CHAPTER LX
FACEY ROMFORD AT HOME
We will now suppose our distinguished Sponge entering the village, or whatthe natives call the town of Washingforde, towards the close of a shortDecember day, on his arrival from Mr. Jog's.
'What sort of stables are there?' asked he, reining up his hack, as heencountered the brandy-nosed Leather airing himself on the main street.
'Stables be good enough--forage, too,' replied the stud groom--'_per_-widedyou likes the sittivation.'
'Oh, the sittivation 'll be good enough,' retorted Sponge, thinking that,groom-like, Leather was grumbling because he hadn't got the best stables.
'Well, sir, as you please,' replied the man.
'Why, where are they?' asked Sponge, seeing there was more in Leather'smanner than met the eye.
'_Rose and Crown!_' replied Leather, with an emphasis.
'Rose and Crown!' exclaimed Sponge, starting in his saddle; 'Rose andCrown! Why, I'm going to stay with Mr. Romford!'
'So he said.' replied Leather; 'so he said. I met him as I com'd in withthe osses, and said he to me, said he, "You'll find captle quarters at theCrown!"' 'The deuce!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, dropping the reins on hishack's neck; 'the deuce!' repeated he with a look of disgust. 'Why, wheredoes he live?'
''Bove the saddler's, thonder,' replied Leather, nodding to a smallbow-windowed white house a little lower down, with the gilt-lettered words:
OVEREND, SADDLER AND HARNESS-MAKER TO THE QUEEN,
above a very meagrely stocked shop.
'The devil!' replied Mr. Sponge, boiling up as he eyed the cottage-likedimensions of the place.
The dialogue was interrupted by a sledge-hammer-like blow on Sponge's back,followed by such a proffered hand as could proceed from none but his host.
'Glad to see ye!' exclaimed Facey, swinging Sponge's arm to and fro. 'Getoff!' continued he, half dragging him down, 'and let's go in; for it'sbeastly cold, and dinner'll be ready in no time!'
So saying, he led the captive Sponge down street, like a prisoner, by thearm, and, opening the thin house-door, pushed him up a very straightstaircase into a little low cabin-like room, hung with boxing-gloves,foils, and pictures of fighters and ballet girls.
'Glad to see ye!' again said Facey, poking the diminutive fire. 'Axed NoseyNickel and Gutty Weazel to meet you,' continued he, looking at the little'dinner-for-two' table; 'but Nosey's gone wrong in a tooth, and Gutty'saway sweetheartin'. However, we'll be very cosy and jolly together; and ifyou want to wash your hands, or anything afore dinner, I'll show you yourbedroom,' continued he, backing Sponge across the staircase landing towhere a couple of little black doors opened into rooms, formed by dividingwhat had been the duplicate of the sitting-room into two.
'There!' exclaimed Facey, pointing to Sponge's portmanteau and bag,standing midway between the window and door: 'There! there are your traps.Yonder's the washhand-stand. You can put your shavin'-things on the chairbelow the lookin'-glass 'gainst the wall,' pointing to a fragment of glassnailed against the stencilled wall, all of which Sponge stood eyeing witha mingled air of resignation and contempt; but when Facey pointed to:
'The chest, contrived a double debt to pay-- A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day'
and said that was where Sponge would have to curl himself up, our friendshook his head, and declared he could not.
'Oh, fiddle!' replied Facey, 'Jack Weatherley slept in it for months, andhe's half a hand higher than you--sixteen hands, if he's an inch.' AndSponge jerked his head and bit his lips, thinking he was 'done' for once.
'W-h-o-y, ar thought you'd been a fox-hunter,' observed Facey, seeing hisguest's disconcerted look.
'Well, but bein' a fox-hunter won't enable one to sleep in a band-box, orto shut one's-self up like a telescope,' retorted the indignant Sponge.
''Ord hang it, man! you're so nasty partickler,' rejoined Facey; 'you're sonasty partickler. You'll never do to go out duck-shootin' i' your shirt.Dash it, man! Oncle Gilroy would disinherit me if ar was such a chap.However, look sharp,' continued he, 'if you are goin' to clean yourself;for dinner 'll be ready in no time, indeed, I hear Mrs. End dishin' it up.'So saying, Facey rolled out of the room, and Sponge presently heard himpulling off his clogs of shoes in the adjoining one. Dinner spoke foritself, for the house reeked with the smell of fried onions and roast pork.
Now, Sponge didn't like pork; and there was nothing but pork, or pig in oneshape or another. Spare ribs, liver and bacon, sausages, black puddings,&c.--all very good in their way, but which came with a bad grace after thecomforts of Jog's, the elegance of Puffington's, and the early splendour ofJawleyford's. Our hero was a good deal put out, and felt as if he wasimposed upon. What business had a man like this to ask him to stay withhim--a man who dined by daylight, and ladled his meat with a greattwo-pronged fork?
Facey, though he saw Mr. Sponge wasn't pleased, praised and pressedeverything in succession down to a very strong cheese; and as theslip-shod girl whisked away crumbs and all in the coarse tablecloth, heexclaimed in a most open-hearted air, 'Well, now, what shall we have todrink?' adding, 'You smoke, of course--shall it be gin, rum, orHollands--Hollands, rum, or gin?'
Sponge was half inclined to propose wine, but recollecting what sloe-juicesort of stuff it was sure to be, and that Facey, in all probability, wouldmake him finish it, he just replied, 'Oh, I don't care; 'spose we say gin?'
'Gin be it,' said Facey, rising from his seat, and making for a littlecloset in the wall, he produced a bottle labelled 'Fine London Spirit';and, hallooing to the girl to get a few 'Captins' out of the box under hisbed, he scattered a lot of glasses about the table, and placed a greendessert-dish for the biscuits against they came.
Night had now closed in--a keen, boisterous, wintry night, making thepocketful of coals that ornamented the grate peculiarly acceptable.
'B-o-y Jove, what a night!' exclaimed Facey, as a blash of sleet dashedacross the window as if some one had thrown a handful of pebbles againstit. 'B-o-y Jove, what a night!' repeated he, rising and closing theshutters, and letting down the little scanty red curtain. 'Let us draw inand have a hot brew,' continued he, stirring the fire under the kettle, andhanding a lot of cigars out of the table-drawer. They then sat smoking andsipping, and smoking and sipping, each making a mental estimate of theother.
'Shall we have a game at cards? or what shall we do to pass the evenin'?'at length asked our host. 'Better have a game at cards, p'raps,' continuedhe.
'Thank'ee, no; thank'ee, no. I've a book in my pocket,' replied Sponge,diving into his jacket-pocket; adding, as he fished up his _Mogg_, 'alwayscarry a book of light reading about with me.'
'What, you're a literary cove, are you?' asked Facey, in a tone ofsurprise.
'Not exactly that,' replied Sponge; 'but I like to improve my mind.' Hethen opened the valuable work, taking a dip into the OmnibusGuide--'Brentford, 7 from Hyde Park Corner--European Coffee House, nearthe Bank, daily,' and so worked his way on through the 'Brighton RailwayStation, Brixton, Bromley both in Kent and Middlesex, Bushey Heath,Camberwell, Camden Town, and Carshalton,' right into Cheam, when Facey, whohad been eyeing him intently, not at all relishing his style of proceedingand wishing to be doing, suddenly exclaimed, as he darted up:
FACEY ROMFORD TREATS SPONGE TO A LITTLE MUSIC]
'B-o-y Jove! You've not heard me play the flute! No more you have. Dash it,how remiss!' continued he, making for the little bookshelf on which it lay;adding, as he blew into it and sucked the joints, 'you're musical, ofcourse?'
'Oh, I can stand music,' muttered Sponge, with a jerk of his head, as if atune was neither here nor there with him.
'By Jingo! you should see me Oncle Gilroy when a'rm playin'! The old manact'ly sheds tears of delight--he's so pleased.'
'Indeed,' replied Sponge, now passing on into _Mogg's CabFares_--'Aldersgate Street, Hare Court, to or from Bagnigge Wells,' and soon, when Facey struck up the most squeaking, discordant, broken-winded
'
Jump Jim Crow'
that ever was heard, making the sensitive Sponge shudder, and setting allhis teeth on edge.
'Hang me, but that flute of yours wants nitre, or a dose of physic, orsomething most dreadful!' at length exclaimed he, squeezing up his face asif in the greatest agony, as the laboured:
'Jump about and wheel about'
completely threw Sponge over in his calculation as to what he could ridefrom Aldgate Pump to the Pied Bull at Islington for.
'Oh no!' replied Facey, with an air of indifference, as he took off the endand jerked out the steam. 'Oh no--only wants work--only wants work,' addedhe, putting it together again, exclaiming, as he looked at the now sulkySponge, 'Well, what shall it be?'
'Whatever you please,' replied our friend, dipping frantically into his_Mogg_.
'Well, then, I'll play you me oncle's favourite tune, "The Merry SwissBoy,"' whereupon Facey set to most vigorously with that once most popularair. It, however, came off as rustily as 'Jim Crow,' for whose feats Faceyevidently had a partiality; for no sooner did he get squeaked through 'meoncle's' tune than he returned to the nigger melody with redoubled zeal,and puffed and blew Sponge's calculations as to what he could ride from'Mother Redcap's at Camden Town down Liquorpond Street, up Snow Hill, andso on, to the 'Angel' in Ratcliff Highway for, clean out of his head. Nordid there seem any prospect of relief, for no sooner did Facey get throughone tune than he at the other again.
'Rot it!' at length exclaimed Sponge, throwing his _Mogg_ from him indespair, 'you'll deafen me with that abominable noise.' 'Bless my heart!'exclaimed Facey, in well-feigned surprise, 'Bless my heart! Why, I thoughtyou liked music, my dear feller!' adding, 'I was playin' to please you.'
'The deuce you were!' snapped Mr. Sponge. 'I wish I'd known sooner: I'dhave saved you a deal of wind.'
'Why, my dear feller,' replied Facey, 'I wished to entertain you the bestin my power. One must do somethin', you know.'
'I'd rather do anything than undergo that horrid noise,' replied Sponge,ringing his left ear with his forefinger.
'Let's have a game at cards, then,' rejoined Facey soothingly, seeing hehad sufficiently agonized Sponge.
'Cards,' replied Mr. Sponge. 'Cards,' repeated he thoughtfully, strokinghis hairy chin. 'Cards,' added he, for the third time, as he conned Facey'srotund visage, and wondered if he was a sharper. If the cards were fair,Sponge didn't care trying his luck. It all depended upon that. 'Well,' saidhe, in a tone of indifference, as he picked up his _Mogg_, thinking hewouldn't pay if he lost, 'I'll give you a turn. What shall it be?'
'Oh--w-h-o-y--s'pose we say _ecarte_?' replied Facey, in an off-hand sortof way.
'Well,' drawled Sponge, pocketing his _Mogg_, preparatory to action.
'You haven't a clean pack, have you?' asked Sponge, as Facey, diving into adrawer, produced a very dirty, thumb-marked set.
'W-h-o-y, no, I haven't,' replied Facey. 'W-h-o-y, no, I haven't: but,honour bright, these are all right and fair. Wouldn't cheat a man, if itwas ever so.'
'Sure you wouldn't,' replied Sponge, nothing comforted by the assertion.
They then resumed their seats opposite each other at the little table, withthe hot water and sugar, and 'Fine London Spirit' bottle equitably placedbetween them.
At first Mr. Sponge was the victor, and by nine o'clock had scoredeight-and-twenty shillings against his host, when he was inclined to leaveoff, alleging that he was an early man, and would go to bed--an arrangementthat Facey seemed to come into, only pressing Sponge to accompany the ginhe was now helping himself to with another cigar. This seemed all fair andreasonable; and as Sponge conned matters over, through the benign influenceof the ''baccy,' he really thought Facey mightn't be such a bad beggarafter all.
'Well, then,' said he, as he finished cigar and glass together, 'if you'llgive me eight-and-twenty bob, I'll be off to Bedfordshire.'
'You'll give me my revenge surely!' exclaimed Facey, in pretendedastonishment.
'To-morrow night,' replied Sponge firmly, thinking it would have to go hardwith him if he remained there to give it.
'Nay, _now_!' rejoined Facey, adding, 'it's quite early. Me Oncle Gilroyand I always play much later at Queercove Hill.'
Sponge hesitated. If he had got the money, he would have refusedpoint-blank; as it was, he thought, perhaps the only chance of getting itwas to go on. With no small reluctance and misgivings he mixed himselfanother tumbler of gin and water, and, changing seats, resumed the game.Nor was our discreet friend far wrong in his calculations, for luck nowchanged, and Facey seemed to have the king quite at command. In less thanan hour he had not only wiped off the eight-and-twenty shillings, but hadscored three pound fifteen against his guest. Facey would now leave off.Sponge, on the other hand, wanted to go on. Facey, however, was firm. 'I'llcut you double or quits, then,' cried Sponge, in rash despair. Faceyaccommodated him and doubled the debt.
'Again!' exclaimed Sponge, with desperate energy.
'No! no more, thank ye,' replied Facey coolly. 'Fair play's a jewel.'
'So it is,' assented Mr. Sponge, thinking he hadn't had it.
'Now,' continued Facey, poking into the table-drawer and producing a dirtyscrap of paper, with a little pocket ink-case, 'if you'll give me an"I.O.U.," we'll shut up shop.'
'An "I.O.U.!"' retorted Sponge, looking virtuously indignant. 'An "I.O.U.!"I'll give you your money i' the mornin'.'
'I know you will,' replied Facey coolly, putting himself in boxingattitude, exclaiming, as he measured out a distance, 'just feel the bicepsmuscle of my arm--do believe I could fell an ox. However, never mind,'continued he, seeing Sponge declined the feel. 'Life's uncertain: so yougive me an "I.O.U." and we'll be all right and square. Short reckonin'smake long friends, you know,' added he, pointing peremptorily to the paper.
'I'd better give you a cheque at once,' retorted Sponge, looking the veryessence of chivalry.
'_Money_, if you please,' replied Facey; muttering, with a jerk of hishead, 'don't like paper.'
The renowned Sponge, for once, was posed. He had the money, but he didn'tlike to part with it. So he gave the 'I.O.U.' and, lighting atwelve-to-the-pound candle, sulked off to undress and crawl into the littleimpossibility of a bed.
Night, however, brought no relief to our distinguished friend; for, littlethough the bed was, it was large enough to admit lodgers, and poor Spongewas nearly worried by the half-famished vermin, who seemed bent on makingup for the long fast they had endured since the sixteen-hands-man left.Worst of all, as day dawned, the eternal 'Jim Crow' recommenced hissaltations, varied only with the:
'Come, arouse ye, arouse ye, my merry Swiss boy'
of 'me Oncle Gilroy.'
'Well, dash my buttons!' groaned Sponge, as the discordant noise shotthrough his aching head, 'but this is the worst spec I ever made in mylife. Fed on pork, fluted deaf, bit with bugs, and robbed at cards--fairly,downrightly robbed. Never was a more reg'ler plant put on a man. Thankgoodness, however, I haven't paid him--never will, either. Such aconfounded, disreputable scoundrel deserves to be punished--big, bad,blackguard-looking fellow! How the deuce I could ever be taken in by such afellow! Believe he's nothing but a great poaching blackleg. Hasn't thefaintest outlines of a gentleman about him--not the slightest particle--notthe remotest glimmerin'.'
These and similar reflections were interrupted by a great thump against thethin lath-and-plaster wall that separated their rooms, or rather closets,accompanied by an exclamation of:
'HALLOO, OLD BOY! HOW GOES IT?'--an inquiry to which our frienddeigned no answer.
''Ord rot ye! you're awake,' muttered Facey to himself, well knowing thatno one could sleep after such a 'Jim-Crow-ing' and 'Swiss-boy-ing' as hehad given him. He therefore resumed his battery, thumping as though hewould knock the partition in.
'HALLOO!' at last exclaimed Mr. Sponge, 'who's there?'
'Well, old Sivin-Pund-Ten, how goes it?' asked Facey, in a tone of thekeenest irony.
'You be ----!' growled Mr. Sponge, in d
isgust.
'Breakfast in half an hour!' resumed Facey. 'Pigs'-puddin's andsarsingers--all 'ot--pipin' 'ot!' continued our host.
'Wish you were pipin' 'ot,' growled Mr. Sponge, as he jerked himself out ofhis little berth.
Though Facey pumped him pretty hard during this second pig repast, he couldmake nothing out of Sponge with regard to his movements--our friendparrying all his inquiries with his _Mogg_, and assurances that he couldamuse himself. In vain Facey represented that his Oncle Gilroy would beexpecting them; that Mr. Hobler was ready for him to ride over on; Spongewasn't inclined to shoot, but begged Facey wouldn't stay at home on hisaccount. The fact was, Sponge meditated a bolt, and was in close confabwith Leather, in the Rose and Crown stables, arranging matters, when thesound of his name in the yard caused him to look out, when--oh, welcomesight!--a Puddingpote Bower messenger put Sir Harry's note in his hand,which had at length arrived at Jog's through their very miscellaneoustransit, called a post. Sponge, in the joy of his heart, actually gave thelad a shilling! He now felt like a new man. He didn't care a rap for Facey,and, ordering Leather to give him the hack and follow with the hunters, hepresently cantered out of town as sprucely as if all was on the square.
When, however, Facey found how matters stood, he determined to stopSponge's things, which Leather resisted; and, Facey showing fight, Leatherbutted him with his head, sending him backwards downstairs and putting hisshoulder out. Leather than marched off with the kit, amid the honours ofwar.
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 60
