Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  ‘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-ro
om, à 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.

  CHAPTER XLII

  THE MORNING’S REFLECTIONS

  WHEN YOUNG PACEY awoke in the morning he had a very bad headache, and his temples throbbed as if the veins would burst their bounds. The first thing that recalled the actual position of affairs to his mind was feeling under the pillow for his watch: a fruitless search that ended in recalling something of the overnight’s proceedings.

  Pacey liked a cheap flash, and when elated with wine might be betrayed into indiscretions that his soberer moments were proof against. Indeed, among youths of his own age he was reckoned rather a sharp hand; and it was the vanity of associating with men, and wishing to appear a match for them, that occasionally brought him into trouble. In a general way, he was a very cautious hand.

  He now lay tumbling and tossing about in bed, and little by little he laid together the outline of the evening’s proceedings, beginning with his challenging Mr. Sponge’s chestnut, and ending with the resignation of his watch and chain. He thought he was wrong to do anything of the sort. He didn’t want the horse, not he. What should he do with him? he had one more than he wanted as it was. Then, paying for him seventy sovereigns! confound it, it would be very inconvenient — most inconvenient — indeed, he couldn’t do it, so there was an end of it. The facilities of carrying out after-dinner transactions frequently vanish with the morning’s sun. So it was with Mr. Pacey. Then he began to think how to get out of it. Should he tell Mr. Sponge candidly the state of his finances, and trust to his generosity for letting him off? Was Mr. Sponge a likely man to do it? He thought he was. But, then, would he blab? He thought he would, and that would blow him among those by whom he wished to be thought knowing, a man not to be done. Altogether he was very much perplexed: seventy pounds was a vast of money; and then there was his watch gone, too! a hundred and more altogether. He must have been drunk to do it — very drunk, he should say; and then he began to think whether he had not better treat it as an after-dinner frolic, and pretend to forget all about it. That seemed feasible.

  All at once it occurred to Pacey that Mr. Spraggon was the purchaser, and that he was only a middle-man. His headache forsook him for the moment, and he felt a new man. It was clearly the case, and bit by bit he recollected all about it. How Jack had told him to challenge the horse, and he would stand to the bargain; how he had whispered him (Pacey) to name him (Jack) arbitrator; and how he had done so, and Jack had made the award. Then he began to think that the horse must be a good one, as Jack would not set too high a price on him, seeing that he was the purchaser. Then he wondered that he had put enough on to induce Sponge to sell him: that rather puzzled him. He lay a long time tossing, and proing and coning, without being able to arrive at any satisfactory solution of the matter. At last he rang his bell, and finding it was eight o’clock he got up, and proceeded to dress himself; which operation being accomplished, he sought Jack’s room, to have a little confidential conversation with him on the subject, and arrange about paying Sponge for the horse, without letting out who was the purchaser.

  Jack was snoring, with his great mouth wide open, and his grizzly head enveloped in a white cotton nightcap. The noise of Pacey entering awoke him.

  ‘Well, old boy’ growled he, turning over as soon as he saw who it was, ‘what are you up to?’

  ‘Oh, nothing particular,’ replied Mr. Pacey, in a careless sort of tone.

  ‘Then make yourself scarce, or I’ll baptize you in a way you won’t like,’ growled Jack, diving under the bedclothes.

  ‘Oh, why I just wanted to have — have half a dozen words with you about our last night’s’ (ha — hem — haw!) ‘handicap, you know — about the horse, you know.’

  ‘About the w-h-a-w-t?’ drawled Jack, as if perfectly ignorant of what Pacey was talking about.

  ‘About the horse, you know — about Mr. Sponge’s horse, you know — that you got me to challenge for you, you know,’ stammered Pacey.

  ‘Oh, dash it, the chap’s drunk,’ growled Jack aloud to himself, adding to Pacey, ‘you shouldn’t get up so soon, man — sleep the drink off.’

  Pacey stood nonplussed.

  ‘Don’t you remember, Mr. Spraggon,’ at last asked he, after watching the tassel of Jack’s cap peeping above the bedclothes, ‘what took place last night, you know? You asked me to get you Mr. Sponge’s chestnut, and you know I did, you know.’

  ‘Hout, lad, disperse! — get out of this!’ exclaimed Jack, starting his great red face above the bedclothes and squinting frightfully at Pacey.

  ‘Well, my dear friend, but you did,’ observed Pacey soothingly.

  ‘Nonsense!’ roared Jack, again ducking under.

  Pacey stood agape.

  ‘Come!’ exclaimed Jack, again starting up, ‘cut your stick! — be off! — make yourself scarce! — give your rags a gallop, in short! — don’t be after disturbin’ a gen’leman of fortin’s rest in this way.’

  ‘But, my dear Mr. Spraggon,’ resumed Pacey, in the same gentle tone, ‘you surely forget what you asked me to do.’

  ‘I do,’ replied Jack firmly.

  ‘Well, but, my dear Mr. Spraggon, if you’ll have the kindness to recollect — to consider — to reflect on what passed, you’ll surely remember commissioning me to challenge Mr. Sponge’s horse for you?’

  ‘Me!’ exclaimed Jack, bouncing up in bed, and sitting squinting furiously. ‘Me!’ repeated he; ‘unpossible. How could I do such a thing? Why, I handicap’d him, man, for you, man?’

  ‘You told me, for all that,’ replied Mr. Pacey, with a jerk of the head.

  ‘Oh, by Jove!’ exclaimed Jack, taking his cap by the tassel, and twisting it off his head,’ that won’t do! — downright impeachment of one’s integrity. Oh, by Jingo! that won’t do!’ motioning as if he was going to bounce out of bed; ‘can’t stand that — impeach one’s integrity, you know, better take one’s life, you know. Life without honour’s nothin’, you know. Cock Pheasant at Wey
bridge, six o’clock i’ the mornin’!’

  ‘Oh, I assure you, I didn’t mean anything of that sort,’ exclaimed Mr. Pacey, frightened at Jack’s vehemence, and the way in which he now foamed at the mouth, and flourished his nightcap about. ‘Oh, I assure you, I didn’t mean anything of that sort,’ repeated he, ‘only I thought p’raps you mightn’t recollect all that had passed, p’raps; and if we were to talk matters quietly over, by putting that and that together, we might assist each other and—’

  ‘Oh, by Jove!’ interrupted Jack, dashing his nightcap against the bedpost, ‘too late for anything of that sort, sir — downright impeachment of one’s integrity, sir — must be settled another way, sir.’

  ‘But, I assure you, you mistake!’ exclaimed Pacey.

  ‘Rot your mistakes!’ interrupted Jack; ‘there’s no mistake in the matter. You’ve reglarly impeached my integrity — blood of the Spraggons won’t stand that. “Death before Dishonour!”’ shouted he, at the top of his voice, flourishing his nightcap over his head, and then dashing it on to the middle of the floor.

  ‘What’s the matter? — what’s the matter? — what’s the matter?’ exclaimed Mr. Sponge, rushing through the connecting door. ‘What’s the matter?’ repeated he, placing himself between the bed in which Jack still sat upright, squinting his eyes inside out, and where Mr. Pacey stood.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Sponge!’ exclaimed Jack, clasping his raised hands in thankfulness, ‘I’m so glad you’re here! — I’m so thankful you’re come! I’ve been insulted! — oh, goodness, how I’ve been insulted!’ added he, throwing himself back in the bed, as if thoroughly overcome with his feelings.

  ‘Well, but what’s the matter? — what is it all about?’ asked Sponge coolly, having a pretty good guess what it was.

  ‘Never was so insulted in my life!’ ejaculated Jack, from under the bedclothes.

  ‘Well but what is it?’ repeated Sponge, appealing to Pacey, who stood as pale as ashes.

  ‘Oh! nothing,’ replied he; ‘quite a mistake; Mr. Spraggon misunderstood me altogether.’