by R S Surtees
“I’ll tell you in two words,” rejoined Woodcock again. “This horse stands me, one way and another, in a vast of money. I didn’t get him a clean out-and-out bargain, you see — so much money down on the nail; but there were a good many pecooliar circumstances attending the purchase of him? In the fust place, the man I got him on owed me a good deal of money, and knowing that he was very near the wind, I thought I had better make a little concession, and get as well out of him as I could. Then, in the second place, there was a long unadjusted account between Mr Monkseaton, the great wholesale chemist in Cripplegate, and myself; and Monkseaton and the late owner — that’s to say, Mr Bowers — being first cousins — Bowers’s father and Monkseaton’s mother being brother and sister — it was arranged that Monkseaton, you know, should transfer my debt along with another man’s, of the name of Sparks, for which I was jointly liable along with Mr Splinters, the cabinetmaker of Baconfield, into Bowers’s name. And then I had a grey horse, called the Little Clipper — you may have heard tell of him — a very remarkable horse for water-jumping. He was by the Big Clipper — a dark chestnut horse, free from white, full fifteen three, on short legs, with immense bone and substance, great muscular power, fine symmetry and temper, perfectly sound, and free from blemish; and I had an old rattle-trap of a dog-cart, that might be worth to a man that wanted one, p’r’aps, five pounds; and then Bowers had a cow that had gone wrong in her milkin’, and we agreed—”
“Oh, never mind what you agreed,” interrupted Tom, seeing the story was likely to be interminable; “can’t you tell me what you’ll take to change with me — a clean offhand swap — and sink the cows and the rest of the quadrupeds?”
“Well,” replied Woodcock, “I’ll tell you what I’ll take — I’ll tell you what I’ll take. I’ll take twenty pounds.”
“Twenty pounds!” repeated Tom, who had been speculating on all sorts of sums during Woodcock’s exordium.
“It’s givin’ of him away,” observed Woodcock.
Tom sat silent.
“Well, what d’ye say?” at length asked Woodcock.
“I’ll consider of it,” replied Tom, as Fibs’s aphorism, “Buy in haste, repent at leisure,” occurred to his mind.
“Nay, never think twice about a twenty-pund matter!” exclaimed Woodcock.
“‘Buy in haste, repent at leisure,’” observed Tom sententiously.
“Well,” replied Woodcock, rather disgusted at having given himself so much trouble, “you know best, sir — you know best. Only, if you happen to have an accident with that horse of yours, you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself.”
This observation told upon Tom, who was desperately afraid of breaking his neck, and had all the horrors of horsemanship fresh in his mind.
“I’ll consider of it, and let you know in a day or two,” said he, adding, “I don’t think it’s unlikely that I may — but, however, we’ll see.”
“Well, p’r’aps you’ll let me know by Saturday, at all events?” rejoined Woodcock; “for Mr Gazebrooke is after him, and is to call on Monday.”
“I will,” said Tom, thinking whether he should clench the matter at once.
Just then Bowman stole up, and the skilful chemist immediately turned the conversation upon some bullocks in the adjoining pasture; and so the trio proceeded on their ways homeward, Woodcock never as much as hinting that Tom and he had been trying to have a deal.
CHAPTER XXV.
COLONEL AND MRS BLUNT DISCUSS PROSPECTS.
COLONEL BLUNT, THOUGH he liked the looks of the diamond pin, and valued it at fifty pounds, was not so elated at Angelena’s success with Lord Heartycheer as her mamma; indeed, he regarded the acquaintance as rather unpropitious. His lordship’s reputation for gallantry was too notorious, and his adventures too numerous, to admit of a reasonable supposition that such a long career of unbridled libertinism would terminate in a match with his enterprising daughter; while he foresaw that any interruption of the Hall courtship might be prejudicial to the fate of the hundred-pound cheque, which the colonel meant to cash at the first opportunity. He therefore listened with anything but complacency — at all events, with anything but expressions of approbation — to Mrs Blunt’s recapitulation of Angelena’s feats and triumphs; how she had beat the field; how she had delighted Lord Heartycheer with her riding, who had set her as far as the blacksmith’s, at the cross-roads at Liphook, and charged her with his best compliments to them, and expressed an ardent hope that they would soon pay him a visit at the castle.
“Well,” growled the colonel when he heard all that—” well, his lordship’s very good — very complimentary; very good house to stay at, and all that sort of thing; but I shouldn’t like to have Hall ill-used. Good young man, Hall — no near relation of Solomon’s, perhaps, but still a good young man, with good prospects; not bad connections either. I wouldn’t have her throw Tom over for the chance of a coronet. Coronets are queer things to catch, very queer things. Heartycheer’s a queer feller, very queer feller. No, I wouldn’t have Tom thrown over on any account.”
“Oh, but there’s no occasion for anything of the sort,” replied the diplomatic Mrs Blunt; “only you know there’s nothing settled — definitely settled, at least — with old Mr Hall, and showing a desirable rival might have the effect of quickening their movements.”
“True,” responded the colonel—” true, there is that to be said — there is that to be said; and, so far as that goes, his lordship may, perhaps, be profitably used; but after all is said and done, I should say Tom was the best, the likeliest chance of the two.”
“No harm in having two strings to her bow,” replied Mrs Blunt, who was used to sending young gentlemen to the right-about.
“No,” replied the colonel thoughtfully, “perhaps not. Only mind the old sayin’ about two stools, you know.”
“Oh, there’s no fear of her letting Tom slip,” observed Mrs Blunt, who had a high opinion of her daughter’s dexterity in love affairs.
“Well, but I wouldn’t be too sure,” observed the colonel; “these young fellows are slippery. I question Hall be over and above pleased at Angey ridin’ away, and leavin’ him when he fell.”
“Perhaps not,” replied mamma, who thought her daughter had been rather indiscreet in so doing.
“I think I’d best go down in the mornin’ if he doesn’t come up here, and inquire how he is,” observed the colonel after a pause.
“It might be well,” rejoined his wife, who lived in perpetual dread of the incursions of her own sex, well knowing that such an unwonted prize as Tom Hall would be fought for even up to the very church door; and so, having settled matters, the colonel waddled off on his heels to the mess, leaving Angelena to entertain her mamma over their tea with the further detail of her hunting adventures, hopes, and aspirations.
CHAPTER XXVI.
TOM THE DAY AFTER.
WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE how Tom Hall ached after his hunt; he felt as if every part of his person had been pommelled. He could hardly bear to turn over in bed. Hunting, he thought, was very severe exercise, and what no man ought to take too much of. Indeed, he was not sure that he would be wanting much more of it — very homoeopathic doses, at all events. The consequence of all this was that he had his breakfast in bed, where he lay ruminating over the previous day’s proceedings, recalling the impetuosity of his horse, the unfeeling desertion of Angelena, and Mr Woodcock’s polite offer. Angelena, it is true, occupied the most of his thoughts. He thought she should have turned back, and seen that he had not broken his back, or any of the other compartments of his person; and he could hardly reconcile her conduct to his ideas of lover-like etiquette and deportment. To be sure, in his shilling’s-worth of the “Chase,” in Murray’s ‘Reading for the Rail,’ he read how, when Dick Christian went under water in the Whissendine, and one man exclaimed, “He’ll be drowned!” another replied, “Shouldn’t wonder! but the pace was too good to inquire.” But Tom didn’t think there was any occasion for Angelena to e
mulate the indifference of these Leicestershire worthies. Then she was riding his mare too, and ought to have stuck to him instead of to Lord Heartycheer; and considering how fractious the mare had been at starting, Tom would not have been sorry to hear that Angelena had ridden her to death. Just as he was in the midst of a speculation as to whether the colonel would be as good as his word in not presenting the cheque, and wondering whether Trueboy would cash it without referring to him, the whole house shook with the most riotous knocking at the street door — the exact duplicate of the clamour that announced Colonel and Mrs Blunt’s arrival, to ask “Hall and Co.” to the earache and stomach-ache. It was, indeed, the colonel, in undress uniform, mounted on one of his elephantine chargers, attended by a soldier on foot, in a shell-jacket — the same man who on the former occasion had enacted the part of a gold-laced-hatted footman behind the mail phaeton. The sound startled every one — from Trueboy, who was weighing sovereigns in the bank, to Sarah the maid, who was making her bed in the garret.
“Now take this horse home!” roared the colonel at the top of his voice as the pounding ceased; “and tell Major Fibs to ride old Cherry as far as the Flaxholme turnpike gate and back, and try if he can fall in with Peter Seive about the oats — those nasty things he sent; tell him I wouldn’t have them at no price — not, not even in a gift; and now knock again,” continued he, still speaking as loud as he could, adding, “The people must be asleep, or dead, or drunk, or somethin’,” as he stared from his horse up to the windows, from whence sundry cap-strings whisked in sudden perturbation. The soldier made a second assault, if possible more furious than the first, which drew all the street to the windows, and caused Sarah to rush downstairs in a state of agitation bordering on frenzy. Seizing the door handle, she threw wide the portal as if she expected to see Louis Napoleon at least outside.
“Well, Jane, and how are you?” asked the colonel from his horse, staring full in her face; for she was rather good-looking, and the hurry and excitement had imparted a bloom to her cheeks.
“Nicely, thank ye, sir,” replied Sarah, dropping a curtsey.
“Are your old people — I mean to say, your young gentleman — Mister — Mister Peter, no, not Peter — Joseph — no, not Joseph—”
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and five is sixteen — that’s a reg’lar piece of impittance,” growled old Hall from the inner recess of his bank. He sat on a high stool at a desk, with his London correspondents’ (Bullock and Hulker’s) letter of that morning before him, containing on a small slip of paper the following memorandum: “Our Mr Ferret cannot make out that there is any stock standing in the name you mention,” being their answer to our banker’s request that they would ascertain what money the colonel had in the funds. “Sivin and four’s elivin, and five is sixteen — that’s a reg’lar piece of impittance,” growled Hall, as the well-known voice sounded through the low bank, and right into the dingy hole he called his parlour. “Old people, indeed!” muttered he; “and then callin’
‘Tummus, Joseph!’ — knows his name’s Tummus just as well as I do.”
While “sivin and four” was accompanying the colonel’s inquiry with the foregoing commentary, Sarah had helped our gallant friend to her young master’s Christian name, and also informed him that Mr Thomas was in bed, which produced an exclamation from the father-in-law-to-be that he hoped his young friend was not hurt; and without more ado the colonel proceeded to unpack himself from his miniature dray horse, and handing him to the soldier, without another word of inquiry of Sarah, proceeded to waddle into the house.
CHAPTER XXVII.
ADVICE FROM THE COLONEL.
MRS HALL BEING busy arranging her domestic affairs in the kitchen — making mince for Christmas pies, if the truth must be known — and “sivin-and-four” never showing to callers, company callers at least, our friend the colonel had ample time for making a mental inventory of the furniture of their drawing-room, which he did, commencing with the old, well-indented, high-backed chairs, with black horse-hair seats, which he valued at four and sixpence each, going on to the old red merino damask curtains, which he felt a difficulty in putting a price upon, not being able to guess the quantity in the baggy hangings, though he fixed thirty shillings as the value of the round, eagle-topped mirror, and thought the brass fender and fire-irons might fetch five-and-twenty shillings at a sale.
“Confound it,” said he to himself, “what a screw-drivin’, skinflintin’, usurious appearance everything has in this house; one could almost fancy the walls and crannies filled with coin, and the very ceilin’ swaggin’ with the weight of iron chests. What a nasty shabby rug too,” continued he, kicking at the corner of a much-worn, drab, worsted-worked rug, with a green cat lapping out of a pink saucer in the middle, considered a perfect triumph of art at the time it was done. “The carpet, too,’s uncommon mean — a reg’lar Scot, I do believe,” continued he, stooping to examine it, adding, as he eyed the grey drugget above, “I wonder whether it’s covered to keep it clean or to hide the frays?”
While the colonel was in the act of turning the drugget back with his foot, Mrs Hall noiselessly entered the room and stood behind him.
“Ah! my dear Mrs Brown — I mean, Mrs Buss — that’s to say, Mrs Hall — I’m so glad to see ye,” exclaimed he, seizing her hand—” I’m so glad to see ye you can’t think; lookin’ so well, too — I declare it does one good to see such a buxom body as you. I’d just dropt a sixpence,” continued he, looking at the disordered drugget; “but, however, never mind; let the girl have it — let the girl have it; she’ll find it when she sweeps the room.”
“Oh, but we’ll find it, colonel,” replied Mrs Hall, preparing to search for it.
“Couldn’t think of such a thing! — couldn’t, by Jove!” exclaimed he, raising her up, and backing her towards a roomy arm-chair, into which the lady now subsided.
“Well, mum,” said the colonel, settling himself into another at her side, “I’m sorry to hear my young friend Joe — no, not Joe—”
“Tummus,” interposed Mrs Hall.
“Ah! true,” responded the colonel—” Thomas. — I was thinking of that ugly lad of Tucker’s; his name’s Joe — Joseph, at least — Joseph Tucker, not Tommy Tucker, as I tell him it ought to be — haw, haw, haw. Well, mum,” repeated he, “I’m sorry to hear my young friend Thomas has had a fall out a-huntin’, very sorry indeed to hear of it, so is Mrs Blunt and my daughter; couldn’t sleep, none of us, for thinkin’ of it; and they have sent me down with their kindest compliments, and all that sort of thing, to inquire how he is.”
“Thank’ee, colonel, thank’ee,” replied Mrs Hall, smoothing her apron. “Tummus is — is — very well, I thank you, colonel. He was rather a little fatigued last night, but — but—”
While all this was going on, Tom, who had been startled with the clamorous knocking at the street door, with infinite labour, for he was both stiff and sore, had managed to lift his legs into his trousers, and excusing his downy chin its usual beard-growing scrape, had made a hasty toilet, in order to catch the colonel before his departure. He now came hobbling, and holding on by the banister, downstairs.
“My dear Hall, how are you?” exclaimed the colonel, rising from his chair with a desperate effort, like a cow in a lair, as our young friend now opened the door and came shuffling into the room. “My dear Hall, how are you?” repeated the colonel, advancing, and getting him by both hands, and looking earnestly in his face.
“Why, I’m — I’m rather stiff — sore, that’s to say,” replied Tom, wriggling and rubbing himself.
“Don’t wonder at it!” exclaimed the colonel at the top of his voice—” don’t wonder at it; enough to make any man stiff and sore; you had a desp’rate day — desp’rate day, indeed. Angelena came home all trashed and draggled to death. I was very angry with her for perseverin’. Women have no business tearin’ across country; very well to go and see the hounds throw off, but they should stop as soon as they find — at all events, they shou
ld never think of followin’ when they drop into a quick thing — a burst, in fact. Besides, as I told her, she was ridin’ your horse, and had no business to take the shine out of her in that way. Indeed, if the mare hadn’t been the very best bit of horse-flesh that ever was foaled, she never could have got to the end, for Angelena’s no horsewoman, poor thing — not a bit of one. Her mother tells her she has only one fault — that of having far too much money; but I tell her she has another — that of being a very indifferent horsewoman — haw, haw, haw — he, he, he — ho, ho, ho. However,” checking his risible faculties, “I’m deuced glad to see you all safe and sound; falls are nasty things, very nasty things — fall one ever so softly. And how did your horse please you?” asked the colonel.
“Nastiest beast I ever rode in my life,” replied Tom, who, though he had not ridden a great many, could still find fault; “nastiest beast I ever rode in my life,” repeated he, thinking of the way the brute threw up its head to the danger of his ivories and the detriment of his features.
“What, was he fractious or violent, or what?” asked the colonel.
“Oh, everything that he oughtn’t to be,” replied Tom. “He bored, and he pulled, and he fumed, and he fretted, and he rushed at his fences, and would go his own way. Altogether, I think I never saw such an animal.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the colonel, with well-feigned astonishment; “you surprise me.”
“He surprised me, I can tell you,” replied Tom, “for I understood he was a perfect hunter — a horse that I had nothin’ to do but sit still on.”
“What a pity!” ejaculated Mrs Hall, who feared that her son had been done.
“Well, I’m sorry for it,” observed the colonel after a pause—” very sorry for it — very sorry indeed. Not that I have anything to reproach myself with in the matter, for if you remember, I by no means encouraged you to think of this horse; but Fibbey will be sorry to hear of it, for he gave himself a good deal of trouble about it, and flattered himself he had mounted you unexceptionally — most unexceptionally. Indeed, I heard him tell old Quittor, the vet., that he thought if he could buy you such another, you’d be the best mounted man in the country.”
