by R S Surtees
“Indeed!” shuddered Tom at the thought.
“Fact, I assure you,” replied the colonel, with a jerk of his bull-head; “and Fibbey’s reckoned one of the best judges of horse-flesh in her Majesty’s service. There’s no man whose judgment I’d sooner buy a horse on as his.”
“Perhaps there’s a difference between a soldierin’ horse and a huntin’ horse,” observed Mrs Hall.
“Mum, this was a huntin’ horse,” replied the colonel; “considered one of the best huntin’ horses in the Royal Hunt — that’s the Queen’s.”
“Indeed,” replied Mrs Hall, smoothing out her apron again.
“Captain Smallbeere’s was the horse for you,” observed the colonel in the coolest manner possible, just as if the captain’s horse and the one Tom bought were really different animals instead of being one and the same — the same, at least, except in as far as clipping and squaring the tail made any difference. “I always thought Captain Smallbeere’s horse was the horse for you,” repeated the colonel, scrutinising his expectant son-in-law’s vacant countenance, to try if he could discover whether he had any inkling of the deception that had been practised upon him.
“He couldn’t have suited me worse,” replied Tom, lifting one fat leg with difficulty on to the other, adding, “I declare I feel just as if I had been possed in a washin’- tub.”
“I dare say you do,” replied the colonel; “just as if you’d been kicked all round about the town.”
“Precisely so,” said Tom, feeling his back.
“But that’s not all attributable to the horse,” observed the colonel; “all people are more or less stiff after the first day’s huntin’.”
“Are they?” said Tom, thinking he might perhaps get over it.
“It’s severe exercise,” observed the colonel—” very severe exercise.”
“I’m sure I can’t think what pleasure there is in such work,” observed Mrs Hall.
“Oh why, mum, it’s a British amusement,” replied the colonel; “it’s a manly sport too, and brings people better acquainted that would otherwise be strangers. There’s no better introduction for a young man of figur’ and fortin’, like your son, than at the cover-side.”
“But if he breaks his neck?” exclaimed Mrs Hall.
“Oh, mum, there’s no fear of that — none at all,” replied Colonel Blunt. “He’s made an unlucky hit at first, but that’s what almost everybody does. Few people get themselves suited at first; but the world’s very wide, mum, and men with money need never be dismounted — need never ride unsuitable horses.”
“Tummus gave a great deal for this quadruped,” sighed Mrs Hall.
“Did he?” replied the colonel, pretending not to know—” did he? Major Fibs never said what he gave, but I presume he would never think of puttin’ your son on a cheap ‘un. However, though he don’t suit Thomas, he may suit some one else, and he’s a horse that will be easily disposed of.”
“Mr Woodcock has offered to change with me,” observed Tom, “for one of his.”
“Mr Woodcock — Jemmy Woodcock,” replied the colonel; “very nice gentleman — deep dog, for all he wears a shallow hat; have nothin’ to do with him.”
“Why not?” asked Tom.
“Biggest rogue goin’,” replied the colonel; “would cheat his own father.”
“Shockin’ man!” exclaimed Mrs Hall.
“Horrid feller,” assented the colonel; “have nothin’ to do with him.”
“He wasn’t a bad-like horse,” observed Tom, who was rather taken with the animal.
“What, a ginger chestnut?” asked the colonel.
“No; a bay,” replied Tom.
“A bay,” repeated the colonel—” a bay. Ah, he has got a bay, I believe, now; swapped away the chestnut for it.”
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Tom.
“Old as the hills,” replied the colonel; “teeth as long as my arm,” striking out his right fin as he spoke.
“Lor, what a curious animal! “exclaimed Mrs Hall. “It must be very ugly.”
“Why no, he’s not an ugly beast,” replied the colonel; “but he’s passé — done his work, had his day, you know.”
“Well, but he’ll be steady,” observed Tom.
“Steady enough, I dare say,” replied the colonel—” too steady, p’r’aps; for he’d knock up at the end of five minnits. No; take my advice — or, rather, Sam Slick’s advice — my young friend: never buy a crack horse; they’ve always done too much.”
The discussion was here interrupted by the appearance of Sarah with a couple of bulbous-shaped decanters on a tray, garnished at intervals with biscuits, plain and currant cakes, and saucers of almonds and raisins — being as close an imitation of the tray the colonel set before old Hall the day he called at the barracks as Mrs Hall’s memory and resources enabled her to extemporise.
And now, while our fat friend is helping himself to the port and sherry and doing the honours of the table in relief of his stiff son-in-law, we will take a peep at the banker as he sits in his “little den.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MR HALL AND THE COLONEL.
THOUGH LITTLE ADDICTED to morning callers, and in a general way not at all likely to make an exception in favour of the colonel, the man of money was yet so “aggravated” at the imposition attempted to be practised upon him by the colonel with regard to his money in the funds, coupled with the unceremonious, not to say impertinent, way he had spoken of him and his wife as “old people,” that the spirit moved Hall to go upstairs and give the colonel battle on the spot, “then and there,” as he said.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and four’s fifteen — I’ve half a mind to slip upstairs and see what that great man-mountain’s about,” said he to himself. “Sivin and four’s elivin, and eight is nineteen — I think I could sound him without lettin’ out I know it’s all my eye about his wealth. Sivin and four’s elivin, and twenty-five is thirty-six — he must be a very bad man, tellin’ such wholesale falsehoods in hopes of entrappin’ our Tummus into marryin’ his darter. Sivin and four’s elivin, and forty-five is fifty-six — it’s very fortinate Tummus has a father to keep him right, or there’s no sayin’ what such a bad old buffer might get him to do. Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-nine’s a ‘undr’d and ten — I really should like to put the old man to the blush. Sivin and four’s elivin, and a ‘undr’d and four is a ‘undr’d and fifteen — wonder if soldiers ever blush. In one’s own house one couldn’t get far wrong takin’ the bull by the horns. Not like the barracks, where he might call out the drummers and fiddlers, and give one a trimmin’; but in one’s own house there can’t be much fear. Sivin and four’s elivin, and a ‘undr’d and ninety is two ‘undr’d and one — I’ll risk it, at all events,”
So saying, he put the London banker’s note saying Ferret the broker did not find any stock in Colonel Blunt’s name into his desk, and halloaing to Trueboy, the cashier, that he was going upstairs for a few minutes if anybody wanted him, he disappeared through an almost invisible door in the dingy-coloured wall.
“Ah, here’s little Podgy himself! “exclaimed the colonel, setting down the decanter, after helping himself to a second bumper of sherry, as our friend, having noiselessly opened the old-fashioned black door, now stood with it in his hand surveying the scene. “Come in, old boy, come in,” continued the colonel, in the most patronising way, extending a red-ended fin for the banker to shake.
“Your servant, colonel,” replied the man of figures with a stiff bow, shying the fist as he made for a seat beside his wife.
“Yours,” replied the colonel, ducking his bull-head and drinking off his wine.
“Well, Tummus, my dear, how are you after your hunt?” asked the fond father, surveying his fat son.
“Middlin’,” replied Tom, shuffling about on his seat.
“Hard work huntin’,” observed the father. “Can’t think what pleasure people can see in such work,” observed the banker—” t
earin’ across fields, now that there are such good roads in all directions. I’m sure my highway rate comes to near tenpence in the pund, and one ought to have somethin’ for that.”
“Why, as to the matter of huntin’,” observed the colonel, as he took another turn at the decanter, “your good lady and I were just talkin’ the matter over, and I say that it’s all very well and proper in moderation — taken medicinally, as I may say, to cure bile, indigestion, and so forth. Nay, as a provocative to appetite, it has some sterlin’ recommendations. Moreover, as I was tellin’ your wife, it’s a good introduction for a young man, and will get him to houses that he mightn’t otherwise visit at; and wearin’ a red coat has its attractions.”
“Well, but it’s dangerous,” observed old Hall with a stamp of his heel.
“That depends upon how you take it,” replied the colonel, “and what sort of horses you ride. If you ride rips, you are pretty sure to come to grief; if you ride good uns, you’ll most likely go scot-free all your life, just as old Heartycheer has done. So, with your permission, we’ll drink ‘The Chase,’” continued he, tossing off his glass, and replenishing it plentifully as before.
The trio then sat silent for a time, the colonel considering what excuse he could frame for taking another glass, old Hall thinking how he should lead up to the question of the Consols.
The spirit moved the colonel to speak first.
“Well, and how’s your bank? “asked he, turning short upon his host.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and forty-one is fifty-two — what an impittant question,” mused our friend. “Middlin’, thank’ee, colonel,” replied the man of wealth, rubbing his finger-nails together.
“What! you’re not goin’ smash, are ye?” exclaimed the colonel.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and fifty-nine is seventy — what a cool hand,” thought our friend, fixing his watery grey eyes intently on his interrogator. “No, not smash,” replied our friend, now fifing away with his forefinger on his chin; “not smash,!” repeated he with an emphasis; “but there’s a redundancy of money, and not much employment for it.”
“Hand a little of it here, then,” said the colonel, holding out his great red fist.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and twenty-five is thirty-six, and forty is seventy-six — I think I’ll get an openin’ now,” mused Hall.
“Oh, you don’t want money, colonel,” replied the banker in a tone of irony— “you don’t want money, colonel.”
“Don’t I?” rejoined our friend. “You just give me the run of your safe, or whatever you call your moneybox, and see whether or no.”
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-nine is a ‘undr’d and ten — the man’s forgettin’ himself,” thought Mr Hall; “I’ll pin him to the pint.”
“Well, but the dividends are a cornin’ due, and you’ll soon be in full feather again,” observed he.
“Dividends! Rot the dividends! What have I to do with dividends, think’ee?” asked the colonel.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and a ‘undr’d and sivinty’s a ‘undr’d and eighty-one — wot an unconscionable old scoundrel it must be,” mused Hall, staring intently in the colonel’s great apple face. “Sivin and four’s elivin, and three ‘undr’d and forty-one is three ‘undr’d and fifty-two — the old rascal told me as plain as he could speak that he was in the funds. I’ll put it to him point-blank. Well, but,” said Hall, placing a hand on each knee, and speaking slowly and deliberately, as he stared the colonel full in the face, “I thought you told me you were in the funds?”
“Funds, did I?” replied the colonel, now suddenly recollecting himself; “funds?” repeated he, hesitating, and looking redder than usual.
“Funds, yes!” repeated Hall; “that day at the barracks, you remember.”
“Oh, ax — true,” replied the colonel, with an air of sudden enlightenment—” oh, ar — true, the day we were talkin’ about settlements, and so on. And so I am,” resumed the colonel confidently; “in the Consols, at least. We always, not bein’ up to snuff in your money-changin’ phraseology, call them Consols, not funds — Consols, or consolations — haw, haw, haw — he, he, he — ho, ho, ho,” the colonel attempting to carry his former confusion off with a laugh.
Old Hall, however, was not to be done that way.
“Well, then, you are in the funds?” observed he, reverting to the point.
“Funds, yes — Consols, that’s to say — Three per Cents, in fact; not your Bank Stock, or Long Annuities, or Short Annuities, or Spanish Passives, or rubbish of that sort — Consols,” repeated he, with an emphasis on the word.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and nine is twenty — now I have you,” mused Hall. “Well, then, that comes to what I said at first,” resumed the banker; “the dividends are due next month, and you’ll be full of cash.”
“No doubt,” rejoined the colonel—” no doubt; flush — very flush,” continued he, slapping his thigh.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-nine’s a ‘undr’d and ten — now I’ll pin you,” mused Hall, looking at his wife, with a sparkle in his eye that as good as said, “See how I’ll work him.”
“We can receive your dividends for you here,” observed the banker, “which may save you trouble.”
“Can you?” exclaimed the colonel, rather taken aback at the trap into which he had fallen. “Can you?” repeated he; “you’re very kind — very good; it may be an accommodation, ‘specially if you don’t nip too much off for your trouble.”
“Oh no,” replied the banker; “we’ll do it at the usual figur’ — rather under than over.”
“Ah well, that’s kind of you,” observed the colonel— “that’s kind of you,” adding, “You’re not such a Jew as you look.”
“There’ll be the power-of-attomey, of course,” observed the banker in an offhand sort of way.
“Will there?” mused the colonel, thinking it would require a very strong one to raise his stock.
“Shall I order one, then?” asked the banker.
“Why, yes; I think you may,” drawled the colonel thoughtfully, chuckling at the idea.
“We should require to know the exact amount,” observed the banker; “p’r’aps you could furnish that information as you go through the bank.”
“I dare say I could,” said the colonel; “let me see, as the blind man said — twenty thousand bought in thirty-two — no, thirty-three, — Scraper’s mortgage paid off in thirty-nine — ten thousand bought in forty somethin’, I forget the year — and—”
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and forty-two is fifty-three, and ninety’s a ‘undr’d and forty-three — I really wish I mayn’t have been a-doin’ the man injustice,” mused Hall, as the colonel proceeded with his narration.
The pleasing delusion was, however, speedily dispelled by the colonel exclaiming —
“But how will it be? You see the stock don’t stand in my name.”
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and a ‘undr’d and three is a ‘undr’d and fourteen — now he’s a-goin’ to jib,” mused Hall; “and fourteen’s a ‘undr’d and twenty-eight — told me as plain as he could speak that the money was in his own name — and twenty-four’s a ‘undr’d and fifty-two — I don’t believe he has anything of the sort — a reg’lar take in — hasn’t a rap, I dare say.”
“I thought you said the stock was in your own name?” responded the now bristling banker.
“Did I?” replied the colonel in a careless tone—” did I? Then I must have made a mistake. Hang it, you’re such a matter-of-fact fellow — one doesn’t expect to be swor to the accuracy of every particklar word one utters. If a man says he has fifty or sixty thousand punds, he means to say he has the use of it. It doesn’t mean that he has it in his trunk, or in his cupboard; or that he can go and kick it about the country — make ducks and drakes on’t, as they say.”
“Of course not,” replied Hall—” of course not; only when a man — a gent I mean,” added he, correctin
g himself—” takes on matters o’ business with men o’ business, men o’ business must keep gents right; nothin’ more,” added he apologetically.
“Well, true enough,” rejoined the colonel, now pretending to be pacified—” true enough; only one doesn’t like to be always talkin’ by book — always ridin’ the high stool of ‘rithmetic. I’m not one of your learned exemplifications of polite humanity. I’m not a man to send to a literary and philosophical society to illustrate a problem on the globes. I don’t expect Packinton to send me to negotiate a commercial treaty with the King of the Cannibal Islands, or any other great potentate; but for a question involving high honourable feelin’, combined with military etiquette and the tactics of Addiscombe, with the flourish of the Eglinton tournament, though I say it who shouldn’t, there’s no man more honourably, more creditably, recognised than Lieutenant-Colonel Blunt of her Majesty’s Regiment of Heavysteed Dragoons,” the colonel bowing and striking out his right fin as he finished.
“Sivin and four’s elivin, and forty-sivin is fifty-eight — that’s all balderdash,” mused Hail. “I very much doubt his havin’ anything of the sort. However, I’ll at him again,” continued he, trying to catch the now winewatching eye of the colonel.
“Well, but if we can be of any service in gettin’ your money down here after it’s received in London, we shall be very happy,” continued the pertinacious banker.
“Thank’ee,” said the colonel—” thank’ee; p’r’aps we may trouble you that way. Only it passes through so many hands before we get it that I don’t know it will be much better for yours.”
“In Chancery, p’r’aps?” suggested old Hall.
“No, not Chancery,” replied the colonel, making another attack on the bottle—” not Chancery, but devilish tight tied up for all that. If my whole regiment had it in the centre, with field-pieces at each side, it couldn’t be safer. Don’t know how many lawyers there are for trustees, and they make work for themselves and each other in the most marvellous way. Take my advice, my young friend,” continued he, addressing our Tom, “and never have a lawyer for a trustee.”
