About eleven o'clock the next morning, Mr Inglis was sitting in his
study, writing; Mrs Inglis was working at the open window, and
occasionally watching the boys, who were amusing themselves upon the
lawn, when all at once a knock came at the study-door.
"Come in," said Mr Inglis, and in came Mary, trying to look very
serious, but evidently struggling with a laugh which would keep
crinkling up the corners of her mouth, although she kept smoothing them
out with her apron.
"Well, Mary?" said her mistress.
"If you p-p-please 'M," said Mary, who then stopped short, for something
seemed to have got in her throat.
"Mary!" exclaimed Mrs Inglis, severely.
Poor Mary looked as serious directly, as if she were going to lose her
situation, and making an effort she began again.
"If you please, 'M, here's Mr-- Oh! dear; oh!--hoo--hoo--guggle--
guggle--gug--gug--gug; choke--choke; cough--cough," went Mary, burying
her face in her apron, and completely losing her breath, and turning
almost black in the face with, her efforts to stifle her laughter. "Oh!
dear; oh! dear," she said, trying to run out of the room, but Mrs
Inglis stopped her, and insisted upon knowing what was the cause of her
mirth.
"Oh, 'M, please, 'M, here's Mr Jones come, and wants to see Master; and
oh, 'M, please, 'M--he--he--he--he--he--he's in such a mess. Oh! dear;
oh! dear; what shall I do!"
"Do," said Mrs Inglis, at last, quite angrily. "Why, go and ask Mr
Jones to step in here; or no, tell him to step into the drawing-room."
"Oh, please, 'M, don't," said Mary, serious in a moment. "Please, 'M,
don't; he ain't fit, and he'll come off black over everything he comes
a-nigh."
"Well, send him here, then," said Mrs Inglis; and away went Mary back
into the hall, and directly after she ushered in Mr Jones, who
presented such an appearance that both Mr and Mrs Inglis at once
excused poor Mary's laughter, for they had hard work to restrain their
own mirth.
Mr Jones was a retired exciseman, and of the description of man known
as dapper; he was a little, fat, chubby fellow, who dressed very
smartly, always wearing white trousers in the summer, and a buff
waistcoat, made so as to show as much shirt-front and as little
waistcoat as possible. He was a man who always used to labour under,
the idea that he looked very fierce, and, to make himself look fiercer,
he used to brush his hair all up into a pyramid over the barren place on
the top of his head, so that the hair used to form a regular pomatumed
spike. But he did not look at all fierce, for his fat round face, dull
eyes, and tenchy mouth would not let him; but he used to speak very
loudly, and thump his Malacca cane down on the ground, and strut and
look as important as many more people do who have not brains enough to
teach them their insignificance as parts of creation, or how very little
value they are in the world, which could go on just as well without
them.
Now, Mr Jones did not like Mr Inglis; he used to say that Mr Inglis
was pompous, and purse-proud, and vain; and, what was more, Mr Inglis
had given the little man dreadful offence in buying the two-acre field
where the potato piece was that used to be so trampled down.
But I have been keeping Mr Jones waiting, for I said, a little way
back, that Mary ushered him into the study, and Mr and Mrs Inglis
could hardly keep from laughing; for a droll appearance did Mr Jones
present as he strutted into the room, with his hat on, but seeing Mrs
Inglis there, he took it off, and made a most pompous bow. But he did
not look in bowing trim, his face, buff waistcoat, and shirt, presenting
a currant-dumpling appearance rather ludicrous to gaze upon, for they
were specked and spotted all over; while his white duck trousers, far
above his knees, were dyed of a pitchy black hue, and covered with
abominably smelling black mud.
"Now, sir," said Mr Jones; "pray, sir, what have you to say to this,
sir?"
"Nothing at all, Mr Jones," said Mr Inglis quietly. "But may I
inquire why I am favoured with this visit?"
"Favoured, sir? Visit, sir? What the ten thousand furies do you mean,
sir? Look at my trousers, sir. Do you see them, sir?"
"Of course I see them," said Mr Inglis, "and I am sorry to see that you
have met with so unfortunate an accident; but pray what has it to do
with me?"
"To do with you, sir?" shrieked Mr Jones; "why, you laid traps for me,
sir; snares and pitfalls, sir; but I'll be recompensed, sir, if there's
law in England, sir. I won't stand it, sir. I'll--I'll--I'll--I'll--
Confound it, sir; you shall hear from my solicitor, sir."
And then the little man bounced out of the study, banging the door after
him; thumped his stick down on the marble floor of the hall at every
step, and strode out of the house, and along the gravel-walk, almost
beside himself with passion; for he felt convinced that Mr Inglis had
been the cause of his mishap. But Mr Inglis was as innocent as his
companion, who replied to his interrogative gaze with a look of
astonishment so ludicrous that they both laughed long and heartily.
At last Mr Inglis said--"It must be some trick those boys have played.
I must find it out, or we shall be having no end of unpleasantness about
it." And the Squire leaned back in his chair, and laughed till the
tears stood in his eyes.
But all this while Mr Jones was fuming worse than ever, for he had
passed old Sam, Philip, Harry and Fred, standing at the gate of the
stable-yard, and no sooner did they catch sight of the strange figure
advancing towards them, than they rushed off laughing at such a
boisterous rate that Mr Jones felt as though he could have strangled
them all.
And now it is only fair that the reader should know how it was that Mr
Jones had got into such a pickle, for he certainly was in a very nasty
mess indeed. Mr Jones, as I said before, had been very much annoyed
because Squire Inglis purchased the little corner field; so, from a
petty feeling of spite, he always made a point of walking across the
corner, kicking down the bank, and treading heavily upon the young
quickset plants. Now, of course the example set by such a big little
man as Mr Jones, would be sure to find followers; and this was the case
here, for many of the boys of the village used to slip across as well.
But on the evening previous to what has been above related, old Sam took
his tools down with him, and had soon dug out a hole about three feet
deep just in the centre of the field, and right in the middle of the
track; he then borrowed an old tin pail from a cottage near, and filled
the hole full of black mud from a filthy drain ditch, which ran along
the backs of some of the cottages in the village street, the smell from
which was so bad that Fred and his cousins kept their distance while the
hole was being filled.
When the pit was about full, Sam carefully sprinkled it over with the
earth he had dug out, till it looked like the surrounding surface, when
he levelled the place all round, and made it all so much alike that, to
the ineffable delight of the boys, he could hardly tell where the
pitfall was exactly, and put one of his own feet in above the ankle.
Harry fairly danced with delight, but, seeing that the old man was
turning cross, he helped to cover the place again, and then they left
the pail at the cottage, and walked back to the Grange. As for the
people living close at hand, they were so much accustomed to seeing old
Sam working in the field that they took no notice of what he was doing;
so there the trap lay, all ready baited for the first man.
Now, it so happened that no one crossed the corner that night, as Sam
could readily see when he went down directly after breakfast next
morning, for all was just as he left it the night before; but Sam had
not gone many yards on his way back, when whom should he meet but Mr
Jones, looking very clean and dapper, and most terribly important. He
scorned to take any notice of old Sam, but strode on his way till he
came to the potato piece, when he deliberately crossed the little dry
ditch, trod down the tiny hedge, and then sticking his nose up in the
air, as much as to say, "I'll teach old Inglis to stop up old tracks,"
he stamped along more pompously than ever, while Sam stopped by a turn
in the road and watched him with eyes that seemed fascinated, so eagerly
did they follow the old excise officer.
"Stamp--stamp," went the pompous little man; and "brog--brog," went his
stick in the soft earth. "He'll miss it," said Sam to himself, for Mr
Jones had apparently reached the centre of the field, and turned round
to look about him, walking backwards. "Dear, dear," said Sam, "if he
only would--"
"Plosh!" went Mr Jones right in backwards; and "spatter" went the foul
mud all over his face and shirt-front, and then the poor little man
tried to scramble out, but slipped in again, making himself worse than
ever; but his next effort was more successful; and when Sam saw him
standing amongst the potatoes looking all piebald, his heart was joyful
within him, as he hurried home to tell the boys the success of their
plot.
Mr Inglis very soon learned from the boys what was the cause of Mr
Jones's visit, and for the moment he felt rather disposed to be cross;
but on looking at the laughing eyes before him, and the mirthful
countenance of Mrs Inglis, he was obliged to join in the merriment
himself; for as Philip very sagely remarked,--"You know, papa, he had no
business there." As for Mr Jones, he was nearly red-hot with fury when
he reached home, for he had been laughed at by more than one person on
his way; so when the door was opened, and his pet dog--a disagreeable
terrier--came smelling about his legs, his master kicked him savagely,
upon which the dog retorted by sticking his teeth into his assailant's
leg, and then running off howling as loudly as he could.
Mr Jones then set to work and washed himself, a process of which he
stood greatly in need; and by the time he had made himself dapper again,
he felt cooler and more comfortable; and he also began to wish he had
not told Mr Inglis that he should hear from his solicitor. But he
_had_ told him to, and therefore he felt that he must go to his
solicitor at once, or he would very soon have made up his mind to say no
more about it. So off Mr Jones trotted to his lawyer; that is to say,
his pony trotted, carrying Mr Jones in the little chaise, in which was
a carefully tied-up bundle containing the blackened and damaged suit of
clothes, which looked worse than ever by the time he reached the town,
for the trousers had communicated a vast amount of their filth to the
waistcoat and shirt-front, not forgetting to administer their odour at
the same time. When Mr Jones arrived at the lawyer's he found him at
home, and was soon closeted with him in his mouldy room, all amongst the
dust, papers, parchments, and tin boxes; and then and there Mr Jones
told his tale, and finished by drawing out the black garments, for there
was very little white to be seen on the trousers.
"But you did not tell me where the pitfall was made," said Mr De
Vellum, the solicitor.
"Made, sir?" said Mr Jones excitedly; "why, in that corner piece of
land, where the road makes the sharp turn, on the other side of the
village."
"What, where the finger-post stands at the corner?"
"To be sure," said Mr Jones; "the very place."
"Well, but," said Mr De Vellum, "that's the piece Mr Inglis bought at
the sale last year, when I bid for you."
"Just so," said Mr Jones; "I was walking across it, as I have done
hundreds of times before."
"Ah!" said Mr De Vellum, "but it has been enclosed, and you know, my
dear sir, you were trespassing. Let me order in a glass of wine," he
continued, for Mr Jones had luckily come for advice to a sensible man;
"let me order in a glass of wine, and then I'll give you my advice."
The wine was brought in, and then Mr Jones received his advice, which
cost him six shillings and eightpence, but would have been cheap at a
guinea, for the advice was to go home and take no more notice of the
matter.
Mr Jones was quite cool when he heard the solicitor's opinion; and it
was so much in agreement with his own, that he immediately shook hands,
said "good-day," and made the best of his way home.