"I really must get over," I said emphatically; "surely Miss SMITH can
lend us one of her carriages. You might ask her future husband."
"Can't do that. Sir," replied the ostler; "for we none of us know him.
However, I'll see what can be done for you. Could you drive yourself
over?"
"Oh, _do_ Papa," shouted my two sons in an ecstacy of delight. "It would
be _such_ fun! and mother isn't here to stop you."
"Well, I will have a shot at it," I returned; "although truth to tell I
am a little rusty. I have not driven for some time."
The ostler eyed me rather sharply, and retired. I then thought it my
duty to reprove my sons for their ill-timed levity, explaining that
their tomfoolery might have caused the ostler to refuse to entrust his
equipage to my care.
"But you have never driven in your life?" said GEORGE LEWIS HERSCHELL.
"Have you, Papa?"
"I cannot say that I have," I replied, with that truthfulness which is
the characteristic of my dealings in the domestic circle.
"Oh, what a game!" shouted EDWARD CLARKE RUSSELL, roaring with laughter.
Severely chiding my offspring, I proceeded to the hall door. The ostler
had been as good as his word. There was certainly a conveyance.
"It is not very showy, Sir," said the proprietor; "but I think it will
last a dozen of miles or so."
It was a small dog-cart, which conjured up visions of the toy
waggon-and-horse department in the Lowther Arcade. There was a horse in
the shafts. The harness was imperfect, and the collar showed its straw.
However, I took my seat, and the boys got up beside me. Then, amidst the
good wishes of the wedding party watching our progress, I started. The
horse immediately took up a course over the pavement, and no doubt aware
that the illuminating power at East Babbleton was primitive, attempted
to carry with him a lamp-post. We cannoned off the pavement into the
middle of the road, and were fairly "off."
"If you boys laugh any more," I said, with the utmost severity, "I will
turn you out and leave you."
"But Papa, if mother could only see us!" cried the pair, and then they
indulged in apparently unextinguishable bursts of merriment.
I had no further time for remonstrance, as the brute of a horse, after
beginning in a trot, had suddenly quickened its pace to a mad gallop.
And as it did this I noticed that a dust-cart was just in front of us. I
dragged at the reins, and with almost superhuman exertions brought the
beast to a full stop.
"Which is the way to East Babbleton?" I asked, to explain my rather
abrupt pull-up. "Am I taking the right road?"
The dustman looked at me, at the horse, smiled, and answered in the
affirmative. Seeing that we were now about to descend a hill, I got down
and led the horse by its bridle. The brute resented the attention. So
far as I could judge, without being an expert in horse-flesh, it seemed
to me to be suffering from tooth-ache. It shook its head when I touched
it, and appeared to be disinclined to go further.
"Do get in, Papa," said EDWARD CLARKE RUSSELL. "Perhaps he will go all
right if you leave him alone."
Adopting my son's advice, I mounted the cart, and once again jerked the
reins. The beast began at a trot, and then, as before, commenced a mad
gallop. We rapidly left Nearvices behind us, and brought ourselves to a
stop in front of a haystack.
"You see," I said, "the brute is open to reason. It was stopped by an
obstruction. Seeing the futility of further progress, it desisted in its
running."
"But look, Papa, at that," cried GEORGE LEWIS HERSCHELL, pointing to
what seemed to be the remains of a coal cart. The wheels were off, the
black diamonds were scattered about in all directions, and the shafts
were broken.
"Was that an accident?" I asked an old man who was lighting his pipe.
The venerable individual paused, looked at the pipe, looked at the
pieces of the cart, and looked at me. Then he rubbed the right side of
his head with the palm of his right hand.
"Well, yes, it was," he admitted, in an accent I cannot reproduce; but
added, in a tone that suggested that mishaps of a similar character
occurred on the average every five minutes; "but _that_ accident
happened near an hour ago."
This intelligence rather damped my ardour, and I immediately got off the
cart and insisted upon leading the brute down the next hill. The animal
protested, and shook its head. Remembering its possible tooth-ache, I
treated it with increased courtesy, telling it to "Gee-up" and "be a
good horse." I am sorry to say that the creature did not seem inclined
to acknowledge my kindness.
Having come to a level piece of road, I once more mounted into the
Lowther Arcade dog-cart, and urged on my partially wild career. I had
passed a four-winged post at cross roads, and had followed the sign
pointing to "Babbleton." I had got safely up to a farm-house, having
restrained _en route_ an inclination on the part of my horse to commit
suicide by jumping over the parapet of a bridge into a small mountain
torrent.
"Is this the way to East Babbleton?" I asked a rather cheery,
rosy-cheeked dame, who had been watching our manoeuvres with a kindly
smile, not entirely exempt from good-natured apprehension.
"No, this is not the road, Master," she returned, in the same
unapproachable dialect. "You ought to have borne to the left when you
came to the cross-roads."
Seeing that I had to go back, I seized each of the reins and called upon
my beast of a horse to make an effort. The noble animal answered bravely
to the call, and managed to turn round on a space of turf about the size
of a waggon wheel. It was really a very clever performance, and had it
been seen by Mr. RITCHIE, I fancy would have secured for us a lucrative
engagement for a "side show" at the Royal Westminster Aquarium.
"Well, that was a shave surely," said the dame of the cheery
countenance; "when I saw your off wheel go up in the air and hang over
the ditch I thought it would be all up with ye."
Accepting the compliment with dignified geniality, I asked our fair
critic if she could bait our horse.
"Well, I can give him a handful of hay," said the lady; "but I would not
take him out of the shafts for worlds. If I untied him I could not put
him together again."
Refreshed by the nourishment, our steed started again, and after
retracing our steps and nearly upsetting a hay cart, and narrowly
running down a pig, we reached East Babbleton in fairly good condition.
I looked at my watch and found that we had done the six miles in two
hours and a quarter. Having transacted my business, I now turned the
nose of my steed homewards. I had noticed with some alarm that I had
only an hour to get back to Nearvices if I wanted to catch the train for
London. This being so, I saw it was absolutely necessary that I should
act with decision. I held a council of war with my two sons, and we came
to the conclusion that we must get back as fast at we could, and when
there was a difficulty, risk it. We entered our conveyance and started.
I shall never forget the experience. It was absolutely delightful.
Giving _Flora_ (I came to the conclusion that my steed with the
tooth-ache must have been called _Flora_) her head, I urged her to
progress as rapidly as possible. The mare promptly answered to the call.
I said "chick," and she started off at a mad gallop. We absolutely flew
up-hill, down-hill, and would no doubt have entered "my lady's chamber"
had not the adjoining cottages been occupied by rustics. At our approach
children, ducks, dogs and gipsies fled in terror. We boldly cannoned
against waggons and shook milestones to their very foundations. I had
long since forgotten my nervousness, and had assumed an air that would
have been becoming in an individual nicknamed (let us say) "down the
road Billy."
I urged _Flora_ to "gee up," by suggesting that "five o'clock tea" was
waiting for her on her arrival at Nearvices. My two sons, GEORGE LEWIS
HERSCHELL and EDWARD CLARKE RUSSELL, also rendered valuable assistance
by waving their straw hats, and singing comic songs with a vehemence
that rendered the ballads undistinguishable from war ditties. As we
entered Nearvices, _Flora_ stumbled, and all but fell. However, with
wonderful skill, I picked her up at the end of my reins, and urged her
to fresh exertions by a feeble flick of the whip, that expended its
force on the shafts and a part of the collar. Again we flew on. We
renewed our acquaintance with the attractive lamp-post, we crossed the
sharp curve of the familiar pavement, we collided against the monument
to a worthy in the market-place, and drove up with a jerk in front of
the "Red Lion." I looked again at my watch; we had done the six miles in
twenty-two minutes. Considering the hills, dales, and obstructive
milestones, a very fair record.
"What, you have come back!" exclaimed the landlady of the "Red Lion."
"Why, we never expected to see you."
I found subsequently that the wedding party, after watching our
departure, had taken bets about our probable return. The most popular
wager seemed to be that we should reappear after midnight with a wheel,
a bit of harness, and the whip, but without the quadruped.
I have nothing further to relate save this. That after my recent success
I am thinking seriously of giving up the Bar and taking to the road. If
I can raise the required capital, I think I shall run a four-horse coach
between the Temple and Turnham Green. Both my boys are anxious to give
up their school to act as my guard.
By the way, I may add in conclusion that the parish clerk of East
Babbleton declared that he had never heard (until I mentioned it) of the
Great Gooseberry Will Case. So I suppose that my client must have been
wrong in his details.
_Pump-Handle Court,
September 22, 1894._
(_Signed_)
A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SELF-EVIDENT.
_The Colonel._ "WHAT WAS THAT NOISE I HEARD JUST NOW?"
_His Nephew._ "OH! I WAS BLOWING UP MY SERVANT!"
_The Colonel._ "MAY I ASK WHY?"
_His Nephew._ "WELL--AW--YOU SEE HE IS SUCH A CONFOUNDED IDIOT!"
_The Colonel._ "BUT DID IT NEVER OCCUR TO YOU THAT IF HE _WEREN'T_ SUCH
A CONFOUNDED IDIOT HE WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN YOUR SERVANT?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CUT DIRECT.