"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 _papillæ_ 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 fund the cerebral membranes 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 recognise 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
organisation 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 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'
serious tone and aspect, represented strongly the inutility of Mr
Caxton's personal interference at the first 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, colouring--"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.