It may be remembered that the gift of my grateful if eccentric
client had been put in the box-room at Justinian Gardens. There the
presentment of the donkey languidly watching jaded villagers reposed,
amidst the possibly congenial surroundings of broken perambulators,
superannuated folding-doors, and half-forgotten wide-awake hats. I
rather regretted the fate of the picture, as it seemed to me that
it might have served as a not invaluable advertisement. As a large
proportion of the forensic world knows, I not infrequently during the
Yuletide season entertain some of my friends at the Bar, and I should
have been pleased to have been able to point to the canvas as a sort
of testimonial. However, the painting had disappeared, and there was
nothing more to be said about it.
I am reminded by this reference to my vacation entertainments, that
it was at one of "these feasts of reason and flows of soul" (as my
learned and distinguished friend APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., is kind enough
to call them) that my fortunes underwent a change for the better.
The inhabitants of Justinian Gardens are accustomed to do things very
well. When there is a ball, the number of vehicles (always with one
horse apiece, and sometimes with a pair) is quite considerable. On
such occasions a stranger might imagine that the Gardens had the
advantage of a chronic cab-stand. At 97 (which I think I may describe
as our show-house) there is a butler, and there are few at Justinian
Gardens who cannot boast of a "buttons." I do not secure the services
of a man-retainer myself, and am consequently not quite in the
fashion. However, when I entertain, I do my best to be worthy of the
_prestige_ of my neighbours, and put forth all my strength in making
my house an object of interest. The walls of my modest dwelling-place
are adorned with several mementoes of my not-altogether-common-place
career. For instance, I have had my commission as a Lieutenant of
Volunteers (I served for many years in the Bishop's Own, and was
graciously permitted by Her Majesty to retire with my rank) glazed and
framed, and have treated the pasteboard distinctions I won at school
in a similar fashion. When I purpose entertaining my friends at the
Bar, I have these gratifying landmarks in my life's history polished
up by an individual known in my household as "the handy man." This
person (towards whom I entertain a friendly regard), for a certain
sum an hour undertakes to do anything I require. I believe that he
can paint a house, build a conservatory, cut down a forest, and
reconstruct an aquarium with equal facility. But it is only right
to say that I make this statement on the faith of his guarantor--the
gentleman who was good enough to procure for me the advantage of his
services--and cannot speak from personal knowledge. So far I have only
had the opportunity of testing his capabilities in window-cleaning and
the dusting of works of art. In performing these domestic duties he
shows great energy, and even daring. He seems to delight in standing
on window-ledges and the outer edges of flights of stairs. I have been
given to understand that he glories in these displays of hardihood,
as they remind him of the days and nights when he acted as a rather
prominent member of the Fire Brigade.
"Mr. WILKINS," I said, on my departure for the Temple, "I shall esteem
it a favour if you will be so good as to employ your leisure to-day in
repainting the waterbutts, sweeping the kitchen chimney, putting glass
in the conservatory, regilding the mirror in the study, and, if you
have time, dusting my testimonial."
"Certainly, Sir," replied my valued acquaintance, and before I had
closed the hall door, the sounds of the rumbling sticks told me that
he had already commenced to remove the superfluous soot from the
culinary smoke-hole.
I had rather an arduous day at Pump-Handle Court. I had quite an
accumulation of circulars, and a consent brief that required very
careful attention. The latter was not endorsed with my name, but I saw
to it on behalf of a colleague. After I had spent some hours in
the little frequented (during the vacation) realms of the Temple,
I returned to Justinian Gardens, which I need scarcely tell an
experienced cabman is in the neighbourhood of that continually rising
locality--Earl's Court. The door was opened by Mr. WILKINS in person,
who anticipated the turning of the proprietorial latch-key.
"I am sorry to say, Sir," said my trusted _employé_, "that I have had
an accident. While I was dusting the military enlistment card----"
"You mean my commission?"
"I do, Sir. It came down with a run. You see, Sir, you have had him
rather heavily framed. Unfortunately, Sir, when I passed the polish
brush over him the nail did not hold, and it gave suddenly. The
picture made a nasty mark on the wall, and smashed up when he got to
the flooring. I would have reframed him, but all the shops close early
on a Thursday, and I can get no glass."
"Well, what have you done?" I asked, in a tone of some annoyance,
for I pride myself on my commission, and am proud of showing it to my
friends.
"Well, Sir, I went up to the box-room to see if I could find anything
that would do, and have looked up an affair that I think will meet
with your approval."
By this time I had reached the place where the wall was damaged. The
spot was covered by a picture.
"I did my best, Sir. I washed the canvas with soap and water, and put
the polishing brush over the frame. Of course the subject ain't worth
much, but for a stop-gap it isn't bad. Now is it?"
I then found that Mr. WILKINS had hidden the faulty hall paper with
the picture that had been presented to me by the gentleman who had
raised a claim to the throne of the Celestial Empire. Secretly pleased
that I could now have an opportunity of referring to the gratitude of
my client to my learned and distinguished friend, APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C.,
who had promised to dine with me that evening, I readily accepted the
apologies of the penitent WILKINS.
"I will put it allright to-morrow, Sir," said my distressed _employé_.
"I will get some glass, fix up your enlistment card, and have it
done before I rebuild the pantry and whitewash the ceiling of the
bath-room."
Satisfied with the promise I thought no more of the _contretemps_
until after dinner, when my attention was directed to it by
APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., who had made himself vastly agreeable after the
ladies had retired and left us to discuss the chestnuts and the port.
"Hullo, BRIEFLESS," he exclaimed; "where did you get that Old BOOTS?"
I told my story of the grateful client, and young BANDS, who I fancy
is thinking of reading in my chambers, regarded me (I venture to
believe) with increased respect.
"Bless me, you have a treasure!" continued APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., who
seemed wrapt in admiration. "That is a genuine Old BOOTS. You can
always tell him from Young BOOTS by the manipulation of his animal's
ears. Look at those, Sir! Splendid! Why, who could paint a donkey like
that? By Jove, BRIEFLESS, you are in luck! You ought to make a fortune
out of it at CHRISTIES!"
"Why, is it very valuable?" I asked. "I am not much of an art
connoisseur, and I frankly confess I know very little of Old SHOES."
"Old BOOTS, Sir!" cried APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C. "Why I thought all the
world knew Old BOOTS! One of the grandest painters of the eighteenth
century! He got that particular delicacy of touch which you can trace
in that donkey's ears by never commencing to paint his animals until
he was recovering from _delirium tremens_. Why, Sir, that animal is
simply superb. Look at his mane, Sir! Why, it is simply marvellous!"
I did look at the donkey's ears and mane, and, with the assistance
of young BANDS, went into an ecstasy. The ears of the animal were
certainly magnificent.
I must admit I was excited during the rest of that eventful evening. I
determined to keep the secret of my good fortune to myself. I thought
I would surprise the lady who does me the honour to bear my name, by
telling her that I had become a rich man after I had cashed the cheque
I was sure to receive. All the following day I made plans for the
spending of my fortune. I would have a box in the Highlands, a
_pied-à-terre_ in Paris, and a pyramid in Egypt. I would present
my Inn with a massive gold snuff-box, and PORTINGTON should have a
silver-mounted meerschaum. If my age did not bar my progress, I would
seek service in the Militia--as a lieutenant-colonel. There was no
limit to my ambition.
When I returned, Mr. WILKINS (who is thoroughly conscientious), having
finished the rebuilding of the pantry and the whitewashing of the
bath-room, had departed. He does not waste his time, and only charges
me for the hours he actually expends in honest labour. I hurried to
the spot where my Old BOOTS was temporarily resting before removal
to the far-famed auction-rooms in King Street, St. James's. I turned
pale.
"Why, what is this?" I asked, trembling with emotion.
"Your commission, dear," said my better seven-eighths. "It looks
better than the picture, although I must say the donkey improves on
acquaintance. It really was very well painted. I am quite sorry Mr.
WILKINS has taken it away."
"WILKINS taken it away?" I gasped out.
"Yes. He said that you didn't seem to care for it, so he went off to
try and sell it."
"Why!" I exclaimed, and my voice, through my deep emotion, dropped
almost to a whisper, "it is an Old BOOTS!"
"An Old BOOTS!" cried my better seven-eighths, becoming as excited as
myself. "Why, our fortunes are made! An Old BOOTS! Oh, why didn't you
tell me! An Old BOOTS! Fancy having an Old BOOTS!"
"But we haven't," I returned, almost in tears. "The handy-man has gone
off with it! What _are_ we to do without our Old BOOTS!"
"We will get it back!" returned my better and more important fraction,
with determination.
Whether we did recover our lost treasure, or fail in the attempt,
must, owing to the exigencies of space (so I am given to understand),
form the subject of another and concluding contribution. The chase
after our Old BOOTS was not without adventures of a distinctly
exciting character.
* * * * *
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