Mr Harrel, with a violent execration, asked what he meant by dunning him at such a place as Vauxhall?
“One place, Sir,” he replied, “is as good as another place; for so as what one does is good, ’tis no matter for where it may be. A man of business never wants a counter if he can meet with a joint-stool. For my part, I’m all for a clear conscience, and no bills without receipts to them.”
“And if you were all for broken bones,” cried Mr Harrel, angrily, “I would oblige you with them without delay.”
“Sir,” cried the man, equally provoked, “this is talking quite out of character, for as to broken bones, there’s ne’er a person in all England, gentle nor simple, can say he’s a right to break mine, for I’m not a person of that sort, but a man of as good property as another man; and there’s ne’er a customer I have in the world that’s more his own man than myself.”
“Lord bless me, Mr Hobson,” cried Mrs Harrel, “don’t follow us in this manner! If we meet any of our acquaintance they’ll think us half crazy.”
“Ma’am,” answered Mr Hobson, again taking off his hat, “if I’m treated with proper respect, no man will behave more generous than myself; but if I’m affronted, all I can say is, it may go harder with some folks than they think for.”
Here a little mean-looking man, very thin, and almost bent double with perpetual cringing, came up to Mr Hobson, and pulling him by the sleeve, whispered, yet loud enough to be heard, “It’s surprizeable to me, Mr Hobson, you can behave so out of the way! For my part, perhaps I’ve as much my due as another person, but I dares to say I shall have it when it’s convenient, and I’d scorn for to mislest a gentleman when he’s taking his pleasure.”
“Lord bless me,” cried Mrs Harrel, “what shall we do now? here’s all Mr Harrel’s creditors coming upon us!”
“Do?” cried Mr Harrel, re-assuming an air of gaiety, “why give them all a supper, to be sure. Come, gentlemen, will you favour me with your company to supper?”
“Sir,” answered Mr Hobson, somewhat softened by this unexpected invitation, “I’ve supped this hour and more, and had my glass too, for I’m as willing to spend my money as another man; only what I say is this, I don’t chuse to be cheated, for that’s losing one’s substance, and getting no credit; however, as to drinking another glass, or such a matter as that, I’ll do it with all the pleasure in life.”
“And as to me,” said the other man, whose name was Simkins, and whose head almost touched the ground by the profoundness of his reverence, “I can’t upon no account think of taking the liberty; but if I may just stand without, I’ll make bold to go so far as just for to drink my humble duty to the ladies in a cup of cyder.”
“Are you mad, Mr Harrel, are you mad!” cried his wife, “to think of asking such people as these to supper? what will every body say? suppose any of our acquaintance should see us? I am sure I shall die with shame.”
“Mad!” repeated he, “no, not mad but merry. O ho, Mr Morrice, why have you been so long? what have you done for us?”
“Why Sir,” answered Morrice, returning with a look somewhat less elated than he had set out, “the gardens are so full, there is not a box to be had; but I hope we shall get one for all that; for I observed one of the best boxes in the garden, just to the right there, with nobody in it but that gentleman who made me spill the tea-pot at the Pantheon. So I made an apology, and told him the case; but he only said humph? and hay? so then I told it all over again, but he served me just the same, for he never seems to hear what one says till one’s just done, and then he begins to recollect one’s speaking to him; however, though I repeated it all over and over again, I could get nothing from him but just that humph? and hay? but he is so remarkably absent, that I dare say if we all go and sit down round him, he won’t know a word of the matter.”
“Won’t he?” cried Mr Harrel, “have at him, then!”
And he followed Mr Morrice, though Cecilia, who now half suspected that all was to end in a mere idle frolic, warmly joined her remonstrances to those of Mrs Harrel, which were made with the utmost, but with fruitless earnestness.
Mr Meadows, who was seated in the middle of the box, was lolloping upon the table with his customary ease, and picking his teeth with his usual inattention to all about him. The intrusion, however, of so large a party, seemed to threaten his insensibility with unavoidable disturbance; though imagining they meant but to look in at the box, and pass on, he made not at their first approach any alteration in his attitude or employment.
“See, ladies,” cried the officious Morrice, “I told you there was room; and I am sure this gentleman will be very happy to make way for you, if it’s only out of good-nature to the waiters, as he is neither eating nor drinking, nor doing any thing at all. So if you two ladies will go in at that side, Mr Harrel and that other gentleman,” pointing to Mr Marriot, “may go to the other, and then I’ll sit by the ladies here, and those other two gentlemen—”
Here Mr Meadows, raising himself from his reclining posture, and staring Morrice in the face, gravely said, “What’s all this, Sir!”
Morrice, who expected to have arranged the whole party without a question, and who understood so little of modish airs as to suspect neither affectation nor trick in the absence of mind and indolence of manners which he observed in Mr Meadows, was utterly amazed by this interrogatory, and staring himself in return, said, “Sir, you seemed so thoughtful — I did not think — I did not suppose you would have taken any notice of just a person or two coming into the box.”
“Did not you, Sir?” said Mr Meadows very coldly, “why then now you do, perhaps you’ll be so obliging as to let me have my own box to myself.”
And then again he returned to his favourite position.
“Certainly, Sir,” said Morrice, bowing; “I am sure I did not mean to disturb you; for you seemed so lost in thought, that I’m sure I did not much believe you would have seen us.”
“Why Sir,” said Mr Hobson, strutting forward, “if I may speak my opinion, I should think, as you happen to be quite alone, a little agreeable company would be no such bad thing. At least that’s my notion.”
“And if I might take the liberty,” said the smooth tongued Mr Simkins, “for to put in a word, I should think the best way would be, if the gentleman has no peticklar objection, for me just to stand somewhere hereabouts, and so, when he’s had what he’s a mind to, be ready for to pop in at one side, as he comes out at the t’other; for if one does not look pretty ‘cute such a full night as this, a box is whipt away before one knows where one is.”
“No, no, no,” cried Mrs Harrel impatiently, “let us neither sup in this box nor in any other; let us go away entirely.”
“Indeed we must! indeed we ought!” cried Cecilia; “it is utterly improper we should stay; pray let us be gone immediately.”
Mr Harrel paid not the least regard to these requests; but Mr Meadows, who could no longer seem unconscious of what passed, did himself so much violence as to arise, and ask if the ladies would be seated.
“I said so!” cried Morrice triumphantly, “I was sure there was no gentleman but would be happy to accommodate two such ladies!”
The ladies, however, far from happy in being so accommodated, again tried their utmost influence in persuading Mr Harrel to give up this scheme; but he would not hear them, he insisted upon their going into the box, and, extending the privilege which Mr Meadows had given, he invited without ceremony the whole party to follow.
Mr Meadows, though he seemed to think this a very extraordinary encroachment, had already made such an effort from his general languor in the repulse he had given to Morrice, that he could exert himself no further; but after looking around him with mingled vacancy and contempt, he again seated himself, and suffered Morrice to do the honours without more opposition. Morrice, but too happy in the office, placed Cecilia next to Mr Meadows, and would have made Mr Marriot her other neighbour, but she insisted upon not being parted from Mrs Harrel, and ther
efore, as he chose to sit also by that lady himself, Mr Marriot was obliged to follow Mr Harrel to the other side of the box; Mr Hobson, without further invitation, placed himself comfortably in one of the corners, and Mr Simkins, who stood modestly for some time in another, finding the further encouragement for which he waited was not likely to arrive, dropt quietly into his seat without it.
Supper was now ordered, and while it was preparing Mr Harrel sat totally silent; but Mr Meadows thought proper to force himself to talk with Cecilia, though she could well have dispensed with such an exertion of his politeness.
“Do you like this place, ma’am?”
“Indeed I hardly know, — I never was here before.”
“No wonder! the only surprise is that any body can come to it at all. To see a set of people walking after nothing! strolling about without view or object! ’tis strange! don’t you think so, ma’am?”
“Yes, — I believe so,” said Cecilia, scarce hearing him.
“O it gives me the vapours, the horrors,” cried he, “to see what poor creatures we all are! taking pleasure even from the privation of it! forcing ourselves into exercise and toil, when we might at least have the indulgence of sitting still and reposing!”
“Lord, Sir,” cried Morrice, “don’t you like walking?”
“Walking?” cried he, “I know nothing so humiliating; to see a rational being in such mechanical motion! with no knowledge upon what principles he proceeds, but plodding on, one foot before another, without even any consciousness which is first, or how either—”
“Sir,” interrupted Mr Hobson, “I hope you won’t take it amiss if I make bold to tell my opinion, for my way is this, let every man speak his maxim! But what I say as to this matter, is this, if a man must always be stopping to consider what foot he is standing upon, he had need have little to do, being the right does as well as the left, and the left as well as the right. And that, Sir, I think is a fair argument.”
Mr Meadows deigned no other answer to this speech than a look of contempt.
“I fancy, Sir,” said Morrice, “you are fond of riding, for all your good horsemen like nothing else.”
“Riding!” exclaimed Mr Meadows, “Oh barbarous! Wrestling and boxing are polite arts to it! trusting to the discretion of an animal less intellectual than ourselves! a sudden spring may break all our limbs, a stumble may fracture our sculls! And what is the inducement? to get melted with heat, killed with fatigue, and covered with dust! miserable infatuation! — Do you love riding, ma’am?”
“Yes, very well, Sir.”
“I am glad to hear it,” cried he, with a vacant smile; “you are quite right; I am entirely of your opinion.”
Mr Simkins now, with a look of much perplexity, yet rising and bowing, said “I don’t mean, Sir, to be so rude as to put in my oar, but if I did not take you wrong, I’m sure just now I thought you seemed for to make no great ‘count of riding, and yet now, all of the sudden, one would think you was a speaking up for it!”
“Why, Sir,” cried Morrice, “if you neither like riding nor walking, you can have no pleasure at all but only in sitting.”
“Sitting!” repeated Mr Meadows, with a yawn, “O worse and worse! it dispirits me to death! it robs me of all fire and life! it weakens circulation, and destroys elasticity.”
“Pray then, Sir,” said Morrice, “do you like any better to stand?”
“To stand? O intolerable! the most unmeaning thing in the world! one had better be made a mummy!”
“Why then, pray Sir,” said Mr Hobson, “let me ask the favour of you to tell us what it is you do like?”
Mr Meadows, though he stared him full in the face, began picking his teeth without making any answer.
“You see, Mr Hobson,” said Mr Simkins, “the gentleman has no mind for to tell you; but if I may take the liberty just to put in, I think if he neither likes walking, nor riding, nor sitting, nor standing, I take it he likes nothing.”
“Well, Sir,” said Morrice, “but here comes supper, and I hope you will like that. Pray Sir, may I help you to a bit of this ham?”
Mr Meadows, not seeming to hear him, suddenly, and with an air of extreme weariness, arose, and without speaking to anybody, abruptly made his way out of the box. — Mr Harrel now, starting from the gloomy reverie into which he had sunk, undertook to do the honours of the table, insisting with much violence upon helping every body, calling for more provisions, and struggling to appear in high spirits and good humour.
In a few minutes Captain Aresby, who was passing by the box, stopt to make his compliments to Mrs Harrel and Cecilia.
“What a concourse!” he cried, casting up his eyes with an expression of half-dying fatigue, “are you not accablé? for my part, I hardly respire. I have really hardly ever had the honour of being so obsedé before.”
“We can make very good room, Sir,” said Morrice, “if you chuse to come in.”
“Yes,” said Mr Simkins, obsequiously standing up, “I am sure the gentleman will be very welcome to take my place, for I did not mean for to sit down, only just to look agreeable.”
“By no means, Sir,” answered the Captain; “I shall be quite au desespoir if I derange any body.”
“Sir,” said Mr Hobson, “I don’t offer you my place, because I take it for granted if you had a mind to come in, you would not stand upon ceremony; for what I say is, let every man speak his mind, and then we shall all know how to conduct ourselves. That’s my way, and let any man tell me a better!”
The Captain, after looking at him with a surprise not wholly unmixt with horror, turned from him without making any answer, and said to Cecilia, “And how long, ma’am, have you tried this petrifying place?”
“An hour, — two hours, I believe,” she answered.
“Really? and nobody here! assez de monde, but nobody here! a blank partout!”
“Sir,” said Mr Simkins, getting out of the box that he might bow with more facility, “I humbly crave pardon for the liberty, but if I understood right, you said something of a blank? pray, Sir, if I may be so free, has there been any thing of the nature of a lottery, or a raffle, in the garden? or the like of that?”
“Sir!” said the Captain, regarding him from head to foot, “I am quite assommé that I cannot comprehend your allusion.”
“Sir, I ask pardon,” said the man, bowing still lower, “I only thought if in case it should not be above half a crown, or such a matter as that, I might perhaps stretch a point once in a way.”
The Captain, more and more amazed, stared at him again, but not thinking it necessary to take any further notice of him, he enquired of Cecilia if she meant to stay late.
“I hope not,” she replied, “I have already stayed later than I wished to do.”
“Really!” said he, with an unmeaning smile, “Well, that is as horrid a thing as I have the malheur to know. For my part, I make it a principle not to stay long in these semi-barbarous places, for after a certain time, they bore me to that degree I am quite abimé. I shall, however, do mon possible to have the honour of seeing you again.”
And then, with a smile of yet greater insipidity, he protested he was reduced to despair in leaving her, and walked on.
“Pray, ma’am, if I may be so bold,” said Mr Hobson, “what countryman may that gentleman be?”
“An Englishman, I suppose, Sir,” said Cecilia.
“An Englishman, ma’am!” said Mr Hobson, “why I could not understand one word in ten that came out of his mouth.”
“Why indeed,” said Mr Simkins, “he has a mighty peticklar way of speaking, for I’m sure I thought I could have sworn he said something of a blank, or to that amount, but I could make nothing of it when I come to ask him about it.”
“Let every man speak to be understood,” cried Mr Hobson, “that’s my notion of things; for as to all those fine words that nobody can make out, I hold them to be of no use. Suppose a man was to talk in that manner when he’s doing business, what would be the upshot? who’d
understand what he meant? Well, that’s the proof; what i’n’t fit for business, i’n’t of no value; that’s my way of judging, and that’s what I go upon.”
“He said some other things,” rejoined Mr Simkins, “that I could not make out very clear, only I had no mind to ask any more questions, for fear of his answering me something I should not understand; but as well as I could make it out, I thought I heard him say there was nobody here! what he could mean by that, I can’t pretend for to guess, for I’m sure the garden is so stock full, that if there was to come many more, I don’t know where they could cram ‘em.”
“I took notice of it at the time,” said Mr Hobson, “for it i’n’t many things are lost upon me; and, to tell you the truth, I thought he had been making pretty free with his bottle, by his seeing no better.”
“Bottle!” cried Mr Harrel, “a most excellent hint, Mr Hobson! come! let us all make free with the bottle!”
He then called for more wine, and insisted that every body should pledge him. Mr Marriot and Mr Morrice made not any objection, and Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins consented with much delight.
Mr Harrel now grew extremely unruly, the wine he had already drunk being thus powerfully aided; and his next project was to make his wife and Cecilia follow his example. Cecilia, more incensed than ever to see no preparation made for his departure, and all possible pains taken to unfit him for setting out, refused him with equal firmness and displeasure, and lamented, with the bitterest self-reproaches, the consent which had been forced from her to be present at a scene of such disorder; but Mrs Harrel would have opposed him in vain, had not his attention been called off to another object. This was Sir Robert Floyer, who perceiving the party at some distance, no sooner observed Mr Marriot in such company, than advancing to the box with an air of rage and defiance, he told Mr Harrel he had something to say to him.
“Ay,” cried Harrel, “say to me? and so have I to say to you! Come amongst us and be merry! Here, make room, make way! Sit close, my friends!”
Sir Robert, who now saw he was in no situation to be reasoned with, stood for a moment silent; and then, looking round the box, and observing Messrs Hobson and Simkins, he exclaimed aloud “Why what queer party have you got into? who the d — l have you picked up here?”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 91