IN WHICH THOMAS DIBBLE CONTINUES TO “RUN
AWAY.”
This strange, mongrel-looking dog, which Dibble encountered amongst the
corn, was not only a source of amusement to the runaway porter, but
gave rise to a variety of speculations far beyond the usual scope of
Dibble’s imagination.
As the evening came on, and the mist began to rise upon the brooks
and rivers, and the leaves whirled about amongst the dust, however,
poor Dibble’s somewhat dull imagination took its hue from surrounding
objects, and he suddenly became very thoughtful. He looked at the dog
as it walked by his side, with its nose nearly upon the ground and its
stumpy tail sticking up behind, and a sense of fear came over him.
All at once it occurred to Dibble that the devil could assume any shape
he pleased. Supposing this dog were the devil, come to claim the price
of the broken oath which Dibble had sworn to Gibbs! Just then the dog
began to walk on his hind-legs and barked, as if to confirm Dibble’s
supposition.
The runaway porter quickened his pace immediately, and his heart sunk
within him. He was glad to see a cart coming along the road; this
re-assured him, and he began to run as fast as he could; but the dog
soon dropped on all fours again, and overtook his companion.
Dibble would have cried out to the carter for help, but just at that
moment he came to a bend in the road, and saw a roadside inn and a
little village not many yards ahead. The dog, it would seem, saw the
inn, too, and the sight was not so pleasant to him as to Dibble, for
the dog stood still, and then turned tail and crept into the hedge, and
howled. Thomas was surprised at this, and plucked up courage enough
to whistle and beckon his companion, believing that if the dog were
not the devil, it was staying behind because of Dibble’s unkindness
in running away, and feeling that if it were the devil he might get
some assistance in the village to kill him, and thus get rid of the
devil for ever; which Thomas, in his own way, thought would be a grand
achievement.
It was some little time before the dog acknowledged Dibble’s
sympathetic whistles and encouraging words to “come along;” but at
length the vagrant animal came forth, and walked sadly and solemnly at
the porter’s heels.
They went into the roadside inn together, along the passage, past the
bar window, and into the tap-room, where two or three rough-looking
fellows were drinking beer. Dibble sat down, and the dog slunk away
into a corner under a long seat with a high back, called a “settle.”
One of the men, a little fellow with a fur cap on his head, and a brown
velvet jacket on his back, evidently noticed the dog, for he smiled
and winked at another fellow, who sat opposite to him.
“There’ll be some fun jest now,” said the little man, looking at
Dibble, who called for a pint of ale.
Several other people came in at this moment, three women amongst the
rest. Most of them had bundles, and the men all wore caps and shabby
coats; the women wore shawls and showy ribbons, and spoke in a hoarse,
foggy style, and reminded Dibble of the women he remembered presiding
over nut-stalls and shooting galleries at the Gloucestershire fairs
when he was a boy.
Whilst he was drinking his beer the window at the back was darkened
with several show-houses, caravans, and ricketty canvas-covered carts,
which were coming into the yard for the night, and then Dibble knew
that he was amongst show people. He ventured to ask an old man, who sat
next to him, and who was engaged in spinning a penny in a peculiar way,
and twitching it up his sleeve, if there was a fair coming off.
“Severntown races,” said the man, continuing his occupation, and
evincing a desire not to be interrupted.
“Oh!” said Dibble, looking round, and taking stock of his new
acquaintances. Several of them, he saw, had bundles like himself, and
all of them produced something to eat. Bread and sausages, bread and
herrings, bread and cheese, bread and onions, bread and black-pudding,
bread and tripe; and bread and many other things were exhumed from
those mysterious bundles, and from deep greasy pockets. The edibles
were demolished along with beer, and gin-and-water, and porter, and
cider, and other liquors, which a thick-fisted waiter brought in,
amidst much talking and some swearing.
All this time the little man in the velvet coat kept careful watch over
Dibble and the dog; and by-and-by, when the man who had been spinning
the penny went out with a person in an overcoat and tights (who had
been standing on his head in the villages through which he passed, and
doing other funny tricks upon a square piece of carpet), the little man
went and sat beside Dibble, at whom he nodded pleasantly, and for whose
especial behoof he tapped a nose somewhat flattened by hard usage and
dirty weather.
“I forgives yer, old gal, I forgives yer,” he said, directing one eye
towards the dog’s hiding-place, and winking at Dibble with the other.
Whereupon the dog came forth, rubbed his bony sides against Dibble’s
legs, and licked the porter’s dusty boots.
“Oh, this is the gent whose bin keind to yer,--eh, Mistress Momus?”
said the man, nodding pleasantly to Dibble.
The dog gave a short bark, and rubbed herself once more against Dibble.
“Well, well, I forgives yer, Momus,” said the man again, but this time
in a softer voice, and with a coaxing kindliness which the dog seemed
to understand.
“Come, then, old gal; stand up and make him a bow,” he went on,
motioning to the dog with his hand.
Dibble’s companion stood up as it had done in the corn-field, bowed
gravely to Dibble, and raised a forepaw to its head, like charity
school-boys on an inspection day.
“You’ve not fed the dawg too much, guvner,” said the man, patting the
dog’s head, and addressing Dibble.
“I only saw un this afternoon,” said Dibble, “for the first time, and I
never see a dog so hungry and so quiet over it, nor one half so funny;
I began to be afeared he wor something evil, he acted so much like a
Christian, surely,” said Dibble.
“Why, he’s been away for this week or more--broken-hearted a’most; and
we’ve bin obliged to fall back on the basket trick.”
Thomas looked inquiringly at the little man, and wondered why showmen
were so addicted to brown velveteen and pearl buttons.
“She can do pretty nigh everythin’, can Momus; she was the wife of a
clown’s dawg called Momus, so we called her Mistress Momus. Everythin’
she can do pretty nigh, but like a brute I expected her to do somethin’
more nor everythin’; nothin’ would do but she must talk, and she
couldn’t do that of course--no dawg could--and so we quarrelled. Didn’t
we, old gal?”
The dog licked her master’s hands, and looked up into his face.
“I wanted her to say ‘Thank ’e, sir.’ Poor lass, she tried hard, but
she couldn’t.”
Mistress Momus here opened her mouth, and jerked out something very
much like “thank,” and wagged her wretched stumpy tail.
“Never mind it, old gal; don’t try agin,” said the master, patting the
dog’s head. “She couldn’t say ‘thank ’e, sir,’ and I got savage and
kicked her, and druv her out, and threw a hammer at her. Poor Momus!
She’s sulked before for a day, but allers turned up for the evening
performances; but this time she’s been out, as I was a sayin’, about
a week--reglar done up, poor old gal, and as thin as a skeleton.
Why, you’d do to go with the human skeleton from Brummagem eh, old
lass?--eh? They could get up a bit of special business for yer, eh, old
wench?”
The dog barked, as if the notion was highly entertaining, and laid her
head on the showman’s knee.
“That’s a new idea, isn’t it, Momus,” he went on; “but never mind, old
gal, you shan’t go on as a skeleton. Tip us a tumble, just to show
you’ve got the free use of yer limbs, and then you shall have yer
supper.”
Momus turned a somersault, walked on her fore-legs, danced on her
hind-legs, and then made another bow to Mr. Dibble; and that runaway
conspirator was so diverted, that he forgot Mrs. Dibble and all his old
friends, and called for another pint of beer.
The showman ordered in a dish of tripe, of which savoury meat the
landlord had procured a large supply on the day previously for his
expected customers; and Dibble, the dog, and an interesting young lady
in faded silk and curls, were to be the showman’s guests; the young
lady being his daughter Christabel, as he informed Dibble, and one of
the most rising gals of the day.
Supper was laid on a little round table near the fireplace, and an old
pewter plate was placed on the floor for Momus.
“Give her all the scraps you’ve got, Dick,” the showman said to the
waiter, “and I’ll come down ’ansum for it.”
Dick brought in a variety of pickings, and heaped them upon the dish;
Momus speedily devoured them, and then lay down beside the plate, at
her master’s request, “becos there was tripe to foller.”
The tripe came in at length, hot and steaming, and floating about in a
milky flood redolent of onions. A candle was placed in the middle of
the table, and the showman held it over the brown dish for a moment to
feast his eyes upon the contents, and then he dashed in a wooden spoon
and served out a plateful to Dibble and his daughter, a few inches to
Momus, and a large quantity for himself. They all set-to with a will,
Christabel making short work with her allowance, and helping herself to
more, with sudden rapidity. Her father cautioned her not to be greedy.
She only deigned to reply in one word, the meaning of which, under the
circumstances, seemed to be particularly significant; for her father
began to heap more tripe upon his own plate, and Dibble began to ply
his knife and fork with increased rapidity. “Walker” was the word which
the fair Christabel had used with such magic effect; but there was no
necessity for the alarm which it evidently created in her fond parent’s
breast, seeing that she could not eat the whole of that second lot, and
the showman and Dibble were not compelled to stint their appetites.
After supper, the showman lighted a short pipe, and ordered
rum-and-water for three; Christabel brought some mysterious article
of finery from her basket, and began to sew; and the three looked
particularly happy and contented.
The showman drank Dibble’s health, and then asked him what his little
game might be.
Dibble drank the showman’s health and the young lady’s, and said he did
not know what the showman meant.
“Gammon,” said the showman. “Did yer ’ear that, Momus?”
Momus did not, for she was fast asleep at her master’s feet.
“Ever been in the profession?” the showman inquired.
Dibble looked puzzled, and said “No.”
“I mean the show business,” said the man, blowing a cloud of smoke into
the candlelight.
“No, I’ve been in different employ,” said Dibble, feeling hot and
comfortable with so much eating and drinking.
“Looking for work?”
“Yes,” said Dibble.
“Would you like the show business?”
“Shouldn’t mind anything to turn an honest penny,” said Dibble.
“Well, as you’ve bin good to the dawg,” said the showman, “I’ll give
you a few weeks’ regler employment certain, though the season is
getting to an end. I’ve been and invested in a horgan. I was afraid
the dawg ’ud never come back, and I’ve added a horgan to the drum for
the sake of hextra attraction on the outside. Would yer mind takin’
the outside dooty and grindin’ the horgan? I can give you a matter o’
twelve shillin a week and most o’ your grub.”
Dibble said he was much obliged to the gentleman, and he would be
glad to try his hand at the business; he could only give it up if he
did not suit. So he was engaged on the spot, and became part of the
establishment of “The Northern Magician,” otherwise Digby Marquis,
otherwise Bill Smith, the showman’s real name.
The company consisted of himself and Christabel, who figured as “The
Mysterious Lady,” and the dog, who was known as “Madam Momus the
four-legged Wonder.” They travelled with a big cart-load of canvas,
long poles, tressles, boards, and boxes, drawn by two ancient horses
remarkable for “high points,” long necks, and drooping heads.
They rose early the next morning and went on their way over dusty
high-roads, through green shaded lanes covered with leaves, over
country bridges, and beneath railway viaducts. They went on, now
merrily down hill with cheery words from Digby the showman, and now
sadly up hill with Dibble and Digby pushing behind, and Christabel and
Momus urging the horses in front. Occasionally they rested beside green
patches of grass, and unlimbered the horses that the poor brutes might
crop the herbage. On these occasions the showman smoked his pipe, and
gave Dibble bits of philosophical advice anent his “outside dooties” in
connection with the organ and the drum.
Sometimes they travelled in company with cheap-jacks and peep-shows;
but these were generally too swift of motion for Digby’s establishment.
Once a grand photographic saloon on radiant wheels, and with a smart
young lady doing crochet work at the front door, went saucily by,
without even a smile of contempt for the magician’s poles and bundles
and boxes. But Digby had a merry word for everybody, and Momus stood
upon her hind-legs and made derisive bows now and then when the
vehicles were particularly fast and showy.
At night, when the moon had risen, they arrived at the Severntown
race-course, and Dibble sat down to rest, and wonder what Mrs. Dibble,
Mr. Gibbs, and sundry other persons, thought about his running away.