The Maple Inn--Mr. Bigglethorpe's Store--Dinner--Worms--Ben
Toner--The Dugout--Fishing in the Beaver River--The Upset
Suckers--The Indignant Dominie Propitiated and Clothed--Anecdotes
of Mr. Bulky--A Doctor Wanted.
A very clean and attractive hostelry received the travellers, and
compelled the dominie to remark cheerfully, "Now shall I take mine ease
in mine inn," which led to his lately indignant friend's response:--
Who'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.
P. Lajeunesse was the name on the sign, which displayed a vegetable
wonder of the painter's art meant for a maple tree, for Madame
Lajeunesse kept the Maple Inn. That lady, a portly brunette, with a
pleasant smile and a merry twinkle in her eye, received the
distinguished guests in person. Wilkinson replied to her bow and curtsey
with a dignified salutation, but the lawyer shook hands with her,
saying: "I hope you're very well, Madame; it's a lovely place you have
here." Madame replied that it was lofely when the moustique was not, and
summoned Pierre to help the dominie off with his knapsack, saying
"permettit me," as she unfastened the straps of Coristine's, and removed
that burden, which she deposited upon a table in the sitting-room
adjoining the hall. Pierre, a bald-headed French-Canadian, hiding his
lack of hair under a red tuque, and sporting a white moustache of large
dimensions, arrived too late to help the schoolmaster, but he elevated
his eyebrows, grimaced, rubbed his hands, and slid his feet apart, in
pleased welcome.
"Ze chentlemans ave come to feesh lika many in ze springa monses?
Feeshing not so coot as zen, bot in ze cool place vare is oles onder ze
trees feesh lorrik. Is zat spoken correct, zat vord lorrik? I ave learn
it from Meestare Bulky. O, a ver great feesherman."
Wilkinson replied that lurk was an excellent word, and very expressive
of the conduct of fish in warm weather, explaining that he was no
fisherman himself, but that his friend was attached to that kind of
sport.
"Dinnare, Messieu, in one hour," remarked Madame, as she returned to her
duties.
"Where can I get fishing tackle, landlord?" asked the lawyer.
"At ze store, zare is onelly one. You vill not lose yourself long in
zisa city," replied mine host with an attempt at wit.
Wilkinson remained in the cool parlour, inspecting the plates on the
walls and a few books on a side table. The latter were chiefly poor
novels in English, left by former guests as not worth taking home, but
among them was a thoroughly French paper-bound copy of Alphonse Karr's
Voyage autour de mon Jardin. Falling into an easy chair, the
schoolmaster surrendered himself to the charming style and subtle humour
of this new found treasure.
The lawyer went straight to Mr. Bigglethorpe's store, and found himself,
at the time, its sole customer. The proprietor was an Englishman of some
five and thirty years, tall and thin, wearing a long full beard and
overhanging moustache. He sold fishing tackle and was himself a
fisherman, the latter being the reason why he had come to the Beaver
River and set up store. It occupied him when fishing was poor, and
helped to check the consumption of his capital. Before he married, he
locked the door, when the fishing was good, and put the key in his
pocket, but now Mrs. Bigglethorpe minded the shop in his absence. Having
supplied Coristine with hooks and lines, and recommended him what kind
of a rod to cut out of the bush for ordinary still fishing, he offered
to lend him one of his own fly rods, and opened his fly book for his
inspection. Soon the pair were deep in all kinds of artificial flies and
their manufacture, Black and Red and White Hackles, Peacock Fly,
Mackerel, Green Grasshopper, Black Ant, Governor, Partridge, and a host
more. The lawyer declined the rod, as the storekeeper informed him that,
so late in the season and in the day, it was utterly useless to look for
trout. He had better get old Batiste at the Inn to dig him up some
earthworms, and go fishing with them like the boys. He would find a
canoe moored near the bridge which he could use. Who it belonged to Mr.
Bigglethorpe didn't know, but it was of no consequence, for everybody
took it that wanted it for a morning or afternoon. If Mr. Coristine
heard of any new kind of fly, perhaps he'd be good enough to remember
him and let him know, something killing for autumn use, or, as people
say here, for fall fishing. Mr. Coristine promised to remember him, and
departed with his purchases, just as a voice, feminine but decided,
called to Mr. Bigglethorpe by name to come and hold the baby, while its
owner dished the dinner. "Talk about Hackles," said the lawyer to
himself on the way Inn-wards, "I imagine he has somebody in there that
can hackle him, long beard and all."
The dinner bell at the Maple was ringing vigorously. Monsieur Lajeunesse
had taken off his coat to ring it, and stood in the doorway in a flaming
red waistcoat, the companion of his tuque, over a spotlessly white
shirt, to let all who dwelt on the Beaver River know that the hour of
noon had arrived. The dinner, over which Madame presided, was excellent.
With the soup and the fish there was white wine, and good sound beer
with the entrées and solids. The schoolmaster spoke French to the
hostess, chiefly about the book he had been reading, and the lawyer
discussed fishing with Pierre, who constantly referred to his great
authority, Meestare Bulky. Madame, charmed that her guest could converse
with her in her mother tongue, generously filled his glasses, and
provided his plates with the most seductive morsels. Monsieur
Veelkeenson was the white-haired boy at that table, and he felt it,
yielded to the full satisfaction of it. He had dined royally, and was
fit for anything. When his friend asked him if he would go fishing, he
replied jauntily, and in a way quite unlike himself: "Why, suttenly,
which would you rather do or go fishin'?"
"O Wilks," cried the lawyer, "you're a patent pressed brick! I feel like
old Isaac Walton's Coridon, that said, d'ye mind, 'Come, hostess, give
us more ale, and let's drink to him,' which is natural, seeing I'm
called Corry."
The companions had a glass of ale after dinner, which was quite
indefensible, for they had had a sufficiency at that bounteous repast.
Evidently, the dominie was in for a good time. A wizened old fellow,
named Batiste, with a permanent crick in his back, dug the worms, and
presented them to the lawyer in an empty lobster tin, the outside of
which was covered with texts of Scripture. "It seems almost profane,"
remarked the recipient, "to carry worms inside so much Bible language."
But the merry schoolmaster remarked that it was turn about, for he had
heard a Scotch preacher, who seemed to know the whole Bible by heart,
say in prayer, on behalf of himself and his people, "we are all poor
wurrums of the airth." "Probably, however," he continued, "he would have
objected to be treated as a worm."
"They say even a worm will turn, which, if your parson was a large man,
might be serious enough," replied the lawyer. "I remember, when I was a
small boy, thinking that the Kings of Israel kept large men for crushing
their enemies, because they used to say, 'Go and fall upon him, and he
fell upon him and he died.' That might be the way with the human wurrum.
It's not always safe to trust these humble men."
"Corry, you're a profane man; your treatment of sacred things is
scandalously irreverent," said the dominie.
"Who began it?" retorted the victim.
"You did, sir, with your textual lobster can," replied the reprover.
"The ancient Hebrews, in the height of their pride and glory, knew not
the luxury of lobster salad," Coristine remarked, gravely, as if
reciting a piece.
"How do you know that?"
"Because, if I offer a prize of a Trip to the Dark Continent to the
first person buying a copy of our published travels, who finds the word
lobster in the Bible, I shall never have occasion to purchase the
ticket."
As they moved in the direction of the river, Pierre came after them and
asked:--
"You make your feeshing off ze bord or in ze vatars!"
"I prefer the board," replied Coristine, "if it's as good of its kind as
that you gave us at dinner."
"Keep quiet, you do not understand him," interposed the schoolmaster;
"he means the shore, the bank of the river by the bord. N'est ce pas,
Monsieur?"
"Oui, oui, M'syae, le bord, le rivauge de la rivière."
"Non, Monsieur Pierre, nous allons prendre le bateau," answered
Wilkinson, with a dignity that his companion envied.
The red-nightcapped host called Baptiste.
"Vau t-en donc, Bawtiste, dépêche twa, trouve deux petits bouts de
plaunche pour le canot."
Batiste soon returned with two boards.
"Canot 'ave no seat, you placea zem over two ends for seet down," said
Pierre, relapsing into English.
Wilkinson assumed the responsibility of the boards and the fishermen
proceeded to the river bank near the bridge to find the canoe. It was
long, and, for a dug-out, fairly wide, but ancient and black, and moist
at the bottom, owing to an insufficiently caulked crack. Its paddles had
seen much service, and presented but little breadth of blade.
"I should like to place these boards," said Wilkinson, as he surveyed
first them and then the dug-out; "I should like to place these boards,
one across the bow and the other across the stern, but I really cannot
decide which is the bow and which is the stern."
"She's a sort of a fore and after, Wilks, like the slip-ferry
steamboats. I think, if you could find a bit of chalk or charcoal, and
write bow on one plank and stern on the other, it would make her
ship-shape and settle the business."
"I have no sympathy, Corry, with makeshifts and factitious devices. I
wish to arrive at the true inwardness of this boat. At what end of a
boat is the anchor let down?"
"In the _Susan Thomas_ it was pretty near the bow, and I think I've seen
yachts riding at anchor that way in Toronto harbour."
"In the time of St. Paul, however, there were four anchors, if I
remember aright, cast out of the stern."
"I don't see how the anchor is going to help us. This long Tom Coffin
has nothing of the kind."
"You are sadly deficient in observation, Corry, or you would have
observed a rope, very much abraded indeed, but still a rope, by which
the vessel may be said, even though figuratively, to be anchored to this
stake."
"It's you're the clever man, Wilks; education has done wonders for you.
Now, I remember that rope is the painter; that's what The Crew called it
on the dingy, and of course it was fastened to the bow."
"But to the stern of the larger vessel."
"Yes, but here there is no larger vessel. If you want one, for argument
sake, you'll have to imagine the post to be it. The coffin is bow on to
the shore."
"Corry, I insist, if I am to trust myself to this craft, that you call
it by some other name."
"Were you ever in anything of the kind before, Wilks?"
"Never."
"Nor I." These simple words had in them a depth of meaning.
A young man came on to the bridge and leaned over the rail, looking at
the fishermen. He was respectably clad in a farmer's holiday suit, was
tall, strongly built, and with good features that bore unmistakable
marks of dissipation. "I'll bet you that's Ben Toner," whispered the
lawyer, who was examining the new-found bow prior to depositing his
boards.
"Goin' fishin'?" asked the new comer, in a not unpleasant voice.
"Yes," replied Coristine; "we're going in this--what do you call it?"
"Dug-out, and mighty poor at that. Fishin's no good here now. River was
a pardise for Trontah folks wunst, but it's clean fished out. I seen
fellers go to a ho-ul up thayer," said the supposed Ben, pointing in the
opposite direction, "and take out a hull barl-ful afore sundown. 'Taint
to be did, not now, wuss luck! Wait to I come down, and I'll haylp you
off with that kinew."
The speaker descended, untied the frayed painter, and hauled the
dug-out to a point where, the bank being higher, embarkation was more
easy. He dissuaded the navigators from sitting on the boards placed over
the gunwales, as likely to be, what he called, parlous, and recommended
that the boards be placed on the floor of the craft to keep the water
off their "paants." The fishermen consented, and sat down safely at each
end facing one another, with his assistance to hold the dug-out steady,
the dominie in the bow and the lawyer in the stern. They thanked their
ally, bade him good afternoon, and proceeded to paddle. Ben Toner
laughed, and cried to Coristine: "I'll lay two to one on you, Mister,
for you've got the curnt to haylp you." The dugout, in spite of the
schoolmaster's fierce paddling, was moving corkscrew-like in the
opposite direction, owing largely to the current, but partly to the
superior height of the lawyer, which gave his paddle a longer sweep.
Still, he found progress slow, till a happy thought struck him.
"Wilks, my boy, it's paddling our own canoe we are, but too much that
way. We're a house divided against itself, Wilks. Either you must turn
round or I must, and, if I do, then you'll be the stern and I the bow."
"I thought there was something wrong, Corry, but the excitement incident
on a new sensation absorbed my attention. Of course, I shall move, as it
would be very confusing, not to say ridiculous, to invert the relative
positions of the boat."
"Then, Wilks dear, wait till I paddle her near the bank, for fear of
accidents."
When the bank was reached, the dominie landed, picked up his board and
placed it farther back, then sat down gingerly, with his legs spread out
before him, and began paddling on the same side as his companion, which
zigzagged the frail craft more than ever, and finally brought it to the
shore. Ben Toner, who had been laughing at the city innocents, ran down
to a point opposite the dug-out, and told them to paddle on opposite
sides, giving directions how to steer with one of the emaciated
propellers. After that, the course of the vessel was a source of
continual self-commendatory remark by the voyageurs.
After a while, they came to a wooden bridge, built upon piles resting in
the stream. "This," said the schoolmaster, "is the _Pons sublicius_,
like that which Ancus Martius built over the Tiber. Shall we shoot it,
Corry, or shall we call a halt and proceed to fish?"
The dug-out bumped on the piles, and the navigators trembled, but
Wilkinson, bravely gathering his legs under him and rising to his knees
on the board, threw his arms round a pile, when, in spite of Coristine's
efforts, the craft slewed round and the stern got under the bridge ahead
of the bow.
"Hold on, Wilks," the lawyer cried; "another bump like that and the old
thing'll split in two. Now, then, we'll drop the paddles and slip her
along the bridge to the bank. There's a hole under that birch tree
there, and some fine young birches that will do for rods back of it.
Doesn't the birch make you feel like England, home and duty, Wilks?"
"The quotation, sir, is incorrect, as usual; it is England, home and
beauty."
"Well, that's a beauty of a birch, anyway."
They got ashore, and fastened the painter to a sapling on the bank,
because it was not long enough to go round a pile. Then they produced
their knives, and, proceeding to the place where the young birches grew,
cut down two famous rods, to which they attached lines with white and
green floats and small hooks with gut attachments. The lobster can was
produced, and wriggling worms fixed on the hooks. "A worm at one end and
a fool at the other," said the lawyer. "Speak for yourself, sir,"
replied the dominie. The next thing was to get into the canoe, which was
safely effected. Then, the question arose, how was she to be moored in
the current? Wilkinson suggested a stake driven into the bottom for the
deep-sea mooring, and an attachment to the exposed root of the lovely
overhanging birch for that to landward. So Coristine sprang ashore, cut
a heavier birch, and trimmed one end to a point. Bringing this on board,
he handed it to his companion, and, paddling up stream, brought him
opposite the overarching tree. The dominie drove the stake deep into the
river mud and pressed it down. The stake was all that could be desired
for a deep-sea mooring, and to it the painter was attached.
"What are you going to do about your end of the vessel, Corry?" he
asked.
"That's all right," replied the lawyer, who, forthwith, took off coat
and waistcoat.
"You are not going to undress, I hope," remarked his friend; "there is a
bare possibility that people, even ladies, might be walking this way,
sir, and I do not wish to be disgraced."
"Never fear, Wilks, my boy, it's my braces I am after." With this,
Coristine took off these articles, and, fastening a button hole over a
rusty nail in the stern, tied the other end about a root of the birch.
The dug-out was securely fastened, so that the current only rocked it a
little, causing the lawyer to sing "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep."
Then they sat down on their boards and began fishing.
They had a very pleasant hour hooking shiners and chub, and an
occasional perch that looked at a distance like a trout. The dominie,
_apropos_ of his friend's braces, told Alphonse Karr's story of the
_bretellier_ in the Jardin des Plantes, and the credulous sceptic who
did not believe that a suspender tree existed. He knew that cotton grew
on a shrub, and that caoutchouc exuded from a tree, and admitted the
possibility of their natural combination, but thought his deceivers had
reference to braces with metal attachments.
"That reminds me," said the lawyer, "of a man from Lanark that came into
our office asking where he'd find a mining geologist. He had some
grey-looking cork and leather wrapped up in a newspaper, and said he had
dug them out of the ground where there was lots more of both of them. I
told him he had likely come on the remains of an old picnic, and that
the leather was the skin of the ham they had taken out to make
sandwiches of; but the impudent creature laughed in my face, as if any
child doesn't know that leather is the skin of beasts, and cork, of a
tree!"
"Nevertheless, Corry, he was no doubt right, and you were wrong in your
scepticism. What are called mountain cork and mountain leather are forms
of asbestos. They are of no use, unless it be for the lining of safes.
The fibrous asbestos can be made into fire-proof clothes."
"So, old Leather Corks had the laugh on me there! Dad, I'll apologize
for sending him to the marines next time he comes in. What a thing it
is to have the larnin' like you, Wilks!"
"A mere mineralogical trifle, my dear Corry, nothing more."
"Wilks, do you mind the 'Fisher's Song,' composed by the late Mr.
William Bass, that's in the 'Complete Angler'? I don't suppose it would
scare the fish much. It goes to the tune of 'The Pope, he leads a happy
life,' like this:--
Of recreation there is none
So free as fishing is alone;
All other pastimes do no less
Than mind and body both possess;
My hand alone my work can do,
So I can fish and study too.
I care not, I, to fish in seas--
Fresh rivers best my mind do please,
Whose sweet calm course I contemplate,
And seek in life to imitate:
In civil bounds I fain would keep,
And for my past offences weep.
And when the timorous trout I wait
To take, and he devours my bait.
How poor a thing, sometimes I find,
Will captivate a greedy mind;
And when none bite, I praise the wise,
Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise.
But yet, though while I fish I fast,
I make good fortune my repast;
And thereunto my friend invite,
In whom I more than that delight:
Who is more welcome to my dish
Than to my angle was my fish."
"Well done, Corry--a very good song and very well sung,
Jolly companions every one.
Why will these wretched rhymsters couple such words as sung and one? It
is like near and tears in the American war-song, 'The Old Camp-Ground.'
Some people are like these fish; they have no ear at all. A practical
joker, like you, Corry, once corrected a young lady who was singing:--
Golden years ago,
In a mill beside the sea,
There dwelt a little maiden,
Who plighted her troth to me.
He suggested Floss for sea, because of George Eliot's Mill on the
Floss, and, you would hardly believe it, did I not vouch for its truth,
she actually rhymed Floss and me. It was excruciating."
"I can beat that, Wilks. I was out in the country on business, and
stopped at our client's house, a farmer he was. The man that led the
music in his church, an old Yank, who drawled out his words in singing,
like sweeowtest for sweetest, was teaching the farmer's daughter to play
the organ. He offered to sing for my benefit, in an informal way, one of
my national melodies; and he did. It was 'The harp that once through
Tara's halls,' and--O Wilks--he sang it to a tune called Ortonville, an
awful whining, jog-trot, Methodistical thing with a repeat. My client
asked me privately what I thought of it, and I told him that, if Mr.
Sprague had said he was going to sing it in an infernal way, he would
have been nearer the truth."
"Your language is strong, my friend. The late Mr. William Basse, as you
designate him, would not have condescended to the use of such terms."
"Faith, the language isn't made that's too bad for Ortonville. You've
got a big one this time, Wilks, my boy--play him!"
The dominie succeeded in bringing in his fish, a big fellow, between a
pound and a-half and two pounds in weight, on which he gazed with
delight, as the lawyer unhooked it, and deposited it, with a smart rap
on the head, at the bottom of the canoe.
"Is that a trout, Corry?" the Dominie asked with eager pride.
"No; it's not a brook or speckled trout, for it has no speckles, and
it's not a relative of the late William Basse, for it isn't deep enough
in the body, nor a perch, for it's too big and has no stripes. It's
either a salmon trout or a pickerel, Wilks."
"Is there not some fable about the latter fish?"
"Yes; old Isaac says that it's produced from the pickerel weed, the
Pontederia, that should be coming into flower about now. I haven't seen
any yet. There's another, for me this time--ugh, it's only a perch."
The schoolmaster, emboldened by success, declared that he was too
cramped, and, gathering his legs together, while he held on to the
sides of the dug-out, succeeded in grasping the top of the deep-sea
mooring. Then, with the other hand, he raised the board, and transferred
it to the gunwale. Sitting upon the improvised seat with his back to the
bow, he expressed satisfaction at facing his companion, for one thing,
and at being out of the way of the fish in the canoe, for another.
Coristine followed suit, and, when his plank was in position, said he
felt something like old Woodruff in a small way.
"How is that?" asked the inquisitive dominie.
"He's a director in ever so many institutions, and is always out,
sitting on boards. I have only one so far; as Shakespeare says, it's a
poor one, but mine own."
"Tut, tut," replied his disgusted friend; "more desecration."
Nevertheless he smiled, as a thought came into his mind, and he remarked
that the vessel was rather a small concern to have two boards of
direction; to which the lawyer answered that it was no worse off in that
respect than the Province of Quebec, or the Church, or the universities,
which could not trust one governing body to do their work.
"I have another, a large fish," shouted the schoolmaster, wildly excited
and rising to his feet. The fish pulled hard up stream till the whole
extent of line and rod combined was out at arm's length. Eager to secure
the prey, and thinking nothing of the precarious foundation on which he
stood, he placed a foot upon the gunwale in order to reach still farther
out.
"Look out, Wilks!" cried Coristine, as he also rose and grasped an
overhanging branch of the birch; but it was too late. The dug-out
tipped, the boards slid into the water, and with them went the dominie,
rod, fish, and all. When the canoe recovered its equilibrium, Wilkinson,
minus his wide awake, which was floating down the stream, was seen
apparently climbing the deep-sea mooring post, like a bear on a pole,
his clothes dripping where they were out of the water, his hair
plastered over his eyes, and his face flushed with anger. The lawyer
could not restrain his mirth, although he knew the vengeance it would
excite in the dominie's breast.
"O Wilks, Wilks, my poor drowned rat of a friend, ha! ha! ha! O Moses!
but it's too comical you are; the nuns couldn't help it, Wilks, no, nor
the undertaker's drum-major, nor a hired butler, even. Howld on, just
one second more, till I'm fit to steady this divil of a dug-out for you
to get in. If I only had a kodak, Wilks, you would be immortal, and the
expenses of our trip would be paid. Oh, garrahow, ha! ha!"
The dominie climbed on to the bow of the dug-out, while Coristine
balanced it, and made his silent way to the shore end, from which he
gained the bank. There he shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and
brushed the wet hair out of his eyes. He muttered a great deal, but said
nothing loud enough to be intelligible; his tone, however, was far from
reassuring to his companion. The lawyer unmoored the dug-out at both
ends, and set forth to recover the missing articles. He found the hat
and the two boards on the shore, a short way down the river, and, in the
middle of the stream, recaptured the fishing-rod. To his great delight,
the fish was still on the hook, and he imparted the joyful news to his
shivering friend, but got no single word in reply. It was another salmon
trout, or pickerel, or some such fish, and he deposited it gleefully in
the bottom of the canoe with the others, which had not escaped in the
tip-over. Returning, he handed Wilkinson his hat, and hoped he was none
the worse of his ducking. The schoolmaster took the wide-awake, but gave
no answer. Then the lawyer invited him to take his place in the boat,
when the storm burst.
"Am I a fool, Mr. Coristine, an abject, unthinking, infatuated fool, to
entrust my comfort, my safety, my life, to a man without the soul of a
man, to a childish, feeble-minded, giggling and guffawing player of
senseless, practical jokes, to a creature utterly wanting in heart,
selfish and brutal to a degree?"
"Oh, Wilks, my dear boy, this is too bad. I had nothing in the mortal
world to do with your tumbling out of the old dug-out, 'pon my honour I
hadn't."
"Kindly keep your silence, sir, and do not outrage my sufficiently
harrowed feelings by adding worse to bad. I shall go to the inn on
_terra firma_, and leave you in charge of what you seem so able to
manage in your own clownish, pantomimic way. Be good enough to bring my
fish, and do not distinguish yourself by upsetting them into their
native element." With these words, and in great apparent scorn, the
draggled dominie took his course along the bank and soon disappeared
from view. The lawyer followed in the canoe, but more slowly, as the
current was against him, and often turned the boat round. By dint of
strenuous efforts he gained the bridge, and found the supposed Ben
leaning over it.
"I see you've drownded your man," he remarked with a laugh.
"Yes," replied Coristine; "we had a spill."
"Had any luck?"
"Pretty fair," the lawyer answered, exhibiting his treasures.
"Perch, and chub, and shiners, and them good-for-nawthun tag ends of all
creation, suckers."
"Is that what they are?" asked the disappointed fisherman, holding up
the spoil of Wilkinson's rod.
"That's jest what they are, flabby, bony, white-livered, or'nary
suckers. Niggers and Injuns won't touch 'em, ony in the spring; they'd
liefer eat mudcats."
The lawyer tied his dug-out to the stake, while Ben, who informed him
that his name was Toner, got a willow twig with a crotch at the thick
end, and strung his fish on it through the gills.
"I guess you'd better fire them suckers into the drink," he said, but
Coristine interposed to save them from such a fate.
"They are my friend's catch," he said, "and I'll let him do what he
likes with them."
Then, attended by Mr. Toner, carrying the string of fish, suckers
included, he bent his steps towards the Maple Inn.
When they arrived, they found Madame standing in the doorway. She
admired the fish, and complimented Coristine on his success. He,
however, disclaimed most of them in favour of his friend, for whose
health and whereabouts he enquired with much earnestness.
"Ze pauvre Meestare Veelkeensen retires himselfa in ze chomber to
shongje his vet habillement vit datta o' Pierre. I 'opes he catcha no
cold."
"Better mix him a hot drink, Madame," said Mr. Toner.
"I 'ave fear, Ben, you lofe too moch hot dreenks," replied Madame.
"That's jest where you're out, Missus; I take my little tods cold."
"Hot or cold, you take nossing in our salon."
"Naw, not so long as I can get better stuff, real white wheat that ain't
seen the water barl."
The lawyer noticed this unguarded saying of Toner's, but this did not
hinder his asking if Madame had hot water, and could mix some real Irish
punch for his afflicted friend. Madame had no Irish, but she had some
good Scotcha veesky, which Coristine said would do, only, instead of
Irish punch, the mixture would be Scotch toddy. The toddy procured, he
sprang up-stairs, two steps at a time, meeting Monsieur Lajeunesse,
descending with an armful of wet clothes. Bursting into the room to
which the dominie had been led, he found him on a chair drying himself
by detachments. Already his upper man had been rubbed by Pierre, and
clothed with a shirt, vest and velveteen coat from his wardrobe. Now he
was polishing his nether extremities with a towel, preparatory to adding
a pair of gaudy striped trousers to his borrowed gear. Striding up to
him with a ferocious air, the lawyer presented the smoking glass,
exclaiming: "Drink this down, Wilks, or I'll kill you where you sit."
"What is it?" feebly asked the schoolmaster, feeling the weakness of his
kilted position.
"It's toddy, whiskey toddy, Scotch whiskey toddy, the only thing that'll
save your life," cried Coristine, with firmness amounting to
intimidation. The dominie sipped the glass, stirred it with the spoon,
and gradually finished the mixture. Then, laying the tumbler on the
table beside his watch and pocketbook, he finished his rubbing-down, and
encased his legs in Pierre's Sunday trousers. As he turned up the
latter, and pulled on a pair of his own socks, he remarked to his friend
that he felt better already, and was much obliged to him for the toddy.
"Don't mention it, my boy, I'm so glad it's done you good."
"I fear, Corry, that I was hasty and unjust to you when I came out of
the water."
"Oh well, Wilks darlin', let us say no more about it, or, like the late
Mr. William Basse, I'll for my past offences weep. I don't know what it
is exactly you're like now. If you had the faytures, you would do for
one of the Peoplesh. You and the grinstun man could hunt in couples.
With a billy cock-hat on the side of your head, you'd make a sporting
gent. Are you feeling pretty well, Wilks, as far as the clothes will let
you?"
"Yes; I am all right again, I think."
"Then I must damp the ardour of ingenuous youth,
And dash the cup of joy to earth
Ere it be running o'er.
Wilks, prepare yourself for a blow."
"Quick, Corry, make no delay--has the colonel fallen from his horse? Has
his niece accepted Mr. Rawdon?"
"No; my dear friend, but those big fish, one of which you risked your
precious life after, are--suckers. Ben Toner wanted to fire them into
the drink, but I restrained his sucker-cidal hand. You seem to bear the
news with resignation."
The lawyer accompanied his resuscitated friend down stairs. The
velveteen waistcoat exhibited an ample shirt-front, and had pockets with
flaps like the coat. The dominie's own blue and yellow silk handkerchief
was tied in a sailor's knot round a rakish collar, that compromised
between a turn-down and a stand-up; and his nether garments began with
the dark and light blue broad-striped trousers and ended in a large pair
of felt slippers, admirable footgear, no doubt, for seasons of extreme
cold. Thus attired, Wilkinson occupied the sitting-room, and returned to
the study of Alphonse Karr. Mr. Toner had left the string of fish by the
door, where it was quite safe. There seemed to be no boys, no dogs, no
cats, about the quiet Beaver River. Once in a long while, a solitary
figure might be perceived going to or returning from the store. The only
possible thief of the fish would have been a stray mink or otter
prospecting for a new home, unless, indeed, Madame's fowls had escaped
from the poultry yard. Coristine brought the string to his disguised
companion, just as the hostess arrived to enquire after his health and
renew the French conversation. Having replied politely to her questions,
the schoolmaster expressed his regret that the fish were so poor and
especially that he had been deceived in the "suceurs." Madame did not
comprehend, and said "Plait il?" whereupon he called his friend near and
pointed out the offending fish. "Aw oui, M'syae, ce sont des mulets de
l'eau douce, un petit peu trop tawrd dons la saison, autrement un
morceau friaund." Then she proceeded to say that the smaller fish could
be cooked for supper, "comme les éperlans de law baw," pointing with her
finger eastward, to designate, by the latter words, the Gulf of St.
Lawrence. She would boil the mullets, if Monsieur did not object, and
give them to the fowls; did Monsieur take an interest in fowls?
Generously the dominie handed over all the fish, through Coristine, for
Madame to do what she liked with, and expressed an interest in various
descriptions of poultry, the names of which he was entirely ignorant of.
The interview over, he returned to his book, and the lawyer went to look
for his civil acquaintance, Mr. Toner. Him he found on the bridge, and
in a somewhat sulky humour, apparently by no means pleased at being
sought out. Not wishing to intrude, Coristine made an excuse for his
appearance in the bits of board, which he professed to have forgotten to
take out of the dug-out. "That sort of lumber don't count for much in
these parts," remarked Ben, suspiciously, and his intending companion
retired, feeling that, though a limb of the law, he was a miserable
sham.
While in the chamber which witnessed the dominie's transformation, the
lawyer had perceived that its window commanded the bridge and the
adjoining parts of the river. Leaving his friend in the enjoyment of his
book, he ascended to the room, and watched like a detective. Soon he saw
a waggon roll up to the bridge, and, almost simultaneously, a large punt
in which was Ben Toner, come from nowhere. Three bundles of apparent
grindstones were laboriously conveyed from the waggon to the punt, after
which the waggon went back and the punt went forward, both becoming lost
to sight in the foliage of road and river. Once more the bell of the
Maple Inn sounded loudly, to inform the general public that the hour of
six had arrived, and to summon guests to the early supper. Descending to
the sitting-room, the amateur detective found his friend there, and
escorted him, with much unnecessary formality, to the tea table. The
fish were there, betrayed, even afar off, by their not unpleasant odour,
and there also was an attractive looking ham, flanked by plates of hot
cakes and other evidences of culinary skill on Madame's part. She poured
out a good cup of tea for the table quartette, while Pierre aided in
distributing the solids. The conversation turned on fish, and, as
before, the dominie spoke French to the hostess, while M. Lajeunesse
made the lawyer acquainted with some piscatorial exploits of Mr. Bulky.
Mr. Bulky had once been upset from the canoe, but, unlike Mr. Wilkinson,
he could not swim. The case might have been a very serious one,
destructive to the reputation of L'Erable ("zatta ees maybole in ze
Fraynsh langwitch," the host explained) and of city visits to the Beaver
River.
"How was he saved?" enquired the lawyer.
"He vas save by potting 'is foot to ze bottom," replied the host.
"I've heard of a man putting a stone on his head and walking through a
river under water, but haven't believed it yet," continued Coristine.
"He had not necessity of a stone; 'is head was op; ze rivare vas not so
'igh zan ze jouldares of Meestare Bulky," answered Pierre quite
seriously.
"Then he saved himself?"
"No, sare, 'is foot save 'im; Meestare Bulky 'ave a veray 'eavy foot.
Eef 'is foot hadda been also leetle as ze foot of M'syae, Meestare Bulky
vould 'ave drown."
Madame's sharp ears overheard this conversation while carrying on that
with Wilkinson, and broke in upon her erring spouse:--
"Teh twa, Pierre! c'n'est paw trop poli d'se moquer des pieds d'un bon
pawtron."
"Mez, Angélique, mwa, me moquer, mwa? et de M'syae Bulky? Aw, ma bonne
Angélique, fi donc!" and M. Lajeunesse withdrew from the table,
overwhelmed with the mere suspicion of such foul treachery and base
ingratitude.
Batiste had put out three wooden arm chairs, and a rocker for Madame, on
the verandah, whither the party of the tea table retired. Coristine
asked her permission to smoke, when it appeared that Pierre had been
waiting for a sign that either of his guests indulged in the weed. As
he also filled his pipe, he remarked to his fellow smoker that "Meestare
Bulky vare good shentleman, and rest 'ere longatimes, bot ze perfume of
ze 'bonne pipe,' same of ze cigawr makea 'im seek."
"Does that interfere with your liberty to smoke?" Wilkinson asked.
"Aw, preciselly; zen most I go to ze stebble and tekka ze younga guestes
zat smoke not in chombres _bouchees_, vat you call zat?"
"Literally, it means corked," replied the dominie; "but I presume you
mean, with door and window closed, as it were, hermetically sealed."
"Preciselly; ve 'ave ze vord in ze Fraynsh langwitch, _érémitique_, zat
ees as a religious oo leeves all alone, vis person zere bot 'imselluf. I
tekka ze guestes zat lofe not ze eremitique life to ze stebble, vare ve
smale ze stingy tawbawc of Bawtiste. M'syae parle Francea, meh peutehtre
ne conneh le tawbawc puant, en Anglah _stingy_, de Bawtiste. C'n'est
paws awgréable, M'syae. Aw, non, paw de tout, je vous asshere!"
"That is very considerate of you," remarked the schoolmaster,
approvingly. "I wish all users of the narcotic were as mindful of the
comfort and health of their neighbours. Regard for the feelings of
others is perhaps the chief distinguishing mark of a gentleman."
"Meestare Bulky ees a shentleman, bot he 'ave no sharitay for smokinga
men," replied Pierre, ruefully.
"That's where the shoe pinches, not your feet, Wilks," said the lawyer,
with a laugh. "You could touch bottom, like Mr. Bulky, with these
gunboats, but on all your privileged classes. Why should Bulky bulk so
large in any place of entertainment as to send everybody else to a
stable? Catch me smoking with that old garlic-perfumed Batiste! How
about the garlic, and peppermint, and musk, and sauer-kraut, and all the
other smells. Any smells about Mr. Bulky, Pierre?"
"Aw yehs; 'ees feeshing goat smale, aw, eet smale an' smale of som stoff
he call ass-afeetiter, ze feesh liike ze smale, bot I am not a feesh."
"See that now, Wilks. This selfish pig of a Bulky, as Monsieur says, has
no charity. He drives clean, wholesome smoke out of the hotel, and
stinks the place up with as nasty a chemical mixture as disgusting
science ever invented. He reminds me of a Toronto professor of anatomy
who wouldn't allow the poor squeamish medicals to smoke in the
dissecting room, because, he said, one bad smell was better than two. If
I had my way with Bulky I'd smoke him blue in the face, if for nothing
but to drown his abominable assafoetida, the pig!"
"Aw, non, M'syae," interrupted Pierre, to protect the idol of the Maple
Inn; "Meestare Bulky ees not a peeg, but assafeetiter is vorse zan a
peeg-stye. N'est ce paw, Angélique?"
"I 'ave no vord to say of M'syae Bulky," replied Madame, taking up her
mending and entering the house. She was at once recalled to the verandah
by a juvenile voice that called "Mrs. Latchness!" The speaker soon
appeared in the person of a small boy, about twelve years old, who,
hatless, coatless, and shoeless, ran up from the river bank. "Vat you
vant vis me, Tommee?" asked Madame. "I come from Widder Toner's--Ben's
dyin', she says, and can't move a stir. She wants to know if they's
anybody here as knows anything about doctorin', and, she says, hurry
awful quick!" cried the breathless youngster.
"I 'ear you spick of medical, M'syae Coristine; do you know it? Can you
'elp ze pauvre vidow?" asked Madam.
"It's mighty little I know, Madame, but I'll go. Wait till I get my
flask," said the lawyer, going after his knapsack in the sitting room.
Returning, he handed it to the hostess with the request that she would
fill it with the best, and add any remedy she had in the house. Soon she
came out of the railed-off bar with a filled flask and a bottle of St.
Jacob's Oil. Pocketing them both, the lawyer said, "Come on, Tommy,"
and, with his guide, set out for Widow Toner's.