin. “That’s the very place I’ve been cudgelling my brains the whole of this blessed day to remember. A mile and a half to the east of Squerries — no, south-east of Squerries, is a spring of carbonic acid gas, an elastic fluid that has the property of decomposing many of the hardest rocks with which it comes in contact, particularly that numerous class in whose composition felspar is an ingredient, it renders the oxide of iron soluble in water, and contributes to the solution of calcareous matter; I—”
“You don’t say so!” interrupted Mr. Jorrocks, “I wish I’d
‘ad a bucket on it wi’ me, for I really believe I should ha’ got the fox, for though I holds with Beckford, that ‘ounds ‘ave no great happetite for foxes longer nor they’re hangry with ’em, yet in a houk, as we expects each dig to be the last, one forgets while one’s own hanger’s risin, that theirs is coolin’, and though we worked as if we were borin’ for a spring—”
“That’s very strange!” now interrupted Mr. Marmaduke, who had been listening attentively all the time, anxious to get a word in sideways. “That’s very strange! Old Tommy Roadnight came to me one morning for a summons against Willy Udal for that very thing. He would have it that Willy had bored the rock to draw the water from his well. Now I as a justice of the peace of our sovereign lady the Queen — perhaps you are not in the Commission of the Peace, are you, Mr. Jorrocks?” inquired Mr. Muleygrubs again.
“Not I,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, carelessly.
“Well, never mind, perhaps you may get in some day or other,” observed the consoling justice; “but as I was saying, I as a county magistrate, with the immense responsibility of the due administration of the laws, tempered always with mercy, without which legislation is intolerant and jurisprudence futile, — I, I say, did not feel justified in issuing my summons under my hand and seal for the attendance of the said William Udal, at the suit of the said Thomas Roadnight, without some better evidence than the conjecture of the said William, besides, perhaps, you are not aware that the trespass act, as it is termed, should rather be called the wilful damage act, for the J. P. has to adjudicate more on the damage actually sustained by the trespass, than on the trespass itself, indeed without damage there would seem to be no trespass, therefore I felt unless the said Thomas Roadnight could prove that the said William Udal really and truly drew off the said water—”
“Con-found your water!” interrupted Mr. Jorrocks; “give us the wine, and let’s have a toast: wot say you to fox’-unting?”
“With all my heart,” replied Mr. Muleygrubs, looking very indignant, at the same time helping himself and passing the decanters. “Upon my word,” resumed he, “the man who administers justice fairly and impartially has no easy time of it, and were it not for the great regard I have for the Lord-Lieutenant and my unbounded loyalty to the Queen, I think I should cease acting altogether.”
