[Illustration: T]ALK over all these arrangements at dinner. Then, as we
have, PENDELL tells me, to be up early for otter-hunting, we determine
upon going to bed early.
_Process of Going to Bed Early._--MRS. PENDELL retires at nine, having
seen that "everything we want" is left out on the sideboard. PENDELL
observes that he shan't be half an hour at most before he's upstairs. I
yawn, to show how tired I am, and corroborate his statement as to the
time we intend to pass in front of the fire.
MRS. PENDELL has retired. PENDELL wishes to know what I'll take.
Nothing, I thank him. PENDELL doesn't "think--um--that--he'll--um--take
anything," and stands before a row of bottles with the critical air of a
Commander-in-Chief reviewing the line. It almost looks as if he wanted a
bottle to step out of the rank and invite him to make up his mind at
once and take a drop of _him_. In order not to prevent him from enjoying
himself, I sacrifice myself, and say, "Well, I'll have just the smallest
glass of whiskey." PENDELL is of opinion that no one can do better than
whiskey, it being, he says, the most wholesome spirit.
We whiskey. The quarter-past arrives. We take no notice of it, except
that PENDELL remarks that _that_ clock is about twelve minutes fast, in
which case, of course, we have nearly half an hour at our disposal.
Conversation commences. We somehow get upon Literature, especially upon
the subject of my _Analytical History of Motion_. PENDELL quotes a line
from somewhere. We can't think where it is to be found.
This leads PENDELL to the book-shelves. While he is up, would he mind
just mixing me the least drop more whiskey--_and water_, plenty of
water. He does so, and continues his search for the book, ending by
bringing down the _Ingoldsby Legends_. "Do I remember this one?" he asks
me. No, I have forgotten it. He thinks the line he quoted is there. He
is, he says, going to give it at a Penny Reading, and has already done
so with great success. He reads a few lines.
_Flash._--Ask him to read. Nothing so pleasant as the sound of some one
reading poetry when you're very tired, and are sitting before a good
fire. Light a pipe as an aid to listening comfortably. Better than going
to bed. Besides, if he reads, it's _his_ fault that we don't go to bed
early, as we told MRS. PENDELL we would.
He reads aloud. I interrupt him occasionally (opening my eyes to do so),
just to show I am attending, and twice I dispute the propriety of his
emphasis; but I don't sustain my side of the argument, from a feeling
that to close my eyes and be droned to sleep, is preferable to straining
every nerve in order to talk and keep awake.
_11 o'clock_, P.M.--PENDELL stops, and says, "Why, you're asleep!" I
reply that he is mistaken (having, in fact, just been awoke by feeling
as if a spring had given way at the nape of my neck), but I own,
candidly, to feeling a little tired.
"Um!" says PENDELL, and puts his selection for a Penny Reading away.
Bed.
_Morning._--Am aroused by PENDELL, who is always fresh. "Lovely
morning," he says, opening the curtains. [_Note._--When you're only one
quarter awake there's something peculiarly obtrusive in any remark about
the beauty of the day. To a person comfortably in bed and wishing to
remain there, the state of the weather is comparatively uninteresting,
unless it's dismally foggy or thoroughly rainy, when, in either case,
you can congratulate yourself upon your cleverness and forethought in
not having got up.] "Is it?" I ask. Through the window I see only mist
and drizzle.
"Just the morning for otter-hunting!" exclaims PENDELL,
enthusiastically. Then, as he's leaving the room, he turns, and says,
"O, by the way, I've just remembered that Old RUDDOCK'S pretty sure to
be out with the hounds. He's great fun out hunting."
This stirs me into something like exertion. Otters and RUDDOCK. RUDDOCK,
during a check, setting the field in a roar.
_At Breakfast._--"Um," says PENDELL, thinking over something as he cuts
a ham, "we shan't want to take anything with us, because Old PENOLVER
gives us lunch. He's a picture of an Old English Squire is PENOLVER.
Quite a picture of a--um--yes----" here he apparently considers to
himself whether he has given a correct definition of PENOLVER or not. He
seems satisfied, and closes his account of him by repeating,
"Yes--um--yes--an Old English Squire, you know--quite a character in his
way," (I thought so,) "and you'll have pasties and cider."
"Pasties!" I exclaim. The word recalls Bluff KING HAL'S time, the
jollifications--by my halidame!--gadso!--crushing a cup, and so forth.
Now I have the picture before me (in my mind's eye) of the Old English
Squire, attended by grooms bearing pasties and flagons, meeting the
Otter Hunters with spears and dogs. Good! Excellent! I feel that My
Health will be benefited by the air of the olden time. And perhaps by
the pasties.
"Do any ladies come?" I ask.
"Safe to," answers PENDELL, "last day of hunting--all the ladies
out--sort of show meet, and lounge."
Pasties, flagons, dames, gallants with lutes, and pages with beakers of
wine. I am all anxiety to start.
_The Drive._--Bleak, misty, sharp, dreary. I am in summer costume of
flannels, intended for running. Hope we _shall_ have some running, as at
present I'm blue with cold and shivering.
_Six miles finished._--We get out at a tumble-down roadside inn. Three
boys, each one lankier and colder-looking than the other, are standing
together with their hands in their pockets, there being evidently among
them a dearth of gloves. A rough man in a velveteen coat and leggings
appears, carrying a sort of quarter-staff spiked. I connect him at once
with otters. PENDELL returns his salute. This is the Huntsman. The three
chilly boys are the Field. We are all shivering, and evidently only half
awake. Is this what PENDELL calls a "show meet, and a lounge?"
_Flash._--To say brightly, "Well, it couldn't have been _colder_ for an
_otter_ hunt." The chilly boys hearing this, turn away, the man with the
spear takes it literally and is offended, "because," he says, "we might
ha' had a much worse day." PENDELL says to himself, thoughtfully.
"Um--_colder_--_otter_--ha! Yes, I see. I've made that myself lots of
times." I thought that down here, perhaps, it wouldn't have been known.
Never risk an old joke again. If I feel it's the only one I've got,
preface it by saying, "Of course you've heard what the Attorney-General
said the other day to (some one)?" and then, if on being told, they say,
"O! that's very old," why it's not your fault.
A fly appears on the road with the Master. He welcomes PENDELL and
friend heartily and courteously. Is sorry that it's the last meet.
Thinks it's a bad day, and in the most genial manner possible damps all
my hopes of seeing an otter. "A few weeks ago," he says, "there were
plenty of otters."
_Flash._--To find out if that spearing-picture is correct. Show myself
deeply interested in otters.
The Master says that spearing is unsportsmanlike. Damper number two. No
spears. We walk on, and get a little warmer.
More "Field" meets us: some mounted.
_Note on Otter-Hunting._--Better than fox-hunting, because you trust to
_your own_ legs. You can't be thrown, you can't be kicked off, or reared
off; and, except you find yourself alone with the otter in a corner,
there's no danger.
_Note Number Two. Additional._--Yes, there is one other danger. A great
one.