"Oh, perfectly! I canna be mistaen. It's the surtout, beyond a' manner
o' doubt; and of course it's the man, too, seein he cam oot o' the
house we were directed to."
The reasoning being quite satisfactory to the concurrent, he ventured
no further remark on the subject of identity; and we avail ourselves
of the temporary pause which now took place between the speakers, to
explain, that they had seen Jacob emerging from Simmins'. They were
just approaching at the moment; but the rapid rate at which the former
was going prevented the closer intimacy which they intended, and hence
the chase.
"Will we pin him in this house, then?" inquired Davy, again resuming
the conversation.
"No; they might deny him. We'll wait whar we are a bit, till he comes
oot. Dog him, if he taks the direction o' the jail, and nab him at a
convenient opportunity."
"He may bilk us."
"We'll tak care o' that. We'll gie him heels for't, Davy, if that's
his gemm."
A pause in the conversation, which was not for some time interrupted,
here ensued. After a short while, however, it was again broken in
upon.
"Whisht! whisht! Back, Davy, back!" (The two professional gentlemen
were ensconced in a close or entry directly opposite Mr Willoughby's
garden-gate.) "Back, Davy, back!" said Howison. "There's somebody
comin. I hear folk speakin and lauchin in the garden."
Davy listened an instant, then acknowledged there were good grounds
for the assertion, and immediately drew himself farther into his
hiding-place, like an alarmed snail into its shell.
Howison, as the principal, now placed himself in front of his
assistant, squeezed himself as close as he could to the wall, until he
stuck as close to, and as flat on it, as a bat. He then, by a
dexterous movement, thrust his head in a lateral direction, till his
nose just cleared the corner of the close, when, closing his left eye,
and concentrating his whole powers of vision in his right, he planted
the solitary optic with eager vigilance on the garden gate, to watch
the coming forth of those who were on its opposite side. For this he
had not long to wait. In a few moments the gate flew open, and out
sallied, with frequent bursts of merriment, one of the gayest and most
joyous parties that a bright summer day ever brought forth; and gayest
and most joyous of the whole was Jacob Merrilees. Of the whole squad
his laugh was the loudest, his motions the liveliest, his looks the
most cheerful. Jacob was in his element. He was in the midst of a bevy
of ladies. One hung on each arm; while others, to whom fortune had not
been so propitious in allowing them to get nearer his person,
contented themselves with taking the arms again of their more favoured
sisters--of those two enviable spinsters who had secured the posts of
honour, the immediate vicinity of the admired Jacob Merrilees. Jacob
was thus in the very centre of the gay band of fair spinsters; and a
proud man was he of his enviable position. He talked!--ye gods, how he
talked!--and chattered away in a manner most delightful to hear; at
least so it seemed, from the frequent bursts of laughter which he
elicited from his lively protegees. He smirked, and he smiled, and he
bowed, first to one side and then to another, after his most
captivating manner, and, in short, did all that a man who was pleased
with himself, and desired to please others, could possibly do to
maintain these agreeable feelings. He was the king of the roost--that
was evident; the very centre of attraction; the delight, the glory,
the leading star in the galaxy of beauty of which he formed a part.
The party having cleared the gate, took the road with a circular sweep
round, and a burst of merriment that sufficiently betokened the
lightness of heart and of heel of those of whom it was composed.
"Deek yon, Davy," exclaimed Howison, at this interesting moment, and
now addressing the worthy just named, who had by this time come up
alongside of him, and was also indulging himself in a bird's-eye view
of the party round the corner of the close. "Deek yon, Davy. He's aff
like a paitrik: but we'll bring him up wi' a short turn, I'm thinkin.
We'll pit a slug through his wing. Little does he ken wha's watchin
him."
"Wull we gie chase?" said the concurrent, who stood at this instant
like a dog in the slip, with his neck on the stretch, and every nerve
braced for the run.
"No, no; gie him the start a bit till he gathers confidence, and then
we'll pounce on him. Wary, Davy, wary! keep in a bit. Dinna shute oot
your head so far. If he gets a glisk o' ye, he'll tak to his trotters
in a minnit, and gie us an infernal rin for't. See what lang legs the
sinner has."
"I think I could rin him ony day," replied Howison's concurrent, "and
gie him a start o' a hunner yards to the bargain."
"I'm no sure o' that," rejoined Howison, shaking his head doubtingly;
"ye dinna ken hoo a man can rin wi' a caption at his heels. It maks
them go at a deevil o' a rate. I've seen great, fat, auld chaps, that
ye wadna hae thocht could rin a yard an't were to save their lives,
flee like the win before a 'Whereas.'"
"Noo, noo, Davy," continued Howison, and now recalling his neighbour's
attention to business, "let us be joggin. He's takin the richt road,
so we'll just pin him at our leisure."
Saying this, the pair started, and in a short time were hovering on
the skirts of the heedless party, and their heedless and unwary
leader, the devoted Jacob Merrilees.
Wholly unconscious, as the reader will readily believe, of the plot
that was thickening over his head, or, rather, at his heels, Jacob was
continuing the career of banter, and lively small talk, and smart
repartee, which distinguished his first appearance at the garden gate,
when he suddenly felt himself gently touched from behind on the left
shoulder. He turned round, but without quitting the arms of the fair
ladies who hung upon him, and looked frowningly on Howison.
"What do you mean, sir?" inquired Jacob, indignantly, and now glancing
also at Howison's companion, who stood close by, with his stick tucked
under his arm.
To this query the only reply was a knowing wink, and a significant wag
of the forefinger, which, when translated, meant--"Come here, friend,
and I'll tell you."
"Get along with you, sir!" said Jacob, contemptuously.
"Thank you, but I won't," replied Howison, saucily.
"No! Then what the devil do you want?"
"You," said the former, emphatically. "But you had better conduct
yourself quietly, for your own sake."
"Now, my good fellow," replied Jacob, in a satirically calm tone,
"_do_ tell me what you mean?"
"Do ye ken such a man as Fairly the tailor?" inquired Howison, who
always affected a degree of playfulness in the execution of this
department of his duties. "Do ye ken Fairly the tailor?" he said, with
an intelligent smile.
"I know no such man, sir; never heard his name before," replied Jacob,
angrily, and now urging his fair protegees onwards--the whole party
having been stopped by the incident just detailed.
"Not so fast, friend," exclaimed Howison, making after his prey, and
again slapping him on the shoulder, but now less ceremoniously. "You
are my prisoner, and here's my authority," he added, pulling out a
crumpled piece of paper. It was the decreet against Simmins. "Although
_you_ don't know Fairly, _I_ happen to know Fairly's surtout. The
short and the long of the matter is, sir," continued Howison, "that I
arrest you at the instance of John Fairly, tailor and clothier, for a
debt of L4:15s., with interest and expenses, said debt being the price
of the identical surtout which you have just now on your back. So come
along quietly, or it may be worse for you."
We do not suppose it is necessary that we should describe the
amazement of the unhappy wearer of the surtout in question, on so very
extraordinary and incomprehensible a statement being made to him, nor
that of his party, from the same cause. The reader will at once
conceive what it was, without any such proceeding on our part.
Confounded, however, and amazed as he was, Jacob's presence of mind
instantly showed him that he was in a dilemma, a regular scrape. That
he must either acknowledge--and, in the presence of all his fair
friends, there was death in the idea--that the surtout he wore, and
which had procured for him so much admiration, was a borrowed one, or
quietly submit to be dragged to jail as the true debtor. Jacob further
saw exactly how the case stood. He saw that his friend Simmins had
never paid for the very flashy article in which he was now arrayed (a
discovery this, however, which did not in the least surprise him), and
that _he_ was the person for whom the honours of Howison were
intended.
Having, however, no fancy for incarceration, Jacob finally determined
on avowing the distressing fact, that his surtout was a borrowed one,
and that, not being its true owner, he was, of course, free of the
attentions of Mr Howison. With a face, then, red as scarlet, and a
voice expressive of great tribulation, Jacob made a public
acknowledement of this humiliating truth, and was about to avail
himself of the advantage which he calculated on deriving from
it--namely, that of proceeding on his way--when, to his great horror
and further confusion, he found that Howison determined on still
sticking to him. In great agitation, Jacob again repeated that he was
not Simmins, and that he had merely borrowed the surtout from that
gentleman. To these earnest asseverations, Howison at first merely
replied by an incredulous smile, then added--"It may be sae, sir; but
that's a matter that maun be cleared up afterwards. In the meantime
ye'll go wi' me, if you please; and, if no o' your ain accord, as I
wad advise ye, by force, as I'll compel ye." Saying this, he plunged
his hand into one of his pockets, and produced a pair of handcuffs,
like a rat-trap. The exhibition of these ornaments, and the dread of
getting up a scene on the public street, at once decided the
unfortunate surtout-borrower to submit to his fate, and to walk
quietly off with his new friends, Mr Howison and concurrent.
In ten minutes after, Jacob found himself snugly quartered in an airy
chamber, with grated windows, commanding a pleasant view of a
tread-mill in full operation; and here he remained, until the
following morning brought such evidence of his identity as procured
his liberation. On once more snuffing the fresh air, Jacob swore he
would take care again whose coat he borrowed, when he should have
occasion to ask such a favour from a friend; and we would advise the
reader to exercise the like caution, should he ever find himself in
similar circumstances.