A COUNTRY DINNER-PARTY
[Illustration]
'Well, what sport?' asked Jawleyford, as he encountered his exceedingly
dirty friend crossing the entrance hall to his bedroom on his return from
his day, or rather his non-day, with the 'Flat Hat Hunt.'
'Why, not much--that's to say, nothing particular--I mean, I've not had
any,' blurted Sponge.
'But you've had a run?' observed Jawleyford, pointing to his boots and
breeches, stained with the variation of each soil.
'Ah, I got most of that going to cover,' replied Sponge; 'country's awfully
deep, roads abominably dirty!' adding, 'I wish I'd taken your advice, and
stayed at home.'
'I wish you had,' replied Jawleyford, 'you'd have had a most excellent
rabbit-pie for luncheon. However, get changed, and we will hear all about
it after.' So saying, Jawleyford waved an adieu, and Sponge stamped away in
his dirty water-logged boots.
'I'm afraid you are very wet, Mr. Sponge,' observed Amelia in the sweetest
tone, with the most loving smile possible, as our friend, with three steps
at a time, bounded upstairs, and nearly butted her on the landing, as she
was on the point of coming down.
'I am that,' exclaimed Sponge, delighted at the greeting; 'I am that,'
repeated he, slapping his much-stained cords; 'dirty, too,' added he,
looking down at his nether man.
'Hadn't you better get changed as quick as possible?' asked Amelia, still
keeping her position before him.
'Oh! all in good time,' replied Sponge, 'all in good time. The sight of you
warms me more than a fire would do'; adding, 'I declare you look quite
bewitching, after all the roughings and tumblings about out of doors.'
'Oh! you've not had a fall, have you?' exclaimed Amelia, looking the
picture of despair; 'you've not had a fall, have you? Do send for the
doctor, and be bled.'
Just then a door along the passage to the left opened; and Amelia, knowing
pretty well who it was, smiled and tripped away, leaving Sponge to be bled
or not as he thought proper.
Our hero then made for his bedroom, where, having sucked off his adhesive
boots, and divested himself of the rest of his hunting attire, he wrapped
himself up in his grey flannel dressing-gown, and prepared for parboiling
his legs and feet, amid agreeable anticipations arising out of the recent
interview, and occasional references to his old friend _Mogg_, whenever he
did not see his way on the matrimonial road as clearly as he could wish.
'She'll have me, that's certain,' observed he.
'Curse the water! how hot it is!' exclaimed he, catching his foot up out of
the bath, into which he had incautiously plunged it without ascertaining
the temperature of the water. He then sluiced it with cold, and next had to
add a little more hot; at last he got it to his mind, and lighting a cigar,
prepared for uninterrupted enjoyment.
'Gad!' said he, 'she's by no means a bad-looking girl' (whiff). 'Devilish
good-looking girl' (puff); 'good head and neck, and carries it well too'
(puff)--'capital eye' (whiff), 'bright and clear' (puff); 'no cataracts
there. She's all good together' (whiff, puff, whiff). 'Nice size too,'
continued he, 'and well set up (whiff, puff, whiff); 'straight as a dairy
maid' (puff); 'plenty of substance--grand thing substance' (puff). 'Hate a
weedy woman--fifteen two and a half--that's to say, five feet four's plenty
of height for a woman' (puff). 'Height of a woman has nothing to do with
her size' (whiff). 'Wish she hadn't run off (puff); 'would like to have had
a little more talk with her' (whiff, puff). 'Women never look so well as
when one comes in wet and dirty from hunting' (puff). He then sank
silently back in the easy-chair and whiffed and puffed all sorts of
fantastic clouds and columns and corkscrews at his leisure. The cigar being
finished, and the water in the foot-bath beginning to get cool, he emptied
the remainder of the hot into it, and lighting a fresh cigar, began
speculating on how the match was to be accomplished.
The lady was safe, that was clear; he had nothing to do but 'pop.' That he
would do in the evening, or in the morning, or any time--a man living in
the house with a girl need never be in want of an opportunity. That
preliminary over, and the usual answer 'Ask papa' obtained, then came the
question, how was the old boy to be managed?--for men with marriageable
daughters are to all intents and purposes 'old boys,' be their ages what
they may.
He became lost in reflection. He sat with his eyes fixed on the Jawleyford
portrait above the mantelpiece, wondering whether he was the amiable,
liberal, hearty, disinterested sort of man he appeared to be, indifferent
about money, and only wanting unexceptionable young men for his daughters;
or if he was a worldly minded man, like some he had met, who, after giving
him every possible encouragement, sent him to the right-about like a
servant. So Sponge smoked and thought, and thought and smoked, till the
water in the foot-bath again getting cold, and the shades of night drawing
on, he at last started up like a man determined to awake himself, and
poking a match into the fire, lighted the candles on the toilet-table, and
proceeded to adorn himself. Having again got himself into the killing
tights and buckled pumps, with a fine flower-fronted shirt, ere he embarked
on the delicacies and difficulties of the starcher, he stirred the little
pittance of a fire, and, folding himself in his dressing-gown, endeavoured
to prepare his mind for the calm consideration of all the minute bearings
of the question by a little more _Mogg_. In idea he transferred himself to
London, now fancying himself standing at the end of Burlington Arcade,
hailing a Fulham or Turnham Green 'bus; now wrangling with a conductor for
charging him sixpence when there was a pennant flapping at his nose with
the words "ALL THE WAY 3D." upon it; now folding the wooden doors
of a hansom cab in Oxford Street, calculating the extreme distance he could
go for an eightpenny fare: until at last he fell into a downright vacant
sort of reading, without rhyme or reason, just as one sometimes takes a
read of a directory or a dictionary--"Conduit Street, George Street, to or
from the Adelphi Terrace, Astley's Amphitheatre, Baker Street, King Street,
Bryanston Square any part, Covent Garden Theatre, Foundling Hospital,
Hatton Garden," and so on, till the thunder of the gong aroused him to a
recollection of his duties. He then up and at his neckcloth.
"Ah, well," said he, reverting to his lady love, as he eyed himself
intently in the glass while performing the critical operation, "I'll just
sound the old gentleman after dinner--one can do that sort of thing better
over one's wine, perhaps, than at any other time: looks less formal too,"
added he, giving the cravat a knowing crease at the side; "and if it
doesn't seem to take, one can just pass it off as if it was done for
somebody else--some young gentleman at Laverick Wells, for instance."
So saying, he on with his white waistcoat, and crowned the conquering suit
with a blue coat and metal buttons. Returning his _Mogg_ to his
dressing-gown pocket, he blew out the candles and groped his way downstairs
in the dark.
In passing the dining-room he looked in (to see if there were any
champaign-glasses set, we believe), when he saw that he should not have an
opportunity of sounding his intended papa-in-law after dinner, for he found
the table laid for twelve, and a great display of plate, linen, and china.
He then swaggered on to the drawing-room, which was in a blaze of light.
The lively Emily had stolen a march on her sister, and had just entered,
attired in a fine new pale yellow silk dress with a point-lace berthe and
other adornments.
High words had ensued between the sisters as to the meanness of Amelia in
trying to take her beau from her, especially after the airs Amelia had
given herself respecting Sponge; and a minute observer might have seen the
slight tinge of red on Emily's eyelids denoting the usual issue of such
scenes. The result was, that each determined to do the best she could for
herself; and free trade being proclaimed, Emily proceeded to dress with all
expedition, calculating that, as Mr. Sponge had come in wet, he would, very
likely dress at once and appear in the drawing-room in good time. Nor was
she out in her reckoning, for she had hardly enjoyed an approving glance in
the mirror ere our hero came swaggering in, twitching his arms as if he
hadn't got his wristbands adjusted, and working his legs as if they didn't
belong to him.
"Ah, my dear Miss Emley!" exclaimed he, advancing gaily towards her with
extended hand, which she took with all the pleasure in the world; adding,
"and how have you been?"
"Oh, pretty well, thank you," replied she, looking as though she would have
said, "As well as I can be without you."
Sponge, though a consummate judge of a horse, and all the minutiae
connected with them, was still rather green in the matter of woman; and
having settled in his own mind that Amelia should be his choice, he
concluded that Emily knew all about it, and was working on her sister's
account, instead of doing the agreeable for herself. And there it is where
elder sisters have such an advantage over younger ones. They are always
shown, or contrive to show themselves, first; and if a man once makes up
his mind that the elder one will do, there is an end of the matter; and it
is neither a deeper shade or two of blue, nor a brighter tinge of brown,
nor a little smaller foot, nor a more elegant waist, that will make him
change for a younger sister. The younger ones immediately become sisters in
the men's minds, and retire, or are retired, from the field--"scratched,"
as Sponge would say.
Amelia, however, was not going to give Emily a chance; for, having dressed
with all the expedition compatible with an attractive toilet--a
lavender-coloured satin with broad black lace flounces, and some heavy
jewellery on her well-turned arms, she came sidling in so gently as almost
to catch Emily in the act of playing the agreeable. Turning the sidle into
a stately sail, with a haughty sort of sneer and toss of the head to her
sister, as much as to say, 'What are you doing with my man?'--a sneer that
suddenly changed into a sweet smile as her eye encountered Sponge's--she
just motioned him off to a sofa, where she commenced a _sotto voce_
conversation in the engaged-couple style.
[Illustration: MR. SPONGE AND THE MISSES JAWLEYFORD]
The plot then began to thicken. First came Jawleyford, in a terrible stew.
'Well, this is too bad!' exclaimed he, stamping and flourishing a scented
note, with a crest and initials at the top. 'This is too bad,' repeated
he; 'people accepting invitations, and then crying off at the last moment.'
'Who is it can't come, papa--the Foozles?' asked Emily.
'No--Foozles be hanged,' sneered Jawleyford; 'they always come--_the
Blossomnoses!_' replied he, with an emphasis.
'The Blossomnoses!' exclaimed both girls, clasping their hands and looking
up at the ceiling.
'What, all of them?' asked Emily.
'All of them,' rejoined Jawleyford.
'Why, that's four,' observed Emily.
'To be sure it is,' replied Jawleyford; 'five, if you count them by
appetites; for old Blossom always eats and drinks as much as two people.'
'What excuse do they give?' asked Amelia.
'Carriage-horse taken suddenly ill,' replied Jawleyford; 'as if that's any
excuse when there are post-horses within half a dozen miles.'
'He wouldn't have been stopped hunting for want of a horse, I dare say,'
observed Amelia.
'I dare say it's all a lie,' observed Jawleyford; adding, 'however, the
invitation shall go for a dinner, all the same.'
The denunciation was interrupted by the appearance of Spigot, who came
looming up the spacious drawing-room in the full magnificence of black
shorts, silk stockings, and buckled pumps, followed by a sheepish-looking,
straight-haired, red apple-faced young gentleman, whom he announced as Mr.
Robert Foozle. Robert was the hope of the house of Foozle; and it was
fortunate his parents were satisfied with him, for few other people were.
He was a young gentleman who shook hands with everybody, assented to
anything that anybody said, and in answering a question, wherein indeed his
conversation chiefly consisted, he always followed the words of the
interrogation as much as he could. For instance: 'Well, Robert, have you
been at Dulverton to-day?' Answer, 'No, I've not been at Dulverton to-day.'
Question, 'Are you going to Dulverton to-morrow?' Answer, 'No, I'm not
going to Dulverton to-morrow.' Having shaken hands with the party all
round, and turned to the fire to warm his red fists, Jawleyford having
stood at 'attention' for such time as he thought Mrs. Foozle would be
occupied before the glass in his study arranging her head-gear, and seeing
no symptoms of any further announcement, at last asked Foozle if his papa
and mamma were not coming.
'No, my papa and mamma are not coming,' replied he.
'Are you sure?' asked Jawleyford, in a tone of excitement.
'Quite sure,' replied Foozle, in the most matter-of-course voice.
[Illustration: MR. ROBERT FOOZLE]
'The deuce!' exclaimed Jawleyford, stamping his foot upon the soft rug,
adding, 'it never rains but it pours!'
'Have you any note, or anything?' asked Mrs. Jawleyford, who had followed
Robert Foozle into the room.
'Yes, I have a note,' replied he, diving into the inner pocket of his coat,
and producing one. The note was a letter--a letter from Mrs. Foozle to Mrs.
Jawleyford, three sides and crossed; and seeing the magnitude thereof, Mrs.
Jawleyford quietly put it into her reticule, observing, 'that she hoped Mr.
and Mrs. Foozle were well?'
'Yes, they are well,' replied Robert, notwithstanding he had express orders
to say that his papa had the toothache, and his mamma the earache.
Jawleyford then gave a furious ring at the bell for dinner, and in due
course of time the party of six proceeded to a table for twelve. Sponge
pawned Mrs. Jawleyford off upon Robert Foozle, which gave Sponge the right
to the fair Amelia, who walked off on his arm with a toss of her head at
Emily, as though she thought him the finest, sprightliest man under the
sun. Emily followed, and Jawleyford came sulking in alone, sore put out at
the failure of what he meant for _the_ grand entertainment.
Lights blazed in profusion; lamps more accustomed had now become better
behaved; and the whole strength of the plate was called in requisition,
sadly puzzling the unfortunate cook to find something to put upon the
dishes. She, however, was a real magnanimous-minded woman, who would
undertake to cook a lord mayor's feast--soups, sweets, joints, entrees, and
all.
Jawleyford was nearly silent during the dinner; indeed, he was too far off
for conversation, had there been any for him to join in; which was not the
case, for Amelia and Sponge kept up a hum of words, while Emily worked
Robert Foozle with question and answer, such as:
"Were your sisters out to-day?"
"Yes, my sisters were out to-day."
"Are your sisters going to the Christmas ball?"
"Yes, my sisters are going to the Christmas ball," &c. &c.
Still, nearly daft as Robert was, he was generally asked where there was
anything going on; and more than one young la--but we will not tell about
that, as he has nothing to do with our story.
By the time the ladies took their departure, Mr. Jawleyford had somewhat
recovered from the annoyance of his disappointment; and as they retired he
rang the bell, and desired Spigot to set in the horse-shoe table, and bring
a bottle of the "green seal," being the colour affixed on the bottles of a
four-dozen hamper of port ("curious old port at 48_s_.") that had arrived
from "Wintle & Co." by rail (goods train of course) that morning.
"There!" exclaimed Jawleyford, as Spigot placed the richly cut decanter on
the horse-shoe table. "There!" repeated he, drawing the green curtain as if
to shade it from the fire, but in reality to hide the dulness the recent
shaking had given it; "that wine," said he, "is a quarter of a century in
bottle, at the very least."
'Indeed,' observed Sponge: 'time it was drunk.'
'A quarter of a century?' gaped Robert Foozle.
'Quarter of a century if it's a day,' replied Jawleyford, smacking his lips
as he set down his glass after imbibing the precious beverage.
'Very fine,' observed Sponge; adding, as he sipped off his glass, 'it's odd
to find such old wine so full-bodied.'
'Well, now tell us all about your day's proceedings,' said Jawleyford,
thinking it advisable to change the conversation at once. 'What sport had
you with my lord?'
'Oh, why, I really can't tell you much,' drawled Sponge, with an air of
bewilderment. 'Strange country--strange faces--nobody I knew, and--'
'Ah, true,' replied Jawleyford, 'true. It occurred to me after you were
gone, that perhaps you might not know any one. Ours, you see, is rather an
out-of-the-way country; few of our people go to town, or indeed anywhere
else; they are all tarry-at-home birds. But they'd receive you with great
politeness, I'm sure--if they knew you came from here, at least,' added he.
Sponge was silent, and took a great gulp of the dull 'Wintle,' to save
himself from answering.
'Was my Lord Scamperdale out?' asked Jawleyford, seeing he was not going to
get a reply.
'Why, I can really hardly tell you that,' replied Sponge. 'There were two
men out, either of whom might be him; at least, they both seemed to take
the lead, and--and--' he was going to say 'blow up the people,' but he
thought he might as well keep that to himself.
'Stout, hale-looking men, dressed much alike, with great broad
tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles on?' asked Jawleyford.
'Just so,' replied Sponge.
'Ah, you are right, then,' rejoined Jawleyford; 'it would be my lord.'
'And who was the other?' inquired our friend.
'Oh, that Jack Spraggon,' replied Jawleyford, curling up his nose, as if
he was going to be sick; 'one of the most odious wretches under the sun. I
really don't know any man that I have so great a dislike to, so utter a
contempt for, as that Jack, as they call him.'
'What is he?' asked Sponge.
'Oh, just a hanger-on of his lordship's; the creature has nothing--nothing
whatever; he lives on my lord--eats his venison, drinks his claret, rides
his horses, bullies those his lordship doesn't like to tackle with, and
makes himself generally useful.'
'He seems a man of that sort,' observed Sponge, as he thought over the
compliment he had received.
'Well, who else had you out, then?' asked Jawleyford. 'Was Tom Washball
there?'
'No,' replied Sponge: '_he_ wasn't out, I know.'
'Ah, that's unfortunate,' observed Jawleyford, helping himself and passing
the bottle. 'Tom's a capital fellow--a perfect gentleman--great friend of
mine. If he'd been out you'd have had nothing to do but mention my name,
and he'd have put you all right in a minute. Who else was there, then?'
continued he.
'There was a tall man in black, on a good-looking young brown horse, rather
rash at his fences, but a fine style of goer.'
'What!' exclaimed Jawleyford, 'man in drab cords and jack-boots, with the
brim of his hat rather turning upwards?'
'Just so,' replied Sponge; 'and a double ribbon for a hat-string.'
'That's Master Blossomnose,' observed Jawleyford, scarcely able to contain
his indignation. 'That's Master Blossomnose,' repeated he, taking a back
hand at the port in the excitement of the moment. 'More to his credit if he
were to stay at home and attend to his parish,' added Jawleyford; meaning,
it would have been more to his credit if he had fulfilled his engagement to
him that evening, instead of going out hunting in the morning.
The two then sat silent for a time, Sponge seeing where the sore place was,
and Robert Foozle, as usual, seeing nothing. 'Ah, well,' observed
Jawleyford, at length breaking silence, 'it was unfortunate you went this
morning. I did my best to prevent you--told you what a long way it was, and
so on. However, never mind, we will put all right to-morrow. His lordship,
I'm sure, will be most happy to see you. So help yourself,' continued he,
passing the 'Wintle,' 'and we will drink his health and success to
fox-hunting.'
Sponge filled a bumper and drank his lordship's health, with the
accompaniment as desired; and turning to Robert Foozle, who was doing
likewise, said, 'Are you fond of hunting?'
'Yes, I'm fond of hunting,' replied Foozle.
'But you _don't_ hunt, you know, Robert,' observed Jawleyford.
'No, I don't hunt,' replied Robert.
The 'green seal' being demolished, Jawleyford ordered a bottle of the
'other,' attributing the slight discoloration (which he did not discover
until they had nearly finished the bottle) to change of atmosphere in the
outer cellar. Sponge tackled vigorously with the new-comer, which was
better than the first; and Robert Foozle, drinking as he spoke, by pattern,
kept filling away, much to Jawleyford's dissatisfaction, who was compelled
to order a third. During the progress of its demolition, the host's tongue
became considerably loosened. He talked of hunting and the charms of the
chase--of the good fellowship it produced: and expatiated on the advantages
it was of to the country in a national point of view, promoting as it did a
spirit of manly enterprise, and encouraging our unrivalled breed of horses;
both of which he looked upon as national objects, well worthy the attention
of enlightened men like himself.
Jawleyford was a great patron of the chase; and his keeper, Watson, always
had a bag-fox ready to turn down when my lord's hounds met there.
Jawleyford's covers were never known to be drawn blank. Though they had
been shot in the day before, they always held a fox the next--if a fox was
wanted.
Sponge being quite at home on the subjects of horses and hunting, lauded
all his papa-in-law's observations up to the skies; occasionally
considering whether it would be advisable to sell him a horse, and
thinking, if he did, whether he should let him have one of the three he had
down, or should get old Buckram to buy some quiet screw that would stand a
little work and yield him (Sponge) a little profit, and yet not demolish
the great patron of English sports. The more Jawleyford drank, the more
energetic he became, and the greater pleasure he anticipated from the meet
of the morrow. He docked the lord, and spoke of 'Scamperdale' as an
excellent fellow--a real, good, hearty, honest Englishman--a man that 'the
more you knew the more you liked'; all of which was very encouraging to
Sponge. Spigot at length appeared to read the tea and coffee riot-act, when
Jawleyford determined not to be done out of another bottle, pointing to the
nearly emptied decanter, said to Robert Foozle, 'I suppose you'll not take
any more wine?' To which Robert replied, 'No, I'll not take any more wine.'
Whereupon, pushing out his chair and throwing away his napkin, Jawleyford
arose and led the way to the drawing-room, followed by Sponge and this
entertaining young gentleman.
A round game followed tea; which, in its turn, was succeeded by a massive
silver tray, chiefly decorated with cold water and tumblers; and as the
various independent clocks in the drawing-room began chiming and striking
eleven, Mr. Jawleyford thought he would try to get rid of Foozle by asking
him if he hadn't better stay all night.
'Yes, I think I'd better stay all night,' replied Foozle.
'But won't they be expecting you at home, Robert?' asked Jawleyford, not
feeling disposed to be caught in his own trap.
'Yes, they'll be expecting me at home,' replied Foozle.
'Then, perhaps you had better not alarm them by staying,' suggested
Jawleyford.
'No, perhaps I'd better not alarm them by staying,' repeated Foozle.
Whereupon they all rose, and wishing him a very good night, Jawleyford
handed him over to Spigot, who transferred him to one footman, who passed
him to another, to button into his leather-headed shandridan.
After talking Robert over, and expatiating on the misfortune it would be to
have such a boy, Jawleyford rang the bell for the banquet of water to be
taken away; and ordering breakfast half-an-hour earlier than usual, our
friends went to bed.