"Sir," continued Mr. Squills, biting off the end of a cigar which he
pulled from his pocket, "you concede to me that it is a very important
business on which you propose to go to London."
"Of that there is no doubt," replied my father.
"And the doing of business well or ill entirely depends upon the habit of
body!" cried Mr. Squills, triumphantly. "Do you know, Mr. Caxton, that
while you are looking so calm, and talking so quietly,--just on purpose
to sustain your son and delude your wife,--do you know that your pulse,
which is naturally little more than sixty, is nearly a hundred? Do you
know, sir, that your mucous membranes are in a state of high irritation,
apparent by the papillce at the tip of your tongue? And if, with a pulse
like this and a tongue like that, you think of settling money matters
with a set of sharp-witted tradesmen, all I can say is, that you are a
ruined man."
"But--" began my father.
"Did not Squire Rollick," pursued Mr. Squills,--"Squire Rollick, the
hardest head at a bargain I know of,--did not Squire Rollick sell that
pretty little farm of his, Scranny Holt, for thirty per cent below its
value? And what was the cause, sir? The whole county was in amaze!
What was the cause, but an incipient simmering attack of the yellow
jaundice, which made him take a gloomy view of human life and the
agricultural interest? On the other hand, did not Lawyer Cool, the most
prudent man in the three kingdoms,--Lawyer Cool, who was so methodical
that all the clocks in the county were set by his watch,--plunge one
morning head over heels into a frantic speculation for cultivating the
bogs in Ireland? (His watch did not go right for the next three months,
which made our whole shire an hour in advance of the rest of England!)
And what was the cause of that nobody knew, till I was called in, and
found the cerebral membrane in a state of acute irritation,--probably
just in the region of his acquisitiveness and ideality. No, Mr. Caxton,
you will stay at home and take a soothing preparation I shall send you,
of lettuce-leaves and marshmallows. But I," continued Squills, lighting
his cigar and taking two determined whiffs,--"but I will go up to town
and settle the business for you, and take with me this young gentleman,
whose digestive functions are just in a state to deal safely with those
horrible elements of dyspepsia,--the L. S. D."
As he spoke, Mr. Squills set his foot significantly upon mine.
"But," resumed my father, mildly, "though I thank you very much, Squills,
for your kind offer, I do not recognize the necessity of accepting it. I
am not so bad a philosopher as you seem to imagine; and the blow I have
received has not so deranged my physical organization as to render me
unfit to transact my affairs."
"Hum!" grunted Squills, starting up and seizing my father's pulse;
"ninety-six,--ninety-six if a beat! And the tongue, sir!"
"Pshaw!" quoth my father; "you have not even seen my tongue!"
"No need of that; I know what it is by the state of the eyelids,--tip
scarlet, sides rough as a nutmeg-grater!"
"Pshaw!" again said my father, this time impatiently.
"Well," said Squills, solemnly, "it is my duty to say," (here my mother
entered, to tell me that supper was ready), "and I say it to you, Mrs.
Caxton, and to you, Mr. Pisistratus Caxton, as the parties most nearly
interested, that if you, sir, go to London upon this matter, I'll not
answer for the consequences."
"Oh! Austin, Austin," cried my mother, running up and throwing her arms
round my father's neck; while I, little less alarmed by Squills's serious
tone and aspect, represented strongly the inutility of Mr. Caxton's
personal interference at the present moment. All he could do on arriving
in town would be to put the matter into the hands of a good lawyer, and
that we could do for him; it would be time enough to send for him when
the extent of the mischief done was more clearly ascertained. Meanwhile
Squills griped my father's pulse, and my mother hung on his neck.
"Ninety-six--ninety-seven!" groaned Squills in a hollow voice.
"I don't believe it!" cried my father, almost in a passion,--"never
better nor cooler in my life."
"And the tongue--Look at his tongue, Mrs. Caxton,--a tongue, ma'am, so
bright that you could see to read by it!"
"Oh! Austin, Austin!"
"My dear, it is not my tongue that is in fault, I assure you," said my
father, speaking through his teeth; "and the man knows no more of my
tongue than he does of the Mysteries of Eleusis."
"Put it out then," exclaimed Squills; "and if it be not as I say, you
have my leave to go to London and throw your whole fortune into the two
great pits you have dug for it. Put it out!"
"Mr. Squills!" said my father, coloring,--"Mr. Squills, for shame!"
"Dear, dear, Austin! your hand is so hot; you are feverish, I am sure."
"Not a bit of it."
"But, sir, only just gratify Mr. Squills," said I, coaxingly.
"There, there!" said my father, fairly baited into submission, and shyly
exhibiting for a moment the extremest end of the vanquished organ of
eloquence.
Squills darted forward his lynx-like eyes. "Red as a lobster, and rough
as a gooseberry-bush!" cried Squills, in a tone of savage joy.