Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

by Robert Smith Surtees

  CHAPTER VIII

  OLD TOM TOWLER

  There are few more difficult persons to identify than a huntsman inundress, and of all queer ones perhaps old Tom Towler was the queerest. Tomin his person furnished an apt illustration of the right appropriation oftalent and the fitness of things, for he would neither have made a groom,nor a coachman, nor a postillion, nor a footman, nor a ploughman, nor amechanic, nor anything we know of, and yet he was first-rate as a huntsman.He was too weak for a groom too small for a coachman, too ugly for apostillion, too stunted for a footman, too light for a ploughman, toouseless-looking for almost anything.

  Any one looking at him in 'mufti' would exclaim, 'what an unfortunateobject!' and perhaps offer him a penny, while in his hunting habilimentslords would hail him with, 'Well, Tom, how are you?' and baronets ask him'how he was?' Commoners felt honoured by his countenance, and yet, but forhunting, Tom would have been wasted--a cypher--an inapplicable sort of man.Old Tom, in his scarlet coat, black cap, and boots, and Tom in hisundress--say, shirt-sleves, shorts, grey stockings and shoes, bore aboutthe same resemblance to each other that a three months dead jay nailed to akeeper's lodge bears to the bright-plumaged bird when flying about. Onhorseback, Tom was a cockey, wiry-looking, keen-eyed, grim-visaged,hard-bitten little fellow, sitting as though he and his horse were all one,while on foot he was the most shambling, scambling, crooked-going crab thatever was seen. He was a complete mash of a man. He had been scalped by thebranch of a tree, his nose knocked into a thing like a button by the kickof a horse, his teeth sent down his throat by a fall, his collar-bonefractured, his left leg broken and his right arm ditto, to say nothing ofdamage to his ribs, fingers, and feet, and having had his face scarifiedlike pork by repeated brushings through strong thorn fences.

  But we will describe him as he appeared before Mr. Waffles, and thegentlemen of the Laverick Wells Hunt, on the night of Mr. Sponge's arrival.Tom's spirit being roused at hearing the boastings of Mr. Leather, andthinking, perhaps, his master might have something to say, or thinking,perhaps, to partake of the eleemosynary drink generally going on in largehouses of public entertainment, had taken up his quarters in the bar of the'Imperial,' where he was attentively perusing the 'meets' in _Bell's Life_,reading how the Atherstone met at Gopsall, the Bedale at Hornby, theCottesmore at Tilton Wood, and so on, with an industry worthy of a bettercause; for Tom neither knew country, nor places, nor masters, nor hounds,nor huntsmen, nor anything, though he still felt an interest in readingwhere they were going to hunt. Thus he sat with a quick ear, one of thefew undamaged organs of his body, cocked to hear if Tom Towler was askedfor; when a waiter dropping his name from the landing of the staircase tothe hall porter, asking if anybody had seen anything of him, Tom folded uphis paper, put it in his pocket, and passing his hand over the fewstraggling bristles yet sticking about his bald head, proceeded, hat inhand, upstairs to his master's room.

  His appearance called forth a round of view halloos! Who-hoops! Tally-ho's!Hark forwards! amidst which, and the waving of napkins, and general noises,Tom proceeded at a twisting, limping, halting, sideways sort of scramble upthe room. His crooked legs didn't seem to have an exact understanding withhis body which way they were to go; one, the right one, being evidentlyinclined to lurch off to the side, while the left one went stamp, stamp,stamp, as if equally determined to resist any deviation.

  At length he reached the top of the table, where sat his master, with theglittering Fox's head before him. Having made a sort of scratch bow, Tomproceeded to stand at ease, as it were, on the left leg, while he placedthe late recusant right, which was a trifle shorter, as a prop behind. Noone, to look at the little wizen'd old man in the loose dark frock, baggystriped waistcoat, and patent cord breeches, extending below where thecalves of his bow legs ought to have been, would have supposed that it wasthe noted huntsman and dashing rider, Tom Towler, whose name was celebratedthroughout the country. He might have been a village tailor, or sexton, orbarber; anything but a hero.

  'Well, Tom,' said Mr. Waffles, taking up the Fox's head, as Tom came toanchor by his side, 'how are you?'

  'Nicely, thank you, sir,' replied Tom, giving the bald head another sweep.

  Mr. Waffles.--'What'll you drink?'

  Tom.--'Port, if you please, sir.'

  'There it is for you, then,' said Mr. Waffles, brimming the Fox's head,which held about the third of a bottle (an inn bottle at least), andhanding it to him.

  'Gentlemen all,' said Tom, passing his sleeve across his mouth, andcasting a side-long glance at the company as he raised the cup to drinktheir healths.

  He quaffed it off at a draught.

  'Well, Tom, and what shall we do to-morrow?' asked Mr. Waffles, as Tomreplaced the Fox's head, nose uppermost, on the table.

  OLD TOM TOWLER]

  'Why, we must draw Ribston Wood fust, I s'pose,' replied Tom, 'and then onto Bradwell Grove, unless you thought well of tryin' Chesterton Common onthe road, or--'

  'Aye, aye,' interrupted Waffles, 'I know all that; but what I want to knowis, whether we can make sure of a run. We want to give this greatmetropolitan swell a benefit. You know who I mean?'

  'The gen'leman as is com'd to the Brunswick, I 'spose,' replied Tom; 'atleast as _is_ comin', for I've not heard that he's com'd yet.'

  'Oh, but he _has_,' replied Mr. Waffles, 'and I make no doubt will be outto-morrow.'

  'S--o--o,' observed Tom, in a long drawled note.

  'Well, now! do you think you can engage to give us a run?' asked Mr.Waffles, seeing his huntsman did not seem inclined to help him to hispoint.

  'I'll do my best,' replied Tom, cautiously running the many contingenciesthrough his mind.

  'Take another drop of something,' said Mr. Waffles, again raising the Fox'shead. 'What'll you have?'

  'Port, if you please,' replied Tom.

  'There,' said Mr. Waffles, handing him another bumper; 'drink Fox-hunting.'

  'Fox-huntin',' said old Tom, quaffing off the measure, as before. A flushof life came into his weather-beaten face, just as a glow of heat enlivensa blacksmith's hearth, after a touch of the bellows.

  'You must never let this bumptious cock beat us,' observed Mr. Waffles.

  'No--o--o,' replied Tom, adding, 'there's no fear of that.'

  'But he swears he _will_!' exclaimed Mr. Caingey Thornton. 'He swears thereisn't a man shall come within a field of him.'

  'Indeed,' observed Tom, with a twinkle of his little bright eyes.

  'I tell you what, Tom,' observed Mr. Waffles, 'we must sarve him out,somehow.'

  'Oh! he'll sarve hissel' out, in all probability,' replied Tom; carelesslyadding, 'these boastin' chaps always do.'

  'Couldn't we contrive something,' asked Mr. Waffles, 'to draw him out?'

  Tom was silent. He was a hunting huntsman, not a riding one.

  'Have a glass of something,' said Mr. Waffles, again appealing to the Fox'shead.

  'Thank you, sir, I've had a glass,' replied Tom, sinking the second one.

  'What will you have?' asked Mr. Waffles.

  'Port, if you please,' replied Tom.

  'Here it is,' rejoined Mr. Waffles, again handing him the measure.

  Up went the cup, over went the contents; but Tom set it down with a lesssatisfied face than before. He had had enough. The left leg prop, too, gaveway, and he was nearly toppling on the table.

  Having got a chair for the dilapidated old man, they again essayed to gethim into their line, with better success than before. Having plied him wellwith port, they now plied him well with the stranger, and what with the oneand the other, and a glass or two of brandy-and-water, Tom became verytractable, and it was ultimately arranged that they should have a drag overthe very stiffest parts of the country, wherein all who liked should takepart, but that Mr. Caingey Thornton and Mr. Spareneck should be especiallydeputed to wait upon Mr. Sponge, and lead him into mischief. Of course itwas to be a 'profound secret,' and equally, of course, it stood a goodchance of being kept, seeing how many
were in it, the additional number itwould have to be communicated to before it could be carried out, and thehappy state old Tom was in for arranging matters. Nevertheless, our friendsat the 'Imperial' congratulated themselves on their success; and after afew minutes spent in discussing old Tom on his withdrawal, the party brokeup, to array themselves in the splendid dress uniform of the 'Hunt,' tomeet again at Miss Jumpheavy's ball.