by R S Surtees
‘Well,’ replied Jack, ‘I don’t know but you’re right. Chatterbox would soon wash his hands of him, as he has done of many promising young gentlemen before, if he has nothing; but people differ so in their ideas of what nothing consists of.’
Jack spoke feelingly, for he was a gentleman who was generally spoken of as having nothing a year, paid quarterly; and yet he was in the enjoyment of an annuity of sixty pounds.
‘Oh, why, when I say he has nothing,’ replied Lord Scamperdale, ‘I mean that he has not what Jawleyford, who is a bumptious sort of an ass, would consider sufficient to make him a fit match for one of his daughters. He may have a few hundreds a year, but Jaw, I’m sure, will look at nothing under thousands.’
‘Oh, certainly not,’ said Jack, ‘there’s no doubt about that.’
‘Well, then, you see, I was thinking,’ observed Lord Scamperdale, eyeing Jack’s countenance, ‘that if you would dine there to-morrow, as we fixed—’
‘Oh, dash it! I couldn’t do that,’ interrupted Jack, drawing himself together in his chair like a horse refusing a leap; ‘I couldn’t do that — I couldn’t dine with Jaw, not at no price.’
‘Why not?’ asked Lord Scamperdale; ‘he’ll give you a good dinner — fricassees, and all sorts of good things; far finer fare than you have here.’
‘That may all be,’ replied Jack, ‘but I don’t want none of his food. I hate the sight of the fellow, and detest him fresh every time I see him. Consider, too, you said you’d let me off if I sarved out Sponge; and I’m sure I did my best. I led him over some awful places, and then what a ducking I got! My ears are full of water still,’ added he, laying his head on one side to try to run it out.
‘You did well,’ observed Lord Scamperdale— ‘you did well, and I fully intended to let you off, but then I didn’t know what a beggar I had to deal with. Come, say you’ll go, that’s a good fellow.’
‘Couldn’t,’ replied Jack, squinting frightfully.
‘You’ll oblige me,’ observed Lord Scamperdale.
‘Ah, well, I’d do anything to oblige your lordship,’ replied Jack, thinking of the corner in the will. ‘I’d do anything to oblige your lordship: but the fact is, sir, I’m not prepared to go. I’ve lost my specs — I’ve got no swell clothes — I can’t go in the Stunner tartan,’ added he, eyeing his backgammon-board-looking chest, and diving his hands into the capacious pockets of his shooting-jacket.
‘I’ll manage all that,’ replied his lordship; ‘I’ve got a pair of splendid silver-mounted spectacles in the Indian cabinet in the drawing-room, that I’ve kept to be married in. I’ll lend them to you, and there’s no saying but you may captivate Miss Jawleyford in them. Then as to clothes, there’s my new damson-coloured velvet waistcoat with the steel buttons, and my fine blue coat with the velvet collar, silk facings, and our button on it; altogether I’ll rig you out and make you such a swell as there’s no saying but Miss Jawleyford’ll offer to you, by way of consoling herself for the loss of Sponge.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make a settlement for me, then,’ observed our friend.
‘Well, you are a good fellow. Jack,’ said his lordship, ‘and I’d as soon make one on you as on any one.’
‘I s’pose you’ll send me on wheels?’ observed Jack.
‘In course,’ replied his lordship. ‘Dog-cart — name behind — Right Honourable the Earl of Scamperdale — lad with cockade — everything genteel’; adding, ‘by Jove, they’ll take you for me!’
Having settled all these matters, and arranged how the information was to be communicated to Jawleyford, the friends at length took their block-tin candlesticks, with their cauliflower-headed candles, and retired to bed.
CHAPTER XXV
MR. SPRAGGON’S EMBASSY TO JAWLEYFORD COURT
WHEN MR. SPONGE returned, all dirtied and stained, from the chase, he found his host sitting in an arm-chair over the study fire, dressing-gowned and slippered, with a pocket-handkerchief tied about his head, shamming illness, preparatory to putting off Mr. Spraggon. To be sure, he played rather a better knife and fork at dinner than is usual with persons with that peculiar ailment; but Mr. Sponge, being very hungry, and well attended to by the fair — moreover, not suspecting any ulterior design — just ate and jabbered away as usual, with the exception of omitting his sick papa-in-law in the round of his observations. So the dinner passed over.
‘Bring me a tumbler and some hot water and sugar,’ said Mr. Jawleyford, pressing his head against his hand, as Spigot, having placed some bottle ends on the table, and reduced the glare of light, was preparing to retire. ‘Bring me some hot water and sugar,’ said he; ‘and tell Harry he will have to go over to Lord Scamperdale’s, with a note, the first thing in the morning.’
The young ladies looked at each other, and then at mamma, who, seeing what was wanted, looked at papa, and asked, ‘if he was going to ask Lord Scamperdale over?’ Amelia, among her many ‘presentiments,’ had long enjoyed one that she was destined to be Lady Scamperdale.
‘No — over — no,’ snapped Jawleyford; ‘what should put that in your head?’
‘Oh, I thought as Mr. Sponge was here, you might think it a good time to ask him.’
‘His lordship knows he can come when he likes,’ replied Jawleyford, adding, ‘it’s to put that Mr. John Spraggon off, who thinks he may do the same.’
‘Mr. Spraggon!’ exclaimed both the young ladies. ‘Mr. Spraggon! — what should set him here?’
‘What, indeed?’ asked Jawleyford.
‘Poor man! I dare say there’s no harm in him,’ observed Mrs. Jawleyford, who was always ready for anybody.
‘No good either,’ replied Jawleyford— ‘at all events, we’ll be just as well without him. You know him, don’t you?’ added he, turning to Sponge— ‘great coarse man in spectacles.’
‘Oh yes, I know him,’ replied Sponge; ‘a great ruffian he is, too,’ added he.
‘One ought to be in robust health to encounter such a man,’ observed Jawleyford, ‘and have time to get a man or two of the same sort to meet him. We can do nothing with such a man. I can’t understand how his lordship puts up with such a fellow.’
‘Finds him useful, I suppose,’ observed Mr. Sponge.
Spigot presently appeared with a massive silver salver, bearing tumblers, sugar, lemon, nutmeg, and other implements of negus.
‘Will you join me in a little wine-and-water?’ asked Jawleyford, pointing to the apparatus and bottle ends, ‘or will you have a fresh bottle? — plenty in the cellar,’ added he, with a flourish of his hand, though he kept looking steadfastly at the negus-tray.
‘Oh — why — I’m afraid — I doubt — I think I should hardly be able to do justice to a bottle single-handed,’ replied Sponge. ‘Then have negus,’ said Jawleyford; ‘you’ll find it very refreshing; medical men recommend it after violent exercise in preference to wine. But pray have wine if you prefer it.’
‘Ah — well, I’ll finish off with a little negus, perhaps,’ replied Sponge, adding, ‘meanwhile the ladies, I dare say, would like a little wine.’
‘The ladies drink white wine — sherry,’ rejoined Jawleyford, determined to make a last effort to save his port. ‘However, you can have a bottle of port to yourself, you know.’
‘Very well,’ said Sponge.
‘One condition I must attach,’ said Mr. Jawleyford, ‘which is, that you finish the bottle. Don’t let us have any waste, you know.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Sponge, determined to have it; whereupon Mr. Jawleyford growled the word ‘Port’ to the butler, who had been witnessing his master’s efforts to direct attention to the negus. Thwarted in his endeavour, Jawleyford’s headache became worse, and the ladies, seeing how things were going, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving our hero to his fate.
‘I’ll leave a note on my writing-table when I go to bed,’ observed Jawleyford to Spigot, as the latter was retiring after depositing the bottle; ‘and tell Harry to start with it early in
the morning, so as to get to Woodmansterne about breakfast — nine o’clock, or so, at latest,’ added he.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Spigot, withdrawing with an air.
Sponge then wanted to narrate the adventures of the day; but, independently of Jawleyford’s natural indifference for hunting, he was too much out of humour at being done out of his wine to lend a willing ear; and after sundry ‘hums,’ ‘indeeds,’ ‘sos,’ &c., Sponge thought he might as well think the run over to himself as trouble to put it into words, whereupon a long silence ensued, interrupted only by the tinkling of Jawleyford’s spoon against his glass, and the bumps of the decanter as Sponge helped himself to his wine.
At length Jawleyford, having had as much negus as he wanted, excused himself from further attendence, under the plea of increasing illness, and retired to his study to concoct his letter to Jack.
At first he was puzzled how to address him. If he had been Jack Spraggon, living in old Mother Nipcheese’s lodgings at Starfield, as he was when Lord Scamperdale took him by the hand, he would have addressed him as ‘Dear Sir,’ or perhaps in the third person, ‘Mr. Jawleyford presents his compliments to Mr. Spraggon,’ &c.; but, as my lord’s right-hand man, Jack carried a certain weight, and commanded a certain influence, that he would never have acquired of himself.
Jawleyford spoilt three sheets of cream-laid satin-wove note-paper (crested and ciphered) before he pleased himself with a beginning. First he had it ‘Dear Sir,’ which he thought looked too stiff; then he had it ‘My dear Sir,’ which he thought looked too loving; next he had it ‘Dear Spraggon,’ which he considered as too familiar; and then he tried ‘Dear Mr. Spraggon,’ which he thought would do. Thus he wrote:
‘DEAR MR. SPRAGGON, —
‘I am sorry to be obliged to put you off; but since I came in from hunting I have been attacked with influenza, which will incapacitate me from the enjoyment of society at least for two or three days. I therefore think the kindest thing I can do is to write to put you off; and, in the hopes of seeing both you and my lord at no distant day.
‘I remain, dear sir, yours sincerely,
‘CHARLES JAMES JAWLEYFORD,
‘Jawleyford Court.
‘TO JOHN SPRAGGON, ESQ.,
&c. &c. &c.’
This he sealed with the great seal of Jawleyford Court — a coat of arms containing innumerable quarterings and heraldic devices. Having then refreshed his memory by looking through a bundle of bills, and selected the most threatening of the lawyers’ letters to answer the next day, he proceeded to keep up the delusion of sickness, by retiring to sleep in his dressing-room. Our readers will now have the kindness to accompany us to Lord Scamperdale’s: time, the morning after the foregoing. ‘Love me, love my dog,’ being a favourite saying of his lordship’s, he fed himself, his friends, and his hounds, on the same meal. Jack and he were busy with two great basins full of porridge, which his lordship diluted with milk, while Jack stirred his up with hot dripping, when the put-off note arrived. His lordship was still in a complete suit of the great backgammon-board-looking red-and-yellow Stunner tartan: but as Jack was going from home, he had got himself into a pair of his lordship’s yellow-ochre leathers and new top-boots, while he wore the Stunner jacket and waistcoat to save his lordship’s Sunday green cutaway with metal buttons, and canary-coloured waistcoat. His lordship did not eat his porridge with his usual appetite, for he had had a disturbed night, Sponge having appeared to him in his dreams in all sorts of forms and predicaments; now jumping a-top of him — now upsetting Jack — now riding over Frostyface — now crashing among his hounds; and he awoke, fully determined to get rid of him by fair means or foul. Buying his horses did not seem so good a speculation as blowing his credit at Jawleyford Court, for, independently of disliking to part with his cash, his lordship remembered that there were other horses to get, and he should only be giving Sponge the means of purchasing them. The more, however, he thought of the Jawleyford project, the more satisfied he was that it would do; and Jack and he were in a sort of rehearsal, wherein his lordship personated Jawleyford, and was showing Jack (who was only a clumsy diplomatist) how to draw up to the subject of Sponge’s pecuniary deficiencies, when the dirty old butler came with Jawleyford’s note.
‘What’s here?’ exclaimed his lordship, fearing from its smartness, that it was from a lady. ‘What’s here?’ repeated he, as he inspected the direction. ‘Oh, it’s for you!’ exclaimed he, chucking it over to Jack, considerably relieved by the discovery.
‘Me!’ replied Jack. ‘Who can be writing to me?’ said he, squinting his eyes inside out at the seal. He opened it: ‘Jawleyford Court,’ read he. ‘Who the deuce can be writing to me from Jawleyford Court when I’m going there?’
‘A put-off, for a guinea!’ exclaimed his lordship.
‘Hope so,’ muttered Jack.
‘Hope not,’ replied his lordship.
‘It is!’ exclaimed Jack, reading, ‘Dear Mr. Spraggon,’ and so on.
‘The humbug!’ muttered Lord Scamperdale, adding, ‘I’ll be bound he’s got no more influenza than I have.’
‘Well,’ observed Jack, sweeping a red cotton handkerchief, with which he had been protecting his leathers, off into his pocket, ‘there’s an end of that.’
‘Don’t go so quick,’ replied his lordship, ladling in the porridge.
‘Quick!’ retorted Jack; ‘why, what can you do?’
‘Do! why, go to be sure,’ replied his lordship.
‘How can I go,’ asked Jack, ‘when the sinner’s written to put me off?’
‘Nicely,’ replied his lordship, ‘nicely. I’ll just send word back by the servant that you had started before the note arrived, but that you shall have it as soon as you return; and you just cast up there as if nothing had happened.’ So saying, his lordship took hold of the whipcord-pull and gave the bell a peal.
‘There’s no beating you,’ observed Jack.
Bags now made his appearance again.
‘Is the servant here that brought this note?’ asked his lordship, holding it up.
‘Yes, me lord,’ replied Bags.
‘Then tell him to tell his master, with my compliments, that Mr. Spraggon had set off for Jawleyford Court before it came, but that he shall have it as soon as he returns — you understand?’
‘Yes, me lord,’ replied Bags, looking at Jack supping up the fat porridge, and wondering how the lie would go down with Harry, who was then discussing his master’s merits and a horn of small beer with the lad who was going to drive Jack.
Jawleyford Court was twenty miles from Woodmansterne as the crow flies, and any distance anybody liked to call it by the road. The road, indeed, would seem to have been set out with a view of getting as many hills and as little level ground over which a traveller could make play as possible; and where it did not lead over the tops of the highest hills, it wound round their bases, in such little, vexatious, up-and-down, wavy dips as completely to do away with all chance of expedition. The route was not along one continuous trust, but here over a bit of turnpike and there over a bit of turnpike, with ever and anon long interregnums of township roads, repaired in the usual primitive style with mud and soft field-stones, that turned up like flitches of bacon. A man would travel from London to Exeter by rail in as short a time, and with far greater ease, than he would drive from Lord Scamperdale’s to Jawleyford Court. His lordship being aware of this fact, and thinking, moreover, it was no use trashing a good horse over such roads, had desired Frostyface to put an old spavined grey mare, that he had bought for the kennel, into the dog-cart, and out of which, his lordship thought, if he could get a day’s work or two, she would come all the cheaper to the boiler.
‘That’s a good-shaped beast,’ observed his lordship, as she now came hitching round to the door; ‘I really think she would make a cover hack.’
‘Sooner you ride her than me,’ replied Jack, seeing his lordship was coming the dealer over him — praising the shape when he could say nothing for the
action.
‘Well, but she’ll take you to Jawleyford Court as quick as the best of them,’ rejoined his lordship, adding, ‘the roads are wretched, and Jaw’s stables are a disgrace to humanity — might as well put a horse in a cellar.’
‘Well,’ observed Jack, retiring from the parlour window to his little den along the passage, to put the finishing touch to his toilet — the green cutaway and buff waistcoat, which he further set off with a black satin stock— ‘Well,’ said he, ‘needs must when a certain gentleman drives.’
He presently reappeared full fig, rubbing a fine new eight-and-sixpenny flat-brimmed hat round and round with a substantial puce-coloured bandana. ‘Now for the specs!’ exclaimed he, with the gaiety of a man in his Sunday’s best, bound on a holiday trip. ‘Now for the silver specs!’ repeated he.
‘Ah, true,’ replied his lordship; ‘I’d forgot the specs.’ (He hadn’t, only he thought his silver-mounted ones would be safer in his keeping than in Jack’s.) ‘I’d forgot the specs. However, never mind, you shall have these,’ said he, taking his tortoise-shell-rimmed ones off his nose and handing them to Jack.
MR. SPRAGGON’S EMBASSY TO JAWLEYFORD COURT
‘You promised me the silver ones,’ observed our friend Jack, who wanted to be smart.
‘Did I?’ replied his lordship; ‘I declare I’d forgot. Ah yes, I believe I did,’ added he, with an air of sudden enlightenment— ‘the pair upstairs; but how the deuce to get at them I don’t know, for the key of the Indian cabinet is locked in the old oak press in the still-room, and the key of the still-room is locked away in the linen-press in the green lumber-room at the top of the house, and the key of the green lumber-room is in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe in the Star-Chamber, and the—’
