by R S Surtees
“Cow-found him, he’s no boy,” frowned our hero No. 2 in return for the “off-hand” sort of salute our hero No. 1 accorded him on the introduction; Mrs. McDermott having judiciously hinted to Jasper that the gentleman coming was merely a chance acquaintance, of whom they made a convenience.
“He’s a cool hand,” thought Jasper, conning the stranger’s airified manner, and the at-home sort of way in which he lounged about the room. He did not seem to recognise Jasper’s consequence at all.
“He’s no beauty,” thought Mr. Bunting, taking a complimentary glance at himself in the mirror as he passed onward through the front drawing-room to the window, from whence he emerged into the balcony and took an unconscious survey of the sea. He wondered who the deuce the fellow was. Hoped he didn’t think of going with them. Yet still he seemed to stay. Would see if he could make it out.
“Well, it’s about time we were going,” observed Mr. Bunting, returning and speaking as if he commanded the Crinoline.
“Is it!” replied Miss Rosa, rising and circling away to get on her finery — giving Mr. Bunting one of those assuring glances with which a clever woman will hold half a dozen men in tow at a time. If an honest man, struggling with adversity, is a sight for the Gods, sorely a pretty girl playing two youths off at once, is a sight worthy of society, and such is the delicacy we purpose setting before the reader. Mamma presently followed, feeling assured there would be no comparison of notes between the gentlemen during her absence.
So she closed the door upon them, and her light foot-fall was presently heard overhead. The two gentlemen then sat, surveying then foet and their hands, as if neither thought the other worth notice. Each however wished the other away.
“Been here long?” at length drawled Jack, thinking to sound Jasper.
“Just come,” yawned Jasper, as if he was thoroughly tired of Jack.
“Humph” snorted Jack unused to such shortness, and this from a poacher too. He then sat looking at Jasper’s double chin and dumpy legs, thinking what a beauty he would be at forty. Admiration Jack wondered who Jasper was — where he came from — what he meant by sitting there like a great bull-calf — how it was that he had never heard of him before. It was very singular. It really looked as if he meant to go to the races. In fact, Jack had no doubt he meant to go to the races. Then he recollected that Mamma mentioned their young friend had come to see the races. That would account for his coming, and Jack felt rather more amiably disposed towards him. Still he would like to know that he was not to be troubled with his company too long; a passing bore he might put up with, but a permanent one he couldn’t endure. So Jack looked round about the room, and up to the ceiling, and then at his watch, as if for an idea, and at length poked the pertinent question.
“Stay long?” with an air of indifference.
“Don’t know,” replied Jasper, wondering what business it was of Mr. Bunting’s.
“Long as it’s agreeable p’raps,” suggested Jack.
Just so,” responded Jasper.
“Nice place,” observed Mr. Bunting after another pause.
“It is,” assented Jasper, thinking it would be just as pleasant if Mr. Bunting was away. He then drew Miss Rosa’s “Present from Roseberry Rocks” work-box towards him, and began tumbling, and fumbling, and mixing its contents.
“Impudent dog,” thought Mr. Bunting, “that box is mine” — (Mr. Bunting had helped Rosa to wind the reels of blue and yellow silk that Jasper was now winnowing through his fat fingers). Jasper then touched the invisible spring in the lid, and taking out the little looking-glass, began examining his teeth, and his whiskers, and his stupid face generally.
Better have a bason and water thought Mr. Bunting, eyeing the operation; when to show that he was equally at home with himself be arose from his seat, and making for the mantel-piece mirror, proceeded to examine his whiskers, his collar, his watch ribbon tie, and his upper man generally. Miss Rosa’s beautiful mother-of-pearl musical box being on the ledge, he then deliberately wound it up, and setting it a-going with the venerable Rory O’More, returned to the balcony, leaving Mr. Jasper in the enjoyment of the music, or the noise, whichever he considered it.
“Dash him, but he’s an impudent fellow that,” thought Jasper, eyeing Jack’s retreat, whereupon Jasper returned the little glass to its pink-wadded case, and heaping in the goods as if they were so many potatoes, placed the work-box in the position in which he had found it. He then threw himself listlessly in his chair to listen to the tunes he had so often heard before.
Ere the box had run down, the side door opened, and Miss Rosa sidled in, with the self-satisfied smile of a good “get up” on her countenance. In truth, she was expensively dressed, though whether the rich rustling lilac-coloured silk in which she was now enveloped was an improvement upon the pretty muslin in which our friends found her, is a question upon which ladies and gentlemen would most likely differ; ladies generally going for the gay and grand, gentlemen for the simple and becoming. However, there she was, and, as in duty bound, both gentlemen admired the dress exceedingly, praised the bonnet made of a gauze to match the silk, and envied the pretty pink roses within their propinquity to the fair face. And Miss received their compliments with a laudable balance of smiles that would have puzzled a chaperone of twenty years’ standing to say which was the favorite. In the midst of their laudations, in came the keeper of the conscience, Mrs. Mamma, who, after surveying Rosa all round, and very round she was, and telling her she must be careful how she got into the carriage, proceeded to ring the bell for the vehicle. The compliments meanwhile passed into the old course.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THEY LOVE AND DETTE AWAY.
MRS. MCDERMOTT HAVING chartered Joshua Buckletongue’s newly done up cane-sided landaulet, so provokingly smart that it might be taken for a private one, which is just the very thing the hirers of job carriages generally wish to avoid, there was room for our beaux inside, and Mr. Bunting having handed and tucked the voluminous ladies in, proceeded to ensconce himself in front of Rosa, leaving Mr. Goldspink to follow and take up his position opposite Mamma. John Thomas, having then carefully closed the door on the bulging crinoline, mounted the box, taking good care of his stockings, and at his nod the driver, with his half dirty berlins, got his horse by the head and proceeded to cut away to the course. Off they went with a jerk that nearly sent the gentlemen’s hats into the ladies’ laps, and they were presently worming their way among the multifarious vehicles and flights of equestrians that enliven the drive at this the witching hour of day. Every body as usual was on the move, some on foot, some in carriages, bound for the course, some for the shops, others for a crawl along the shore, some for — they didn’t know where.
The day as shown by the sea, however, was now undergoing a change. Instead of a smooth glassy surface, cold ruffling breezes flitted quickly over, and heavy rolling swells pressed onwards, breaking in great yawning lethargy waves against the shingly shore. The enterprising marine landsmen, whom no amount of bounty could coax into the navy, looked glum, passing monosyllabical words to each other, deprecatory of appearances, and then trying to tempt the unwary into their boats, under the delusion that it was “a fine day for a sail.” And, when in reply they got a rebuff, they “blowed the races,” and wondered what people could see in such work. “Nothing like leather” was not the motto for them.
Meanwhile our pleasant party jolted on, each thinking how much better it would be if there were only three. Mamma sat eyeing her competitive sons-in-law with a comfortable complacency, wondering which would be the happy ring-buyer — mentally placing Jasper’s well-ascertained wealth against Mr. Bunting’s superior manner and appearance. Still, if Bunting had the castle, and all Mrs. Trattles said, there was no saying which might be the man, and the more she thought about it the more undecided she was, and the greater dread she was in of making a mistake. A woman generally thinks she gets the wrong one whichever it is. Mr. Bunting finding that he had a long way the lead
of Mr. Jasper in the matter of small talk, plied away his poetry and his pleasantries, while Jasper leant moodily back eyeing the beauty, and feeling satisfied that his money would carry him through. Money was a grand thing he had always been told, and he fully believed it. Who was this Mr. Bunting, he should like to know. A mere idle danger, he’d be bound to say. Just the sort of man for ladies to make a convenience of. And he looked at Bunting as if very little of his company would satisfy him.
A sudden turn to the left presently cut our turfites out of the quietgoing current of society, and brought the old horse to his bearings against the collar. The ascent of Mont Blanc then commenced. The dash of driving wits over, and the toiling one-horse travellers had to undergo the humiliation of being passed at a trot by the “pair oss powers,” while they in turn were eclipsed by Shadrac Absolam, the hook-nosed keeper of the Turkish Saloon and Oyster-rooms, who with a select party of cigar-smoking Israelites dashed past in a yellow complacently the Jews loll with their great arms over the sides, like half-drunken sailors on a spree. The contortions of people unused to carriages are very amusing. Gutting a dash up-hill, however, is at the best a sorry performance — an attempt that had better be abandoned for more favourable ground. So thought the majority of our pleasure-seekers, and straining, and coaxing, and cracking, and quartering became more the order of the day than cantering. Even when the acclivity was accomplished, there was no room for the panting posters to recover their wind and make a run in, so cargo after cargo were deposited in a very sedate bathing-machine-like way. But if the horses lacked wind, the downs were well supplied, and angry fitful gusts now swept over the unprotected open, increasing in intensity with each fresh attempt. The wind soon began to tell. The Union Jack on our “Hic et ubique” friend, Mr. Baccoman’s marine villa, as he called his tent, was the first to go floating and sweeping, and rising and sinking along the flat, followed by an applauding pack of boys, all anxious to aid its escape, until it caught itself against one of the white rails of the course. Scarcely was its capture effected than the blue and yellow flag on the Hambletonian and Diamond tent followed suit; next half the red pennon went off the Fox and Hounds’, Pavilion; when old Boreas, as if angry at not effecting his full purpose, took the rotten canvass suddenly in the rear, and with a well-directed whisk, sent the whole concern flying in the air, leaving the jolly topers exposed in a sort of cage resembling the framework of a lady’s Crinoline. People then saw the storm was something to care about, and forthwith there was a running to the pegs, and tightening of ropes, and shortening of sail, and hauling down of ensigns; while the rival owners of the two fattest boys under the sun, fraternised with their respective caravans, lest they should both be blown away together. Boar, blast, roar; went the wind, keen, sharp, and driving, silencing the drums and trumpets of the shows, retiring the troops, and sending the acrobats, Ethiopians, organ-grinders, monkey-masters, and Aunt Sally-men, here, there, and everywhere for shelter; while the card-sharpers, and thimble-riggers plied their games in out-of-the-way places, free from the noxious ken of the inquisitive police. Amid this aërial conflict, the carriages continued to set down in long-drawn file at the back of the Stand, and after a series of those little pitching stoppages and short progresses, that announce a near approach, the blue-armed hand of policemen at the door-handle at length arrested the further progress of our friends, and the clanging of the iron steps invited their descent. John Thomas then jumped down from the box, and holding his hat on with one hand, he assisted the descent of the Crinoline with the other.
As people always think there is more snow falls at their front-door than anywhere else, so the troublesome wind always seems to touch our nobility more than any one else, and certainly on this occasion our fair friends had good cause to complain of the manner in which they were met at the Stand, and, with the aid of their hoops, nearly blown up into mid-air. But for the prompt vigilance of Mr. Bunting, who saw by other alighters what was likely to happen, there would have been inevitable discomposure of the rayment, but Mr. Bunting having very judiciously taken Miss Rosa’s flounced parasol, kerchief, and bouquet ere she attempted to alight, he popped out of the carriage, leaving her with both hands at liberty to steer her voluminous dress, and then secured her on his arm as soon as her taper foot touched the ground, leaving Mr. Goldspink to perform the same good offices for Mamma. Mr. Bunting then pressed on through the passage-obstructing crowd, crying, “Make way, please! — make way!” with a wave of the hand, that as good as said, “Please look at me and my astonishing beauty!” And forthwith the hurrying, draught-sucked ladies took furtive glances over their shoulders to see who was coming, each aspiring belle inwardly fearing she was going to be eclipsed, while the miscellaneous assortment of men — all, however, alive to the charms of the fair — winked and nudged each other, declaring Rosa was a clipper, and wondering how it was that Admiration Jack always got hold of such pretty girls. Mamma and jolly Jasper quickly followed, benefiting by the sensation caused by Miss Rosa’s appearance, and picking up the compliments lavished on her as she passed. How glad Mamma was that Privett Grove wanted painting!
CHAPTER XXV.
THE RACES.
THE ASCENT OF the gently rising staircase being presently accomplished, our friends ushered themselves into the conservatory-looking state room of the Stand, with the comfortable seven-and-sixpenny sort of feeling of independence that distinguishes public from private assemblies, and then proceeded to reconnoitre the scene. It was a spacious room, light, lofty, and gay, with a marvellous variety of bonnets; for, despite the “World of Fashion,” arbiters of taste, there was not the slightest similarity or affinity among them, some being in chip, some in crape, some in straw, some in silk, some in satin; some garnished with fruit, some with with feathers, some with beads, some with fruit, flowers, feathers, and beads. So, as it is said that there are no two human faces alike, it may also be said there are no two bonnets alike. The dresses, too, were as various as the bonnets, with a laudable desire, however to harmonise in colour, instead of heaping on all the extremes, which used at one time to distinguish the English ladies from the French. So much floricultural elegance being ill-calculated to resist the fury of the wind, the ground-reaching windows were kept down, and the graduated scale of race-seeing steps on the balcony outside were deserted. Ladies promenaded up and down the room, showing that, how various soever their dresses might be in texture or in colour, they were unanimous in being as much like bell-glasses in shape as possible. The promenaders of course were the open or disengaged ones, those who had little affairs in hand congregating in groups under the protection of Mammas or married sisters, for the others to say of the lady “How pleased she seems,” and of the gentleman “How silly he looks,” the usual current compliments of the occasion.
And of all the gay comers, none attracted more attention than our fair friend Miss Rosa, not only on account of her generally admitted beauty (pretty but conceited was the qualified term), but now more than ever from her evidently having that greatest female luxury — two strings to her bow. Mr. Goldspink, nettled at the intrusion of the stranger, presently asserted his claims with the air of a man who has no idea of being thwarted in anything he fancies. So he pushed and forced himself past Mr. Bunting in a way that as good as said, What business have you poaching on my preserve? Miss Rosa, on her part, held the scales of preference very evenly; if she smiled on Mr. Goldspink, she presently looked sweet at Mr. Bunting, and no two ladies could agree upon which was likely to be the happy man — which get the blissful inaugural kiss.
But hark! a familiar voice at the white marble refreshment stand is exclaiming, “What! no Hermitage! no Malmsey! no Lachrymæ Christi! Why surely you don’t call this a refreshment stall! Never saw such a place in my life!” The speaker thereupon Aunt Sallying a whole pyramid of pies with his gold-mounted riding whip as he spoke, then picking it up and chucking a half-crown at the fair custodian, he turned on his brass-spurred heel, and, swinging up the room, confronted the compan
y. We need not say it was the voice of Mr. O’Dicey — O’Dicey got up in the brightest of hats and shineyest of braided blue coats, for he is now affecting the militaire, and seeing his pupil environed by the petticoats, an intercourse of which he did not altogether approve, having lost several good chances by their officious interference, he strolled up to see what was doing, claiming acquaintance with the rest of the party by dint of the familiarity with which he greeted our friend; for O’Dicey was not a shy man, and would address the Queen herself if Her Majesty came in his way. So he rattled and talked as if he was both hard and soft, and sharp and flat, and, producing his card of the races, was ready to back or bet, or lay or take, or do anything to lose money — seeming as if he would take it as a real favour if somebody would rob him.
And now’s the time for doing so, for the wind-scattered notes of a bell outside seems to awaken both sharps and flats, causing a general move among the men, all anxious to avail themselves of the last chance of cheating each other. How the chorus rises as they recede, one vociferating “Young Belshazzar!” another shouting for “Sorceress,” a third for “Flora Grey,” a fourth for we don’t catch what. So they go, yelling and elbowing and treading on each other’s corns, to join the general flock in a sort of every-man-for-himself sort of way. The room looks all the better for their absence, just as a flower-border looks better after the removal of the weeds. The ladies, like tulips, then get more room to expand their skirts and adjustable bustles, and sweep up and down with the peculiar dromedary sort of movement these singular encasements give them. Presently a shout outside attracts their attention and causes them to wheel to the still drawn-down windows, like a flock of sheep after the passing of a fox.
