IN WHICH MR. SHUFFLETON GIBBS PRESENTS
HIMSELF IN ANOTHER CHARACTER.
Amongst the audience who had witnessed the amusing encounter between
Mr. Dibble and his wife, was Mr. Shuffleton Gibbs, who looked on with a
grave air of quiet enjoyment.
You would hardly have known him from our former description. He was
attired in respectable professional style, with just an assumption of
swellishness. His face was cleanly shaven, and he wore a low-crowned
hat, and a black wig. From a light, fair man, he had made himself up
dark. To a stranger he wore the marks of foreign travel; his cheeks
were “bronzed with the Eastern sun.”
The disguise was complete, and it certainly made the fellow
infinitely better looking than he was in his customary habit, and far
more attractive to the “feminine” mind than in either of his former
disguises.
He had come down to Severntown partly out of curiosity, partly on
speculation, with a personal desire to ferret out poor Dibble’s “little
game,” and also to run through Avonworth valley, and take a peep at
the neighbourhood of Barton Hall. His recent advertising scheme had
supplied him with a little ready cash, and he had augmented this at
écarté in a recently-established gambling-house, where he was unknown.
In funds, and anxious to make up a sufficient sum to enable him to set
up as a gentleman on the Continent, he had waited upon Mr. Richard
Tallant under an assumed name, and that gentleman had denied all
knowledge of him to his face. He would have no more dealings with his
police-hunted friend, and they had parted in anger, Richard Tallant
threatening to hand his former companion over to the police as an
impostor, and Mr. Gibbs making a vow as he left the high steps of the
fine West End house, to be revenged on “this mushroom upstart.”
Defiance and assumption seemed to be the leading features of Richard
Tallant’s policy. He defied everybody, he assumed an air of injured
dignity upon the slightest reference to his past career, talked of
envy, hatred, and malice, almost wept at his father’s name, and gave
splendid illustrations of his wealth in noble public subscriptions.
Scarcely a list of public donors to any charity that appeared in
the _Times_ without Richard Tallant held a place there. He had even
astonished the citizens of Severntown lately by suddenly appearing as a
subscriber to various local institutions. His father had rarely done as
much as this, though Severntown was the capital of the county in which
he resided; and people soon began to say that young Tallant was not
such a bad fellow after all.
The actions which he had threatened progressed very slowly. Writs had
been issued in several cases; but nothing further seemed to have been
done. This, however, speedily closed the mouths of other people who
might be inclined to say malicious things about the disgraced director
of the Eastern Bank. It is astonishing how people shrink before the
threat of an action for libel and slander, and it oftentimes happens
that those persons who are most ready to talk of vindicating their
characters, and who threaten actions for that purpose, are often all
that their traducers have said of them. A public man with a tolerably
settled conscience, and assured of his own probity, does not trouble
himself much about the cavillers who attack him, unless they attempt
to undermine his credit: then if he cannot afford to have his credit
undermined, he will blaze out at his libeller, and endeavour to put
himself right with the world. If he has money enough to stand the
undermining principle, he treats it with contempt.
It was so with Richard Tallant: he was not an honest man, and not so
rich as he professed to be; and this made it all the more necessary
that he should set up for an injured man and a wealthy one. He
convinced many people that he was the latter, and they speedily gave
him credit for being the former.
And thus it was that he had refused to sully even his memory with a
knowledge of Shuffleton Gibbs, who at once in his own way held his head
above the plebeian upstart, and thought of his own “gentle blood.”
“I will show the trumpery humbug, whether a Gibbs--the last of his
race--shall be scorned for naught by a mushroom iron-dealer. Shuffleton
Gibbs snubbed and threatened with the police!--Gibbs, the greatest
swell of all Oxford undergraduates, the pride of the river and the
forum, the man who drove the best cattle, and gave the most sumptuous
dinners! It is certainly going hard with me now, but it shall go harder
with Richard Tallant,” and Gibbs smiled sardonically, as he quietly
wended his way homewards, and revolved in his mind the notion of
visiting Severntown.
Not only was the ex-swell amongst the audience at the beginning of
that evening’s entertainment, in which Mr. and Mrs. Dibble figured so
prominently, but he remained afterwards, and took a lively interest in
“the mysterious lady” whom he applauded loudly.
She was a lively pleasant looking girl, this showman’s daughter, active
of limb and nimble of tongue. There was something in her appearance far
beyond the ordinary show girl. Then she was young and full of life and
buoyancy. She evidently enjoyed the part she played. The wonder and
amazement of the younger portion of her audience, and the undisguised
admiration with which some of the elder ones contemplated her round
little figure, her painted cheeks, and her well-formed arms, gave
her a real pleasure. She was slightly coarse in her manners, as the
reader has already seen: added to this she was vain, so the applause
of the miscellaneous low-bred audiences before whom she performed was
agreeable to her; and on the evening in question she was particularly
delighted at the marked way in which the nearest approach to a
gentleman she had even seen in the Temple, expressed his approval of
her tricks and of her personal appearance.
When Christabel brought out those two packs of cards, and shuffled
them, and handed them round, and tossed them about, Gibbs’s weak eyes
began to sparkle with unwonted fire.
It was quite delightful to see how clever Christabel was with those
bits of pasteboard. The audience might cut them as they pleased, and
think of what card they liked, she could always present them with the
counterfeit of their thoughts. Shuffle them as they might, in two or
three cuts she would bring all the suits together: blindfold her, and
she could pick out any card that was mentioned. She did twenty clever
things with the cards; not the ordinary showman’s tricks--not simply
the innocent jokes which mark the sport in drawing-rooms at Christmas
time; but genuine clever unaccountable tricks which elicited from Mr.
Jefferson Crawley, otherwise Shuffleton Gibbs, frequent exclamations of
“bravo, bravo.”
It was not the mere tricks that enraptured Mr. Crawley either; but
the dexterous way in which Christabel manipulated the cards and moved
any number of them to that part of the pack where it was necessary to
her success they should be. Dealing with ordinary players, and with
experienced players too, she could evidently turn up almost any card
she pleased.
This was the leading thought that cropped up in the mind of Mr.
Crawley. He envied the girl her dexterity, her lithe quick fingers, and
then he thought what a fortune she might be to any one who could give
her an education worthy of her powers.
When the performance was at an end, he waited until the magician
emerged from behind the curtain, whereupon he complimented him upon
his powers, and desired to be introduced to his wonderful daughter.
The showman with the aliases, looked inquiringly into the face of the
gentleman with the same possessions. Gibbs thought he understood the
expression.
“I have an interest in a certain exhibition of some importance, sir,”
said Gibbs, drawing himself up to his full height and forcing as much
assumption of virtuous circumspection into his bleary eyes as possible,
“and I have also a very slight acquaintance with a gentleman to whom
you directed one Dibble to write requesting a loan.”
“Your humble servant,” said the showman. “Christabel, when you have
dressed--this is our last performance to-night, sir,--when you have
dressed, here’s a gent wishes to see you.”
Momus hereupon came out to see the “gent,” making her best bow to
Gibbs, who took no notice of the “dawg,” but went on talking to the
magician.
“Is it only fifty pounds you require for the proposed extension of this
exhibition, haw?” said Gibbs.
“No more and no less,” said the showman, giving Momus a friendly kick
in the ribs for persisting in forcing her attentions upon a “gent” who
seemed studiously to disregard them.
“Well, I think the matter may be arranged. My friend is a close-fisted
fellow. I have--haw--only a very slight acquaintance with him; but
being in the neighbourhood, I undertook to call on his account; and,
between ourselves, I have stayed here--haw--a little on my own. Is
there any likelihood of your clever daughter accepting an engagement
in a large concern--a permanent affair in town? You see--haw--I am
straightforward with you.”
“Well, it aint a question that, as can be answered in a moment. What
would be the figure--and could you do anything for me?” said the
showman.
At this juncture a boy entered at the side-door with a note in his
hand, which note he presented to Mr. Martin.
“Here, Chris--come, come, what a time you are!” said the showman,
disappearing behind the curtain, that the wonderful lady might spell
out the contents of the letter. She had been taught to read and write
in her early days, and she had not much difficulty in making out that
her father’s presence was requested immediately, by Mr. Thomas Dibble,
at the Railway Tavern.
“Well, then, I must go,” said the showman. “You’ll be careful with this
’ere swell outside, mind, and make no promises--d’ye hear?”
“Yes, father,” said the girl, who was not just at that time on the
best of terms with her parent, and colleague in the mystic art, seeing
that he had knocked her down on the previous night, and kicked the
supper-things over, because she had contradicted him and expressed a
determination not to join in the scheme for introducing the Skeleton
into their exhibition.
When she came forth Mr. Martin introduced her to the “gent,” and with
a precautionary motion of his finger, he left the pair, in answer to
Dibble.
“I am delighted of this--haw--opportunity,” said Gibbs, showing his
teeth as of old, and trying to look fascinating, “of congratulating you
on your ability.”
“Thank you,” said the showman’s daughter, bluntly; “if you aint making
fun.”
She looked quite bright and sparkling; she had made a much more careful
evening toilette than usual.
“Making fun!” said Gibbs, taking her hand. “I should be more inclined
to make love,” he said; “for you certainly are the prettiest girl I
have seen this many a day.”
This was quite up to Christabel’s taste--the most delicious bit of
flattery she had ever heard.
“I declare positively you have quite made a fool of me--haw--to-night,”
he went on, showing his teeth again. “You are not offended at my saying
so?”
“Not I,” said Christabel. “What is there to be offended at?”
There was a charcoal stove in the show, and Gibbs drew the young lady
of the mystic cups to a seat beside it, and thereupon told her that he
had fallen madly in love with her; that he was a gentleman, though a
poor one; that if she felt she could love him in return, he would marry
her. But she must keep what he had said to her a secret from her father.
Then he dexterously drew from her an account of her life; the story
of Dibble’s joining the exhibition; and, above all, an account of the
quarrel with her father; and finally, after a lengthened conversation,
he escorted her to the little lodging close by, Momus being left to
mind the show, after Christabel had duly locked up the side-door,
extinguished the light, and let down the platform.
Gibbs was scrupulously attentive and gallant to the girl, and when
he left her she promised to give him an answer next day upon the
momentous question of elopement and marriage.
It was a rapid courtship this, but cleverly done; and Gibbs, you
see, had had a large experience in this way. Christabel was so much
impressed that she went up the dirty creaking stairs, and paraded
before about twelve inches of looking-glass, by the light of a tallow
candle.
Her father, when he returned home that night, was unusually bumptious
in his manner towards Christabel, his daughter, and more than usually
tipsy. Dibble had obtained a partial promise from Mrs. Dibble that the
showman should not want for fifty pounds, and before that, as we have
seen, a “gent” had given him similar hopes. Everything was going well
with him, and he was independent of everybody; his daughter, too, felt
particularly independent that night, and the result was a wordy warfare
about the Skeleton.
Christabel hated the sight of the Skeleton, and what was more, she
would leave the exhibition if he entered it.
The showman swore that the Skeleton should come into the exhibition,
and what was more, by ----, she should marry the Skeleton if she did
not mind what she was saying.
This was the greatest bit of tyranny in words which the showman felt he
could threaten, and he seemed to gloat over the idea. Yes, she should
marry the death’s head and bones, he said, and he chuckled and laughed
and thumped the table, and became quite jocular at the bare notion of
such a union.
Christabel, however, flamed up in return, and by degrees the showman
became terribly angry, and threatened to turn her out of doors.
The end was that Christabel went up-stairs, locked herself in her
bedroom, and began to look out her things for packing off the next
day. Meanwhile the showman lay down by the fire, went to sleep, and
dreamt he was proprietor of a pair of giants, two skeletons, five boa
constrictors, and a wax-work museum: that he wore a tiger-skin coat,
and walked about smoking a cigar, whilst a brass band beneath a
gorgeous display of pictures performed the Conquering Hero, with real
gas shining on their music books, and that all he had to do was to wear
the tiger-skin coat, smoke thick cigars, and swear at everybody who did
not please him.