OF DETERIORATION; AND A WHEELBARROW THAT CONTAINED UNEXPECTED THINGS.
Great events meanwhile were happening in Troy. On the eighth morning
of his eclipse Admiral Buzza was startled by a brisk step upon the
stairs; the devil's tattoo was neatly struck upon his bed-room door,
and the head of Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys looked in.
"Ah! Admiral, here you are; like What's-his-name in the ruins of
Thingummy. You'll pardon me coming up, but my wife is downstairs
with Mrs. Buzza, and I was told I should find you here. Don't rise--
'no dress,' as they say. May I smoke? Thanks. And how are you by
this time? I heard something of your mishap, but not the rights of
it. I'll sit down, and you can tell me all about it."
Here was affability indeed. The Admiral conquered his first impulse
of diving beneath the bed-clothes, and, lying back, recounted his
misadventure at some length. The Honourable Frederic listened and
smoked with perfect gravity. At the close he said--
"Very dirty treatment, 'pon my word; though I'm not sure I don't
sympathise with the fellow in warning off the women. But why stay in
bed?"
"There are feelings,"--began the Admiral.
"Ah! to be sure--injured feelings--ungrateful country--blow, blow,
thou winter wind, &c. So you take to bed, like the Roman gentleman
who went too; forget the place. Gets rid of the women, too;
nuisance--women--when you're upset; nonsense, that about pain and
anguish playing the deuce, and a ministering angel thou--tommy-rot, I
call it. Can't be bothered, now, in bed--turn round and snore; wife
has hysterics--snore louder. Capital! I've a mind to try the same
plan when Geraldine is fussing and fuming. These infernal women--"
I am sorry to say that the Admiral, instead of defending Mrs. Buzza,
began to exculpate Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.
"But your wife is so charming, so--"
"Of course, my dear sir; so is Mrs. Buzza."
"She was termed the 'Belle of Portsmouth' at the Ball where I
proposed to her," remarked the Admiral, with some complacency.
"To be sure; trust a sailor to catch the pretty girls--eh?"
The Admiral chuckled feebly.
"But these women--"
"Ah! yes; these women--"
"Bachelor life was pleasant--eh, Admiral?"
"Ah!"
The two men looked at each other. A smile spread over either
countenance. I regret to say the Admiral winked, and then chuckled
again.
"Admiral, you must get up."
The Admiral stared interrogatively; his visitor pursued, with some
inconsequence--"By the way, is there a club here?"
"There's the 'Jolly Trojans' down at the 'Man-o'-War'; they meet on
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and--"
"Low lot, I suppose?"
"Well, yes," admitted the Admiral; "a certain amount of good
fellowship prevails, I understand; but low, of course--distinctly
low."
The Honourable Frederic tapped his boot reflectively with his
malacca.
"Admiral," he said at last, "you ought to found a Club here."
"Bless my heart! I never thought of it."
"It is your duty."
"You think so?"
"Sure of it."
"I will get up," said the Admiral decisively. He started out of bed,
and looked around for his clothes.
"Nice place, the country," pursued the Honourable Frederic
thoughtfully; "fresh eggs, and grass to clean your pipe with--but apt
to be dull. Now, a pleasant little society; cards, billiards, and
social _reunions_--select, of course--"
"Of course. Do you happen to be sitting on my trousers?"
"Eh? No, I believe--no. Let me see--limited loo and a modest pool
of an evening. Hullo! what's the matter?"
The Admiral had rushed to the door.
"Emily!" he bawled down the stairs.
"Well, I'll be going. Can't find your trousers? Admiral, it's the
last straw. But we'll be revenged, Admiral. We'll found a Club;
and, by George, sir, we'll call it 'The Inexpressibles'! Ta-ta for
the present," and Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys retired.
But what was being discussed below when the Admiral's voice disturbed
his wife? Alas! you shall hear.
"These men," Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys was saying, "are all alike. But, my
dear, why not disregard his absurd humours? I have revolted from
Frederic long ago."
"You don't say so!"
"It is a fact. Take my advice and do the same. It needs courage at
first, but they are all cowards--oh, such cowards, my dear!
Revolt. Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip--"
"My dear, I should faint."
"Oh, poor soul! Reflect! How pretty the domestic virtues are, but
how impossible! Besides, how unfashionable!"
Mrs. Buzza reflected.
"I will!" she exclaimed at last. Just then her husband's voice
detonated in the room above. She arose, trembling like a leaf.
"Be firm," said her adviser.
"I will."
"Sit down again. It will do him no harm to wait."
Mrs. Buzza obeyed, still trembling.
It was at this moment that the Honourable Frederic re-entered the
room, and looked around with a slow smile.
"Nellie," he observed, when they were outside the house, "you're a
vastly clever woman, my love."
"How's the Admiral?" was the reply.
"He nibbles, my angel; he bites."
"I heard him barkin'. An' how long will Brady be givin' us?"
"Two months, my treasure."
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys reflected for a moment, and then made the
following extraordinary reply--
"Be aisy, me dear. In six weeks I'll be ready to elope from yez."
What passed between the Admiral and Mrs. Buzza when they were left
together was never fully known. But it was quickly whispered that in
No. 2, Alma Villas, the worm had turned. Oddly enough, the spread of
conjugal estrangement did not end here. It began to be rumoured that
Lawyer Pellow and his wife had "differences "; that Mr. and Mrs.
Simpson dined at different hours; and that the elder Miss Strip had
broken off a very suitable match with a young ship's chandler, on
the ground that ship's candles were not "genteel." It was about
this time, too, that Mrs. Wapshot, at the confectionery shop, refused
to walk with Mr. Wapshot on the Rope-walk after Sunday evening
service, because domestic bliss was "horrid vulgar"; and Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys' dictum that "one admirer, at least, was no more than
a married woman's due," only failed of acceptance because the supply
of admirers in Troy fell short of the demand. She had herself
annexed Samuel Buzza and Mr. Moggridge.
Meanwhile the Admiral was not idle; and had anything been needed to
whet his desire for a Club, it would have been found in a dreadful
event that happened shortly afterwards.
It was May-morning, and the Admiral was planted in the sunshine
outside No. 2, Alma Villas, loudly discussing the question of the
hour with Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, Lawyer Pellow, and the little Doctor.
"No, we can't have him," he was roundly declaring; "the Club must be
select, or it is useless to discuss it further."
"Must draw the line somewhere," murmured the Honourable Frederic.
"Quite so; at this rate we shall be admitting all the 'Jolly
Trojans.'"
Just then an enormous wheelbarrow was observed approaching, seemingly
by supernatural means, for no driver could be seen. The barrow was
piled to a great height, and staggered drunkenly from side to side of
the road; but the load, whatever it was, lay hidden beneath a large
white cloth.
"H'm!" said the little Doctor dubiously. "Well, of course, you know
best, but I should have thought that as an old inhabitant of Troy--"
"Pooh, my dear fellow," snapped the Admiral, "it is natural that the
feelings of a few will be hurt; but if once we begin to elect the
'Jolly Trojans'--"
The barrow had drawn near meanwhile, and now halted at the Admiral's
feet. From behind it stepped into view an exceeding small boy,
attired mainly in a gigantic pair of corduroys that reached to the
armpits, and were secured with string around the shoulders. His face
was a mask of woe, and he staunched his tears on a very grimy
shirt-sleeve as he stood and gazed mutely into the Admiral's face.
"Go away, boy!" said Admiral Buzza severely.
The boy sobbed loudly, but made no sign of moving.
"Go away, I tell you!"
"'Tes for you, sir."
"For me? What does the boy mean?"
"Iss, sir. Missusses orders that I was to bring et to Adm'ral
Buzza's; an' ef I don't pay out Billy Higgs for this nex' time I
meets wi' 'un--"
"The child's daft!" roared the Admiral. "D---- the boy! what has
Billy Higgs to do with me?"
"Poured a teacupful o' water down the nape o' my breeches when I'd
got ha'f-way up the hill an' cudn' set the barrow down to fight
'un--the coward! Boo-hoo!" and tears flowed again at the
recollection.
"What is it?"
"Cake, sir."
"Cake!"
"Iss, sir--cake."
The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white cover from the
wheelbarrow.
"Bless my soul!" gasped the Admiral, "there must be some mistake."
"It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic,
examining the load through his eye-glass; "and very good cake, too,
by the smell."
[Illustration: "It certainly seems to be cake," observed the
Honourable Frederic.]
He was right. High on the barrow, and symmetrically piled, rested
five-and-twenty huge cakes--yellow cakes such as all Trojans love--
each large as a mill-stone, tinctured with saffron, plentifully
stowed with currants, and crisp with brown crust, steaming to heaven,
and wooing the nostrils of the gods.
"Bless my soul!" repeated the Admiral, "but I never ordered this."
Each member of the group in turn advanced, inspected the cake,
sniffed the savour, pronounced it excellent, and looked from the
Admiral to the boy for explanation.
"Mrs. Dymond down to the 'Man-'o-War' sent et, sir, wi' her
compliments to Maaster Sam, an' hopin' as he'll find et plum i' the
bakin' as it leaves her at present, an' the currants all a-picked
careful, knowin' as he'd a sweet tooth."
"Sam! Do you mean to tell me that Sam--that my son--ordered _this?_
Upon my word, of all--"
"Didn' azackly order et, sir. Won et fair an' square. Bill Odgers
comed nex' wi' seven-an'-ninety gallon. But Master Sam topped the
lot by a dozen gallon aisy."
"Gallons! What the devil is the boy talking bout?"
"Beer, sir--beer; fust prize for top score o' beer drunk down to the
'Man-o'-War' sence fust o' November last. He's a wunner for beer, es
Maaster Sam," pursued the relentless urchin, who by this time had
forgotten his tears. "Hunderd an' nine gallons, sir, an' Bill Odgers
so jallous as fire--says he'd ha' won et same as he did last time,
on'y Maaster Sam's got the longer purse--offered to fight 'un, an'
the wuss man to pay for both nex' time."
Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys turned aside to conceal a smile. Lawyer Pellow
rubbed his chin. The Admiral stamped.
"Take it away!"
"Where be I to take it to, plaise, sir?"
"Take it away--anywhere; take it to the devil!"
But worse remained for the little man. During this conversation
there had come unperceived up the road a gentleman of mild
appearance, dressed in black, and carrying under his arm a large
parcel wrapped about with whitey-brown paper.
The new-comer, who was indeed our friend Mr. Fogo, now advanced
towards the Admiral with a bow.
"Admiral Buzza, I believe?"
The Admiral turned and faced the speaker; his jaw fell like a signal
flag; but he drew himself up with fine self-repression.
"Sir, I am Admiral Buzza."
"I have come," said Mr. Fogo, quietly pulling the pins out of his
parcel, "to restore what I believe is your property (Will somebody
oblige me by holding this pin? Thank you), and at the same time to
apologise for the circumstances under which it came into my hands.
(Dear me, what a number of pins, to be sure!) I have done what lay in
my power with a clothes-brush and emery-powder to restore it to its
pristine brilliance. The treatment (That is the last, I think) has
not, I am bound to admit, answered my expectations; its result,
however, is as you see."
Here Mr. Fogo withdrew the wrapper and with a pleasant smile held
out--a cocked hat.
The Admiral, purple with fury, bounced back like a shot on a red-hot
shovel; stared; tried to speak, but could not; gulped; tried again;
and finally, shaking his fist in Mr. Fogo's face, flung into the
house and slammed the front door.
The cause of this transport turned a pair of bewildered spectacles on
the others, and found them convulsed with unseemly mirth. He singled
out the Honourable Frederic, and addressed himself to that gentleman.
"I have not the pleasure to be acquainted with you, sir; but if you
can supply me with any reason for this display of temper, believe
me--"
"My name is Goodwyn-Sandys, sir, at your--"
"What!"
Mr. Fogo dropped the cocked hat and sat down suddenly among the
cakes.
"Are you," he gasped--"are you Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys--the Honourable
Frederic Augustus Hythe Good--? Heavens!"
"No, sir," said the Honourable Frederic, who had grown a thought
pale. "Good _wyn_, sir--Goodwyn-Sandys. What then?"
"I never saw your face before," murmured Mr. Fogo faintly.
"That, sir, if a misfortune, is one which you share with a number of
your fellow-men. And permit me to tell you, sir," continued Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys, with unaccountable change of mood, "that I consider
your treatment of my friend Admiral Buzza unworthy of a gentleman,
sir--unworthy of a gentleman. Come, Doctor; come, Pellow--I want a
word or two more with you about this Club."
And Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys ruffled away, followed by his two slightly
puzzled companions.
For the space of two minutes Mr. Fogo gazed up the road after them.
Then he sighed, took off his spectacles, and wiped them carefully.
"So _that_," he said slowly, "is the man she married."
"Iss, sir."
Mr. Fogo started, turned round on the barrow, and beheld the urchin
from the "Man-o'-War."
"Little boy," he said sternly, "your conduct is unworthy of a--I
mean, what are you doing here?"
"You've a-been an' squashed a cake," said the boy.
Mr. Fogo gave him a shilling, and hurried away down the road; but
stopped once or twice on his homeward way to repeat to himself--
"So _that_--is the man--she married."
It took Admiral Buzza several days to recover his composure; but when
he did, the project of the new Club grew with the conjugal
disintegration of Troy, and at a rate of progress scarcely inferior.
Within a week or two a house was hired in Nelson Row, a brass-plate
bearing the words "Trojan Club" affixed to the door, and Admiral
Buzza installed in the Presidential Chair. The Presidential Chair
occupied the right-hand side of the reading-room window, which
overlooked the harbour; and the Presidential duties consisted mainly
in conning the morning papers and discussing their contents with Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys, who usually sat, with a glass of whiskey and the Club
telescope, on the left-hand side of the window. Indeed, it would be
hard to say to which of the two, the whiskey or the telescope, the
Honourable Frederic more sedulously devoted himself: it is certain,
at least, that under the Admiral's instruction he soon developed a
most amazing familiarity with nautical terms, was a mine of
information (almost as soon as the Club invested in a Yacht Register)
on the subject of Lord Sinkport's yacht, the auxiliary screw _Niobe_,
and swept the horizon with a persistence that made his fellow-members
stare.
But the most noticeable feature in this nautical craze was the
disproportionate attention which the Honourable Frederic lavished on
barques. It was the first rig that he learnt to distinguish, and his
early interest developed before long into something like a passion.
One morning, for instance, Sam Buzza lounged into the reading-room
and observed--
"I say, have you seen that American barque that came in last night--
the _Maritana?_"
"What name?" asked Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, looking up suddenly.
"The _Maritana_, or the _Mariana_, or _Mary Ann_, or something of
the--Hullo! what's wrong?"
But the Honourable Frederic had caught up his hat and fled. Half an
hour afterwards, when he returned, his usual calm self, the little
Doctor took occasion to remark, "Upon my word, you might be a
detective, you keep such a look-out on the harbour"--a remark which
caused Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys to laugh so consumedly that the Doctor,
without exactly seeing the point, began to think he had perpetrated
quite a considerable joke.
But let no one imagine that the disruption of Trojan morals avoided
heart-burning or escaped criticism. For the line which Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys declared must be drawn somewhere was found not only to
bisect the domestic hearth, but to lead to a surprising number of
social problems. It fell across the parallels of our small society,
and demonstrated that Mrs. A and Mrs. B could never meet; that one
room could not contain the two unequal families X and Y; and that
while one rested on the basis of trade, and the other on professional
skill, it was unreasonable to expect the apex Mrs. Y to coincide with
the apex Mrs. X. Finally the New Geometry culminated in a triumphant
process, which proved that while Mrs. Simpson was allowed to imbibe
tea and scandal in the company of the great, her husband must sip his
gin and water in solitude at home.
We had always been select in Troy; but then, In the old days, _all_
Troy had been included in the term. When Mr. Simpson had spoken of
the "Jack of Oaks" (meaning the Knave of Clubs), or had said
"fainaiguing" (where others said "revoking"), we had pretended not to
notice it, until at length we actually did not. So that a human as
well as a philological interest attaches to the date when fashion
narrowed the meaning of _Cumeelfo_ to exclude the Jack of Oaks, and
sent Mr. Simpson home to his gin and water.
The change was discussed with some asperity in the bar-parlour of the
"Man-o'-War."
"The hupper classes in Troy es bloomin' fine nowadays," remarked
Rechab Geddye (locally known as Rekkub) over his beer on the night
when the resignations of Mr. Buzza Junior and Mr. Moggridge had been
received by the "Jolly Trojans."
"Ef they gets the leastest bit finer, us shan't be able to see mun,"
answered Bill Odgers, who was reckoned a wit. "I have heerd tell as
Trojans was cousins an' hail-fellow-well-met all the world over; but
the hayleet o' this place es a-gettin' a bit above itsel'."
"That's a true word, Bill," interposed Mrs. Dymond from the bar; "an'
to say 'Gie us this day our daily bread,' an' then turn up a nose at
good saffron cake es flyin' i' the face o' Pruvvidence, an' no less."
"I niver knawed good to come o' titled gentry yet," said Bill.
"You doan't say that?" exclaimed Rekkub, who was an admirer of Bill's
Radical views.
"I do, tho'. Look at King Richard--him i' the play-actin'. I reckon
he was wan o' the hupper ten ef anybody. An' what does he do?
Why, throttles a pair o' babbies, puts a gen'l'm'n he'd a gridge agen
into a cask o' wine--which were the spoliation o' both--murders 'most
ivery wan he claps eyes on, an' then when he've a-got the jumps an'
sees the sperrits an' blue fire, goes off an' offers to swap hes
whole bloomin' kingdom for a hoss--a hoss, mind you, he hadn' seen,
let alone not bein' in a state o' mind to jedge hoss-flesh.
What's true o' kings I reckon es true o' Hon'rubbles; they'm all
reared up to the same high notions, an' I reckon us'll find et out
afore long. I niver seed no good in makin' Troy fash'nubble mysel'."