Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “The Tompkinses?” repeated the Marquis.

  “You know there are two Tompkinses,” observed his Grace: “Tompkins of Lintley, and Tompkins of Whitley, and between the two I’m always making some confusion. One is in the outer circle, the other in the inner circle, and it is the outer circle Tompkins I am puzzled about — I have some idea that he dined here, and his wife had a headache, and stayed at home.”

  “Oh yes, I remember now,” replied the Marquis. “He is a little round squat man, with a very red-face. He dined here, and went home after. His wife was disappointed of her dress, and could not come in consequence.”

  “Oh, that was the way, was it,” observed the Duke.

  “Yes; so their servant told Ma’s French maid.”

  “Very good,” rejoined his Grace; “then he’s been dined, and there’s no occasion to have him again. Now about Heslop of Bustan. Has Heslop been here this year?”

  “No, I think not,” replied the Marquis. “He was asked, but excused himself on the ground that his sister-in-law was ill.”

  “Then I think he had better be asked now. I understand he was a Tory, indeed most of his relations are, so he should be looked after — a doubtful man should always be watched. Now do you know, anything about Crossman of Chiswick?” inquired the Duke, writing Heslop’s name down.

  “Crossman is dead,” replied the Marquis.

  “Dead, is he?” exclaimed the Duke. “Poor fellow — sorry for it, good man. Then he’s out of the question. Brown Jones, then — do you recollect when Brown Jones was last here?”

  “Brown Jones,” replied the Marquis, laughing; “that’s not his name.”

  “Oh yes, it is, I have him in my list — own handwriting too,” showing it to the Marquis.

  “I know all that,” rejoined the Marquis, laughing, without looking at the proffered paper. “His nickname is Brown Jones, because he is so very dark, and to distinguish him from another, who is very white; but his real name is John.”

  “John Jones! are you sure of that?” exclaimed the Duke.

  “Quite certain! I remember your setting the table in a roar of laughter by calling out, ‘Mr. Brown Jones, may I have the pleasure of taking wine with you?’”

  “Well, I do recollect something about that,” observed the Duke, laying down his pen and looking especial wise; “I do recollect something about that. Binks whispered in my ear as he helped me to wine—’ Mr. John Jones is ready to take wine with your Grace’ — awkward mistake — monstrous awkward mistake; people should never use nicknames — how was I to know his name was John? who knows but I’ve offended the man, and he’s turned Tory? sad mistake, monstrous sad mistake — never heard him called anything but Brown Jones in my life — could have sworn his name was Brown Jones — must be asked, however — make it up — shall take your mamma to dinner — mind that, Jeems, and you be very civil to him, monstrous civil.”

  Thereupon his Grace added John Jones’s name to the list.

  “He shall have a bed too,” added his Grace, putting a cross to Jones’s name, “though he lives in the inner circle.”

  “Have you got Mr. Jorrocks’s name down?” inquired the Marquis, after a pause. —

  “Mr. Jorrocks! Mr. Jorrocks!” repeated his Grace.

  “Mr. Jorrocks, of Hillingdon Hall, you know — the old gentleman I stayed with,” explained the Marquis.

  “Ah, true!” observed his Grace; “I know who you mean — the old gentleman who came here, and sat drink — drink — drinking such an unreasonable time. No, I’ve not got him” said his Grace, with a shake of his bald, white-whiskered head.

  “You had better, I think,” observed the Marquis.

  “Can’t stand him! can’t stand him!” exclaimed the Duke, shaking his head again; “far too hospitable for me, far too hospitable for me — no getting him away from the table — no getting him away from the table.”

  “Oh, but you might get some one to drink with him. Old Hobanob, of the Haw, for instance, is fond of his wine, or Mr. Lushman, or Captain Fairdrinker.”

  “Ah, true; but Mr. Jorrocks is a desperate sitter,” observed his Grace. “Then he will give toasts; I assure you I have hardly got over the headache he gave me when he was here before — desperate sitter! desperate sitter indeed!”

  “He’s a good old fellow, too,” rejoined the Marquis.

  “Oh, I dare say he’s all that — good man — monstrous good man; but he’s a hard drinker — monstrous hard drinker — headache-giving old man.”

  “You have made him a magistrate, too; I think you should have him if it is only for the sake of appearances.”

  “Ah, that’s another misfortune!” exclaimed his Grace, “that’s another misfortune. I have got the whole commission up in arms again; all swear they’ll resign. Bag full of letters — disagreeable — monstrous disagreeable.”

  “He’s just as good as half of them, I dare say,” replied the Marquis, determined to stick up for his friend.

  “Very true — very true, my dear!” observed the Duke, throwing his white-bearded head up in the air. ‘ “Still they do make a great outcry; they say he can neither speak English nor write it. Certainly his letter to me wasn’t first-rate. However, that’s done, and we must just make the best of it.” —

  “Then I would have him to dine, if it was only to show you are not ashamed of him,” observed the Marquis. “Besides, it is our turn to ask him, you know.”

  “True, my dear — true; you should keep up your interest, and not lay yourself under obligations: but I think we may do it without sacrificing ourselves too much. That headache I never shall forget,” added his Grace, with a shudder. “Does he drink much at home?” inquired he.’

  “Oh no,” replied the Marquis, “not to any excess. The first day, you know, we had a public dinner, and there was more speaking than drinking; then, the second, he had a few neighbours — ladies chiefly — and we had music and singing, and so on.”

  “His daughter’s a fine girl,” observed the Duke; “monstrous fine girl — ladylike girl.”

  “He has no daughter,” replied the Marquis.

  “Oh yes, he has — oh yes, he has,” rejoined the Duke; “she dined here — she dined here. Don’t you remember her? — blue satin gown on, feather in her head.”

  “That was not his daughter — that was Mrs. Flather’s daughter,” said the Marquis, colouring slightly, for he hadn’t given over blushing.

  “I am sure they called her Miss Jorrocks.”

  “You did, I know,” observed the Marquis. “The fact was, she came with Mrs. Jorrocks, and you supposed of course she was Miss Jorrocks.”

  “Ah, that was the way, was it?” observed the Duke— “that was the way, was it? Very likely — very likely; the servant made the mistake in announcing them, and I adopted it, I dare say. Then he has no children?”

  “No,” replied the Marquis.

  “What does he do when he’s at home?” asked the Duke. “Oh, he’s a great farmer,” replied the Marquis; “most scientific farmer.”

  “Is he indeed!” exclaimed his Grace. “Is he indeed,” repeated he; “well, now, I should have guessed as much: fine farmer — monstrous fine farmer, I dare say.”

  “Invents all sorts of ingenious things, draining tiles, thrashing machines, and I don’t know what else.”

  “Clever man, I dare say,” rejoined his Grace; “monstrous: clever man.”

  “Oh, very clever man,” replied the Marquis. “He has a most elaborate piece of machinery in hand now, that is to do I don’t know how many things at once.”

  “Indeed,” replied his Grace; “monstrous clever thing’, I dare say.”

  “You had better ask him to dine, and he will tell you all about it,” added the Marquis, returning to the old point.

  “Ah, that’s another question,” added the Duke—” that’s another question — should be very glad to see him to dine — monstrous glad to see him to dine — only he is such a man for his bottle — such a man for to
asts — such a man for speeches — such a man for drinking things three times over — gives me a headache to think of it,” added his Grace, pressing his hand on his forehead.

  “But I dare say we could manage him somehow,” observed the Marquis; “get Mr. Slushbucket to meet him — he is a regular two-bottle man.”

  “Ah, but then Mr. Jorrocks wouldn’t be content with him — wouldn’t be content with him — besides, Slushbucket would go — Slushbucket has some tact — knows when to go — Jorrocks has none — Jorrocks has none — would victimise me again, to a certainty — couldn’t help myself, you know, and then I should have a headache for a week — fortnight perhaps — drinking’s a thing quite exploded.”

  “Except among farmers,” observed the Marquis, anxious to shelter his friend.

  “Ah, true,” replied his Grace; “they take a great deal of exercise — monstrous deal of exercise. Mr. Jorrocks is out all day, I dare say — ploughing, or sowing, or harrowing, or something. No,” added his Grace thoughtfully, “I really cannot sacrifice myself again so soon to the old gentleman.

  If I thought Mr. Slushbucket and he would do the business together, I’d have no objection to find wine — none at all — like it rather — for Mr. Jorrocks is a very conversable man — agreeable man — monstrous agreeable man; but then I know exactly how it would be — Slushbucket would go, and then it would be, ‘If your Grace will allow me, I’ll propose the health of the Duchess of Donkeyton,’ whenever Mr. Jorrocks saw me make a move to leave the table — or, ‘With your Grace’s permission, we’ll drink the Marquis of Bray’s good health again; and so he would go on till midnight. No, we had better give him something — make him a present — haunch of venison — saddle of southdown — sucking pig — something of that sort.”

  “Oh, I dare say he has mutton enough of his own,” observed the Marquis.

  “Ah, true,” exclaimed his Grace, with an assenting chuck of the head—” true, true. Well, something else — something farming. Dare say Jobson could spare us something that might be useful to him — Dorsetshire ewes — lamb at Christmas — Hampshire hog, or there’s that young bull he talked of taking to the fair — give him that — handsome present — monstrous handsome present.”

  “I dare say that would please him,” observed the Marquis, who had heard of Mr. Jorrocks’s peregrinations and cogitations about a bull. Moreover, the Marquis saw the Duke was not to be talked into having Mr. Jorrocks again, and thinking the present of the bull would furnish excuse for another visit or two to Hillingdon Hall, he was content to accept his father’s offer. The fact was, the Marquis wanted a little change — a little excitement. The seclusion of Donkeyton Castle, though well suited to his Grace’s maturer years, was ill adapted to the warm temperament of the Marquis’s juvenile blood. A homebred youth, reared at’his mother’s apron strings, he had none of the suitable-aged companions a public school and college enable a youth to select; and now, as he advanced to manhood, he felt that yearning alter something — that desire to be doing, incident to youth — and upon the right direction of which depends so much the happiness of life. The Duke of Donkeyton was a thick-headed, self-sufficient old man — one who thought that everybody must like what he liked — and who could not make allowances for the different tastes difference of age produces. Moreover, he wrapped himself in the mantle of his order, and procured as much ignorance of the world by exclusiveness as his son possessed from inexperience. Now and then his Grace unbent, and did a little popularity, as we have seen him on the occasion of Mr. Jorrocks’s visit, and as he now threatened to do by others; but he soon relapsed into his former stateliness, after having offended as many by his blunders and want of tact as he pleased by his laboured condescension. Notwithstanding all this, however, his Grace believed himself extremely popular, and a perfect pattern of what an English nobleman ought to be. The Duchess was an amiable woman, but her sphere of action was naturally contracted, nor is her character important to our story, further than as her amiable qualities were inherited by the Marquis.

  But to the bull.

  His Gracé having determined to compliment Mr. Jorrocks with a bull, in preference to undergoing his agreeable company at dinner, a messenger was despatched to the farm, to counter-order the animal’s march for the fair, while the Marquis indited the following letter to his friend, begging to offer him for Mr. Jorrocks’s acceptance.

  “DONKEYTON CASTLE.

  “DEAR MR. JORROCKS, — When I was with you the other day, you were anxious to procure a fine bull, and as my papa has a particularly good breed, he has kindly allowed me to select one for your acceptance, which I have very great pleasure in offering to you. Our steward tells me he is of the pure Durham breed, descended from Mr. Collings’s Bolinbroke; his mamma, or whatever you farmers call the old cow, a descendant of the Godolphin Arabian cow, if I recollect right — but you shall have his pedigree regularly drawn up, if you think him worth your acceptance. His colour is milk white, and he is very tame. I hope Mrs. Jorrocks is quite well, and that you are getting on with your thrashing machine. I should like to drive over and see how you advance. Perhaps you would have the kindness to say if you are at home, and whether it will be convenient to you to receive me. My papa and mamma unite with me in best compliments to Mrs. Jorrocks, and I remain, dear Mr. Jorrocks, very truly yours,— “BRAY.

  “P.S. — I am not quite sure that I am right about the pedigree of the bull. The steward showed me a young horse at the same time that was going to the fair, and perhaps I may have confounded the two; but he will put it all right for you, I make no doubt.”

  Mr. Jorrocks was overjoyed at the receipt of the foregoing. A bull was all he wanted to complete the measure of his happiness. A bull that would go about the country, and sweep away the prizes, and cause his master’s name to be hailed in booth and tent with plaudits and acclamation. Now he had got one — given too. The following is a copy of his answer: —

  HILLINGDON HALL

  TO WIT.

  “DEAR MARQUIS OF BRAY, — Yours is received, and note the contents.

  “You have conferred an honour on John Jorrocks that he can never repay — your noble father did me proud by makin’ of me a beak, but your noble self has done me far prouder by givin’ of me a bull. The possession of a bull is the tip-top rail in the ladder of my hambition. Allow me to call him the Marquis of Bray; I feels assured he will never disgrace it — nay, that he will add fresh laurels to those you have gained. Never mind his pedigree — if he’s a good handler, and straight in the back, I’ll make him one from the Herd Book that can’t be surpassed. Collins is a name jestly dear to us farmers — dear, long afore Collins’s axles were inwented. Bolinbroke was indeed a grand bull. His grandson was the sire of the cow “Lady,” who at fourteen was sold for two hundred and sixty guineas. Countess, her daughter, fatched four hundred guineas at nine years old — Major and George, two of her sons, the former three years old, the latter a calf, fatched one two hundred guineas, t’other a hundred and thirty; and, indeed, “Lady’s” progeny are famous throughout the universe. Who knows but your lordship, in givin’ of me this bull, has laid the foundation of fame for the name of John Jorrocks, equal to that of the Collins, the Masons, and the Coates’ of Scotland? ‘ With your permission, I’ll go over to Donkeyton on Thursday, to accompany the noble and valuable quadruped ‘ome, and the sooner after that your lordship comes to drink his ‘ealth at my ‘ouse, the better Mrs. Jorrocks and I will be pleased. Dinner at five, and no waitin’; so no more at present from, my dear Lord Marquis, yours to serve,— “JOHN JORROCKS, J.P.

  “P.S. — The Godolphin was an ‘oss — not a short’om — possibly you’ve mexed the pedigrees, but no matter. Wot you calls my threshin’ machine is I s’pose my grand reaper, plougher, sower, thresher, grinder, &c. ‘Jorrocks’s Généraliser,’ or ‘ man of all work,’ as I calls it. I haven’t had time to get it stuck together yet; indeed, I’m a thinkin’ whether it wouldn’t be possible to add a baker’s shop and oven; but whe
n you comes over I’ll have the joiner at work, and we’ll see what we can do. It’ll be a grand concern; but at present the bull’s the ticket.”

  On the appointed day Mr. Jorrocks and Benjamin set off in the old rattle-trap to bring the bull from Donkeyton Castle to Hillingdon Hall. Mr. Jorrocks had provided a suitable domicile for him near the house, and laid in a most liberal allowance of straw, cut clover, and every luxury a bull could require. The news of the Marquis’s letter was known both at the Manse and Mrs. Trotter’s ere our worthy friend had mastered its contents, and both ladies dropped in casually at the Hall to try if they could learn anything about it. Unfortunately Mr. Jorrocks had not returned from his usual stare about the country; and though Mrs. Jorrocks kept turning the letter about on its comers, letting them see who it was from, she did not muster courage to open it. Mr. J. had her in better order.

  The Duke of Donkeyton being afraid to encounter Mr. Jorrocks at luncheon even, deputed the Marquis to do the honours of the house to the distinguished visitor; but Mr. Jorrocks having a great contempt for luncheon at all times, and a violent desire to see his bull at the present one, could hardly find time to exchange common civilities with his noble host, who met him as he drove up to the door.

  “And how is Mrs. Jorrocks?” asked the Marquis, after he had shaken hands with our worthy friend on alighting from his antediluvian vehicle.

  “Quite well.’Ow’s my ball?” inquired he.

  “I thought you’d have driven Mrs. Jorrocks or some of the ladies over with you this fine day,” observed the Marquis. —

  “Mrs. J. couldn’t have driven the ball ‘ome, you know,” replied Mr. Jorrocks.

  “No; no more can your boy, for that matter, I should think,” observed the Marquis, looking at Benjamin’s insignificant figure.

  “Doesn’t know that,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, adding, “wot the big ‘uns does by strength, the little ‘uns does by hartifice.”