by R S Surtees
“Wot’un a nob ‘as he, Binjimin?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks; “wot’un a nob ‘as he?”
“I ham’t examined his nob,” replied Benjamin; “Jos has only just cotch’d him, Jos has only just cotch’d him!” repeated he.
“Oh! confound it, Binjimin, ’ow can you trouble me in this ’ere way. Here am I inwestigatin’ a desp’rate bugglary, and you comes interruptin’ of me, without havin’ taken the dimensions of his coacoa-nut. I tells you, never bring a waggabone forrard until you’ve examined his perry cranium.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“Then go and do it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin, muttering as he went, with a shake of the head, “desperate bugglary, indeed! I knows better nor that.” —
“Capital thing, that crazeyology,” observed Mr. Jorrocks to Mrs. Flather, as he heard Benjamin’s footsteps dying away in the passage; “gives one a capital idea of a waggabone’s character; or any one’s indeed,” added Mr. Jorrocks, looking smilingly at Mrs. Flather, after the frown Benjamin’s ill-timed interruption had brought over his good-natured countenance had passed away. “I should say, now,” added he, “that your ‘ead would pay a bampologist well for examinin’.”
“Oh, you flatter, Mr. Jorrocks,” said Mrs. Flather.
“‘Deed I doesn’t, though,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “‘deed I doesn’t, though,” repeated he; “I always says you’re the neatest little ‘ooman I knows; neat, pretty little ‘ooman.”
“Oh, fie! Mr. Jorrocks,” said Mrs. Flather, diving into her bag, and producing her best pocket-handkerchief.
“Fiddle, O fie!” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “it’s the truth, and that’s all how and about it. I always says you’re the neatest little ‘ooman I know. I likes a little ‘ooman.”
“I thought you’d like big ones,” observed Mrs. Flather, looking archly at our friend.
“Never such a thing!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “never such a thing! Little ‘uns for my money.”
“Well, I’m sure I always thought you admired big women,” observed Mrs. Flather.
“Quite a mistake,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “quite a mistake; I says big ‘uns are only fit for grenadiers.”
“Well, that’s my opinion,” rejoined Mrs. Flather; “especially when they’ve moustarche,” added she, with as sagacious a smile as her unmeaning face could muster. (Mrs. Trotter had a slight pencilling that way.)
“Just so,” said Mr. Jorrocks, giving her a poke and a wink.
“Let’s have your nob examined,” said he, wishing to turn the conversation before Mrs. Flather made him commit himself further against Mrs. Trotter, a thing our friend had no intention of doing. “I should think,” continued he, “you’ll have some remarkable fine bamps — observin’ faculties, knowin’ faculties, reflective faculties — all sorts o’ faculties, in fact.”
“Oh dear no! no such thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Flather, resisting Mr. Jorrocks’s untying of her bonnet-string.
“Jest me” said Mr. Jorrocks, as if he was nobody. Our friend then divested Mrs. Flather of her bonnet.
“We’ll begin with number one,” said he, getting his outlines, and feeling Mrs. Flather behind the ear.
“Bamp of amitiveness,” said he, looking at his paper with a great black head at the top, marked into divisions corresponding with a classification below. “Bamp of amitiveness, werry large — marriage, love. ‘A man shall leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife;’ and I s’pose, by the same rule, a ‘ooman shall leave her father and mother and cleave to her ‘usband. Ad’esiveness,” continued he, feeling a little forward, “that means attachment — friendship, and social sympathy, such as exists between you and I,” said Mr. Jorrocks, giving Mrs. Flather a kiss.
“Oh, Mr. Jorrocks!” exclaimed Mrs. Flather.
“Nobody will hear,” said our worthy friend, giving her another.
“Well, but now, let’s talk about the Marquis,” said she, pushing him aside, as he prepared for another salute.
“Yell,” said he, “let’s talk about the Markis; wot’s the specific charge again’ him?”
“Why, I can’t say that I have any regular charge to make against him,” replied Mrs. Flather, putting on her bonnet; “indeed, I believe if he was left to himself, he would do what is right and proper; but that odious — you know who I mean — is doing all she can to get him away from us, for her own gawky copper-coloured daughter.”
“Yell, but that would be ‘larceny,’ I should think,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, with a sagacious shake of the head; “that would be larceny, I think — stealin’ a sweetheart;” at the same time diving into his pocket to consult his friend “Stone.”
“Larceny has been defined to be,” read he, “the wrongful takin’ and carryin’ away of the personal goods of any one from his possession, with a felonious intent to conwert them to the use of the ‘fender, without the consent of the owner.”
“That seems werry like the thing,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking full at Mrs. Flather; “she wants to conwert the Markis to her own use — at least to the use of her darter — sed quaere, as us lawyers say, is the absolute possession of the Markis in your darter?”
“But I don’t want the law of him,” observed Mrs. Flather; “indeed, I come to ask your advice more as a friend than as a magistrate.” —
“Always ‘appy to see you in any capacity, my leetle dack,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, giving her another kiss that sounded right through the room. —
“Bump of acquisitiveness werry big!” holloa’d Benjamin; through the door; and “bump o’ philopro — somethin’ werry small!”
“Confound the bouy!” growled Mr. Jorrocks, wondering if he had heard the sound; “confounded young rascal — does it on purpose I do believe.”
“Bamp of acquisitiveness, Binjimin!” replied’ Mr. Jorrocks, collecting his faculties; “bamp of acquisitiveness, did you say? that’s the priggin’ bamp; wot’s the rascal been a stealin’?”—’
“Gooseberries!” replied Benjamin.
“Gooseberries!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks; “wot’s the punishment?”
“Don’t know!” replied Benjamin through the door.
“Don’t know, bouy! Vy didn’t you look it out in the book afore ever you came botherin”ere? Look out gooseberry, I say, or I’ll pull your gown over your ‘ead, and send you to the treadmill yourself. These bouys are the devil’s own,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks, half to himself and half to.
Mrs. Flatter. “I really sometimes think that bouy takes a pleasure in interruptin’ o’ me when I’m particklarly engaged — at least plisantly engaged,” added he, giving Mrs. Flather’s arm a squeeze.
“There ar’nt gooseberry in the book,” holloa’d Benjamin through the door, after a long pause, during which he had been listening.
“Ar’nt gooseberry in the book!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks; “impossible, Binjimin!”
“There ar’nt, howsomever.”
“Look out goose then!” replied Mr. Jorrocks, adding to himself, “wot’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander; and wot’s law for goose will most likely be law for gooseberry.”
“There ar’nt goose neither!” replied Benjamin—” gold plate — good be’aviour” —
“Ay, good be’aviour, indeed,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, “that’s a thing you knows precious little about.”
“Goods forfeited — grand jurymen — grey’ound — grouse — guide - post — guest — gunpowder — gipsies,” continued Benjamin, reading on while his master was muttering.
“Ord rot it, ‘old your noise, Binjimin!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, “you are long past goose. Let me look,” said he, getting up and making for the door.
“Let me look,” said he, after he had got it fumbled open, taking Burn’s Justice from the boy, who stood with the fifth volume open at the index. Mr. Jorrocks began with the G’s at “game,” and went regularly through them: “Gaols — garments — general — gentlemen — gins — glass — gleaning — gloves
— to gold plate,” where Benjamin had begun, but there was nothing about “gooseberry.”
“Let me look in my ‘Stone,’” added he, pulling out his pocket manual again. “Dare say it will be under the ‘ead of gardens.”
“Here it is, 94 — stealing &c., wegitable productions in gardens.”
Mr. Jorrocks then turned to page 94, and read as follows:—” Wegitable productions growin’ in gardens — stealing or destroyin’, or damagin’ with intent to steal any plant, root, fruit, or wegitable production, growin’ in any garden, orchard, nursery ground, ‘ot-’ouse, green-’ouse, or conservatory. Punishment on conwiction afore one jestice for first offence, imprisonment with or without ‘ard labour in gaol or ‘ouse of Correction for not exceedin’ six calendar months, or penalty above the walue not exceedin’ twenty punds.”
“My vig!” added he, “but that’s tight work. Makes gooseberry stealing werry expensive.”
“‘Ow old’s the waggabone, Binjimin?”
“May be a dozen,” replied Benjamin.
“A dozen — twelve that’s to say,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks; “six months at twelve years old — sharp work. Twenty punds — deal o’ cash.”
“You’re sure he stole them, Binjimin?”
“Jos caught him in the garden; he had both pockets chock-full, and a cabbage in his ‘at.”
“Cabbage in his ‘at,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “wegitable production, that’s to say. Well, Binjimin, I think he’s too young to send to quod; I’ll deal sammarily with the case. Take him to Batsay with my compliments, and say I’ll thank her to take him into the laundry and give him a good basternaderin’ — good strapping that’s to say.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin. —
“A dozen or so,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“And bid her put a pair o’ stockins in his mouth, so that we mayn’t be troubled with his noise.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“Dirty ‘uns!” added Mr. Jorrocks, as Benjamin went away.
“And now, my little darlin’,” said he, patting Mrs. Flather on the back as he shut the door, and returned the pocket manual to the Jorrocklan jacket pocket, and resumed his seat, “let us ‘ear all about this naughty bouy and your pretty darter, and let’s see if we can deal summarily with him too; bad bouy, I fear! bad bouy: always pullin’ the gals about.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Jorrocks, as I said before, it’s not the Marquis I blame so much as those who entice him away. I’m quite sure he’s very much attached to Emma, and would do what is right if other people would let him.”
“Jest so,” said Mr. Jorrocks.
“There’s something now going on that we can’t at all fathom. Nothing could be kinder or more lover-like than he was the morning he called at our house, and yet from that day to this we’ve heard nothing from him.”
“Fallen in with summut he likes better p’raps,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“But that is very wrong, you know, Mr. Jorrocks,” observed Mrs. Flather.
“No doubt,” said Mr. Jorrocks, with a shake of his head, “no doubt — but it’s wot Sam Slick calls ‘uman natur’.”
“Well, then, you see, Mr. Jorrocks, I want to ask your advice what is best to be done.” —
“Best to be done,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, “best to be done? Dash my vig if I know. — Do you think you could make out a case if I was to summons him?”
“Oh! I shouldn’t like to take any step of that sort — it’s not as a justice, but as a gentleman that I come to consult you — friend, rather, let me say,” giving the steady old gentleman a sweet smile.
“Jest so,” said Mr. Jorrocks, giving her a hearty kiss in return. “Let us see now,” added he, preparing to look at the case in another light. “Has he written her any sweet letters?”
“Why, no; he’s not,” replied Mrs. Flather, sorry to have to admit the fact. “His attentions have been all verbal and personal.”
“Jest kissin’ and squeezin’,” observed Mr. Jorrocks. “You’ve nothin’ to show, then?” inquired he.
“Nothing,” replied Mrs. Flather, with a sigh.
“No little lockets or bracelets, or poetry pieces — nothin’ o’ that sort?”
“No,” responded Mrs. Flather.
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not knowing what to do. —
“Please, sir, will you have the mutton boiled or roasted?” inquired Betsey, who, having noiselessly opened the door, now stood with it in her hand, as the saying is.
“D — n the mutton!” screamed Mr. Jorrocks, starting up in a perfect fury. “That’s jest the way! if ever I’m particklar busy — either beakin’, or odein’, or anything, I’m sure to be interrupted by some cussed inquiry about the wittles.”
“And a pretty row you’d make if they warn’t to your liking, you nasty ugly old crockadile,” replied Betsey, with upturned nose and most indignant look at Mrs. Blather. “But I see how it is,” added she, throwing her apron up to her face and bursting into tears, “I see how it is!” repeated she, banging the door to, and hurrying away.
“That ‘ooman’s mad — full o’ beans,” observed Mr. Jorrocks with a shake of the head, as Betsey’s step died away. “Well now, my leetle darlin’, let’s resume about your darter, and see what we can do in the matter,” said he to Mrs. Flather, anxious to return to the subject. “I’m afeard he’s not put his foot quite far enough in it yet.”
“Not gone far enough, you think?” asked Mrs. Flather.
“I think not,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “I’d allow him a leetle more line.”
“But he offered to her almost the first day; it was love at first sight.” —
“Then you should have book’d him,” observed Mr. Jorrocks. “There’s nothin’like takin’ these young chaps when they’re in the ‘umour—’ safe bind safe find’s’ a beautiful axiom of sweet’eartin’ law.”
“How do you think ive had better do?” asked Mrs. Flather, recollecting who it was that prevented her booking the Marquis at Donkeyton Castle.
“Do, now?” repeated Mr. Jorrocks; “do, now? — faith, that’s a difficult question to answer. She’s a nice gal’s Emma, and a neat gal is Emma — puts her clothes on well — tidy about the pins too; but Lor’ bless you! she ar’nt to be compared to her mother.”
“Oh, Mr. Jorrocks, you flatter.”
“Not a bit,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “not a bit. I’ve always said, and I still maintains, that the gals of the present day are miles behind their mothers.”
“You are so complimentary always, Mr. Jorrocks.”
“They may be as fine, you know,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, without noticing the observation, “when they get to their hage — that in course I can’t say — but at present, I’m quite decided in that opinion; gals are nice, pretty, dollish-lookin’ things, but I says a ‘ooman isn’t a ‘ooman till she’s forty — fat, fair, and forty! that’s the ticket — that’s my motto.”
“Well, but about the Marquis,” resumed Mrs. Flather, anxious to keep the volatile Justice to the point. “What do you think we had best do?”
“Best do?” repeated Mr. Jorrocks; “best do? Vy, I’d try fair means fust, and then — and then — and then” —
“What?” ejaculated Mrs. Flather.
“I’m cussed if I know,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “It’s hardly, as I said before, exactly within the jurisdiction of a J.P. No doubt our commission is werry extensive — keep the peace — chastise and punish all wot offend again’ the laws and ordinances — inquire the truth upon the oath of good and lawful men of the county of all manner of felonies, puzzonin’s, inchantments, sorceries, arts majig, trespasses, forestalling, regratin’s, ingrossin’s, and extortions whatsomever; and also of all those who in the counties aforesaid in companies against our peace, in disturbance of our people with armed force have gone or rode or hereafter shall presume to go or ride, and also of all those who have lain in wait, or hereafter shall pr
esume to lie in wait, to maim or cut or quilt or kill our people; and also of all wittlers, and all and singulars other persons who in the ‘buse of weights or measures or in sellin’ wittles” —
“Oh, none of those would apply to the Marquis,” interrupted Mrs. Flather, fearful Mr. Jorrocks would recite the whole commission to her.
“I thinks not either,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “We might catch Emma p’raps as an ‘ enchantress,’” observed the gallant old Justice, “but, as you say, the person you want to catch is the Markis.”
“Just so,” replied Mrs. Flather.
“Well, then, it’s a ticklish thing,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “werry like fly-fishin’ — if you strike too soon, you may lose him altogether. Let him play with the ‘ook a little longer.”
“But then he doesn’t come to play with it, you see,” observed Mrs. Flather; “that’s the difficulty.”
“I twig,” winked Mr. Jorrocks. “S’pose you take the ‘ook to him.”
“But we have no excuse for going; besides, nobody ever goes to the Castle without an invitation. Couldn’t you, get the Marquis over again?” at last asked Mrs. Flather.
“Vy, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, considering, how the thing would cut. “I doesn’t know, I’m sure. There’s a many rings in the ladder atwixt a young Markis and a middle-aged grocer — J.P.; at all events, I should be a’most afraid of offendin’.”
“Oh, I don’t think you need be under any alarm about that,” replied Mrs. Flather; “the Duke seemed to like you amazingly, and the Marquis invited himself before.”
“That’s jest why I think I’d best let him inwite himself again,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. —
“You’d oblige me very much if you would,” observed Mrs. Flather, looking at him most lovingly.
“It’s bad to resist such a hen hangel as you,” said Mr. Jorrocks, getting up and bolting the door; but as we dare say our readers have had enough of this dialogue, we will not accompany the parties any further.
CHAPTER XXI.
