by R S Surtees
So they roved gaily from subject to subject, until Jasper landed them on the Roseberry Rocks race-course, when, just as he was explaining how it was that the Forty Thieves had been so unsuccessful at the recent meeting, the door flew open, and in bounced Mr. O’Dicey, flourishing a highly-scented cambric kerchief, curled, dressed, and jewelled, as if he were going to a ball. “Ah, my dear fellow!” exclaimed he, seizing Jasper’s fat hand; “Ah, my dear fellow! I beg you ten thousand pardons for not being here to receive and introduce you; but better late than never,” added he, patting Jasper familiarly on the back. “This,” continued he, bringing forward the model Major by the arm, “is my excellent Mend Major Minster, late aide-de-camp to Lord Strutandstride; and this,” continued he, doing the same by Joe, “is my good Mend Mr. Wanless — Mr. Joseph Wanless; two gentlemen, let me say, whom the more you know the more you’ll like, than which no higher compliment can be paid to any one;” whereupon they all went through the form of grinning, and scraping, and bowing, without which the acquaintance would have been incomplete. Mr. O’Dicey then compressed his gibus hat, and chucking it in a corner, proceeded to reconnoitre the round table. The dinner, of course, was to be à la Russe, that convenient invention for serving réchauffers; and there was a splendid vine-wreath-pillared “A. B. Savory” epergne, full of cut flowers in the centre, with transparent Wenham-lake ice in the four richly cut glass side-dishes. The table linen was immaculately white, and the pyramidical napkins stood like sentries over the clear crystal. All things looked promising and well. Just as Mr. O’Dicey had completed a hasty survey, the door opened, and little Curlew came sneaking in after his waiter-announced name, and having been presented to Jasper, was formally introduced to the other two gentlemen, as though they had never had the pleasure of seeing each other before. Ere he had got much advanced with his ingratiation, in flung Captain Arthur Gammon, quite in the O’Dicey style, scented, jewelled, and varnished, like his great prototype. After shaking hands with his host, nodding to Joe, and “old-boying” the Major, he made a passing bow to our hero, in return for Mr. O’Dicey’s introduction of “My Mend Mr. Goldspink,” and then proceeded to reconnoitre himself in the mirror. First he frizzed up his dark curly hair, then he twitted his luxuriant whiskers, next he examined his teeth, and then encouraged his collar.
“Come, you’ll do old boy,” said O’Dicey, digging his double in the ribs with his thumb as he passed to the bell knob, which scarcely responded to his touch ere the door opened, and in poured the servants, bearing the banquet.
A first-class hotel dinner is by no means a bad thing — barring the payment; a second-class one is to be deprecated, and a third avoided. Still, save at Richmond or Greenwich, an hotel dinner, though far more expensive, is never half so much appreciated as one at a private house; just as people consider a ball given at Willis’s Rooms is no écornaient for their hostesses not turning their houses inside out to receive them at home. Chousey knew how to do the thing, both in the way of catering and charging, and there was no exception to be taken to anything here. There was turtle soup, both clear and thick, Severn salmon, Torbay soles, and a variety of other fish, all hot and prime of their kind. Chousey’s wine, too, was good, and his decanters holding surprisingly little, and three-quarters emptied bottles, being invariably whipped away, for fear of any little sediment at the bottom, an apparently great consumption caused very little headache. Abstemiousness is one of the hardships of a gambler’s life, who must always have his keenest wits about him ready for action; and Mr. O’Dicey, though always calling for wine, and sipping, and tasting, and eyeing and urging his friends to generous potations, in reality drank very little himself. Joe and the Major, who were generally on short commons, and only the out-riggers, or heavy fathers, of the entertainment, made up for their host’s deficiency, and ate and drank, and ate and drank, with the most laudable sea-side appetites.
“Venzon coming, sir,” whispered Mr. Chousey in Joe’s ear, as he was going to have a second côtelette de veau.
“Venzon is there!” replied he, pausing to consider.
“Yez-ir — venzon from the Earl of Blazington’s — best park in England,” replied the landlord.
Our landlord was right. There teas venison; not from Lord Blazington’s, but from the Duke of Tergiversations, the migratory haunch having at length found a resting-place at Chousey’s, who had given Mrs. Trattles a couple of dozen of fine pale sherry (out of the cask), for the same. It was now in what Chousey called high order, so high, indeed, that if Captain Gammon had not been under recognisances, in the shape of a long-standing bill, to keep his peace, Chousey would have preferred having it carved at the other end of the room. As it was, however, he ventured it at the side table, and by helping Mr. Wanless first, and deluging his plate with sweet sauce, he got him to utter the approving “capital,” so essential to the prosperity of a haunch, and which set all the other eaters anxious for their turns. Gobble, gobble, gobble, was presently the order of the day, broken by occasional demands for the jelly or the French beans. The best test of their sincerity was that, after being refreshed by a round of Bordeaux, they all got hot plates and went in for more venison. So the travelled haunch came to good account at last.
Turtle and venison are very convincing, and sweets and savouries are of little account after. The Bordeaux, and the Johannesberger, and the Steinberger, and the sparkling, and the old dry Sillery, and the creaming champagnes, presently did duty for the viands, and host and guests discarding the non-health drinking system, were extremely attentive to our hero; so attentive, indeed, that he was more than ever convinced that he was “somebody.” At length, the lobster salad, and the ice-pudding, and the jellies, and the creams, and the fritters, of this mutton-chop dinner, began to be passed or hastily rejected, each man feeling as though he would never be hungry again, and some nice fresh parmesan cheese was introduced, to give zest to a glass of Clos Vougeot. This latter was introduced on its side, in the cosey cradle, with all the pomp and circumstance peculiar to Babies and Burgundy, the well-stained cork carefully extracted amidst observations on the capricious character of the wine, and hopes that the bottle would prove good. And very good it was, though O’Dicey would have had up a dozen ere he would have been foiled in his object. Finger-glasses were then placed on the table; splashing, and dabbling, and drying becoming general; after which a short grace was said by the host, and, amidst a flourish of napkins, and shaking of legs, an adjournment was moved to the window, while the waiters cleared away the things. The ground-reaching windows were then partially opened, and our now-flushed friends poured out, to enjoy the fresh air of the balcony.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A QUIET INNOCENT EVENING.
IT WAS A splendid autumnal evening; the sky was red, and the last rays of the setting sun danced merrily on the sea, lighting up the white-sailed pleasure boats, and drawing the accustomed comet-gazers out of their respective houses. The broad brick footway past the hotel resounded with light footsteps and light voices, and light laughs unchecked by the coming of the gas-light man, whose presence is generally so suggestive of retirement in other places. Presently the long line of sea-board glistened with lights, looking like a beautiful necklace of brilliants. Pay and night then contended a while for the mastery, until a thin transparent gauze of mist began to descend, turning the scale in favour of night. Still the gay promenaders kept on their routes, the tribe of Spanish hats and floating dresses swelling rather than decreasing. Glow-worm-like young gentlemen in various habiliments presently joined them, whiffing and smoking as they walked, the ladies all declaring they liked the smell of cigars out of doors. Meanwhile our well-fed friends lolled and lounged in the balcony ere they returned to the enjoyment of the fruit and the wine. The Major, who was full of sentiment and enthusiasm, pointed out the beauties of the sunset and the scene generally, expatiating on the melancholy feeling engendered by the declining year, while Gammon, perked up, declaring it was the very thing he liked, as it would enable him to beg
in cub-hunting almost immediately. And Jasper, who had some very unpleasant associations connected with the chase, looked with astonishment at a man who could anticipate pleasure from such rude bumpings and boundings. Little Curlew, too, began to give tongue initiatory of his parliamentary career; but O’Dicey presently recalled them to their allegiance at the table, now decorated with a splendid dessert and a magnum of Claret. A thin water-biscuit being voted a much better accompaniment to wine than fruit, the pine and grapes and peaches were discarded, while the ruby wine circulated briskly in the large thin glasses with which the table was plentifully supplied.
“Very good,” observed Mr. Wanless, smacking his lips as, after draining his glass, he sat in judgment on the last mouthful. “Very good,” repeated he, replacing the glass on the table.
“It is,” assented the Major, who had discussed his wine more leisurely.
And that being the general opinion, Mr. O’Dicey presently filled again on a liberal heel-tap, and sent the wine out on a second excursion. Twice round, with liberal helpings, makes a good hole in an inn Magnum; and when the three-quarters-emptied jug again stopped before our host, he just drew the bell-string, and pointing to it with his knife as the quick-sighted waiter entered, ordered candles and an anchovy toast.
The waiter presently returned with the wine and the candles, and the stuttering Major having begged for a reprieve of the twilight as the man was going to close in the shutters, they continued sitting in the mixed light of inside and out. The wine criticism being over, the guests presently accommodated themselves in their chairs, each man sitting or lolling according to his liking, and conversation became general, the Major leading off with regrets at the shortening days, while Captain Gammon was all for the turkey carpet, warm red curtains, with the horse-shoe table before the wood and coal fire. Summer or winter was then the thesis, each man offering his opinion and arguments on the point; in the midst of which the anchovy toast came, and O’Dicey gave another tap at the Claret jug with his dessert-knife.
“Ne — ne — no — more,” stuttered the Major, rising and rubbing his lips with his napkin as if he was done. “Ne — ne — no — more for me,” repeated he, with an emphasis.
“O fiddle!” replied O’Dicey. “Do as you like, you know, only sit still and let’s have a little quiet chat. De’ssay you’ve got no place to go to.”
“Why, ye — ye — yes I have. I was go — go — going half-price to the p — p — play.”
“Go to-morrow night,” replied O’Dicey, pulling him down by the coat-tails. “Go to-morrow night, and I’ll go with you.”
With which assurance the Major resumed his seat and helped himself to a little more wine. The others did not evince any disinclination to a sit; and though the wine was sourer than our friend Jasper was accustomed to, yet he took O’Dicey’s assurance that good claret never did anybody any harm, and helped himself in his turn. So the circulation proceeded amidst longer or shorter stops according to the inclination of the party before whom the bottle was. At length even Wanless began to pass it, whereupon O’Dicey rung the bell, observing that they would have coffee and a rubber at whist.
“Ne — ne — no c — c — cards,” interposed the Major, reddening; “ne — ne — no cards. I must inter — di — di — diet ca — ca — cards altogether.” —
“Well, then, I’ll play you a game at chess,” replied the tractable O’Dicey.
“So be it,” assented the Major, equally affable.
Coffee presently came, and while it and the etceteras were circulating, the waiters cleared away the wine and dessert, and brought in the chess-board. As luck would have it, it contained a pack of cards, which Curlew immediately pocketed; and having seen the Major and O’Dicey apparently deeply absorbed in their game, he invited Mr. Wanless to écarté, at a convenient table placed immediately behind the Major.
“He’ll never notice us,” whispered Curlew, with a knowing chuck of the head. And forthwith the two sat down and began to play. Captain Gammon looking on and backing Wanless, who had very much the best of it, so much so, indeed, that Jasper gladly closed with Gammon’s offer to go halves in his bets. And the more Curlew frowned and growled, and bit his lips, the more luck seemed to go against him. The two games then proceeded noiselessly together.
At length the Major, by a most masterly manoeuvre, completely overcame his antagonist at chess, and rising triumphantly from his chair, seemed to awake to the reality of there being other people in the room.
“Holloa!” exclaimed he, looking wildly round. “Holloa, cards! When did they come in?”
Just then Wanless again turned up the king, when Curlew dashed down his cards with an oath, declaring he was never so out of luck in his life.
“Well, my dear fellow, you would play,” said Wanless, consoling him.
“Would play?” growled Curlew, diving into his pocket for his purse. “I did it as much to oblige you as anything else.”
“Then oblige me by handing me over three sovs.,” observed Mr. Wanless, dryly.
“And me three,” added Gammon, holding out his hand for the money.
“What!” exclaimed the astonished Major, “have you been playing for me — rao — money?”
“Money, ay, to be sure. What do you suppose we play for?” asked Wattless.
“Why, I thought we were to have a quiet, innocent evening. O’Dicey and I have been playing for love.”
“Ah, you look like a man for that sort of game,” retorted Gammon. “Suppose you take a turn now at the other thing.”
“Not I,” responded the Major, firmly.
While this was going on, little Curlew handed Gammon his three sovereigns, who, in dividing them with Jasper, proposed tossing up for the half one. This being agreed to, Gammon covered a sovereign in the palm of his hand, and Jasper crying heads it came heads, and our friend pocketed the two sovereigns with great gusto. “Not a bad evening’s work,” thought he. “A good dinner and a couple of sovereigns for eating it.”
The orthodox Major then looked at his watch as if he were going away, but little Curlew crying out for his revenge, Mr. Wanless gallantly took up the gauntlet, and changing seats prepared to give him it. The stakes were doubled and the betting increased: but luck went against the little man, and when at the end of half-an-hour he came to settle his losses, his smart gold-spangled blue purse seemed likely to be entirely denuded of its contents. Jasper still going halves with the Captain, came in for three more sovereigns as his share of the venture, and now felt as if he had got into the real unmistakeable way of making money. The exchange of sovereigns and nice crisp Bank of England notes is far more conducive to play than counters or I. O. U’s., which may mean anything or nothing. So all parties thus became excited, and even the Major showed a disposition to nibble. He no longer “inter — di — di — dicted cards,” but hovered about the table like a moth flickering at a candle.
It was not, however, until after the waiters had come jingling in with jugs, tumblers, and spoons, and the black bottles of courage, that he took any decided part in the play, and then he appeared to do it more for the sake of conformity than from any desire to win money. Sherry-and-water, and brandy-and-water, and gin-and-water have a very stimulating influence; and O’Dicey, having plied our friend Jasper with a good tumbler of strong eau de vie, stopped the tell-tale clock on the mantelpiece, and the real business of the evening then commenced. Play rose rapidly. It is just as easy to say two as one, a thousand as a hundred, and the point was to carry our young friend quickly forward on the wings of excitement. Écarté was still the game, fresh players going in every now and then, O’Dicey amongst the number, who quickly turned the heretofore winning game against our friend, and was succeeded by Captain Gammon, who promised to retrieve their waning fortune if Jasper would back him on the mutual risk principle as before. Back him he did, but very ineffectually, for he lost three games in succession. Things began to look rather ominous.
The i on-playing Major then, drawing Jas
per quietly aside by the arm as if to replenish their glasses at the tray, volunteered his advice to go on the doubling principle till he got a turn of lu — lu — luck in his favour, assuring him that it must co — co — come at last.” That he never knew a bold player lose, it was “o-o only those who took fright at the fi — fi — figures and didn’t give themselves fair play who lo — lo — lost.” And though Jasper did not like the appearance of things, yet the Major was so kind and paternal that he could not help following his advice, and going boldly in, of course, made matters a great deal worse.
At length a waiter entered, bearing a savory grill and other provocatives of thirst, whereupon a truce was called for, and the parties gathered round the table eating and drinking, and talking about what they owed one another. The amount had become serious, so quickly do figures mount up, and Jasper and Gammon owed one party and another several hundred pounds. That, however, was nothing compared to what Mr. O’Dicey understood Jasper was equal to, and not expecting to have the pleasure of seeing him again, he determined to make the most of the present opportunity. The blood of all parties seemed to be roused, and even Jasper was anxious to retrieve his position. Cards, however, being slow for the concluding operation of fleecing, dice began to rattle, introduced by nobody knew who, and not objected to by anyone.
