THE ONLY CHANGE
Jonas Kink, after much objurgation and persuasion, had induced
old Clutch to leave his stable at Guildford, and return home by
way of Godalming.
But the horse was unfamiliar with the road. He had been ridden
along it in reverse direction in the morning, but, as every
one knows, a way wears quite a different aspect under such
circumstances. Old Clutch was mistrustful. Having been taken such
an unprecedentedly long journey, he was without confidence that his
master might not prolong the expedition to a still further distance.
Accordingly he was exceedingly troublesome and unmanageable on the
road from Guildford, and his behavior served to work the temper of
Jonas to the extremity of irritability.
The horse, on approaching Godalming, began to limp. Bideabout
descended, and examined each hoof. He could see no stone there,
nothing to account for the lameness of old Clutch, which, however,
became so pronounced as he entered the street of the little town
that he was obliged to stable the beast, and rest it.
Then he went direct to the offices of a small attorney of the name
of Barelegs, who had been engaged on his business.
As he entered the office, Mr. Barelegs looked up from a deed he
was reading, turned his head, and contemplated his client.
There was something in his manner that angered Jonas, already
excited and inclined to be annoyed at trifles, and he said
irritably,--
"You look at me. Mister Barelegs, just as does old Clutch when I
come into the stable, expectin' a feed of corn, he does."
"And no doubt he deserves it."
"He thinks he does, but he don't."
"And no doubt he gets his feed."
"There is doubt about it. He gets it when I choose to give it,
not when he glowers at me--that way, he's wonderful artificial is
old Clutch."
"I dare be sworn, Mr. Kink, if he has served you well, he expects
to be paid for it."
"He's an owdacious old Radical," observed Jonas. "Just now he's
shamming lame, becos I rode him into Guildford, and he likes the
inn here. There's an old broken-winded, galled gray mare, I reckon
he's set his fancy on in the same yard, and I'm pretty sure this
lameness means nothin' more nor less than that he wants to be
a-courtin'. To see them two hosses, when they meet, rubbin' heads,
is enough to make a fellow sick. And Clutch, at his age too--when
he ort to be thinkin' of his latter end!"
"We've all our little weaknesses, Mr. Kink, man and beast alike.
You courted--not so long ago."
"I never courted in the ridic'lous fashion of other folks. I'd
none of your yardin', and aiblen' to aiblen', and waistin'."
"What do you mean, Mr. Kink?"
"Don't you know the three stages o' courtin here? Fust o' all,
the young pair walks each other about a yard apart--that's yardin'.
Then they gits more familiar, and takes each other's arms. That's
wot we calls in these parts aiblen' to aiblen', and last, when
they curls their arms round each other, won'erful familiar, that's
called waistin'. No, I never went through none o' them courses in
my courtship. I weren't such a fool. But I was tellin' you about
old Clutch."
"I want to hear about that party. What if he does not receive his
feed. Doesn't he kick?"
Jonas laughed ironically.
"He tried that on once. But I got a halter, and fastened it to
his tail by the roots, and made a loop t'other end, and when he
put up his heels I slipped one into the loop, and he nigh pulled
his tail off at the stump."
"Then, perhaps he bites."
"He did try that on," Jonas admitted, "but he won't try that on
again."
"How did you cure him of biting?" asked the solicitor.
"I saw what he was up to, when I was a-grooming of him. He tried
to get hold of my arm. I was prepared for him. I'd slipped my arm
out o' my sleeve and stuffed the sleeve with knee-holm (butcher's
broom), and when he bit he got the prickles into his mouth so as
he couldn't shut it again, but stood yawnin' as if sleepy till I
pulled 'em out. Clutch and I has our little games together--the
teasy old brute--but I'm generally too much for him." After a
little consideration Bideabout added, "It's only on the road I
find him a little too cunnin' for me. Now he's pretendin to be
lame, all 'long of his little love-affair with that gray hoss.
Sometimes he lies down in the middle of the road. If I had my
fowlin' piece I'd shoot off blank cartridge under his belly, and
wouldn't old Clutch go up all fours into the air; but he knows well
enough the gun is at home. Let old Clutch alone for wickedness."
"Well, Mr. Kink, you haven't come here to get my assistance against
old Clutch, have you?"
"No," said Bideabout. "That's gospel. I ain't come here to
tell about old Clutch; and it ain't against him as I want your
assistance. It is against Iver Verstage, the painter chap at
Guildford."
"What has he been doing?"
"Nuthin'! that's just it. He's made treasurer, trustee, or whatever
you're pleased to call it, for my baby; and I want the money out."
"Out of his pocket and into yours?"
"Exactly. I don't see why I'm to have all the nussin' and feedin'
and clothin' of the young twoad, and me in difficulties for money,
and he all the while coaxing up a hundred and fifty pounds, and
laying of it out, and pocketin' the interest, and I who have all
the yowls by night, and the washin' and dressin' and feedin' and
all that, not a ha'penny the better."
"How does this person you name come to be trustee for the child?"
"Becos his mother made him so; and that old idjot of a Simon
Verstage, his father, goes and makes the sum bigger by addin'
fifty pounds to her hundred, so now there's this tidy little sum
lies doin no good to nobody."
"I cannot help you. You cannot touch the principal till the child
is of age, and then it will go to the child, and not you."
"Why! that's twenty-one years hence. That's what I call reg'lar
foreright (awkward); and worse than foreright, it's unreasonable.
The child is that owdacious in the cradle, I shouldn't be surprised
when he's of age he would deny me the money."
"The interest will be paid to you."
"What is that--perhaps sixpence in the year. Better than nuthin',
but I want the lot of it. Look you here, Master Barelegs, I know
very well that I owe you money. I know very well that unless I can
raise two hundred pounds, and that pretty smart, I shall have to
mortgage my little bit of land to you. I don't forget that. But
I daresay you'd rather have the money down than my poor little
bit of lean and ribby take out o' the common. You shall have the
money if you'll help me to get it. If I can't get that money into
my fingers--I'm a done man. But it's not only that as troubles me.
It is that the Rocliffes, and the Snellings, and the Boxalls, and
Jamaica Cheel will make my life miserable. They'll mock at me, and
I shall be to them just as ridic'lous an object as was Thomas
Rocliffe after he'd lost his Countess. That's twenty-three years
agone, and he can't get over it. Up comes the Countess Charlotte
on every occasion, whenever any one gets across with him. It will
be the same with me. I told 'em all to their faces that I had got
them into my power, and just as the net was about to snap--then
the breaking of the bank upset all my reckonings, and spoiled the
little game--and what is worse, has made me their sport. But I
won't stand no nonsense from old Clutch, nor will I from them."
"I confess I do not quite understand about this money. Was it left
by will?"
"Left by will right enough," answered Bideabout. "You see the old
woman, Sanna Verstage, had a bit of property of her own when she
married, and then, when it came to her dyin', she set to write a
will, and wanted to leave a hundred pounds to the little twoad.
But she called up and consulted Simon, and he sed, 'Put on another
fifty, Sanna, and I'll make that up. I always had a likin' for
Matabel.' So that is how it came about as I've heard, and a
hundred pound came out of her estate, and Simon made up the other
fifty. And for why--but to spite me, I dun know, but they appointed
Iver to be trustee. Now, I'm in difficulties about the land. I
reckon when I'm dead it will go to the little chap, and go wi' all
the goodness drained out of it--acause I have had to mortgage it.
Whereas, if I could touch that money now, there'd be nothing of
the kind happen."
"I am very sorry for you," remarked the lawyer. "But that bequest
is beyond your reach so long as the child lives."
"What's that you say?"
"I say that unless the poor little creature should die, you cannot
finger the money."
"And if it did die, would it be mine?"
"Of course it would. By no other way can you get it, but, please
Heaven, the child may grow to be a strong man and outlive you."
"It's wonderful weakly," said Jonas, meditatively.
"Weakly in the cradle is sturdy at the table," answered the
solicitor, slightly altering a popular maxim.
"It's that peevish and perverse--"
"Then it takes after its father," laughed Mr. Barelegs. "You can't
complain of that, Kink."
The Broom-Squire took his hat and stick and rose to leave.
Mr. Barelegs stayed him with a wave of the hand, and, "A word with
you further, Mr. Kink. You gracefully likened me, just now, to
your horse Clutch expecting his feed of oats after having served
you well. Now I admit that, like Clutch, I have spent time and
thought and energy in your service, and, like Clutch, I expect my
feed of oats. I think we must have all clear and straight between
us, and that at once. I have made out my little account with you,
and here it is. You will remember that, acting on your instructions,
I have advanced money in certain transactions that have broken down
through the unfortunate turn in your affairs caused by the failure
of the Wealden Bank. There is a matter of two hundred, and something
you owe me for payments made and for services. I daresay you are a
little put about now, but it will be useful to you to know all your
liabilities so as to make provision for meeting them. I will not be
hard on you as a client, but, of course, you do not expect me to
make you a present of my money, and my professional service."
Jonas took the account reluctantly, and his jaw fell.
"I dare say," pursued the solicitor, "that among your neighbors
you may be able to borrow sufficient. The Rocliffes, your own
kinsmen, are, I fear, not very flush with money."
"Ain't got any to bless themselves with," said Jonas.
"But the Boxalls are numerous, and fairly flourishing. They have
probably put away something, and as neighbors and friends--"
"I've quarrelled with them. I can't borrow of them," growled
Bideabout.
"Then there are the Snellings--"
"I've offended them as well."
"But you have other friends."
"I haven't one."
"There is Simon Verstage, a warm man; he could help you in an
emergency."
"He's never been the same with me since I married Matabel, his
adopted daughter. He had other ideas for her, I fancy, and he is
short and nasty wi' me now. I can't ask him."
"Have you then, really, no friends?"
"Not one."
"Then there must be some fault in you, Kink. A man who goes through
life without making friends, and quarrels even with the horse that
carries him, is not one who will leave a gap when he passes out of
the world. I shall expect my money. If you see no other way of
satisfying me, I must have a mortgage on your holding. I'll not
press you at once--but, like Clutch, I shall want my feed of oats."
"Then," said Jonas, surlily, as he turned his hat about, and
looked down into it, "I don't see no other chance of gettin the
money than--"
"Than what?"
"That's my concern," retorted the Broom-Squire. "Now I'm goin' to
see whether old Clutch is ready--or whether he be shammin' still."