Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “A hundred pounds and interest,” continued Mrs. Jorrocks, eyeing him intently.

  “One year’s interest on fifty, and half a year’s on the same sum; I have it all down in my cash-book, in Eagle Street. I’ll give you a check for it now,” continued Bill, diving into his back pocket in search of his cheque-book — a search that he might have continued some time, had not Mrs. Jorrocks relieved him by observing that she didn’t want the money, she only wished to know that all was right.

  “Quite right!” repeated Bill, in his usual off-hand way; “interest on fifty, for a year, two pund ten; on fifty, for half a year, one pund five — three pund fifteen, and principal, a hundred — a hundred and three pund fifteen — you can have it any day for sending for. We always have as much in the till as will answer that.”

  “Mr. J. ‘ill be a great loss to society,” observed Bowker, in a melancholy tone, anxious to turn the conversation.

  “Poor man!” responded Mrs. Jorrocks, with a sigh.

  “Don’t know who we shall get for a chairman of our Free-and-easy, or president of our incorporated society of Good Fellows; the recordership of the Wide-awake Club will be vacant, too. Do you think Captain Doleful would take office?” inquired Mr. Bowker.

  “Not of them sort of things, I should think,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks, with a toss of the head; “the capt’in’s more a tea-and-Terpsichore sort of man — werry genteel.”

  “True,” observed Mr. Bowker; “but just for the sake of popularity, I thought perhaps he might lend us a hand. The recordership’s a high office.”

  “He cares nothin’ for poppilarity now,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks; “wot should a man with a thousand pounds a-year care for poppilarity?”

  “True,” assented Mr. Bowker, wishing he had half of it. “Why shouldn’t he make a good match for Miss Belinda?” inquired Bowker, willing to help Mrs. Jorrocks to her point.

  “That’s just what I’ve been a plannin’ of,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks, with a knowing leer,— “that’s just what I’ve been a plannin’ of. Now,” continued she, after a pause, during which she scrutinised Mr. Bowker and bagged her dirty pocket-handkerchief, “it’s no use you and I ‘umbuggin’ each other.”

  Bill bowed assent.

  “Well, then, I may as well tell you at startin’ that I knows all about the money and the shop — you can no more pay me than you can fly!”

  Bill coloured brightly.

  “But if you can’t pay me in cash, you can pay me in kind,” continued Mrs. Jorrocks, anxious to relieve her visitor’s uneasiness. “You think Capt’in Doleful will do for Belinda?”

  “Undoubtedly, if he has what you say, and will keep her a gig.” (The possession of a gig was the summit of Bill’s worldly ambition.)

  “A fe-a-ton!” replied Mrs. Jorrocks, with a look of exultation.

  “He must be had!” observed Bill, with a wink and a nod.

  “So say I,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks; “the thing is how to get him.”

  “There can’t be any difficulty, I should think,” observed Bill “Beautiful blue-eyed girl — nice foot and ankle — swelling figure — just leave them together a bit, he’ll soon come to, I warrant.”

  “Oh, he’s all right,” said Mrs. Jorrocks. “It’s Belinda that bothers me.”

  “She’ll surely take your advice,” observed Bill, in a tone of confidence— “at least, if she wont, you can make her.”

  “But there’s that confounded Yorkshire scamp in the way!” said Mrs. Jorrocks; “and she vows nothing shall make her marry another so long as he remains faithful.”

  “Silly girl!” exclaimed Bowker; “that’s the way with them all — just as if there weren’t as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. She should be whipped for throwing away such a chance. Far better to ride about town in a Fe-a-ton than pad the hoof in the country,” observed Bill, looking at the slanting heels of his Hessians.

  “Far!” exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks.

  “Girls are queer cattle,” observed Bowker, after a pause. “Lucky when they have older heads than their own to keep them right.”

  “‘Deed is it!” said Mrs. Jorrocks; adding, with a shake of her head, “Belinda’s werry obstinate.”

  “Pity!” said Mr. Bowker, who was a great admirer of beauty. “I always thought she was very amiable.”

  “Fiddle hamiable!” exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks, angrily. “Hugly girls are hamiable.”

  “Well, but I thought she’d have lone what you liked,” said Mr. Bowker. “I’m sure she ought, after all your kindness.”

  “Well; but it’s not never of no use speckilatin’ on wot she ought to do,” rejoined Mrs. Jorrocks, anxious to make her point, “I tells you she won’t, and that’s poz!”

  “Then we must see if we can’t make her,” said Bill, somewhat reluctantly; for, rogue as he was, he had still a tinge of kindness left in his composition.

  “And you’ll help me?” said Mrs. Jorrocks, inquiringly. Bill bowed again.

  “Well, now, I’ll tell you wot,” said Mrs. Jorrocks, turning Bill’s I. O. U’s. over in a careless sort of way, “if you can manage to choak Stobbs off, and get the capt’in on, I’ll put these writin’s in the fire.”

  “I’ll do my best, I’m sure,” said Bill, delighted at the prospect of a clearance.

  “It must be managed gingerly,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks. “‘Love may die by slow decay, But by sudden wrench believe not Hearts can thus be torn away,’” replied Mr. Bowker, flourishing his right hand as he spoke.

  “You’ll manage it, I think,” said Mrs. Jorrocks cheerfully.

  “If she’s of womankind,” replied Bill.

  “Get Stobbs off, and there will be little difficulty in gettin’ the capt’in on,” said Mrs. Jorrocks; “only you know,” added she, “a woman never gives hup a man short o’ the church door.”

  “No,” mused Bill— “no, but I think I can choak her off — make her believe he’s married already, how would that do?”

  “Capital,” exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks, clapping her hands, “nothin’ could be better. That would settle the business at once” — added she, “for a man that’s married is as good as dead to any other woman.”

  “But my hour is almost come!” observed Bill, starting up, as he drew a richly chased pinchbeck watch from his waistcoat-pocket, and saw it wanted but ten minutes to two, at which time he had “to render up himself” to old Twister and present him with a ship-biscuit for luncheon. He bid Mrs. Jorrocks a hasty adieu, and half happy, half wretched, retraced his steps to Lincoln’s Inn.

  “Needs must when the devil drives!” said Bill, as he hurried along; “but I’d rather do anything than injure that poor blue-eyed beauty. Nice little thing, with her pretty taper fingers, that used to shake hands with me so kindly;” and the more Bill thought of his task, the less he liked it. Still he saw no way of helping himself, for well he knew that Mrs. Jorrocks was merciless, and having got him in her power, she would grind him to the ground.

  He wanted no dinner, for his appetite had fled; added to which, old Twister was in the sulks, and did nothing but abuse him for bringing the wrong common forms.

  Difficult was Mr. Bowker’s task. He paced round his little cage of an office like a wild beast on the fret. No settled plan of proceeding occurred to his inventive genius. We question if he could have succeeded single-handed; but wisely judging, that where women are concerned women would be the best advisers, he enlisted Mr. Bowker’s cunning in the cause, by the lure of a long wished-for ring.

  A third person was afterwards added in Miss Slummers, or rather Miss Howard, of Sadlers Wells Theatre, with whom it ultimately was arranged a sham register-office marriage should be concocted, the certificate of which should be handed to Mrs. Jorrocks, who was so delighted with the scheme and with Bill’s sagacity that she presented him with a five-pound note for his trouble. It was just what Bill wanted to enable him to purchase a beautifully carved Prince Le Boo nigger he had seen down in Shadwell, which he thought if he only
could get for his shop door it would be the making of him. He therefore immediately slipped on his old broken-down bargain-making clothes, and partly by walking, and partly by bussing, arrived at the “marine store,” where the object of his errand stood. Prince Le Boo was a magnificent nigger, six feet high, stout, and well formed. He had a splendid diadem, full of particoloured feathers, and wore the dress of a savage chief. He had been the property of some East-end Bowker, who, in classical language, had “gone to the wall;” and Bill, in his nautical perambulations, had often admired the stately ease with which the Prince faced the street, offering the contents of his snuff-box to the world. When the owner failed, Bill traced the Prince to his purchaser, and often, on a Saturday afternoon, he would stroll down to see if he was safe, and envy the possession of him. The reader may judge with what joy Bowker placed his prize in a cab, and drove up to Eagle Street, as proud as though he were riding alongside the Prince of Wales. The new purchase threw the blue-jacketed, red-stripe-trousered predecessor into the back-ground, and Bill spent 10l. in advertising his establishment as Bowker’s “Splendid Prince Le Boo Snuff and Tobacco Warehouse, and Cigar Divan, &c. The Trade supplied.”

  A sparkling paste necklace propitiated Mrs. Bowker for the apparent extravagance, and Bill replaced Stobbs’ wheat earrings, with a coral necklace, and added a false-diamond bandeau as an equivalent for Susan’s share in the venture and prize-money.

  That no man is a match for a woman till he’s married, is an axiom most Benedicts will subscribe to, and Mrs. Jorrocks plied the “marriage lines” so skilfully and successfully that there was little occasion to follow up Belinda’s ultimatum with the following production of her own: —

  “Mrs. Jorrocks’ Compts Mr. Stobbs, and, sir, I am shocked and ‘orrified beyond all mensuration at his onprincipled conduct to my niece, which must be extremely painful both to Mrs. Jorrocks’s pride and delicacy; and, sir, Mrs. Jorrocks begs to say most implicitly, that upon no consideration at all can she admit Mr. Stobbs into my house in Great Coram Street again any more.

  “Mrs. Jorrocks considers it an interposition of Providence that has disclosed Mr. Stobbs’ wickedness, and saved Mrs. Jorrocks’ niece from Mr. Stobbs’ rascality. Mrs. Jorrocks considers Mr. Stobbs far worse than Mr. Carden.

  “P.S. — The hat and trousers you left with her are left at Mr. Bowker’s; and the books and things Mr. Stobbs gave Belinda, Belinda will prefer keeping if you have no objection.”

  CHAPTER LXXIII. MR. BOWKER’S REFLECTIONS.

  “THUS CONSCIENCE DOES make cowards of us all,” muttered Mr. Bowker; “And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action,” continued he, pacing home from Lincoln’s Inn to Eagle Street.

  The shades of night were drawing on. The gas men hurried from pillar to post; early shops were shutting up; and it was time to illumine the cigar-divan for the genteel young people they were letting loose.

  Mr. Bowker was unhappy — Prince Le Boo had not brought him the comfort he expected. The snuff-merchant was conscience-striken — he had had no peace since he sold himself to Mrs. Jorrocks. Still he couldn’t help himself, nor could he help repeating the lines already quoted. Belinda, as he had often seen her at Mrs. Jorrocks’, appeared before him — so young, so graceful, and so agreeable, —

  “Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn; Dear as the raptured thrill of joy.”

  Then he thought of Stobbs — recalled his first coming to chambers — his open, hearty manner — and, above all, how differently Charles treated him to the generality of old Twister’s pupils. What might he be doing then? Perhaps brooding over his misfortunes — racking his brain, to remember anything that had passed that could be construed into a promise of marriage.

  “Why have I done all this?” asked Bill. “Oh, curse the day that saw me in the clutches of that old hag!” continued he, as his interview in Great Coram Street came to his recollection. “‘Who would fardels bear to groan and sweat beneath a weary life, but that—’ B — boy’s shoved the corner of the shutter right into the pit of my stomach!” exclaimed Bill, breaking off, and doubling himself up; “Cursed little scamp!” added he, straightening himself, and seizing the boy by the cuff of the neck, and bastinadoing him with his cane. “What do you mean by flourishing your shutter about in that way?” whereupon Bill gave the boy two or three more hearty whacks, and then kicked him into the hosier’s shop.

  “Little unmitigated scamp!” continued Bill, hurrying on, muttering as he went, “By Jingo! it would have been just the same thing if I’d been the lord-mayor.”

  Fearing he might be followed, Bill cut on as quick as he could. He kept close to he wall, and rounded the corner into Red Lion Street at something between a walk and a run. Unfortunately, a gentleman had just stepped aside to tie his shoe-string, and Bill went a somerset over him with his face and hands in the kennel.

  Great was the hubbub! Women screamed — dogs barked — men stood and laughed — and boys jumped about, cheered, and clapped their hands.

  Bill was sadly damaged; both hands and one cheek were covered with mud, and his drab tights were split across the knees.

  “Confound you, sir!” roared Bill, gathering himself up, and addressing the gentleman; “what the d — I did you do that for?”

  “I was only tying my shoe-string!” replied a timid-looking little powdered man in black, eyeing Bill with unfeigned fear.

  “Tying your shoe-string!” roared Bill; “d — n you, sir, you’re always tying your shoe-string. I’ve a deuced good mind to commit you for an assault! — Confounded good mind to commit you for an assault! By Jove, I will commit you for an assault! Hanged if I won’t commit you for an assault! What’s your name? I’ll send you to Newgate!”

  Mr. Bowker’s temper was sadly ruffled. His neighbour Bullpit’s apprentice shouted and roared, and Mrs. Bowker even was graceless enough to laugh at him, as he entered his shop fresh from his fall; added to which, she had done no business during the day, and Mrs. Jorrocks had sent to say she wanted to see him again

  As he was purging himself from his contempt, as he called it, and beginning to regain his usual equanimity, a Hansom cab, as these ugly things are called, rolled rapidly up the street, and, passing his door, pulled up short with a skate before his window.

  “That’s here!” exclaimed Bill, from the back shop, where he was washing; “why don’t you light up, woman, and let our clients see where we live?” inquired he of his wife, hurrying on his night-coat, and bustling behind the counter.

  A youth in a dark macintosh jumped out of the cab, and entered the shop. The collar was up, but Bowker immediately recognised the hat and eyes.

  “Did you get a letter from me?” inquired Charles, hastily, undoing the collar of his macintosh as he spoke.

  “No — yes — no,” replied Mr. Bowker, confusedly, “all right.”

  “All right! — but it’s not all right,” repeated Charles,— “I think it’s all wrong. Who told Mrs. Jorrocks this confounded lie?”

  “Mrs. Jorrocks!” repeated Mr. Bowker; “Mrs. Jorrocks — Mrs. Jorrocks — the old girl in Great Coram Street! ‘Faith, I don’t know.”

  “Real Havannahs, those, sir,” turning to a customer who had just entered the shop. “The ship only arrived the day before yesterday, and I took the whole cargo — two hundred ton in my warehouse. Thank ye, sir — want a case to put them in — great variety in the window — all prices. New one there! — Prince Albert in kilts, Shooting in Scotland — most popular pattern — sold three dozen to-day — only five shillings. Thank you, sir. You don’t snuff, I suppose? — got some of the purest Lundyfoot I ever receive — forty barrels — four hundred pounds worth, in fact!”

  The customer did not, and therefore took his departure.

  “Now, Bowker, tell me candidly,” said Charles, as soon as he was gone, “what all this means — tell me the worst at once.�
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  “ ‘Faith, I have no worst in the matter,” replied Bill; “you seem to know just as much about it as I do, if not more.”

  “Nay, don’t say that — don’t deceive me — you’ve seen old mother Jorrocks — you’ve some idea what she’s driving at.”

  Bill was silent.

  “You know the story about Susan’s all made up.”

  “Indeed I don’t,” replied Mr. Bowker, confidently— “Indeed I don’t — I’ve no reason to doubt my wife’s sister — none whatever. Quite the contrary.”

  “Nay then!” exclaimed Charley, subsiding into a seat.

  “Why, really,” replied Bill, looking very solemn, “I should be very happy to befriend you in any way in my power, but there’s an old saying, blood’s stronger than water; and I must consider my wife’s sister first. Matrimony’s not so easily got over as a cane and rice fence, as poor old Jackey would say.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” growled Charles in disgust.

  “Aye, stuff and nonsense, indeed,” retorted Mr. Bowker, “stop till you’ve had your nose at the matrimonial grindstone as long as I have, and you’ll know it’s not stuff and nonsense.”

  “Come, old Bill,” exclaimed a well-musked youth in a blue Spanish cloak, with a profusion of ringlets and rings, “sarve me out a couple of your confounded dried cabbage-leaves, you brandy-faced, big-looming beggar.”

  “Certainly, sir,” replied Bill, strewing a handful along the counter— “there’s no standing your insinuating manner! Your politeness exceeds your beauty. Those cigars, sir, — though I say it, — are not to be equalled.”

  The youth lit one of them, and sticking his back against the counter, proceeded to draw long respirations, puffing out volleys of smoke at intervals. His great unmeaning eyes rested first on Prince Le Boo, then on the other nigger, next on Charles, then back on the Prince, then again on the nigger.

  Mr. Bowker lighted the revolving fan-light in the window, which, with the gas on the counter, made a goodly illumination. He leaned with folded arms against the well-canistered shelves, and Charles seated himself on the make-believe snuff-barrel in which Mrs. Bowker kept her muff.