MR. SPRAGGON'S EMBASSY TO JAWLEYFORD COURT
[Illustration]
When Mr. Sponge returned, all dirtied and stained, from the chase, he found
his host sitting in an arm-chair over the study fire, dressing-gowned and
slippered, with a pocket-handkerchief tied about his head, shamming
illness, preparatory to putting off Mr. Spraggon. To be sure, he played
rather a better knife and fork at dinner than is usual with persons with
that peculiar ailment; but Mr. Sponge, being very hungry, and well attended
to by the fair--moreover, not suspecting any ulterior design--just ate and
jabbered away as usual, with the exception of omitting his sick papa-in-law
in the round of his observations. So the dinner passed over.
'Bring me a tumbler and some hot water and sugar,' said Mr. Jawleyford,
pressing his head against his hand, as Spigot, having placed some bottle
ends on the table, and reduced the glare of light, was preparing to retire.
'Bring me some hot water and sugar,' said he; 'and tell Harry he will have
to go over to Lord Scamperdale's, with a note, the first thing in the
morning.'
The young ladies looked at each other, and then at mamma, who, seeing what
was wanted, looked at papa, and asked, 'if he was going to ask Lord
Scamperdale over?' Amelia, among her many 'presentiments,' had long enjoyed
one that she was destined to be Lady Scamperdale.
'No--_over_--no,' snapped Jawleyford; 'what should put that in your head?'
'Oh, I thought as Mr. Sponge was here, you might think it a good time to
ask him.'
'His lordship knows he can come when he likes,' replied Jawleyford, adding,
'it's to put that Mr. John Spraggon off, who thinks he may do the same.'
'Mr. Spraggon!' exclaimed both the young ladies. 'Mr. Spraggon!--what
should set him here?'
'What, indeed?' asked Jawleyford.
'Poor man! I dare say there's no harm in him,' observed Mrs. Jawleyford,
who was always ready for anybody.
'No good either,' replied Jawleyford--'at all events, we'll be just as well
without him. You know him, don't you?' added he, turning to Sponge--'great
coarse man in spectacles.'
'Oh yes, I know him,' replied Sponge; 'a great ruffian he is, too,' added
he.
'One ought to be in robust health to encounter such a man,' observed
Jawleyford, 'and have time to get a man or two of the same sort to meet
him. _We_ can do nothing with such a man. I can't understand how his
lordship puts up with such a fellow.'
'Finds him useful, I suppose,' observed Mr. Sponge.
Spigot presently appeared with a massive silver salver, bearing tumblers,
sugar, lemon, nutmeg, and other implements of negus.
'Will you join me in a little wine-and-water?' asked Jawleyford, pointing
to the apparatus and bottle ends, 'or will you have a fresh bottle?--plenty
in the cellar,' added he, with a flourish of his hand, though he kept
looking steadfastly at the negus-tray.
'Oh--why--I'm afraid--I doubt--I think I should hardly be able to do
justice to a bottle single-handed,' replied Sponge. 'Then have negus,'
said Jawleyford; 'you'll find it very refreshing; medical men recommend it
after violent exercise in preference to wine. But pray have wine if you
prefer it.'
'Ah--well, I'll finish off with a little negus, perhaps,' replied Sponge,
adding, 'meanwhile the ladies, I dare say, would like a little wine.'
'The ladies drink white wine--sherry,' rejoined Jawleyford, determined to
make a last effort to save his port. 'However, you can have a bottle of
port to yourself, you know.'
'Very well,' said Sponge.
'One condition I must attach,' said Mr. Jawleyford, 'which is, that you
_finish_ the bottle. Don't let us have any waste, you know.'
'I'll do my best,' said Sponge, determined to have it; whereupon Mr.
Jawleyford growled the word 'Port' to the butler, who had been witnessing
his master's efforts to direct attention to the negus. Thwarted in his
endeavour, Jawleyford's headache became worse, and the ladies, seeing how
things were going, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving our hero to his
fate.
'I'll leave a note on my writing-table when I go to bed,' observed
Jawleyford to Spigot, as the latter was retiring after depositing the
bottle; 'and tell Harry to start with it early in the morning, so as to get
to Woodmansterne about breakfast--nine o'clock, or so, at latest,' added
he.
'Yes, sir,' replied Spigot, withdrawing with an air.
Sponge then wanted to narrate the adventures of the day; but, independently
of Jawleyford's natural indifference for hunting, he was too much out of
humour at being done out of his wine to lend a willing ear; and after
sundry 'hums,' 'indeeds,' 'sos,' &c., Sponge thought he might as well think
the run over to himself as trouble to put it into words, whereupon a long
silence ensued, interrupted only by the tinkling of Jawleyford's spoon
against his glass, and the bumps of the decanter as Sponge helped himself
to his wine.
At length Jawleyford, having had as much negus as he wanted, excused
himself from further attendence, under the plea of increasing illness, and
retired to his study to concoct his letter to Jack.
At first he was puzzled how to address him. If he had been Jack Spraggon,
living in old Mother Nipcheese's lodgings at Starfield, as he was when Lord
Scamperdale took him by the hand, he would have addressed him as 'Dear
Sir,' or perhaps in the third person, 'Mr. Jawleyford presents his
compliments to Mr. Spraggon,' &c.; but, as my lord's right-hand man, Jack
carried a certain weight, and commanded a certain influence, that he would
never have acquired of himself.
Jawleyford spoilt three sheets of cream-laid satin-wove note-paper (crested
and ciphered) before he pleased himself with a beginning. First he had it
'Dear Sir,' which he thought looked too stiff; then he had it 'My dear
Sir,' which he thought looked too loving; next he had it 'Dear Spraggon,'
which he considered as too familiar; and then he tried 'Dear Mr. Spraggon,'
which he thought would do. Thus he wrote:
'DEAR MR. SPRAGGON,--
'I am sorry to be obliged to put you off; but since I came in from
hunting I have been attacked with influenza, which will
incapacitate me from the enjoyment of society at least for two or
three days. I therefore think the kindest thing I can do is to
write to put you off; and, in the hopes of seeing both you and my
lord at no distant day.
'I remain, dear sir, yours sincerely,
'CHARLES JAMES JAWLEYFORD,
'_Jawleyford Court._
'TO JOHN SPRAGGON, ESQ.,
&c. &c. &c.'
This he sealed with the great seal of Jawleyford Court--a coat of arms
containing innumerable quarterings and heraldic devices. Having then
refreshed his memory by looking through a bundle of bills, and selected the
most threatening of the lawyers' letters to answer the next day, he
proceeded to keep up the delusion of sickness, by retiring to sleep in his
dressing-room. Our readers will now have the kindness to accompany us to
Lord Scamperdale's: time, the morning after the foregoing. 'Love me, love
my dog,' being a favourite saying of his lordship's, he fed himself, his
friends, and his hounds, on the same meal. Jack and he were busy with two
great basins full of porridge, which his lordship diluted with milk, while
Jack stirred his up with hot dripping, when the put-off note arrived. His
lordship was still in a complete suit of the great backgammon-board-looking
red-and-yellow Stunner tartan: but as Jack was going from home, he had got
himself into a pair of his lordship's yellow-ochre leathers and new
top-boots, while he wore the Stunner jacket and waistcoat to save his
lordship's Sunday green cutaway with metal buttons, and canary-coloured
waistcoat. His lordship did not eat his porridge with his usual appetite,
for he had had a disturbed night, Sponge having appeared to him in his
dreams in all sorts of forms and predicaments; now jumping a-top of
him--now upsetting Jack--now riding over Frostyface--now crashing among his
hounds; and he awoke, fully determined to get rid of him by fair means or
foul. Buying his horses did not seem so good a speculation as blowing his
credit at Jawleyford Court, for, independently of disliking to part with
his cash, his lordship remembered that there were other horses to get, and
he should only be giving Sponge the means of purchasing them. The more,
however, he thought of the Jawleyford project, the more satisfied he was
that it would do; and Jack and he were in a sort of rehearsal, wherein his
lordship personated Jawleyford, and was showing Jack (who was only a clumsy
diplomatist) how to draw up to the subject of Sponge's pecuniary
deficiencies, when the dirty old butler came with Jawleyford's note.
'What's here?' exclaimed his lordship, fearing from its smartness, that it
was from a lady. 'What's here?' repeated he, as he inspected the direction.
'Oh, it's for _you_!' exclaimed he, chucking it over to Jack, considerably
relieved by the discovery.
'_Me!_' replied Jack. 'Who can be writing to me?' said he, squinting his
eyes inside out at the seal. He opened it: 'Jawleyford Court,' read he.
'Who the deuce can be writing to me from Jawleyford Court when I'm going
there?'
'A put-off, for a guinea!' exclaimed his lordship.
'Hope so,' muttered Jack.
'Hope _not_,' replied his lordship.
'It is!' exclaimed Jack, reading, 'Dear Mr. Spraggon,' and so on.
'The humbug!' muttered Lord Scamperdale, adding, 'I'll be bound he's got no
more influenza than I have.'
'Well,' observed Jack, sweeping a red cotton handkerchief, with which he
had been protecting his leathers, off into his pocket, 'there's an end of
that.'
'Don't go so quick,' replied his lordship, ladling in the porridge.
'Quick!' retorted Jack; 'why, what can you do?'
'_Do!_ why, _go_ to be sure,' replied his lordship.
'How can I go,' asked Jack, 'when the sinner's written to put me off?'
'Nicely,' replied his lordship, 'nicely. I'll just send word back by the
servant that you had started before the note arrived, but that you shall
have it as soon as you return; and you just cast up there as if nothing had
happened.' So saying, his lordship took hold of the whipcord-pull and gave
the bell a peal.
'There's no beating you,' observed Jack.
Bags now made his appearance again.
'Is the servant here that brought this note?' asked his lordship, holding
it up.
'Yes, _me_ lord,' replied Bags.
'Then tell him to tell his master, with my compliments, that Mr. Spraggon
had set off for Jawleyford Court before it came, but that he shall have it
as soon as he returns--you understand?'
'Yes, _me_ lord,' replied Bags, looking at Jack supping up the fat
porridge, and wondering how the lie would go down with Harry, who was then
discussing his master's merits and a horn of small beer with the lad who
was going to drive Jack.
Jawleyford Court was twenty miles from Woodmansterne as the crow flies, and
any distance anybody liked to call it by the road. The road, indeed, would
seem to have been set out with a view of getting as many hills and as
little level ground over which a traveller could make play as possible; and
where it did not lead over the tops of the highest hills, it wound round
their bases, in such little, vexatious, up-and-down, wavy dips as
completely to do away with all chance of expedition. The route was not
along one continuous trust, but here over a bit of turnpike and there over
a bit of turnpike, with ever and anon long interregnums of township roads,
repaired in the usual primitive style with mud and soft field-stones, that
turned up like flitches of bacon. A man would travel from London to Exeter
by rail in as short a time, and with far greater ease, than he would drive
from Lord Scamperdale's to Jawleyford Court. His lordship being aware of
this fact, and thinking, moreover, it was no use trashing a good horse over
such roads, had desired Frostyface to put an old spavined grey mare, that
he had bought for the kennel, into the dog-cart, and out of which, his
lordship thought, if he could get a day's work or two, she would come all
the cheaper to the boiler.
'That's a good-shaped beast,' observed his lordship, as she now came
hitching round to the door; 'I really think she would make a cover hack.'
'Sooner you ride her than me,' replied Jack, seeing his lordship was coming
the dealer over him--praising the shape when he could say nothing for the
action.
'Well, but she'll take you to Jawleyford Court as quick as the best of
them,' rejoined his lordship, adding, 'the roads are wretched, and Jaw's
stables are a disgrace to humanity--might as well put a horse in a cellar.'
'Well,' observed Jack, retiring from the parlour window to his little den
along the passage, to put the finishing touch to his toilet--the green
cutaway and buff waistcoat, which he further set off with a black satin
stock--'Well,' said he, 'needs must when a certain gentleman drives.'
He presently reappeared full fig, rubbing a fine new eight-and-sixpenny
flat-brimmed hat round and round with a substantial puce-coloured bandana.
'Now for the specs!' exclaimed he, with the gaiety of a man in his
Sunday's best, bound on a holiday trip. 'Now for the silver specs!'
repeated he.
'Ah, true,' replied his lordship; 'I'd forgot the specs.' (He hadn't, only
he thought his silver-mounted ones would be safer in his keeping than in
Jack's.) 'I'd forgot the specs. However, never mind, you shall have these,'
said he, taking his tortoise-shell-rimmed ones off his nose and handing
them to Jack.
[Illustration: MR. SPRAGGON'S EMBASSY TO JAWLEYFORD COURT]
'You promised me the silver ones,' observed our friend Jack, who wanted to
be smart.
'Did I?' replied his lordship; 'I declare I'd forgot. Ah yes, I believe I
did,' added he, with an air of sudden enlightenment--'the pair upstairs;
but how the deuce to get at them I don't know, for the key of the Indian
cabinet is locked in the old oak press in the still-room, and the key of
the still-room is locked away in the linen-press in the green lumber-room
at the top of the house, and the key of the green lumber-room is in a
drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe in the Star-Chamber, and the--'
'Ah, well; never mind,' grunted Jack, interrupting the labyrinth of lies.
'I dare say these will do--I dare say these will do,' putting them on;
adding, 'Now, if you'll lend me a shawl for my neck, and a mackintosh, my
name shall be _Walker_.'
'Better make it _Trotter_,' replied his lordship, 'considering the distance
you have to go.'
'Good,' said Jack, mounting and driving away.
'It will be a blessing if we get there,' observed Jack to the liveried
stable-lad, as the old bag of bones of a mare went hitching and limping
away.
'Oh, she can go when she's warm,' replied the lad, taking her across the
ears with the point of the whip. The wheels followed merrily over the
sound, hard road through the park, and the gentle though almost
imperceptible fall of the ground giving an impetus to the vehicle, they
bowled away as if they had four of the soundest, freshest legs in the world
before them, instead of nothing but a belly-band between them and eternity.
When, however, they cleared the noble lodge and got upon the unscraped mud
of the Deepdebt turnpike, the pace soon slackened, and, instead of the gig
running away with the old mare, she was fairly brought to her collar. Being
a game one, however, she struggled on with a trot, till at length, turning
up the deeply spurlinged, clayey bottomed cross-road between Rookgate and
Clamley, it was all she could do to drag the gig through the holding mire.
Bump, bump, jolt, jolt, creak, creak, went the vehicle. Jack now diving his
elbow into the lad's ribs, the lad now diving his into Jack's; both now
threatening to go over on the same side, and again both nearly chucked on
to the old mare's quarters. A sharp, cutting sleet, driving pins and
needles directly in their faces, further disconcerted our travellers. Jack
felt acutely for his new eight-and-sixpenny hat, it being the only article
of dress he had on of his own.
Long and tedious as was the road, weak and jaded as was the mare, and long
as Jack stopped at Starfield, he yet reached Jawleyford Court before the
messenger Harry.
As our friend Jawleyford was stamping about his study anathematizing a
letter he had received from the solicitor to the directors of the Doembrown
and Sinkall Railway, informing him that they were going to indulge in the
winding-up act, he chanced to look out of his window just as the contracted
limits of a winter's day were drawing the first folds of night's muslin
curtain over the landscape, when he espied a gig drawn by a white horse,
with a dot-and-go-one sort of action, hopping its way up the slumpey
avenue.
'That's Buggins the bailiff,' exclaimed he to himself, as the recollection
of an unanswered lawyer's letter flashed across his mind; and he was just
darting off to the bell to warn Spigot not to admit any one, when the lad's
cockade, standing in relief against the sky-line, caused him to pause and
gaze again at the unwonted apparition.
'Who the deuce can it be?' asked he of himself, looking at his watch, and
seeing it was a quarter-past four. 'It surely can't be my lord, or that
Jack Spraggon coming after all?' added he, drawing out a telescope and
opening a lancet-window.
'Spraggon, as I live!' exclaimed he, as he caught Jack's harsh, spectacled
features, and saw him titivating his hair and arranging his collar and
stock as he approached.
'Well, that beats everything!' exclaimed Jawleyford, burning with rage as
he fastened the window again.
He stood for a few seconds transfixed to the spot, not knowing what on
earth to do. At last resolution came to his aid, and, rushing upstairs to
his dressing-room, he quickly divested himself of his coat and waistcoat,
and slipped on a dressing-gown and night-cap. He then stood, door in hand,
listening for the arrival. He could just hear the gig grinding under the
portico, and distinguish Jack's gruff voice saying to the servant from the
top of the steps, 'We'll start _directly_ after breakfast, mind.' A
tremendous peal of the bell immediately followed, convulsing the whole
house, for nobody had seen the vehicle approaching, and the establishment
had fallen into the usual state of undress torpor that intervenes between
calling hours and dinner-time.
The bell not being answered as quickly as Jack expected, he just opened the
door himself; and when Spigot arrived, with such a force as he could raise
at the moment, Jack was in the act of 'peeling' himself, as he called it.
'What time do we dine?' asked he, with the air of a man with the entree.
'Seven o'clock, my lord--that's to say, sir--that's to say, my lord,' for
Spigot really didn't know whether it was Jack or his master.
'Seven o'clock!' muttered Jack. 'What the deuce is the use of dinin' at
such an hour as that in winter?'
Jack and my lord always dined as soon as they got home from hunting. Jack,
having got himself out of his wraps, and run his bristles backwards with a
pocket-comb, was ready for presentation.
'What name shall I _e_nounce?' asked Mr. Spigot, fearful of committing
himself before the ladies.
'MISTER SPRAGGON, to be sure,' exclaimed Jack, thinking, because
he knew who he was, that everybody else ought to know too.
Spigot then led the way to the music-room.
The peal at the bell had caused a suppressed commotion in the apartment.
Buried in the luxurious depths of a well-cushioned low chair, Mr. Sponge
sat, _Mogg_ in hand, with a toe cocked up, now dipping leisurely into his
work--now whispering something sweet into Amelia's ear, who sat with her
crochet-work at his side; while Emily played the piano, and Mrs. Jawleyford
kept in the background, in the discreet way mothers do when there is a
little business going on. The room was in that happy state of misty light
that usually precedes the entrance of candles--a light that no one likes to
call darkness, lest their eyes might be supposed to be failing. It is a
convenient light, however, for a timid stranger, especially where there are
not many footstools set to trip him up--an exemption, we grieve to say, not
accorded to every one.
Though Mr. Spraggon was such a cool, impudent fellow with men, he was the
most awkward, frightened wretch among ladies that ever was seen. His
conversation consisted principally of coughing. 'Hem!'--cough--'yes,
mum,'--hem--cough, cough--'the day,'--hem--cough--'mum,
is'--hem--cough--'very,'--hem--cough--'mum, cold.' But we will introduce
him to our family circle.
'MR. SPRAGGON!' exclaimed Spigot in a tone equal to the one in
which Jack had announced himself in the entrance; and forthwith there was
such a stir in the twilit apartment--such suppressed exclamations of:
'Mr. Spraggon!--Mr. Spraggon! What can bring him here?'
Our traveller's creaking boots and radiant leathers eclipsing the sombre
habiliments of Mr. Spigot, Mrs. Jawleyford quickly rose from her Pembroke
writing-desk, and proceeded to greet him.
'My daughters I think you know, Mr. Spraggon; also Mr. Sponge? Mr.
Spraggon,' continued she, with a wave of her hand to where our hero was
ensconced in his form, in case they should not have made each other's
speaking acquaintance.
The young ladies rose, and curtsied prettily; while Mr. Sponge gave a sort
of backward hitch of his head as he sat in his chair, as much as to say, 'I
know as much of Mr. Spraggon as I want.'
'Tell your master Mr. Spraggon is here,' added Mrs. Jawleyford to Spigot,
as that worthy was leaving the room. 'It's a cold day, Mr. Spraggon; won't
you come near the fire?' continued Mrs. Jawleyford, addressing our friend,
who had come to a full stop just under the chandelier in the centre of the
room. 'Hem--cough--hem--thank ye, mum,' muttered Jack. 'I'm
not--hem--cough--cold, thank ye, mum.' His face and hands were purple
notwithstanding.
'How is my Lord Scamperdale?' asked Amelia, who had a strong inclination to
keep in with all parties.
'Hem--cough--hem--my lord--that's to say, my lady--hem--cough--I mean to
say, my lord's pretty well, thank ye,' stuttered Jack.
'Is he coming?' asked Amelia.
'Hem--cough--hem--my lord's--hem--not well--cough--no--hem--I mean to
say--hem--cough--my lord's gone--hem--to dine--cough--hem--with
his--cough--friend Lord Bubbley Jock--hem--cough--I mean Barker--cough.'
Jack and Lord Scamperdale were so in the habit of calling his lordship by
this nickname, that Jack let it slip, or rather cough out, inadvertently.
In due time Spigot returned, with 'Master's compliments, and he was very
sorry, but he was so unwell that he was quite unable to see any one.'
'Oh, dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Jawleyford.
'Poor pa!' lisped Amelia.
'What a pity!' observed Mr. Sponge.
'I must go and see him,' observed Mrs. Jawleyford, hurrying off.
'Hem--cough--hem--hope he's not much--hem--damaged?' observed Jack.
The old lady being thus got rid of, and Jawleyford disposed of--apparently
for the night--Mr. Spraggon felt more comfortable, and presently yielded to
Amelia's entreaties to come near the fire and thaw himself. Spigot brought
candles, and Mr. Sponge sat moodily in his chair, alternately studying
_Mogg's Cab Fares_--'Old Bailey, Newgate Street, to or from the Adelphi,
the Terrace, 1_s._ 6_d._; Admiralty, 2_s._'; and so on; and hazarding
promiscuous sidelong sort of observations, that might be taken up by Jack
or not, as he liked. He seemed determined to pay Mr. Jack off for his
out-of-door impudence. Amelia, on the other hand, seemed desirous of making
up for her suitor's rudeness, and kept talking to Jack with an assiduity
that perfectly astonished her sister, who had always heard her speak of
him with the utmost abhorrence.
Mrs. Jawleyford found her husband in a desperate state of excitement, his
influenza being greatly aggravated by Harry having returned very drunk,
with the mare's knees desperately broken 'by a fall,' as Harry hiccuped
out, or by his 'throwing her down,' as Jawleyford declared. Horses _fall_
with their masters, servants _throw_ them down. What a happiness it is when
people can send their servants on errands by coaches or railways, instead
of being kept on the fidget all day, lest a fifty-pound horse should be the
price of a bodkin or a basket of fish!
Amelia's condescension quite turned Jack's head; and when he went upstairs
to dress, he squinted at his lordship's best clothes, all neatly laid out
for him on the bed, with inward satisfaction at having brought them.
'Dash me!' said he, 'I really think that girl has a fancy for me.' Then he
examined himself minutely in the glass, brushed his whiskers up into a
curve on his cheeks, the curves almost corresponding with the curve of his
spectacles above; then he gave his bristly, porcupine-shaped head a
backward rub with a sort of thing like a scrubbing-brush. 'If I'd only had
the silver specs,' thought he, 'I should have done.'
He then began to dress; an operation that, ever and anon was interrupted by
the outburst of volleys of smoke from the little spluttering, smouldering
fire in the little shabby room Jawleyford insisted on having him put into.
Jack tried all things--opening the window and shutting the door, shutting
the window and opening the door; but finding that, instead of curing it, he
only produced the different degrees of comparison--bad, worse, worst--he at
length shut both, and applied himself vigorously to dressing. He soon got
into his stockings and pumps, also his black Saxony trousers; then came a
fine black laced fringe cravat, and the damson-coloured velvet waistcoat
with the cut-steel buttons.
'Dash me, but I look pretty well in this!' said he, eyeing first one side
and then the other as he buttoned it. He then stuck a chased and figured
fine gold brooch, with two pendant tassel-drops, set with turquoise and
agates, that he had abstracted from his lordship's dressing-case, into his,
or rather his lordship's finely worked shirt-front, and crowned the toilet
with his lordship's best new blue coat with velvet collar, silk facings,
and the Flat Hat Hunt button--'a striding fox,' with the letters 'F.H.H.'
below.
'Who shall say Mr. Spraggon's not a gentleman?' said he, as he perfumed one
of his lordship's fine coronetted cambric handkerchiefs with
lavender-water. Scent, in Jack's opinion, was one of the criterions of a
gentleman.
Somehow Jack felt quite differently towards the house of Jawleyford; and
though he did not expect much pleasure in Mr. Sponge's company, he thought,
nevertheless, that the ladies and he--Amelia and he at least--would get on
very well. Forgetting that he had come to eject Sponge on the score of
insufficiency, he really began to think he might be a very desirable match
for one of them himself.
'The Spraggons are a most respectable family,' said he, eyeing himself in
the glass. 'If not very handsome, at all events, very genteel,' added he,
speaking of himself in particular. So saying, he adorned himself with his
spectacles and set off to explore his way downstairs. After divers mistakes
he at length found himself in the drawing-room, where the rest of the party
being assembled, they presently proceeded to dinner.
Jack's amended costume did not produce any difference in Mr. Sponge's
behaviour, who treated him with the utmost indifference. In truth, Sponge
had rather a large balance against Jack for his impudence to him in the
field. Nevertheless, the fair Amelia continued her attentions, and talked
of hunting, occasionally diverging into observations on Lord Scamperdale's
fine riding and manly character and appearance, in the roundabout way
ladies send their messages and compliments to their friends.
The dinner was flat. Jawleyford had stopped the champagne tap, though the
needle-case glasses stood to tantalize the party till about the time that
the beverage ought to have been flowing, when Spigot took them off. The
flatness then became flatter. Nevertheless, Jack worked away in his usual
carnivorous style, and finished by paying his respects to all the sweets,
jellies, and things in succession. He never got any of these, he said, at
'home,' meaning at Lord Scamperdale's--Amelia thought, if she was 'my
lady,' he would not get any meat there either.
[Illustration: ENTER MR. JACK SPRAGGON, FULL DRESS]
At length Jack finished; and having discussed cheese, porter, and red
herrings, the cloth was drawn, and a hard-featured dessert, consisting
principally of apples, followed. The wine having made a couple of
melancholy circuits, the strained conversation about came to a full stop,
and Spigot having considerately placed the little round table, as if to
keep the peace between them, the ladies left the male worthies to discuss
their port and sherry together. Jack, according to Woodmansterne fashion,
unbuttoned his waistcoat, and stuck his legs out before him--an example
that Mr. Sponge quickly followed, and each assumed an attitude that as good
as said 'I don't care twopence for you.' A dead silence then prevailed,
interrupted only by the snap, snap, snapping of Jack's toothpick against
his chair-edge, when he was not busy exploring his mouth with it. It seemed
to be a match which should keep silence longest. Jack sat squinting his
eyes inside out at Sponge, while Sponge pretended to be occupied with the
fire. The wine being with Sponge, and at length wanting some, he was
constrained to make the first move, by passing it over to Jack, who helped
himself to port and sherry simultaneously--a glass of sherry after dinner
(in Jack's opinion) denoting a gentleman. Having smacked his lips over
that, he presently turned to the glass of port. He checked his hand in
passing it to his mouth, and bore the glass up to his nose.
'Corked, by Jove!' exclaimed he, setting the glass down on the table with a
thump of disgust.
It is curious what unexpected turns things sometimes take in the world, and
how completely whole trains of well-preconcerted plans are often turned
aside by mere accidents such as this. If it hadn't been for the corked
bottle of port, there is no saying but these two worthies would have held a
Quakers' meeting without the 'spirit' moving either of them.
'Corked, by Jove!' exclaimed Jack.
'It is!' rejoined Sponge, smelling at his half-emptied glass.
'Better have another bottle,' observed Jack.
'Certainly,' replied Sponge, ringing the bell. 'Spigot, this wine's
corked,' observed Sponge, as old Pomposo entered the room.
'Is it?' said Spigot, with the most perfect innocence, though he knew it
came out of the corked batch. 'I'll bring another bottle,' added he,
carrying it off as if he had a whole pipe at command, though in reality he
had but another out. This fortunately was less corked than the first; and
Jack having given an approving smack of his great thick lips, Mr. Sponge
took it on his judgement, and gave a nod to Spigot, who forthwith took his
departure.
'Old trick that,' observed Jack, with a shake of the head, as Spigot shut
the door.
'Is it?' observed Mr. Sponge, taking up the observation, though in reality
it was addressed to the fire.
'Noted for it,' replied Jack, squinting at the sideboard, though he was
staring intently at Sponge to see how he took it.
'Well, I thought we had a bottle with a queer smatch the other night,'
observed Sponge.
'Old Blossomnose corked half a dozen in succession one night,' replied
Jack.
(He had corked three, but Jawleyford re-corked them, and Spigot was now
reproducing them to our friends.)
Although they had now got the ice broken, and entered into something like a
conversation, it nevertheless went on very slowly, and they seemed to weigh
each word before it was uttered. Jack, too, had time to run his peculiar
situation through his mind, and ponder on his mission from Lord
Scamperdale--on his lordship's detestation of Mr. Sponge, his anxiety to
get rid of him, his promised corner in his will, and his lordship's hint
about buying Sponge's horses if he could not get rid of him in any other
way.
Sponge, on his part, was thinking if there was any possibility of turning
Jack to account.
It may seem strange to the uninitiated that there should be prospect of
gain to a middle-man in the matter of a horse-deal, save in the legitimate
trade of auctioneers and commission stable-keepers; but we are sorry to say
we have known men calling themselves gentlemen, who have not thought it
derogatory to accept a 'trifle' for their good offices in the cause. 'I can
buy cheaper than you,' they say, 'and we may as well divide the trifle
between us.'
That was Mr. Spraggon's principle, only that the word 'trifle' inadequately
conveys his opinion on the point; Jack's notion being that a man was
entitled to 5_l._ per cent. as of right, and as much more as he could get.
It was not often that Jack got a 'bite' at my lord, which, perhaps, made
him think it the more incumbent on him not to miss an opportunity. Having
been told, of course he knew exactly the style of man he had to deal with
in Mr. Sponge--a style of men of whom there is never any difficulty in
asking if they will sell their horses, price being the only consideration.
They are, indeed, a sort of unlicensed horse-dealers, from whose presence
few hunts are wholly free. Mr. Spraggon thought if he could get Sponge to
make it worth his while to get my lord to buy his horses, the--whatever he
might get--would come in very comfortably to pay his Christmas bills.
By the time the bottle drew to a close, our friends were rather better
friends, and seemed more inclined to fraternize. Jack had the advantage of
Sponge, for he could stare, or rather squint, at him without Sponge knowing
it. The pint of wine apiece--at least, as near a pint apiece as Spigot
could afford to let them have--somewhat strung Jack's nerves as well as his
eyes, and he began to show more of the pupils and less of the whites than
he did. He buzzed the bottle with such a hearty good will as settled the
fate of another, which Sponge rang for as a matter of course. There was but
the rejected one, which, however, Spigot put into a different decanter, and
brought in with such an air as precluded either of them saying a word in
disparagement of it.
'Where are the hounds next week?' asked Sponge, sipping away at it.
'Monday, Larkhall Hill; Tuesday, the cross-roads by Dallington Burn;
Thursday, the Toll-bar at Whitburrow Green; Saturday, the kennels,' replied
Jack.
'Good places?' asked Sponge.
'Monday's good,' replied Jack; 'draw Thorney Gorse--sure find; second draw,
Barnlow Woods, and home by Loxley, Padmore, and so on.'
'What sort of a place is Tuesday?'
'Tuesday?' repeated Jack. 'Tuesday! Oh, that's the cross-roads. Capital
place, unless the fox takes to Rumborrow Craigs, or gets into Seedywood
Forest, when there's an end of it--at least, an end of everything except
pulling one's horse's legs off in the stiff clayey rides. It's a long way
from here, though,' observed Jack.
'How far?' asked Sponge.
'Good twenty miles,' replied Jack. 'It's sixteen from us; it'll be a good
deal more from here.'
'His lordship will lay out overnight, then?' observed Sponge.
'Not he,' replied Jack. 'Takes better care of his sixpences than that. Up
in the dark, breakfast by candlelight, grope our ways to the stable, and
blunder along the deep lanes, and through all the by-roads in the
country--get there somehow or another.'
'Keen hand!' observed Sponge.
'Mad!' replied Jack.
They then paid their mutual respects to the port.
'He hunts there on Tuesdays,' observed Jack, setting down his glass, 'so
that he may have all Wednesday to get home in, and be sure of appearing on
Thursday. There's no saying where he may finish with a cross-roads' meet.'
By the time the worthies had finished the bottle, they had got a certain
way into each other's confidence. The hint Lord Scamperdale had given about
buying Sponge's horses still occupied Jack's mind; and the more he
considered the subject, and the worth of a corner in his lordship's will,
the more sensible he became of the truth of the old adage, that 'a bird in
the hand is worth two in the bush.' 'My lord,' thought Jack, 'promises
fair, but it is _but_ a chance, and a remote one. He may live many
years--as long, perhaps longer, than me. Indeed, he puts me on horses that
are anything but calculated to promote longevity. Then he may marry a wife
who may eject me, as some wives do eject their husbands' agreeable friends;
or he may change his mind, and leave me nothing after all.'
All things considered, Jack came to the conclusion that he should not be
doing himself justice if he did not take advantage of such fair
opportunities as chance placed in his way, and therefore he thought he
might as well be picking up a penny during his lordship's life, as be
waiting for a contingency that might never occur. Mr. Jawleyford's
indisposition preventing Jack making the announcement he was sent to do,
made it incumbent on him, as he argued, to see what could be done with the
alternative his lordship had proposed--namely, buying Sponge's horses. At
least, Jack salved his conscience over with the old plea of duty; and had
come to that conclusion as he again helped himself to the last glass in the
bottle.
'Would you like a little claret?' asked Sponge, with all the hospitality of
a host.
'No, hang your claret!' replied Jack.
'A little brandy, perhaps?' suggested Sponge.
'I shouldn't mind a glass of brandy,' replied Jack, 'by way of a nightcap.'
Spigot, at this moment entering to announce tea and coffee, was interrupted
in his oration by Sponge demanding some brandy.
'Sorry,' replied Spigot, pretending to be quite taken by surprise, 'very
sorry, sir--but, sir--master, sir--bed, sir--disturb him, sir.'
'Oh, dash it, never mind that!' exclaimed Jack; 'tell him Mr.
Sprag--Sprag--Spraggon' (the bottle of port beginning to make Jack rather
inarticulate)--'tell him Mr. Spraggon wants a little.'
'Dursn't disturb him, sir,' responded Spigot, with a shake of his head;
'much as my place, sir, is worth, sir.'
'Haven't you a little drop in your pantry, think you?' asked Sponge.
'The _cook_ perhaps has,' replied Mr. Spigot, as if it was quite out of his
line.
'Well, go and ask her,' said Sponge; 'and bring some hot water and things,
the same as we had last night, you know.'
Mr. Spigot retired, and presently returned, bearing a tray with
three-quarters of a bottle of brandy, which he impressed upon their minds
was the 'cook's _own_.'
'I dare say,' hiccuped Jack, holding the bottle up to the light.
'Hope she wasn't using it herself,' observed Sponge.
'Tell her we'll (hiccup) her health,' hiccuped Jack, pouring a liberal
potation into his tumbler.
'That'll be all you'll _do_, I dare say,' muttered Spigot to himself, as he
sauntered back to his pantry.
'Does Jaw stand smoking?' asked Jack, as Spigot disappeared.
'Oh, I should think so,' replied Sponge; 'a friend like you, I'm sure,
would be welcome'--Sponge thinking to indulge in a cigar, and lay the blame
on Jack.
'Well, if you think so,' said Jack, pulling out his cigar-case, or rather
his lordship's, and staggering to the chimney-piece for a match, though
there was a candle at his elbow, 'I'll have a pipe.'
'So'll I,' said Sponge, 'if you'll give me a cigar.' 'Much yours as mine,'
replied Jack, handing him his lordship's richly embroidered case with
coronets and ciphers on either side, the gift of one of the many would-be
Lady Scamperdales.
'Want a light!' hiccuped Jack, who had now got a glow-worm end to his.
'Thanks,' said Sponge, availing himself of the friendly overture.
Our friends now whiffed and puffed away together--whiffing and puffing
where whiffing and puffing had never been known before. The brandy began to
disappear pretty quickly; it was better than the wine.
'That's a n--n--nice--ish horse of yours,' stammered Jack, as he mixed
himself a second tumbler.
'Which?' asked Sponge.
'The bur--bur--brown,' spluttered Jack.
'He is _that_,' replied Sponge; 'best horse in this country by far.'
'The che--che--chest--nut's not a ba--ba--bad un. I dare say,' observed
Jack.
'No, he's not,' replied Sponge; 'a deuced good un.'
'I know a man who's rayther s--s--s--sweet on the b--b--br--brown,'
observed Jack, squinting frightfully.
Sponge sat silent for a few seconds, pretending to be wrapt up in his
'sublime tobacco.'
'Is he a buyer, or just a jawer?' he asked at last.
'Oh, a _buyer_,' replied Jack.
'I'll _sell_,' said Sponge, with a strong emphasis on the sell.
'How much?' asked Jack, sobering with the excitement.
'Which?' asked Sponge.
'The brown,' rejoined Jack.
'Three hundred,' said Sponge; adding, 'I gave two for him.'
'Indeed!' said Jack.
A long pause then ensued. Jack thinking whether he should put the question
boldly as to what Sponge would give him for effecting a sale, or should
beat about the bush a little. At last he thought it would be most prudent
to beat about the bush, and see if Sponge would make an offer.
'Well,' said Jack, 'I'll s--s--s--see what I can do.'
'That's a good fellow,' said Sponge; adding, 'I'll remember you if you do.'
'I dare say I can s--s--s--sell them both, for that matter,' observed Jack,
encouraged by the promise.
'Well,' replied Sponge, 'I'll take the same for the chestnut; there isn't
the toss-up of a halfpenny for choice between them.'
'Well,' said Jack,' we'll s--s--s--see them next week.'
'Just so,' said Sponge.
'You r--r--ride well up to the h--h--hounds,' continued Jack; 'and let his
lordship s--s--see w--w--what they can do.'
'I will,' said Sponge, wishing he was at work.
'Never mind his rowing,' observed Jack; 'he c--c--can't help it.'
'Not I,' replied Sponge, puffing away at his cigar.
When men once begin to drink brandy-and-water (after wine) there's an end
of all note of time. Our friends--for we 'may now call them so,' sat sip,
sip, sipping--mix, mix, mixing; now strengthening, now weakening, now
warming, now flavouring, till they had not only finished the hot water but
a large jug of cold, that graced the centre of the table between two
frosted tumblers, and had nearly got through the brandy too.
'May as well fi--fi--fin--nish the bottle,' observed Jack, holding it up to
the candle. 'Just a thi--thi--thim--bleful apiece,' added he, helping
himself to about three-quarters of what there was.
'You've taken your share,' observed Sponge, as the bottle suspended payment
before he got half the quantity that Jack had.
'Sque--ee--eze it,' replied Jack, suiting the action to the word, and
working away at an exhausted lemon.
At length they finished.
'Well, I s'pose we may as well go and have some tea,' observed Jack.
'It's not announced yet,' said Sponge, 'but I make no doubt it will be
ready.'
So saying, the worthies rose, and, after sundry bumps and certain
irregularities of course, they each succeeded in reaching the door. The
passage lamp had died out and filled the corridor with its fragrance.
Sponge, however, knew the way, and the darkness favored the adjustment of
cravats and the fingering of hair. Having got up a sort of drunken simper,
Sponge opened the drawing-room door, expecting to find smiling ladies in a
blaze of light. All, however, was darkness, save the expiring embers in the
grate. The tick, tick, tick, ticking of the clocks sounded wonderfully
clear.
'Gone to bed!' exclaimed Sponge.
'WHO-HOOP!' shrieked Jack, at the top of his voice.
'What's smatter, gentlemen?--What's smatter?' exclaimed Spigot rushing in,
rubbing his eyes with one hand, and holding a block tin candlestick in the
other.
'Nothin',' replied Jack, squinting his eyes inside out; adding, 'get me a
devilled--' (hiccup).
'Don't know how to do them here, sir,' snapped Spigot.
'Devilled turkey's leg though you do, you rascal!' rejoined Jack, doubling
his fists and putting himself in posture.
'Beg pardon, sir,' replied Spigot, 'but the cook, sir, is gone to bed, sir.
Do you know, sir, what o'clock it is, sir?'
'No,' replied Jack.
'What time is it?' asked Sponge.
'Twenty minutes to two,' replied Spigot, holding up a sort of pocket
warming-pan, which he called a watch.
'The deuce!' exclaimed Sponge.
'Who'd ha' thought it?' muttered Jack.
'Well, then, I suppose we may as well go to bed,' observed Sponge.
'S'pose so,' replied Jack; 'nothin' more to get.'
'Do you know your room?' asked Sponge.
'To be sure I do,' replied Jack; 'don't think I'm d--d--dr--drunk, do you?'
'Not likely,' rejoined Sponge.
Jack then commenced a very crab-like ascent of the stairs, which
fortunately were easy, or he would never have got up. Mr. Sponge, who still
occupied the state apartments, took leave of Jack at his own door, and Jack
went bumping and blundering on in search of the branch passage leading to
his piggery. He found the green baize door that usually distinguishes the
entrance to these secondary suites, and was presently lurching along its
contracted passage. As luck would have it, however, he got into his host's
dressing-room, where that worthy slept; and when Jawleyford jumped up in
the morning, as was his wont, to see what sort of a day it was, he trod on
Jack's face, who had fallen down in his clothes alongside of the bed, and
Jawleyford broke Jack's spectacles across the bridge of his nose.
'Rot it!' roared Jack, jumping up, 'don't ride over a fellow that way!'
When, shaking himself to try whether any limbs were broken, he found he was
in his dress clothes instead of in the roomy garments of the Flat Hat Hunt.
'Who are you? where am I? what the deuce do you mean by breaking my specs?'
he exclaimed, squinting frightfully at his host.
'My dear sir,' exclaimed Mr. Jawleyford, from the top of his night-shirt,
'I'm very sorry, but--'
'Hang your _buts_! you shouldn't ride so near a man!' exclaimed Jack,
gathering up the fragments of his spectacles; when, recollecting himself,
he finished by saying, 'Perhaps I'd better go to my own room.'
'Perhaps you had,' replied Mr. Jawleyford, advancing towards the door to
show him the way.
'Let me have a candle,' said Jack, preparing to follow.
'Candle, my dear fellow! why, it's broad daylight,' replied his host.
'Is it?' said Jack, apparently unconscious of the fact. 'What's the hour?'
'Five minutes to eight,' replied Jawleyford, looking at a timepiece.
When Jack got into his own den he threw himself into an old invalid chair,
and sat rubbing the fractured spectacles together as if he thought they
would unite by friction, though in reality he was endeavouring to run the
overnight's proceedings through his mind. The more he thought of Amelia's
winning ways, the more satisfied he was that he had made an impression, and
then the more vexed he was at having his spectacles broken: for though he
considered himself very presentable without them, still he could not but
feel that they were a desirable addition. Then, too, he had a splitting
headache; and finding that breakfast was not till ten and might be a good
deal later, all things considered, he determined to be off and follow up
his success under more favourable auspices. Considering that all the
clothes he had with him were his lordship's, he thought it immaterial which
he went home in, so to save trouble he just wrapped himself up in his
mackintosh and travelled in the dress ones he had on.
[Illustration]
It was fortunate for Mr. Sponge that he went, for, when Jawleyford smelt
the indignity that had been offered to his dining-room, he broke out in
such a torrent of indignation as would have been extremely unpleasant if
there had not been some one to lay the blame on. Indeed, he was not
particularly gracious to Mr. Sponge as it was; but that arose as much from
certain dark hints that had worked their way from the servants' hall into
'my lady's chamber' as to our friend's pecuniary resources and prospects.
Jawleyford began to suspect that Sponge might not be quite the great
'catch' he was represented.
Beyond, however, putting a few searching questions--which Mr. Sponge
skilfully parried--advising his daughters to be cautious, lessening the
number of lights, and lowering the scale of his entertainments generally,
Mr. Jawleyford did not take any decided step in the matter. Mr. Spraggon
comforted Lord Scamperdale with the assurance that Amelia had no idea of
Sponge, who he made no doubt would very soon be out of the country--and his
lordship went to church and prayed most devoutly for him to go.