by R S Surtees
Grace was then said by the worthy Rector of Slavington-cum-Starvington, and forthwith soup began to circulate from each end of the table. Sherry of course followed soup, and then came the fish — a dish of smelts, and turbot with lobster sauce. Hock and Moselle then succeeded, and the gentlemen began to feel a little more comfortable. The ladies of course had dined at luncheon time, and, like Willy Watkins with his hunting, now only ate for conformity. Indeed, we often wonder for whom the great overpowering dinners are provided. If we follow a man to his club, and see what he orders, we shall find that soup, fish, and meat, constitute the dinners of nine-tenths of the whole. Tarts, sweets, savouries, are in little demand. But when a party of men sit at one table, instead of at several tables as they do at a club, there seems to be an idea that the accumulation of appetites requires greater appeasing, and makes it necessary to have an infinity of food.
If people find certain dishes at one end of a table, they may be pretty sure what there will be at the other. For instance, a sirloin of beef is pretty sure to be faced by a turkey, whilst a roast leg of mutton generally involves some boiled chickens at the other. Then the ham, tongue, sausages, and so on, follow as a matter of course. Roast beef and turkey was the order of the day at Tarring Neville, for which there was a pretty equal demand; but Facey, not being much of a carver, willingly relinquished the honour of assisting Mrs Hazey to Mr Pannet, who sat on the opposite side of the table; thus enabling him to devote his attentions to Miss Hazey. But Facey was prudent and calculating. Anna Maria was certainly very pretty. Fine head and neck, beautiful brown hair, elegant figure; but then there was that confounded “Boy Bill” and another cub or two elsewhere. Besides, Hazey would live for ever, and Mrs H. looked like a tough ‘un too. Altogether he determined to take the curb of his admiration up a link or two.
Some people seem to think if they get a certain muster of guests together, and place a profusion of food before them, that that constitutes society, and that they may sit staring, just as the master of a union workhouse sits staring at the paupers.
Hazey was one of the silent sort, unless he was talking of buying, or selling, or exchanging; and as he could not hope to interest Mrs Somerville with a disquisition on horse dealing, or favour her with a sight of his banker’s pass book, he began telling her the quality and price of the various things on the table, explaining that the candles were genuine wax, and the oil the finest sperm. He also drew her attention to his crystal, and next told her how he got his linen direct from the manufacturer in Belfast, without subjecting it to the troublesome attentions of the middle man. He was a regular bargain hunter, and was so proud of his exploits, that he could not keep his own counsel — even letting out that his champagne was of the cheap order — a most injudicious proceeding, seeing it was sure to deteriorate the flavour. If people do give cheap wine, they should keep the price to themselves.
We will not persecute the reader with a description of all the dishes and delicacies that Gritty’s moderate abilities furnished, still less with the hard-featured dessert that followed, the component parts whereof were chiefly apples and pears, nor yet with the burthensome conversation that accompanied the whole. It was just one of those sort of dinners that those who have never seen any better would think good, and those who knew what dinners ought to be would think bad. Friend Facey, however, got through it with much more ease than he did the Dalberry Lees one, and Lucy thought it a great deal better than spending the night with her old mother at Beldon Hall. And she was half sorry when an ominous lull enabled Mrs Hazey to catch her eye, and with the usual gesticulation moved the adjournment of the ladies; but then she sailed out with the air of an empress.
XL. HOW TO SPELL CAT
OF COURSE, ON THE RETIREMENT of the ladies from the dining-room, there was a readjustment of seats at Mr Hazey’s festive board; and our distinguished Master, Mr Romford, between whom and his brother M.F.H. there had been a long interregnum of highly-garnished table, now got together, Mr Romford occupying the seat of honour just vacated by Mrs Somerville, having the yellow and white fan-bearded Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. on his right. Next Ten-and-a-half came old boosy Tom Pennant, then the Rector of Slavington-cum-Starvington, flanked by Daniel Dennis, and opposite sat Joe Beddingfield, Gowleykins, Cropper, and others, all anxious to hear the stories of our master, who looked, indeed, as though he were surcharged with them.
Basket, the butler, with his attendant aide-de-camp, having assisted in the new arrangement by the distribution of chairs, glasses, and the marshalling of decanters, now reduced the illumination by extinguishing the extraneous lamps on the sideboard and elsewhere, and presently withdrew, leaving our friends to fraternise through the instrumentality of music, politics, literature, fox hunting, the fine arts, or what not. Of course the wine had to circulate once or twice before anything of a conversation could be expected, during which time those who had anything to say for themselves began looking out for a subject, while those who had not, prepared to act the part of sand-bags, by examining and disposing of the wine.
Mr Bonus — that is to say, Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. — having carefully manipulated his funny fan beard, and found that every hair was right in this very peculiar half-inch fringe, now gave a slight ingratiating turn of his chair towards Mr Romford; and, after a glance at his hirsute profile, as Romford sat rocking himself in one of Hazey’s ricketty chairs, apparently thinking of nothing, though in reality scanning every thing and person in the room, Mr Bonus ventured to ask, in a very deferential tone, if Mr Romford ever looked into the Derby betting.
“Whiles,” replied Facey, pulling out a sample of his beard, and holding it up to the light. “Whiles,” repeated he, re-establishing his chair on all fours, and scrutinising Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. attentively. Derby betting! thought Facey (who could spell Reindeer with any of them). That looked like business; and passing the favourites quickly through his mind, together with the bets he had pending, he was considering what temptation he could afford to offer Mr Bonus, when his host interfered with his wine. Hazey wanted to talk about his wine; and the prices of wine and the prices which horses are at in the betting ring not harmonising, Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. was obliged to retire his subject. They, however, mutually booked each other for a venture on a future occasion; Bonus thinking himself better informed than Facey, and Facey having an equally confident opinion of himself. Now let us harken to our host.
Hazey, who, like Bonus, was a sort of general broker — dabbled in anything — and was always running about at sales in the summer, picking up curious old port, curious old furniture, curious old anything that was cheap, now took his innings with Romford.
Formerely hosts used to persecute about their port, their rich fruity port, their tawny port, their bees’-wingey port, their five in wood and twenty years in bottle port; but since the Chancellor of the Exchequer has opened the flood-gates of the Continent, each connoisseur has his own particular wine that nobody else can acquire. Hazey had several anonymous sorts, each so superior that our party soon resolved itself into a tasting one. The fact was, Mr Hazey wanted to sell his brother master a batch of Burgundy for about double the price he had given for it; and though Mr Romford cared very little about wine, having, indeed, an abundant supply of Lord Lovetin’s, yet as Hazey was pressing and anxious, he said he didn’t care if he took ten or twelve dozen, provided Hazey would deliver it for him at Beldon Hall. And as Hazey could load back with coals from Splutterton Colliery, he agreed to the terms; and before Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. could get his own Derby subject renewed, Hazey was at Mr Romford again with a description of a perfect picture of a horse he had just picked up — far more than up to Hazey’s weight — equal to Romford’s, in fact — that he wouldn’t mind selling, if Romford knew of anyone who didn’t care for putting his hand pretty deep into his pocket for price. And our Master said he knew plenty of people of that sort; he himself didn’t mind what he gave, so long as the animal was really good; and, altogether, he talked in a very liberal, en
couraging sort of way. Emboldened by this, at a later period of the evening, after he had beaten about the bush a little as to their respective countries and covers, Mr Hazey asked his guest if he would mind giving up Lowfield Banks to him; whereupon Facey, gathering himself up, replied fiercely, “No! would as soon give you an inch off my nose!” an assertion that rather startled Mr Hazey, but still gave him a very favourable impression of Mr Romford’s sporting determination. It was clear he wanted sport. Hazey would have negotiated, at all events, if he had been Mr Romford; tried to have got a horse, or a hound, or something to boot. But every man to his mind, thought Hazey.
And now poor Ten-and-a-half, who had been doomed to hear Mr Hazey monopolising the rich victim, taking advantage of the lull caused by the slight ebullition of temper, turned again to our hero, and in the same bland voice as before, asked him if he ever did anything in the speculative way, Ten-and-a-half having some shares in a certain hotel company that he wouldn’t care to be out of, and also a venture in the oil wells of Austria, that were not likely to yield the necessary interest; but Hazey, quickly recovering from his back-hander, turned again upon our distinguished Master, with an Italian wine — better, in fact, than the Burgundy; but which, Hazey said, would require a purchaser to dip his hand deeper into his pocket to procure a few dozen of Facey, however, to whom price was no object, having got a clean glass, after a stare at its colour and an approving smack of his great thick lips, said he wouldn’t mind taking ten dozen of it. “Say twelve,” replied Hazey, who had booked him the larger quantity of the former. “Twelve be it,” yawned Facey, with the utmost indifference.
It was now friend Facey’s turn to have his innings; and, after raking either side of the table with his inquisitive little pig eyes, he folded his hands behind the back of his head, and balancing himself on the hind legs of his chair as before, asked, with a dégagé sort of air, “If anybody knew anything of one Mr Jobbins — Mr Jonathan Jobbins?”
“Oh, yes, I do,” replied Hazey. “Jobbins, of Harefield. Bought the worst horse of him I had ever had in my life — Flash-in-the-Pan; you remember him, Gowleykins?”
“Indeed I do,” replied Gowleykins, who had some unpleasant green-pea soup reminiscences of him; said horse having run away with Gowley, and soused him in a horse-pond all over green weed.
“Well, but what about Jobbins?” asked Hazey, anxious to run a fresh scent.
“Oh, nothin’ ‘ticlar,” replied Facey, “only had a letter from him, complaining of moy hounds having killed his cat; and how do you think the ignorant beggar spelt the word ‘cat’?” asked Facey, now settling himself down on all fours of his chair. There was a dead silence, each man thinking how it would be.
“I’ll bet a guinea none o’ you can guess!” exclaimed Facey.
“I’ll take your two to one,” at length drawled Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent.
“No — even bettin’,” said Facey— “even bettin’.”
“Come, I’ll bet you,” said Hazey, who thought he had it.
“Done,” replied Romford. “How was it, now?”
“Why, K-a-double t,” replied Hazey, spelling it.
“Nor, it wasn’t!” said Romford, smiling.
“I’ll bet you now,” said Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent., who thought the chances were reduced.
“Done!” replied Romford, coolly adding, “a guinea, mind! — a guinea.”
“A guinea,” nodded Bonus.
“Well, then, how was it?”
“Why, K-a-double t,” replied Bonus.
“Nor, it wasn’t,” chuckled Facey.
“Double or quits!” now exclaimed Mr Hazey, thinking he had it at last.
“Done,” replied Romford, with the greatest indifference.
“C-a-double t,” spelt Hazey.
“Nor, it wasn’t,” chuckled Romford again.
Mr Bonus then took a long-drawn inspiration, and thinking there were but two other ways, viz., K-a-tt-e and C-a-tt-e, made the same double or quits offer.
“Done,” said Romford, thinking he might as well exhaust the subject.
“Then K-a-double t-e,” spelt Bonus.
“Nor, it wasn’t that either,” laughed Romford.
“Come, I’ll have another turn,” cried Hazey, thinking to save something out of the fire.
“An even guinea,” said Romford.
“Done,” said Hazey. “C-a-double t-e,” then spelt Hazey.
“Nor, it wasn’t,” chuckled Romford again.
“Then how was it?” exclaimed several.
“Why, C-a-t, to be sure,” replied Facey, laughing — in which all but the losers joined. They were glum.
“Well, but you said he was an ignorant beggar,” observed Bonus.
“Well, he may be an ignorant beggar, and yet know how to spell cat,” replied Romford.
“Ah! but you put it as if not knowing how to spell cat constituted his ignorance,” rejoined Bonus.
“To be sure!” replied Facey, “that’s the way to do it.” A general chuckle then ensued. Very slowly the purses came out, and very reluctantly the sovereigns were counted, the chairman of the Half-guinea Hat Company absolutely offering to pay in pounds, an indignity that Mr Romford could not brook.
“Out with the shillins!” said he, and the shillings he got. Having tried all the coin on his plate, he deliberately put them into his waistcoat pocket, saying, “it would do very well to pay ‘pikes with,” and again established himself on the hind-legs of his chair as before. He thought he had done a very good night’s work.
Then as the circulation of the bottle became weaker and more languid, and men began to twist, and turn, and writhe about in their chairs, all indicative of present satiety, Basket, the butler, at length put an end to the negotiations and commercial transactions of the evening by appearing with a loftily borne coffee-tray, whose jingling cups clattering around acted the part of the bell that rings the merchants out of the Royal Exchange in the City of London. Up rose the majority of the guests, some to the coffee, some to the water, some to the sherry, some to the fingering and adjustment of their collars, their variously-shaped beards, and shirt-fronts. And all being apparently ready for a move, Mr Hazey duly dissolved the meeting by making for the door, and saying, “then, shall we join the ladies?”
“With all my heart,” replied Romford, chucking his napkin ostentatiously on to the middle of the table, as if to let people see he was not going to pocket it, when, without any bowings, after you-ings, or any nonsense of that sort, he just stalked boldly out of the room. The rest then followed as they liked.
The drawing-room had now received a great accession of light, and if Mrs Hazey’s opinion of the importance of her guests might be inferred from the number of candles she was burning in their honour, it must have been very great. Independently of the heavy ordnance — the cut-glass chandelier — there was scarcely a bracket or holder of any sort without its burner. If Hazey hadn’t sold the twenty-four dozen of wine, he would have grudged the expense amazingly. As it was, after counting the guests, he began calculating how much the light would cost per head; and this, too, while he was pretending to keep up a running commentary with Mr Beddingfield about his damaged barley. But here we are in the radiant apartment, and must devote ourselves to the ladies.
About the centre of the lady-circle, under a perfect blaze of light, reclining gracefully on a luxurious yellow and gold ottoman, with her beautiful foot resting on an elaborately worked floss-silk cushion, sat our Jermyn Street friend, looking as though she had been nursed in the lap of luxury, and had never known anything of debts, or duns, or difficulties, now giving herself up to the enjoyment of the hour without the slightest care for the future. She was about tired of the ladies; indeed, she often said that the only thing that reconciled her to being a woman was, that she could not by any possibility have to marry one; so she slightly raised her person, and contracted her dress, as if to indicate that any gentleman might come and talk to her who liked. And Mr Hazey, as in duty bound,
was presently by her side, now asking after her horse, now after the hounds; and now, as Mrs Hazey, in her company exertions, got out of hearing, expatiating on the elegance of the jewellery that encircled her swan-like neck and beautiful arms.
The chairman of the Half-guinea Hat Company, though somewhat chagrined at his loss in the dining-room, hovered round, greatly taken with her appearance — thinking to captivate her with his yellow and white beard, through which he had quietly run the pocket-comb in the passage.
Next Mr Facey Romford’s great scarlet shoulders were seen converging upon the piano, and then Miss Anna Maria’s beautiful white ones were seen descending towards the music stool, while Mr Romford stood over as if to let the fair one try to excel the dulcet notes of the lisping syren at Dalberry Lees. And if Mr Facey could be won by a girl with such a “beastly brother Sam” as the boy Bill, it is but due to Miss Hazey’s charms to say, that she would have accomplished the victory, for he thought of her well that night, and awoke still thinking of her the next morning. She quite sung herself into his good graces, thus indeed showing, that “music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.” How he wished he had brought his flute — would have given a guinea to have brought his flute — would never go from home again without his flute — would like to have “‘stonished these beggars with his proficiency.”
And the ladies, with that fine delicate perception of business that they all possess, now began to withdraw themselves and their cohorts quietly, so that when Miss Hazey arose and turned round for laudations after her third song, she found the room greatly thinned. Then Mrs Makepiece, who owed Mrs Hazey one for her assistance in capturing young Mr Busswell for her Sophia Jane, came gallantly forward, and, seizing Miss Hazey by both hands, thanked her most fervently for her beautiful music, and begged she would favour them with one more song — just one more — before she (Mrs Makepiece) went. Whereupon, after a little pressing, and a “come, you may as well do it,” from Mr Romford, Miss turned again to the instrument, and our Master mounted guard as before. Mrs Makepiece watching and inwardly calculating that Miss would very soon be Mrs Romford, and Miss preferring to humour Mr Romford’s encore to limiting herself to the one song that Mrs Makepiece had prayed, that lady, and her plain but very amiable daughter, presently withdrew, noiselessly, leaving the chaunts in full swing; and when Miss Hazey again arose for commendation, she found the men clustered round the sherry and soda-water tray, Mrs Pannet watching to see that Mr Pannet didn’t take equal parts of whiskey and water for his nightcap. Then Anna Maria, as she drew on her new white kid gloves, gave Mr Romford such a loving look, when, in reply to his request for another song, she said “not to-night, please,” adding — sotto voce— “another time,” as quite captivated the Facey heart, and made Mrs Somerville (who, too, was on the watch) almost wish she hadn’t come. Cassandra Cleopatra was extinguished for that night at least, thus showing that ladies are not always wrong in hoping against hope — in never giving up a man short of the church door.
