John Gilpin never rode so fast through Edmonton as, on that memorable
afternoon in March, Major Constantine Tarry pounded over the cobbles of
Curtain High Street. His scarlet uniform was very bright against the
huge iron-grey steed on whose broad back he nodded with hat pressed down
as far as his fierce prickly eyebrows, with pigtail bobbing to the
motion and with sword whose martial clangour recalled every famous
battle in the history of the world. He was conversing with the widow
when Thomas burst upon them with the news of Phyllida's elopement.
"Gone, gone!" wailed the footman. "Oh Tyre! Oh Sidon! Hittites on
horseback and two Amorites in a chariot!"
"What the d----l do you mean, sir?" snapped the Major, "who is gone?"
"Miss Phyllida," groaned Thomas.
"Gone," breathed the widow, and the odour of diffused Sanspareil
permeated the room.
"Gone where?" shouted the Major.
"To the desert beyond Jordan," answered the footman.
"With what viper in sheep's clothing?" gasped Mrs. Courteen.
"Which way, which way, sirrah?" interrupted practical Major Tarry.
"Lunnon," ejaculated Thomas, fainting into the arms of a chair.
This was why the inhabitants of the Wells saw a veteran of the Low
Countries shaken up like a cherry in a basket. The sedate glories of the
town were never more nicely displayed than on this famous occasion.
From each bow-windowed shop came forth a bland shopkeeper and half a
dozen inquisitive customers.
The little Miss Pettitoes trilled in bird-like accents: 'What an
adventure!' and returned to a counter spangled with their gay little
purchases, for the Miss Pettitoes were twin sisters and to-morrow was
their birthday.
"What an adventure!" they trilled to each other over a dish of Hyson and
'What an adventure!' they trilled as they kissed each other 'good-night'
and went each to their bed chambers, identical save for the ribbons of
their fascinating little spinster night-caps.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the boys, as they pushed the maids into the
puddles the better to follow so surprizing a cavalier.
"Rot me!" said Mr. Golightly of the Grey Dragoons, as he lifted his
tortoise-shell rimmed monocle to his supercilious left eye, and 'Rot
you!' he ejaculated, as an enthusiastick trio of youth sheltered between
his remarkably tight-breeched legs.
"Shall we make such an impressive entrance, d'ye think?" asked Mr.
Lovely, as he and Mr. Clare came out of Mr. Canticle's shop, followed by
Mr. Canticle himself and Mr. Canticle's apprentice loaded with a huge
brown-paper parcel.
"Good day, Canticle," said Charles.
"Good day, Mr. Lovely, good day, sir, and depend on't, grey will be the
modish colour for gentlemen of quality; and I beg you not to be uneasy
about the light-blue lining. That, sir, I venture to predict, will
supply the exact touch of genteel eccentricity that consorts so amiably
with the friendly madness of the season. I envy you, gentlemen, I envy
you; and I beg to wish you many a pleasant adventure. The cut of that
riding-coat, Mr. Lovely, will enthral the most fastidious glance, and as
for your breeches, Mr. Clare, I should perhaps be considered boastful if
I said that they impart a tone, sir, a very distinguished tone to the
landskip. Good day, gentlemen."
The two young gentlemen laughed over Mr. Canticle's prophecies, and
excused his loquacity because he had been a limner till the vogue for
foreign painters compelled him to apply his art in another direction.
It was certainly a stroke of irony that the offer of a sartorial uncle
should make him, a very tolerable exponent of nudity, take up the
occupation of devizing cloaths.
By this time, Major Tarry's coat-tails were flapping to hedge-row winds,
and his astonishing course was less universally regarded; although, even
in open country, the clamorous transit caused much confusion to
itinerant carters, while a pair of blackbirds forsook their hardly built
nest and retired in voluble dismay to the densest coppice between
Baverstock Regis and Curtain Wells.
Mr. Jeremy Daish met our hero with a very lugubrious expression, as he
strolled into the coffee-room.
"What has your honour been doing to enrage Mr. Ripple? Oh, Mr. Lovely,
read this."
Charles took the proffered note, and half-smiling, half-sighing, perused
his decree of banishment.