by R S Surtees
“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Tucker.
“Help yourselves, gentlemen,” said Mr. Bowker, filling Lis glass, and passing the bottle.
“We’d better cut our sticks, I think,” observed the baker, significantly, to the Corn-Law ruined farmer.
“I think so too,” replied the latter.
“And I’ll go with you,” added Mr. Grace, the insolvent painter, who lived in a house belonging to the Duke. -
“Oh no, gentlemen,” said Bill, “don’t disturb yourselves — don’t disturb yourselves — I’ll receive Mr. Smoothington in the other room.”
“We’ll go there!” exclaimed all three—” we’ll go there!” thinking to avoid meeting Mr. Smoothington on the stairs.
“Take a bottle of wine with you!” said Bill, pushing the port towards them.
“Thank ye — we’d prefer glasses and pipes,” observed Mr. Lishman.
“Ah, you are the right sort, I see,” replied Bill; “nothing like baccy.”
They all then bundled out.
“Just put the table right, and take these dirty plates away,” said Mr. Bowker, as the landlord answered the expected summons.
“Now, give a couple of clean glasses, and tell Mr. Smoothington I shall be happy to see him,” said Bill, twirling the card about.
Mr. Smoothington’s creaking boots presently sounded on the stairs as he ascended two steps at a time. Another moment, and he was bowing and scraping in the room.
“Mr. Smoothington, I believe,” said Mr. Bowker, rising and bowing to the stranger.
“The same,” replied the man of law, making one of his best Donkey ton Castle bows, and laying his hand on his heart.
“Pray, be seated,” said Mr. Bowker; “pray, be seated,” said he, laying his hand on the back of the chair, by the clean glasses and plate.
Mr. Smoothington put his hat under the chair, and obeyed the injunction.
“Take a glass of wine,” said Mr. Bowker, passing the bottle across. “That’s claret without the label; you’ll find it better than the port.” —
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Smoothington, helping himself to the claret.
“Confound these country inns,” observed Mr. Bowker, “they’ve no notion of doing things properly. Only fancy! they sent up champagne without being iced!”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Smoothington.
“Did, ‘pon honour,” said Bill, with a shake of the head. “The claret’s not what it should be, but the landlord says it’s the best he can give. I’m sorry I can offer you no better dessert than these filberts and biscuits,” added he; “but to tell you the truth, I’ve had the misfortune to lose my footman and part of my luggage.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Smoothington, with a look of concern.
“He’s either left behind at a station, or carried past the right one; at all events, when I wanted him he was not to be found. The worst of it is,” added Bill, “he had a couple of pine-apples and some fine grapes, that my gardener — poor fellow — thought would be a treat for me in the country.”
“Indeed!” rejoined Mr. Smoothington; “that is a loss;” as much as to say, the footman was nothing.
“Why, it is a loss, as things stand,” said Bill, “for I should have liked to have offered you a slice. As for myself, I care nothing about them; but we are supposed to grow the finest in England.”
“You are very kind, I’m sure,” replied Mr. Smoothington; adding, “have you much glass?”
“Three houses, I think,” said Bill; “three pineries — that’s to say, three vineries; peach-house or two. But I care very little about a garden.”
“Pay more attention to your park, perhaps,” observed Mr. Smoothington.
“Ay, there you have it!” said Bill, brightening up; “there you have it,” repeated he. “My friend, Lord Scampington, pays me the compliment of saying I’ve the finest venison in England.”
“Have you indeed?” exclaimed Mr. Smoothington, who dearly loved the cut of a haunch, particularly when he could get a glass of Burgundy after it.
“Help yourself,” said Mr. Bowker, pushing the bottles towards him, thinking his friend would want something to wash the lies he was telling him down with. Mr. Smoothington did as desired. Pending the gulp which followed, he bethought him of business.
“I hope you are not tired with the exertion of your canvass,” observed Mr. Smoothington, rubbing hand over hand.
“Why, not tired,” said Bill, with an air of indifference; “not tired-r-rather bored.”
“You are on the Repeal interest, I perceive,” said Mr. Smoothington.
“Repeal decidedly,” replied Bill. “By the way, did you see my little English and big American loaf dangling from the balcony as you came in?”
“It was dusk,” replied Mr. Smoothington; “and there was a great crowd about.”
“Looking at it, I dare say,” said Bill. “The best dodge yet.”
“The Corn Laws must be repealed,” observed Mr. Smoothington; “every thinking man must be satisfied of that. I think, however, it is rather a pity for two champions to start in the same cause when only one can come in.”
“How so!” exclaimed Mr. Bowker; adding, “what! is there another Richard in the field?”
“The Marquis of Bray and yourself,” observed Mr. Smoothington.
“The Marquis of Bray’s the other way,” replied Mr. Bowker.
“Pardon me,” rejoined Mr. Smoothington.
“He wouldn’t declare himself, at all events,” observed Bill, “and we politicians generally consider those that are not for us are against us.”
“It was partly out of delicacy to the memory of Mr.
Guzzlegoose, and partly a mistake of mine!” observed Mr. Smoothington.
“How so?” asked Bill, filling himself a bumper, and passing the bottle. —
“Why, I prepared his Lordship’s address, the draft of which I now produce,” said Mr. Smoothington, diving into the back pocket of his coat, and producing some ominous red-taped papers. “In this draft, as you will perceive,” continued he, opening it out, “distinct allusion is made to all restrictions on trade, including, of course, the Corn Laws; but, by an unfortunate clerical error, that important sentence’ was omitted, and the bill printed and posted without” —
“That’s very odd,” observed Mr. Bowker; adding, “shows great inattention on” —— —
“I was called away at the moment to attend a relation who was dying,” interrupted Mr. Smoothington.
“Well, but why didn’t the Marquis answer the League letters?” asked Bill; adding, “great body of that sort is entitled to respect, even from a Marquis.”
“That was a pity, certainly,” replied Mr Smoothington. “If I had been at home it would have been otherwise. These young men, you see, are unused to business — inattentive. I can answer for it, however, that not the slightest disrespect was meant to the League.”—’
“Hum!” considered Bill.
“It certainly seems a pity,” continued Mr Smoothington, “that two candidates of the same opinions should offer themselves for the same seat; to say nothing of the probability, hay, certainty, of the Tories putting up a man, and getting it from them.”
“I’m not afraid of the Tories,” replied Bill; “as a party they are contemptible against the League.”
“Single-handed, they are, I dare say,” agreed Mr. Smoothington; “but if the League interest is split, a very small party will defeat it.” —
“True!” observed Mr. Bowker, seeing how the thing would cut. “Well, then, the best thing will be for the Marquis of Bray to retire,” added he; “can be no difficulty about that, you know.”
Except that the Marquis’s interest has always been paramount in the county.”
“Time there was a change then,” observed Bill. “The Reform Bill ought to have put all that right.”
“I’m afraid I could hardly advise the Marquis to retire,” observed Mr. Smoothington, after a long pause.
> “You can hardly expect me to do it, I think, after all the expense I’ve incurred,” replied Mr. Bowker.
“Perhaps we could accommodate matters,” suggested, Mr. Smoothington, helping himself to the proffered bottles. “The Duke has great interest in the neighbouring borough of Swillington, and a dissolution can’t be far off; his interest there might return you comfortably for a long session, without trouble or expense.”
Mr. Bowker sat silent, apparently considering the matter.
“County representations are very troublesome,” observed Mr. Smoothington; “people never done asking — schools, churches, hospitals, infirmaries, races, plays, farces, devilments of all sorts — no gratitude either. At Swillington there’s nothing but a dinner, and a guinea a-head to the voters; five hundred pounds would do it.”
“I should still lose all the expenses I have been at here,” observed Mr. Bowker.
“That could be accommodated too,” replied Mr. Smoothington.
“Consider the trouble, though,” bristled Mr. Bowker.
“What can compensate me for my trouble, mental anxiety, and so on?”
“True!” assented Mr. Smoothington, unable to price it.
“Separation from family,” urged Mr. Bowker.
“Very true,” replied Mr. Smoothington.
“Leaving one’s own comfortable home for a filthy frowsy inn, where they haven’t even the common decency, I may almost say, necessary of life, ice for champagne.”
“This, I fear, is beyond the reach of our control,” observed Mr. Smoothington, rolling his hands over and over.
“Money can’t put that right,” said Mr. Bowker.
Mr. Smoothington shook his head. “It’s an unfortunate thing that the Marquis and you should have come in collision,” said he.
“It is,” said Mr. Bowker, “most unfortunate.”
“The Duke is a most amiable person,” observed Mr. Smoothington; “so is the Duchess; you’d like them if you knew them.” —
“Faith, I’m not a great man for the nobility,” observed Mr. Bowker. “Am very much of an old friend of mine’s way of thinking; who says that they first try to make towels, and then dish-clouts of one.”
“The Duke of Donkeyton doesn’t,” replied Mr. Smoothington; “he’s always the same.”
“Good fellow, is he?” asked Mr. Bowker.
“Very,” replied Mr. Smoothington.
“And the Marquis, what’s he like?” asked Mr. Bowker.
“Very fine young man,” said Mr. Smoothington.
“Indeed!” mused Mr. Bowker.
“Perhaps you’d go over with me and talk to the Marquis?” observed Mr. Smoothington, after a pause.
“Why, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Bowker; “I dare say we can do all he could.”
“No doubt,” rejoined Mr. Smoothington; “no doubt. The Duke will ratify whatever I do.”
“You are his factotum, I suppose,” observed Mr. Bowker.
“The Duke does nothing without consulting me,” replied Mr. Smoothington, with a self-complacent smile.
“It’s an awkward business,” mused Mr. Bowker; “commenced my canvass — extremely popular — great disappointment — enormous expense.”
“The expense should be no object,” replied Mr. Smoothington, “if you could only get over the rest.”
Mr. Bowker meditated.
“Nay, I don’t want to drive a hard bargain,” at length said he, with an air of indifference.
“It’s only right you should not be out of pocket,” replied Mr. Smoothington; “indeed, I should consider it my duty to see that you were not, the mistake having originated partly with myself.”
“Well,” said Mr. Bowker, again helping himself, and passing the bottle, “your proposition appears reasonable — fair, I may say.”
“I am glad you think so,” replied Mr. Smoothington; “there is only one way of dealing with gentlemen like you.”
“Let me see,” said Mr. Bowker, rubbing his hands; “it is that the Duke returns me for Swillington at the general election, and pays my present expenses — that’s to say, up to to-night?”
“I’ll agree to that on behalf of his Grace,” replied Mr. Smoothington, bowing and helping himself.
“It may save trouble,” said Bill, “if I take a sum down. There are expenses in town as well as here,” added he.
“As you please,” replied Mr. Smoothington. “What shall we say?”
“Put it in at your own figure,” said Bill, with a shrug of the shoulders, and an air of indifference. “A thousand! say a thousand!” added he.
This was a good deal more than Mr. Smoothington expected; but coming from a man with three pineries, and the best venison going, he thought it better to close than to haggle; especially as he was dealing for a Duke.
“Agreed,” said Mr. Smoothington.
“Help yourself,” said Mr. Bowker, again passing the bottle, “and drink success to the Marquis of Bray.” Mr. Bowker drank it in a bumper.
“His lordship will be much flattered when I tell him the compliment you’ve paid him,” said Mr. Smoothington, filling his glass and doing the same.
“You may as well give me a cheque for the money to-night,” said Bill, “and let me get out of this noisy place before they resume their racket in the morning.”
“With all my heart,” replied Mr. Smoothington, thinking he had better clench the bargain and get an agreement of resignation at the same time. Pens, ink, and paper being then produced, Mr. Smoothington filled up a cheque for the required sum, and took a memorandum of the agreement from Mr. Bowker, who got a duplicate signed by Mr. S., on behalf of the Duke of Donkey ton.
Exulting in his diplomacy, Mr. Smoothington shortly after backed out of the room, not, however, without receiving a pressing invitation from Bill to visit him at Whetstone Park.
With a somewhat swimming head, Mr. Smoothington descended the inn stairs; and, after ordering an express to come to his house, as soon as he could get ready, he sat down at his desk at home to write his letter to Donkeyton Castle just as the market-place clock chimed midnight.
CHAPTER XLIII.
THUS FAR OUR fortune keeps an onward course,
And we are graced with wreaths of victory.”
— SHAKSPEAKE.
MR SMOOTHINGTON felt as if he had performed the greatest feat in his life. Single-handed, he had saved the county from a contest. Thus he announced the victory to the Duke: —
“MY LORD DUKE, — I have the honour to acquaint you that, after a long interview with Mr. Bowker, I have at length succeeded in inducing that gentleman to retire from the contest.
“I found him most genteel, affable, and urbane; but his ambition of obtaining a seat in Parliament, and the great expense he had already incurred, together with the popularity he had acquired, made him reluctant to lose his hold upon the electors. After, however, pressing upon his consideration the similarity of the Marquis of Bray’s (amended) political opinions and his own, together with your lordship’s old family claims upon the county, Mr. Bowker, in the most gentlemanly manner, consented to retire, on the understanding that your lordship affords him your interest at Swillington, at the general election, and pays the costs of the day. These, to save trouble, and for the sake of round numbers, he has put down at one thousand pounds, be the same more or less, for which sum I have given him a cheque on my banker, and I now most sincerely trust that the Marquis of Bray may succeed to the seat of his ancestors without further let, suit, trouble, molestation, hindrance, or delay.
“I have the honour to subscribe myself, my Lord Duke, with the greatest respect, your much obliged and very humble servant, —
“PETER SMOOTHINGTON,
Sellborough.
“To the most noble the Duke of Donkeyton,
Donkeyton Castle.
“IMMEDIATE. BY EXPRESS. ONE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING.”
His lordship had retired to rest at his usual hour, hoping to drown in sleep the painful subject that h
ad occupied the Duchess’s and his attention since Mr. Smoothington’s departure, having first given orders to Binks to send up any letter that might arrive the moment it came. Sleep, however, was banished from his eyelids. The horrible phantom of a monstrous bloated citizen passed continually before his vision, and “BOWKER FOR EVER” sounded in his ears.
Sometimes, when just dropping off asleep, he fancied himself in the clutches of the fish-fag, and his efforts to disengage himself awoke him. Twelve, one, two, three, and four o’clock, he successively heard strike, and he began to long for daylight. Towards five, just as he really was likely to succeed, a little, gentle tapping, that could hardly awake a mouse, sounded through the thick oak door, and, in obedience to the Duke’s “Come in!” Jeanette, the Duchess’s pretty little French maid, tripped noiselessly into the room, and, by the aid of the rush-light, deposited Mr. Smoothington’s letter on the table at the bedside. The Duke was presently at it.
“Bravo!” exclaimed the Duke, as he read the first sentence, announcing that Mr. Smoothington had succeeded in inducing Mr, Bowker to retire.
“That’s a good job,” said he, “however.”
He then proceeded with the rest of the letter.
“Very good!” said he, “very good! well done indeed — monstrously well done,” said he, reading the borough arrangement and the thousand pounds. “Smoothington’s managed that well.” So saying, the Duke lit the wax-candles in the dressing-room, and forthwith proceeded to exercise his gratitude by the following letter to his conjurer: —
“DEAR SIR, — I beg to return you the Duchess of Donkeyton’s and my very best thanks for the admirable arrangement you have effected with Mr. Bowker. We ratify it in every respect. I enclose an order on Moneyboys & Co for fifteen hundred pounds, begging your acceptance of the five hundred. With respect, sir, I have the pleasure to be, your obedient servant,— “DONKEYTON.”
Having directed and sealed this, the Duke rang his bell, and, after desiring that the messenger might have it, he turned into bed, and slept like a top until twelve.
