by R S Surtees
Badbill, having duly inspected the ticket, retorted that he was surprised at the Major’s stupidity, that two meant one, in fact, all the world over.
The Major rejoined, that he didn’t know what the Reform Bill might have done, but that two didn’t mean one when he was at school; and added, that as he declined the chairs at 86s. they were at Badhill’s service for sending for.
Badbill wrote in reply —
“We really cannot understand how it is possible, for any one to make out that a ticket on an article includes the other that may stand next it. Certainly the ticket you allude to referred only to the chair on which it was placed.”
And in a subsequent letter he claimed to have the chairs repacked at the Major’s expense, as it was very unfair saddling them with the loss arising entirely from the Major’s mistake.
To which our gallant friend rejoined, “that as he would neither admit that the mistake was his, nor submit to the imputation of unfairness, he would stick to the chairs at the price they were ticketed at.”
Badbill then wrote that this declaration surprised them much — that they did not for a moment think he “intentionally misunderstood the ticket as referring to a pair of chairs, whereas it only gave the price of one chair,” and again begged to have them back; to which the Major inwardly responded, he “wished they might get them,” and sent them an order for the 43s.
This was returned with expressions of surprise, that after the explanation given, the Major should persevere in the same “course of error,” and hoped that he would, without further delay, favour the Co. with the right amount, for which Badbill said they “anxiously waited,” and for which the Major inwardly said, they “might wait.”
In due time came a lithographed circular, more imposingly flourished and flanneled than ever, stating the terms of the firm were “cash on delivery;” and that unless the Major remitted without further delay, he would be handed over to their solicitor, &c.; with an intimation at the bottom, that that was the “third application” — of which our gallant friend took no notice.
Next came a written,
“Sir,
“I am desired by this firm to inform you, that unless we hear from you by return of post respecting the payment of our account, we shall place the matter in the hands of our solicitors without further notice, and regret you should have occasioned us so much trouble through your own misunderstanding.”
Then came the climax. The Major’s solicitor went, ticket in hand, and tendered the 43s., when the late bullying Badbill was obliged to write as follows: —
“It appears you are quite correct rejecting the ticket, and we are in error. Our ticketing clerk had placed the figure in the wrong part of the card, the figure ‘two’ referring to the number of chairs in stock, and not as understood to signifying chairs for 43s.;” and Badbill humorously concluded by expressing a hope that the Major would return the chairs and continue his custom — two very unlikely events, as we dare say the reader will think, to happen.
Such, then, was the knowing gentleman who now sought the company of Fine Billy; and considering that he is to be besieged an both sides, we hope to be excused for having gone a little into his host and hostess’ pedigree and performances.
The Major wrote Billy a well-considered note, saying, that when he could spare a few days from his lordship and the foxhounds, it would afford Mrs. Yammerton and himself great pleasure if he would come and pay them a visit at Yammerton Grange, and the Major would be happy to mount him, and keep his best country for him, and show him all the sport in his power, adding, that they had been having some most marvellous runs lately — better than any he ever remembered.
Now, independently of our friend Billy having pondered a good deal on the beauty of the young lady’s eyes, he could well spare a few days from the foxhounds, for his lordship, being quite de Glancey-cured, and wishing to get rid of him, had had him out again, and put him on to a more fractious horse than before, who after giving him a most indefinite shaking, had finally shot him over his head.
The Earl was delighted, therefore, when he heard of the Major’s invitation, and after expressing great regret at the idea of losing our Billy, begged he would “come back whenever it suited him:” well knowing that if he once got him out of the house, he would be very sly if he got in again. And so Billy, who never answered Mamma’s repeated inquiries if there were any “Miss H’s” engaged himself to Yammerton Grange, whither the reader will now perhaps have the kindness to accompany him.
CHAPTER XVII. ARRIVAL AT YAMMERTON GRANGE. — A FAMILY PARTY.
AILWAYS have taken the starch out of country magnificence, as well as out of town.
Time was when a visitor could hardly drive up to a great man’s door in the country in a po’chav — now it would be considered very magnificent — a bliss, or a one-oss fly being more likely the conveyance. The Richest Commoner in England took his departure from Tantivy Castle in a one-horse fly. into which he was assisted by an immense retinue of servants. It was about time for him to be gone for Mons. Jean Rougier had been what he called “boxaing” with the Earl’s big watcher, Stephen Stout, to whom having given a most elaborate licking, the rest of the establishment were up in arms, and would most likely have found a match for Monsieur among them. Jack — that is to say, Mons. Jean — now kissed his hand, and grinned, and bowed, and bon-jour’d them from the box of the fly, with all the affability of a gentleman who has had the best of it.
Off then they ground at as good a trot as the shaky old quadruped could raise.
It is undoubtedly a good sound principle that Major and Mrs. Yammerton went upon, never to invite people direct from great houses to theirs; it dwarfs little ones so. A few days ventilation at a country inn with its stupid dirty waiters, copper-showing plate, and wretched cookery, would be a good preparation, only no one ever goes into an inn in England that can help it. Still, coming down from a first-class nobleman’s castle to a third-class gentleman’s house, was rather a trial upon the latter. Not that we mean to say anything disrespectful of Yammerton Grange, which, though built at different times, was good, roomy, and rough-cast, with a man-boy in brown and yellow livery, who called himself the “Butler,” but whom the women-servants called the “Bumbler.” The above outline will give the reader a general idea of the “style of thing,” as the insolvent dandy said, when he asked his creditors for a “wax candle and eau-de-Cologne” sort of allowance. Everything at the Grange of course was now put into holiday garb, both externally and internally — gravel raked, garden spruced, stables strawed, &c. All the Major’s old sheep-caps, old hare-snares, old hang-locks, old hedging-gloves, pruning-knives, and implements of husbandry were thrust into the back of the drawer of the passage table, while a mixed sporting and military trophy, composed of whips, swords and pistols, radiated round his Sunday hat against the wall above it.
The drawing-room, we need not say, underwent metamorphose, the chairs and sofas suddenly changing from rather dirty print to pea-green damask, the druggeted carpet bursting into cornucopias of fruit and gay bouquets, while a rich cover of many colours adorned the centre table, which, in turn, was covered with the proceeds of the young ladies’ industry. The room became a sort of exhibition of their united accomplishments. The silver inkstand surmounted a beautiful unblemished blotting-book, fresh pens and paper stood invitingly behind, while the little dictionary was consigned, with other “sundries,” to the well of the ottoman.
As the finishing preparations were progressing, the Major and Mrs. Yammerton carried on a broken discussion as to the programme of proceedings, and as, in the Major’s opinion,
“There’s nothing can compare,
To hunting of the hare,”
he wanted to lead off with a gallope, to which Mrs. Yammerton demurred. She thought it would be a much better plan to have a quiet day about the place — let the girls walk Mr. Pringle up to Prospect Hill to see the view from Eagleton Rocks, and call on Mrs. Wasperton, and show him to her ugly girls,
in return for their visit with Mr. Giles Smith. The Major, on the contrary, thought if there was to be a quiet day about the place, he would like to employ it in showing Billy a horse he had to sell; but while they were in the midst of the argument the click of front gate sneck, followed by the vehement bow-wow-wow-wow-wow bark of the Skye terrier, Fury, announced an arrival, and from behind a ground-feathering spruce, emerged the shaky old horse, dragging at its tail the heavily laden cab. Then there was such a scattering of crinoline below, and such a gathering of cotton above, to see the gentleman alight, and such speculations as to his Christian name, and which of the young ladies he would do for.
“I say his name’s Harry!” whispered Sally Scuttle, the housemaid, into Benson’s — we beg pardon — Miss Benson’s, the ladies’-maid’s ear, who was standing before her, peeping past the faded curtains of the chintz-room.
“I say it’s John!” replied Miss Benson, now that Mr. Pringle’s head appeared at the window.
“I say it’s Joseph!” interposed Betty Bone, the cook, who stood behind Sally Scuttle, at which speculation they all laughed.
“Hoot, no! he’s not a bit like Joseph,” replied Sally, eyeing Billy as he now alighted.
“Lank! he’s quite a young gent,” observed Bone.
“Young! to be sure!” replied Miss Henson; “you don’t s’pose we want any old’uns here.”
“He’ll do nicely for Miss;” observed Sally.
“And why not for Miss F.?” asked Henson, from whom she had just received an old gown.
“Well, either,” rejoined Sally; “only Miss had the last chance.”
“Oh, curates go for nothin’!” retorted Benson; “if it had been a captin it would have been something like.”
“Well, but there’s Miss Harriet; you never mention Miss Harriet, why shouldn’t Miss Harriet have a chance?” interposed the cook.
“Oh. Miss Harriet must wait her turn. Let her sisters be served first. They can’t all have him, you know, so it’s no use trying.”
Billy having entered the house, the ladies’ attention was now directed to Monsieur.
“What a thick, plummy man he is!” observed Benson, looking down on Rougier’s broad shoulders.
“He looks as if he got his vittles well,” rejoined Bone, wondering how he would like their lean beef and bacon fare.
“Where will he have to sleep?” asked Sally Scuttle.
“O, with the Bumbler to be sure,” replied Bone.
“Not he!” interposed Miss Benson, with disdain. “You don’t s’pose a reg’lar valley-de-chambre ‘ill condescend to sleep with a footman! You don’t know them — if you think that.”
“He’s got mouse catchers,” observed Sally Scuttle, who had been eyeing Monsieur intently.
“Ay, and a beard like a blacking brush,” whispered Bone.
“He’s surely a foreigner,” whispered Benson, as Monsieur’s, “I say! take vell care of her! — leeaft her down j-e-a-ntly” (alluding to his own carpet bag, in which he had a bottle of rum enveloped in swaddling clothes of dirty linen) to the cabman, sounded upstairs.
“So he is,” replied Benson, adding, after a pause, “Well, anybody may have him for me;” — saying which she tripped out of the room, quickly followed by the others.
Our Major having, on the first alarm, rushed off to his dirty Sanctum, and crowned himself with a drab felt wide-a-wake, next snatched a little knotty dog-whip out of the trophy as he passed, and was at the sash door of the front entrance welcoming our hero with the full spring tide of hospitality as he alighted from his fly.
The Major was overjoyed to see him. It was indeed kind of him, leaving the castle to “come and visit them in their ‘umble abode.” The Major, of course, now being on the humility tack.
“Let me take your cloak!” said he; “let me take your cap!” and, with the aid of the Bumbler, who came shuffling himself into his brown and yellow livery coat, Billy was eased of his wrapper, and stood before the now thrown-open drawing-room door, just as Mrs. Yammerton having swept the last brown holland cover off the reclining chair, had stuffed it under the sofa cushion. She, too, was delighted to see Billy, and thankful she had got the room ready, so as to be able presently to subside upon the sofa, “Morning Post” in hand, just as if she had been interrupted in her reading. The young ladies then dropped in one by one; Miss at the passage door, Miss Flora at the one connecting the drawingroom with the Sanctum, and Miss Harriet again at the passage door, all divested of their aprons, and fresh from their respective looking-glasses. The two former, of course, met Billy as an old acquaintance, and as they did not mean to allow Misa Harriet to participate in the prize, they just let her shuffle herself into an introduction as best she could. Billy wasn’t quite sure whether he had seen her before or he hadn’t. At first he thought he had; then he thought he hadn’t; but whether he had or he hadn’t, he knew there would be no harm in bowing, so he just promiscuated one to her, which she acknowledged with a best Featherey curtsey. A great cry of conversation, or rather of random observation, then ensued; in the midst of which the Major slipped out, and from his Sanctum he overheard Monsieur getting up much the same sort of entertainment in the kitchen. There was such laughing and giggling and “he-hawing” among the maids, that the Major feared the dinner would be neglected.
The Major’s dining-room, though small, would accommodate a dozen people, or incommode eighteen, which latter number is considered the most serviceable-sized party in the country where people feed off their acquaintance, more upon the debtor and creditor system, than with a view to making pleasant parties, or considering who would like to meet. Even when they are what they call “alone,” they can’t be “alone,” but must have in as many servants as they can raise, to show how far the assertion is from the truth.
Though the Yammertons sat down but six on the present occasion, and there were the two accustomed dumb-waiters in the room, three live ones were introduced, viz., Monsieur, the Bumbler, and Solomon, whose duty seemed to consist in cooling the victuals, by carrying them about, and in preventing people from helping themselves to what was before them, by taking the dishes off the steady table, and presenting them again on very unsteady hands.
No one is ever allowed to shoot a dish sitting if a servant can see it. How pleasant it would be if we were watched in all the affairs of life as we are in eating!
Monsieur, we may observe, had completely superseded the Bumbler, just as a colonel supersedes a captain on coming up.
“Oi am Colonel Crushington of the Royal Plungers,” proclaims the Colonel, stretching himself to his utmost altitude.
“And I am Captain Succumber, of the Sugar-Candy Hussars,” bows the Captain with the utmost humility; whereupon the Captain is snuffed out, and the Colonel reigns in his stead.
“I am Monsieur Jean Rougier, valet-de-chambre to me lor Pringle, and I sail take in de potage, — de soup,” observed Rougier, coming down stairs in his first-class clothes, and pushing the now yellow-legged Bumbler aside.
And these hobble-de-hovs never being favourites with the fair, the maids saw him reduced without remorse.
So the dinner got set upon the table without a fight and though Monsieur allowed the Bumbler to announce it in the drawing-room, it was only that he might take a suck of the sherry while he was away. But he was standing as bolt upright as a serjeant-major on parade when “me lor” entered the dining-room with Mrs. Yammerton on his arm, followed by the Graces, the Major having stayed behind to blow out the composites.
They were soon settled in their places, grace said, and the assault commenced.
The Major was rather behind Imperial John in magnificence, for John had got his plate in his drawing-room, while the Major still adhered to the good old-fashioned blue and red, and gold and green crockery ware of his youth.
Not but that both Mamma and the young ladies had often represented to him the absolute necessity of having plate, but the Major could never fall in with it at his price — that of German silv
er, or Britannia metal perhaps.
We dare say Fine Billy would never have noticed the deficiency, if the Major had not drawn attention to it by apologising for its absence, and fearing he would not be able to eat his dinner without; though we dare say, if the truth were known our readers — our male readers at least — will agree with us, that a good, hot well-washed china dish is a great deal better than a dull, lukewarm, hand-rubbed silver one. It’s the “wittles” people look to, not the ware.
Then the Major was afraid his wine wouldn’t pass muster after the Earl’s, and certainly his champagne was nothing to boast of, being that ambiguous stuff that halts between the price of gooseberry and real; in addition to which, the Major had omitted to pay it the compliment of icing it, so that it stood forth in all its native imperfection. However, it hissed, and fizzed, and popped, and banged, which is always something exciting at all events; and as the Major sported needle-case-shaped glasses which he had got at a sale (very cheap we hope), there was no fear of people getting enough to do them any harm.
Giving champagne is one of those things that has passed into custom almost imperceptibly. Twenty, or five-and-twenty years ago, a mid-rank-of-life person giving champagne was talked of in a very shake-the-head, solemn, “I wish-it-may-last,” style; now everybody gives it of some sort or other. We read in the papers the other day of ninety dozen, for which the holder had paid £400, being sold for 13s. 6d. a doz.! What a chance that would have been for our Major. We wonder what that had been made of.
