A DINNER AND A DEAL
Another grand dinner, on a more extensive scale than its predecessor,
marked the day of this glorious run.
'There's goin' to be a great blow-out,' observed Mr. Spraggon to Mr.
Sponge, as, crossing his hands and resting them on the crown of his head,
he threw himself back in his easy-chair, to recruit after the exertion of
concocting the description of the run.
'How d'ye know?' asked Sponge.
'Saw by the dinner table as we passed,' replied Jack, adding, 'it reaches
nearly to the door.'
'Indeed,' said Sponge, 'I wonder who's coming?'
'Most likely Guano again; indeed, I know he is, for I asked his groom if he
was going home, and he said no; and Lumpleg, you may be sure, and possibly
old Blossomnose, Slapp, and, very likely, young Pacey.'
'Are they chaps with any "go" in them?--shake their elbows, or anything of
that sort?' asked Sponge, working away as if he had the dice-box in his
hand.
'I hardly know,' replied Jack thoughtfully. 'I hardly know. Young Pacey, I
think, might be made summut on; but his uncle, Major Screw, looks uncommon
sharp after him, and he's a minor.'
'Would he _pay_?' asked Sponge, who, keeping as he said, 'no books,' was
not inclined to do business on 'tick.'
'Don't know,' replied Jack, squinting at half-cock; 'don't know--would
depend a good deal, I should say, upon how it was done. It's a deuced
unhandsome world this. If one wins a trifle of a youngster at cards, let it
be ever so openly done, it's sure to say one's cheated him, just because
one happens to be a little older, as if age had anything to do with making
the cards come right.'
'It's an ungenerous world,' observed Sponge, 'and it's no use being abused
for nothing. What sort of a genius is Pacey? Is he inclined to go the
pace?'
'Oh, quite,' replied Jack; 'his great desire is to be thought a
sportsman.'
'A sportsman or a sporting man?' asked Sponge.
'W-h-o-y! I should say p'raps a sportin' man more than the sportsman,'
replied Jack. 'He's a great lumberin' lad, buttons his great stomach into a
Newmarket cutaway, and carries a betting-book in his breast pocket.'
'Oh, he's a bettor, is he!' exclaimed Sponge, brightening up.
'He's a raw poult of a chap,' replied Jack; 'just ready for anything--in a
small way, at least--a chap that's always offering two to one in
half-crowns. He'll have money, though, and can't be far off age. His father
was a great spectacle-maker. You have heard of Pacey's spectacles?'
'Can't say as how I have,' replied Sponge, adding, 'they are more in your
line than mine.'
The further consideration of the youth was interrupted by the entrance of a
footman with hot water, who announced that dinner would be ready in half an
hour.
'Who's there coming?' asked Jack.
'Don't know 'xactly, sir,' replied the man; 'believe much the same party as
yesterday, with the addition of Mr. Pacey; Mr. Miller, of Newton; Mr. Fogo,
of Bellevue; Mr. Brown, of the Hill; and some others whose names I forget.'
'Is Major Screw coming?' asked Sponge.
'I rayther think not, sir. I think I heard Mr. Plummey, the butler, say he
declined.'
'So much the better,' growled Jack, throwing off his purple-lapped coat in
commencement of his toilette. As the two dressed they discussed the point
how Pacey might be done.
When our friends got downstairs it was evident there was a great spread.
Two red-plushed footmen stood on guard in the entrance, helping the
arrivers out of their wraps, while a buzz of conversation sounded through
the partially opened drawing-room door, as Mr. Plummey stood, handle in
hand, to announce the names of the guests. Our friends, having the entree,
of course passed in as at home, and mingled with the comers and stayers.
Guest after guest quickly followed, almost all making the same
observation, namely, that it was a fine day for the time of year, and then
each sidled off, rubbing his hands, to the fire. Captain Guano monopolized
about one-half of it, like a Colossus of Rhodes, with a coat-lap under each
arm. He seemed to think that, being a stayer, he had more right to the fire
than the mere diners.
Mr. Puffington moved briskly among the motley throng, now expatiating on
the splendour of the run, now hoping a friend was hungry, asking a third
after his wife, and apologizing to a fourth for not having called on his
sister. Still his real thoughts were in the kitchen, and he kept counting
noses and looking anxiously at the timepiece. After the door had had a
longer rest than usual, Blossomnose at last cast up: 'Now we're all here
surely!' thought he, counting about; 'one, two, three, four, five, six,
seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, thirteen, fourteen,
myself fifteen--fifteen, fifteen, must be another--sixteen, eight couple
asked. Oh, that Pacey's wanting; always comes late, won't wait'--so saying,
or rather thinking, Mr. Puffington rang the bell and ordered dinner. Pacey
then cast up.
He was just the sort of swaggering youth that Jack had described; a youth
who thought money would do everything in the world--make him a gentleman,
in short. He came rolling into the room, grinning as if he had done
something fine in being late. He had both his great red hands in his tight
trouser pockets, and drew the right one out to favour his friends with it
'all hot.'
'I'm late, I guess,' said he, grinning round at the assembled guests, now
dispersed in the various attitudes of expectant eaters, some standing ready
for a start, some half-sitting on tables and sofa ends, others resigning
themselves complacently to their chairs, abusing Mr. Pacey and all dinner
delayers.
'I'm late, I guess,' repeated he, as he now got navigated up to his host
and held out his hand.
'Oh, never mind,' replied Puffington, accepting as little of the proffered
paw as he could; 'never mind,' repeated he, adding, as he looked at the
French clock on the mantelpiece now chiming a quarter past six, 'I dare say
I told you we dined at half-past five.'
'Dare say you did, old boy,' replied Pacey, kicking out his legs, and
giving Puffington what he meant for a friendly poke in the stomach, but
which in reality nearly knocked his wind out; 'dare say you did, old boy,
but so you did last time, if you remember, and deuce a bite
did I get before six; so I thought I'd be quits with you
this--_he--he--he--haw--haw--haw_,' grinning and staring about as if he had
done something very clever.
[Illustration: MR. PACEY]
Pacey was one of those deplorable beings--a country swell. Tomkins and
Hopkins, the haberdashers of Swillingford, never exhibited an ugly
out-of-the-way neckcloth or waistcoat with the words 'patronized by the
Prince,' 'very fashionable,' or 'quite the go,' upon them, but he
immediately adorned himself in one. On the present occasion he was attired
in a wide-stretching, lace-tipped, black Joinville, with recumbent gills,
showing the heavy amplitude of his enormous jaws, while the extreme
scooping out of a collarless, flashy-buttoned, chain-daubed, black silk
waistcoat, with broad blue stripes, afforded an uninterrupted view of a
costly embroidered shirt, the view extending, indeed, up to a portion of
his white satin 'forget-me-not' embroidered braces. His coat was a
broad-sterned, brass-buttoned blue, with pockets outside, and of course he
wore a pair of creaking highly varnished boots. He was apparently, about
twenty; just about the age when a youth thinks it fine to associate with
men, and an age at which some men are not above taking advantage of a
youth. Perhaps he looked rather older than he was, for he was stiff built
and strong, with an ample crop of whiskers extending from his great red
docken ears round his harvest moon of a face. He was lumpy, and clumsy, and
heavy all over. Having now got inducted, he began to stare round the party,
and first addressed our worthy friend Mr. Spraggon.
'Well, Sprag, how are you?' asked he.
'Well, Specs' (alluding to his father's trade), 'how are you?' replied
Jack, with a growl, to the evident satisfaction of the party, who seemed to
regard Pacey as the common enemy.
Fortunately just at the moment Mr. Plummey restored harmony by announcing
dinner; and after the usual backing and retiring of mock modesty, Mr.
Puffington said he would 'show them the way,' when there was as great a
rush to get in, to avoid the bugbear of sitting with their backs to the
fire, as there had been apparent disposition not to go at all.
Notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of affairs, Mr. Spraggon placed
himself next Mr. Pacey, who sat a good way down the table, while Mr. Sponge
occupied the post of honour by our host.
In accordance with the usual tactics of these sort of gentlemen, Spraggon
and Sponge essayed to be two--if not exactly strangers, at all events
gentlemen with very little acquaintance. Spraggon took advantage of a dead
silence to call up the table to _Mister_ Sponge to take wine; a compliment
that Sponge acknowledged the accordance of by a very low bow into his
plate, and by-and-by Mister Sponge 'Mistered' Mr. Spraggon to return the
compliment.
'Do you know much of that--that--that--_chap_?' (he would have said snob if
he'd thought it would be safe) asked Pacey, as Sponge returned to still
life after the first wine ceremony.
'No,' replied Spraggon, 'nor do I wish.'
'Great snob,' observed Pacey.
'Shocking,' assented Spraggon.
'He's got a good horse or two, though,' observed Pacey; 'I saw them on the
road coming here the other day.' Pacey, like many youngsters, professed to
be a judge of horses, and thought himself rather sharp at a deal.
'They are _good_ horses,' replied Jack, with an emphasis on the good,
adding, 'I'd be very glad to have one of them.'
Mr. Spraggon then asked Mr. Pacey to take champagne, as the commencement of
a better understanding.
The wine flowed freely, and the guests, particularly the fresh infusion,
did ample justice to it. The guests of the day before, having indulged
somewhat freely, were more moderate at first, though they seemed well
inclined to do their best after they got their stomachs a little restored.
Spraggon could drink any given quantity at any time.
The conversation got brisker and brisker: and before the cloth was drawn
there was a very general clamour, in which all sorts of subjects seemed to
be mixed--each man addressing himself to his immediate neighbour; one
talking of taxes--another of tares--a third, of hunting and the system of
kennel--a fourth, of the corn-laws--old Blossomnose, about tithes--Slapp,
about timber and water-jumping--Miller, about Collison's pills; and Guano,
about anything that he could get a word edged in about. Great, indeed, was
the hubbub. Gradually, however, as the evening advanced Pacey and Guano
out-talked the rest, and at length Pacey got the noise pretty well to
himself. When anything definite could be extracted from the mass of
confusion, he was expatiating on steeple-chasing, hurdle-racing, weights
for age, ons and offs clever--a sort of mixture of hunting, racing, and
'Alken.'
Sponge cocked his ear, and sat on the watch, occasionally hazarding an
observation, while Jack, who was next Pacey, on the left, pretended to
decry Sponge's judgement, asking _sotto voce_, with a whiff through his
nose, what such a Cockney as that could know about horses? What between
Jack's encouragement, and the inspiring influence of the bottle, aided by
his own self-sufficiency, Pacey began to look upon Sponge with anything but
admiration; and at last it occurred to him that he would be a very proper
subject to, what he called, 'take the shine out of.'
'That isn't a bad-like nag, that chestnut of yours, for the wheeler of a
coach, Mr. Sponge,' exclaimed he, at the instigation of Spraggon, to our
friend, producing, of course, a loud guffaw from the party.
'No, he isn't,' replied Sponge coolly, adding, 'very like one, I should
say.'
'Devilish _good_ horse,' growled Jack in Pacey's ear.
'Oh, I dare say,' whispered Pacey, pretending to be scraping up the orange
syrup in his plate, adding, 'I'm only chaffing the beggar.'
'He looks solitary without the coach at his tail,' continued Pacey, looking
up, and again addressing Sponge up the table.
'He does,' affirmed Sponge, amidst the laughter of the party.
Pacey didn't know how to take this; whether as a 'sell' or a compliment to
his own wit. He sat for a few seconds grinning and staring like a fool; at
last after gulping down a bumper of claret, he again fixed his unmeaning
green eyes upon Sponge, and exclaimed:
'I'll challenge your horse, Mr. Sponge.'
A burst of applause followed the announcement; for it was evident that
amusement was in store.
'You'll w-h-a-w-t?' replied Sponge, staring, and pretending ignorance.
'I'll challenge your horse,' repeated Pacey with confidence, and in a tone
that stopped the lingering murmur of conversation, and fixed the attention
of the company on himself.
'I don't understand you,' replied Sponge, pretending astonishment.
'Lor bless us! why, where have you lived all your life?' asked Pacey.
'Oh, partly in one place, and partly in another,' was the answer.
'I should think so,' replied Pacey, with a look of compassion, adding, in
an undertone, 'a good deal with your mother, I should think.'
'If you could get that horse at a moderate figure,' whispered Jack to his
neighbour, and squinting his eyes inside out as he spoke, 'he's well worth
having.'
'The beggar won't sell him,' muttered Pacey, who was fonder of talking
about buying horses than of buying them.
'Oh yes, he will,' replied Jack; 'he didn't understand what you meant. Mr.
Sponge,' said he, addressing himself slowly and distinctly up the table to
our hero--'Mr. Sponge, my friend Mr. Pacey here challenges your chestnut.'
Sponge still stared in well-feigned astonishment.
'It's a custom we have in this country,' continued Jack, looking, as he
thought, at Sponge, but, in reality, squinting most frightfully at the
sideboard.
'Do you mean he wants to buy him?' asked Sponge.
'Yes,' replied Jack confidently.
'No, I don't,' whispered Pacey, giving Jack a kick under the table. Pacey
had not yet drunk sufficient wine to be rash.
'Yes, yes,' replied Jack tartly, 'you do,' adding, in an undertone, 'leave
it to me, man, and I'll let you in for a good thing. Yes, Mr. Sponge,'
continued he, addressing himself to our hero, 'Mr. Pacey fancies the
chestnut and challenges him.'
'Why doesn't he ask the price?' replied Sponge, who was always ready for a
deal.
'Ah, the price must be left to a third party,' said Jack. 'The principle of
the thing is this,' continued he, enlisting the aid of his fingers to
illustrate his position: 'Mr. Pacey, here,' said he, applying the
forefinger of his right hand to the thumb of the left, looking earnestly at
Sponge, but in reality squinting up at the chandelier--'Mr. Pacey here
challenges your horse Multum-in-somethin'--I forget what you said you call
him--but the nag I rode to-day. Well, then,' continued Jack, 'you'
(demonstrating Sponge by pressing his two forefingers together, and holding
them erect) 'accept the challenge, but can challenge anything Mr. Pacey
has--a horse, dog, gun--anything; and, having fixed on somethin' then a
third party' (who Jack represented by cocking up his thumb), 'any one you
like to name, makes the award. Well, having agreed upon that party' (Jack
still cocking up the thumb to represent the arbitrator), 'he says, "Give
me money." The two then put, say half a crown or five shillin's each, into
his hand, to which the arbitrator adds the same sum for himself. That being
done, the arbitrator says, "Hands in pockets, gen'lemen."' (Jack diving his
right hand up to the hilt in his own.) 'If this be an award, Mr. Pacey's
horse gives Mr. Sponge's horse so much--draw.' (Jack suiting the action to
the word, and laying his fist on the table.) 'If each person's hand
contains money, it is an award--it is a deal; and the arbitrator gets the
half-crowns, or whatever it is, for his trouble; so that, in course, he has
a direct interest in makin' such an award as will lead to a deal. _Now_ do
you understand?' continued Jack, addressing himself earnestly to Sponge.
'I think I do,' replied Sponge who had been at the game pretty often.
'Well, then,' continued Jack, reverting to his original position, 'my
friend, Mr. Pacey here, challenges your chestnut.'
'No, never mind,' muttered Pacey peevishly, in an undertone, with a frown
on his face, giving Jack a dig in the ribs with his elbow. 'Never mind,'
repeated he; '_I_ don't care about it--_I_ don't want the horse.'
'But _I_ do,' growled Jack, adding, in an undertone also, as he stooped for
his napkin, 'don't spoil sport, man; he's as good a horse as ever stepped;
and if you'll challenge him, I'll stand between you and danger.'
'But he may challenge something I don't want to part with,' observed Pacey.
'Then you've nothin' to do,' replied Jack, 'but bring up your hand without
any money in it.'
'Ah! I forgot,' replied Pacey, who did not like not to appear what he
called 'fly.' 'Well, then, I challenge your chestnut!' exclaimed he,
perking up, and shouting up the table to Sponge.
'Good!' replied our friend. 'I challenge your watch and chain, then,'
looking at Pacey's chain-daubed vest.
'Name _me_ arbitrator,' muttered Jack, as he again stooped for his napkin.
'Who shall handicap us? Captain Guano, Mr. Lumpleg, or who?' asked Sponge.
'Suppose we say Spraggon?--he says he rode the horse to-day,' replied
Pacey.
'Quite agreeable,' said Sponge.
'Now, Jack!' 'Now, Spraggon!' 'Now, old Solomon!' 'Now, Doctor Wiseman,'
resounded from different parts of the table.
Jack looked solemn; and diving both hands into his breeches' pockets, stuck
out his legs extensively before him.
'Give me money,' said he pompously. They each handed him half a crown; and
Jack added a third for himself. 'Mr. Pacey challenges Mr. Sponge's chestnut
horse, and Mr. Sponge challenges Mr. Pacey's gold watch,' observed Jack
sententiously.
'Come, old Slowman, go on!' exclaimed Guano, adding, 'have you got no
further than that?'
'Hurry no man's cattle,' replied Jack tartly, adding, 'you may keep a
donkey yourself some day.'
'Mr. Pacey challenges Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse,' repeated Jack. 'How old
is the chestnut, Mr. Sponge?' added he, addressing himself to our friend.
'Upon my word I hardly know,' replied Sponge, 'he's past mark of mouth; but
I think a hunter's age has very little to do with his worth.'
'Who-y, that depends,' rejoined Jack, blowing out his cheeks, and looking
as pompous as possible--'that depends a good deal upon how he's been used
in his youth.'
'He's about nine, I should say,' observed Sponge, pretending to have been
calculating, though, in reality, he knew nothing whatever about the horse's
age. 'Say nine, or rising ten, and never did a day's work till he was six.'
'Indeed!' said Jack, with an important bow, adding, 'being easy with them
at the beginnin' puts on a deal to the end. Perfect hunter, I s'pose?'
'Why, you can judge of that yourself,' replied Sponge.
'Perfect hunter, _I_ should say,' rejoined Jack, 'and steady at his
fences--don't know that I ever rode a better fencer. Well,' continued he,
having apparently pondered all that over in his mind, 'I must trouble you
to let me look at your ticker,' said he, turning short round on his
neighbour.
'There,' said Mr. Pacey, producing a fine flash watch from his
waistcoat-pocket, and holding it to Jack.
'The chain's included in the challenge, mind,' observed Sponge.
'In course,' said Jack; 'it's what the pawnbrokers call a watch with its
appurts.' (Jack had his watch at his uncle's and knew the terms exactly.)
'It's a repeater, mind,' observed Pacey, taking off the chain.
'The chain's heavy,' said Jack, running it up in his hand; 'and here's a
pistol-key and a beautiful pencil-case, with the Pacey crest and motto,'
observed Jack, trying to decipher the latter. 'If it had been without the
words, whatever they are,' said he, giving up the attempt, 'it would have
been worth more, but the gold's fine, and a new stone can easily be put
in.'
He then pulled an old hunting-card out of his pocket, and proceeded to make
sundry calculations and estimates in pencil on the back.
'Well, now,' said he, at length, looking up, 'I should say, such a watch as
that and appurts,' holding them up, 'couldn't be bought in a shop under
eight-and-twenty pund.'
'It cost five-and-thirty,' observed Mr. Pacey.
'Did it!' rejoined Jack, adding, 'then you were done.'
Jack then proceeded to do a little more arithmetic, during which process
Mr. Puffington passed the wine and gave as a toast--'Success to the
handicap.'
'Well,' at length said Jack, having apparently struck a balance, 'hands in
pocket, gen'lemen. If this is an award, Mr. Pacey's gold watch and appurts
gives Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse seventy golden sovereigns. Show money,'
whispered Jack to Pacey, adding, 'I'll stand the shot.'
'Stop!' roared Guano, 'do either of you sport your hand?'
'Yes, I do,' replied Mr. Pacey coolly.
'And I,' said Mr. Sponge.
'Hold hard, then, gen'lemen!' roared Jack, getting excited, and beginning
to foam. 'Hold hard, gen'lemen!' repeated he, just as he was in the habit
of roaring at the troublesome customers in Lord Scamperdale's field; 'Mr.
Pacey and Mr. Sponge both sport their hands.'
'I'll lay a guinea Pacey doesn't hold money,' exclaimed Guano.
'Done!' exclaimed Parson Blossomnose.
'I'll bet it does,' observed Charley Slapp.
'I'll take you,' replied Mr. Miller.
Then the hubbub of betting commenced, and raged with fury for a short time;
some betting sovereigns, some half-sovereigns, other half-crowns and
shillings, as to whether the hands of one or both held money.
Givers and takers being at length accommodated, perfect silence at length
reigned, and all eyes turned upon the double fists of the respective
champions.
Jack having adjusted his great tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, and put on
a most consequential air, inquired, like a gambling-house keeper, if they
were 'All done'--had all 'made their game?' And 'Yes! yes! yes!' resounded
from all quarters.
'Then, gen'lemen,' said Jack, addressing Pacey and Sponge, who still kept
their closed hands on the table, '_show_!'
At the word, their hands opened, and each held money.
'A deal! a deal! a deal!' resounded through the room, accompanied with
clapping of hands, thumping of the table, and dancing of glasses. 'You owe
me a guinea,' exclaimed one. 'I want half a sovereign of you,' roared
another. 'Here's my half-crown,' said a third, handing one across the table
to the fortunate winner. A general settlement took place, in the midst of
which the 'watch and appurts' were handed to Mr. Sponge.
'We'll drink Mr. Pacey's health,' said Mr. Puffington, helping himself to a
bumper, and passing the lately replenished decanters. 'He's done the thing
like a sportsman, and deserves to have luck with his deal. Your good
health, Mr. Pacey!' continued he, addressing himself specifically to our
friend, 'and luck to your horse.'
'Your good health, Mr. Pacey--your good health, Mr. Pacey--your good
health, Mr. Pacey,' then followed in the various intonations that mark the
feelings of the speaker towards the toastee, as the bottles passed round
the table.
The excitement seemed to have given fresh zest to the wine, and those who
had been shirking, or filling on heel-taps, now began filling bumpers,
while those who always filled bumpers now took back hands.
There is something about horse-dealing that seems to interest every one.
Conversation took a brisk turn, and nothing but the darkness of the night
prevented their having the horse out and trying him. Pacey wanted him
brought into the dining-room, _a la_ Briggs, but Puff wouldn't stand that.
The transfer seemed to have invested the animal with supernatural charms,
and those who in general cared nothing about horses wanted to have a sight
of him.
Toasting having commenced, as usual, it was proceeded with. Sponge's health
followed that of Mr. Pacey's, Mr. Puffington availing himself of the
opportunity afforded by proposing it, of expressing the gratification it
afforded himself and all true sportsmen to see so distinguished a character
in the country; and he concluded by hoping that the diminution of his stud
would not interfere with the length of his visit--a toast that was drunk
with great applause.
Mr. Sponge replied by saying, 'That he certainly had not intended parting
with his horse, though one more or less was neither here nor there,
especially in these railway times, when a man had nothing to do but take a
half-guinea's worth of electric wire, and have another horse in less than
no time; but Mr. Pacey having taken a fancy to the horse, he had been more
accommodating to him than he had to his friend, Mr. Spraggon, if he would
allow him to call him so (Jack squinted and bowed assent), who,' continued
Mr. Sponge, 'had in vain attempted that morning to get him to put a price
upon him.'
'Very true,' whispered Jack to Pacey, with a feel of the elbow in his ribs,
adding, in an undertone, 'the beggar doesn't think I've got him in spite of
him, though.'
'The horse,' Mr. Sponge continued, 'was an undeniable good 'un, and he
wished Mr. Pacey joy of his bargain.'
This venture having been so successful, others attempted similar means,
appointing Mr. Spraggon the arbitrator. Captain Guano challenged Mr. Fogo's
phaeton, while Mr. Fogo retaliated upon the captain's chestnut horse; but
the captain did not hold money to the award. Blossomnose challenged Mr.
Miller's pig; but the latter could not be induced to claim anything of the
worthy rector's for Mr. Spraggon to exercise his appraising talents upon.
After an evening of much noise and confusion, the wine-heated party at last
broke up--the staying company retiring to their couches, and the outlying
ones finding their ways home as best they could.