MRS. DIBBLE AND PAUL SOMERTON JOURNEY
TO SEVERNTOWN.
It did not need much persuasion to induce Paul to accompany Mrs. Dibble
on her projected journey to Severntown. He easily obtained permission
to leave the _Pyrotechnic_ for a couple of days, and on a miserable
December morning they arrived at the famous city of Severntown--famous
in the present day for many things: for its noble cathedral, as we have
already intimated; for its grand old river, its clean broad streets and
its narrow dirty ones, through which a king was chased by Cromwellian
troops.
A city to be proud of this same Severntown--to be proud of for its
historical associations, its eminent men and women, ancient and modern;
a city surrounded by a beautiful country, studded with the seats of
noblemen, whose four-in-hands are still oftentimes seen rattling over
the white road-ways; a city that was wont, in ancient days, to have
unusually fierce election contests, and which is now settling down
into moderate opinions, and throwing its latent political fire into
commercial enterprise. It manufactures all kinds of things which have
a strange sound when mentioned together, such as steam-engines and
porcelain, pickles and horse-hair, carriages and sauce, fire-grates and
shirt-studs, gin and boots, and other machines, condiments, ornaments,
spirits, and wearing apparel. It has quarrels about sewers, the price
of gas, and the state of the streets, like all other provincial towns,
and a long dirty road to the railway station.
There was a row of six cabs and an antique sort of bus at the railway
station, and several ragged youngsters who offered to carry the
travellers’ carpet-bags.
Close by the station Paul detected a comfortable-looking inn, into
which inn he and Mrs. Dibble directed their steps--not that Mrs.
Dibble approved of inns, for she did not, as she told Paul over and
over again, although in the course of business her father had been
called upon to build several establishments of the kind, and the
specifications had gone through her hands; but no doubt they were
necessary sometimes, and she thought they were justified in taking up
their abode at one, and having something hot and some tea at this inn
in particular, and on the shortest possible notice; so Paul ordered the
refreshment whilst Mrs. Dibble, struggling under a load of shawls and
comforters and rugs, was shown to her room.
If Mrs. Dibble had had the smallest compunction about entering the
railway tavern, she had no hesitation about the chops and the tea and
the muffins and watercress, which she was liberal enough to commend,
giving very practical illustrations of her approval of the fare, and
all the time talking of her poor appetite, and telling Paul how
seriously Mr. Dibble’s conduct had injured her health. She became
so confidential upon this point, and at length felt herself so much
at home that she permitted the hooks-and-eyes nearest her chin to
disengage themselves, and insisted upon Paul joining her in just
sixpenny-worth of spirits-and-water before they ventured out in the
cold to discover the yard by the Blue Posts Inn.
The spirits-and-water made them both very warm and comfortable, and
Paul at length offered his arm to his companion, and away they started
towards the point indicated.
It was a damp, drizzling night, and there were treacherous holes here
and there in the path which Mrs. Dibble assured Paul were in the
highest degree uncomfortable. She was sure her stockings would be that
splashed that they would not be fit to be seen.
Severntown did not look at all inviting in the hazy light of the
December gas; but Paul knew the place, and redeemed its character to
some extent by telling Mrs. Dibble that they were in the back slums,
which she said she could readily understand.
Through dirty streets, with one or two bridges over black, murky water;
past lazy carts and rumbling cabs splashing through the mud; by narrow
footways, which were sometimes no footways at all; it was certainly no
pleasant route to the Blue Posts. At length, however, they came to a
fine, open, well-lit street, and after walking a short distance in this
brighter locality, they turned sharply round into a narrow passage, and
then emerged into an open, muddy square.
Here was situated Digby Martin’s Temple of Magic, and Mrs. Dibble and
Paul stopped to study the scene before them.
About two hundred persons of all ages were crowded in front of a show
of the old-fashioned traditional stamp. A small platform, which was
ascended by broad wooden steps, was surmounted with a very florid
painting of a character that evidently proved highly attractive to the
audience. A lady in a low dress, with a wonderful necklace round her
neck, and very dazzling bracelets upon her arms, was represented in the
attitude of pointing at a box, from which two pigeons were flying, in
the direction of an auditory consisting of a king and numerous officers
in the army. Several rabbits were quietly peeping out of a saucepan
placed upon a fire, a shower of cards and fruit and watches was falling
from an inverted hat, and in the background were sundry mystic signs
beneath a blazing sun.
The companion picture was, if possible, of a higher order of merit,
though of a simpler character. It represented the young lady in the low
dress crouching beneath a capacious basket, and it also represented
the same basket being raised by a man with black moustachios, who
significantly pointed to the vacant space beneath; underneath was
written in big letters, “The Famous Basket Trick.”
Hung at various points in frames of various character, was represented
a tremendous dog going through an exciting and varied performance. Here
he stood upon his head, there he fired off a pistol; in another place
he was engaged in a sort of pugilistic encounter with a professional
bruiser, and around the frames which contained these pictorial
attractions was printed, “The celebrated dog ‘Momus’ in a round of
favourite and world-renowned characters.”
The proprietor of the caravan had had a great argument with the artist
who executed these latter works upon the propriety of calling Momus a
“dogess,” which the showman thought would be sure to “draw;” but the
artist had gravely assured him that such a title would not come within
the rules of strict art, however grammatical it might be, and this
settled the question at once.
Upon the platform a young lady, in pink muslin and spangles and
fleshings, with a crown upon her head, and many rows of curious beads
around her neck, was marching solemnly to and fro, to an old ballad
melody which a fellow in a bowler hat was twisting out of an organ, and
to which he was keeping time on a very hard drum.
Strutting backwards and forwards also, sometimes before the young lady
in muslin and sometimes behind her, was a gaunt, greyish-looking dog,
dressed up in military costume, and occasionally stopping to go through
little bits of military exercise.
Three flaming and spluttering naphtha lamps cast a flickering uncertain
light upon the singular scene, making the surrounding darkness all the
darker.
By-and-by the man at the organ laid down his drum-stick, and, taking up
a long whip, came to the top of the ladder, and after cracking the whip
in a grave, solemn sort of fashion, he struck the spangled lady in the
picture, and said in a loud voice,--
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, be in time, be in time! there be no time to
lose! we be just a-goin’ to commence! The mysterious Lady of the North
and the hemmernent Wizard--the greatest wonder in Europe! The wonderful
basket trick, or the mysterious secret, is pronounced by all who ’ave
seen it to be the greatest feat----”
There is no knowing how much more the speaker would have said
concerning the marvels of this famous exhibition had he not been
interrupted by three terrible screams, one following the other in rapid
and startling succession, and uttered by a stout woman in the crowd,
who was looking up at Dibble and fighting the air above her head with
two very short arms in a most alarming manner.
“Oh, here’s a lark--the old woman’s drunk,” said a boy, throwing his
hat up into the drizzly, mizzly air.
“Pat her on the back,” said an excited woman with a baby in her arms.
“Let me alone--let me alone!” at length Mrs. Dibble exclaimed, beating
her way through the crowd, and mounting the Temple steps amidst roars
of laughter and shouts of applause.
The gentleman with the whip became suddenly very much agitated, and
when he saw the woman approaching the platform, he fairly turned round
and bolted into the Temple.
Seeing this, a crowd rushed up after the old lady; but “Christabel,”
the showman’s daughter, seized the whip which Dibble had dropped,
called “Father” lustily, and began to defend the pass.
Digby Martin appeared in his shirt-sleeves, and in an instant struck
a splendid fighting attitude in face of the intruders, which caused a
number of them to change their minds, and produced from others sundry
coppers which entitled them to admission.
When they were inside, Paul amongst the number, they saw a gorgeous
array of tinselled cups and vases arranged on a black velvet dais, with
a shimmering wheel revolving in the background, Mr. Dibble leaning over
the stout woman and calling frantically for somebody to bring him some
water, whilst the renowned Momus was jumping round the pair and barking
in a most unmilitary fashion.
Before there was time for Dibble’s calls for water to receive any
attention, Mrs. Dibble looked up and requested Thomas, “dear Thomas,”
to conduct her to a private room, at which there were renewed shouts
of laughter.
Paul Somerton was fain to keep in the background, for he was getting
rather ashamed of the unexpected turn which affairs were taking. Dibble
said a few hurried words to the showman, and then, taking Mrs. Dibble
by the arm, disappeared at the side-door.
The audience made a rush to follow, but Digby Martin, the magician,
placed himself before the doorway and informed them that he could
assure them there was no more fun to be had out of the lady and
gentleman who had just retired, and that he would show them something
ten times funnier than what they had just seen; whereupon Paul quietly
took his leave, and made the best of his way to the Railway Tavern,
where he found Mrs. Dibble had just arrived with her husband.
Mrs. Dibble was in tears, and Dibble was talking to her rather loudly
and in an authoritative tone; but half an hour afterwards they were
all sitting quietly down to refreshment, and Mrs. Dibble’s journey
having ended in finding her husband, Paul now proposed to leave them in
order to catch the mail for Avonworth.
Mrs. Dibble thanked him for his kindness, and said she had no further
need, she thought, to trespass upon him; so he bade them adieu, and
went off laughing to the railway station.