by R S Surtees
The pace, of course, was too good for assistance — and our friend and the field were presently far asunder.
Whatever sport the hounds had — and of course they would have a clipper — we can answer for it Mr. Pringle had a capital run; for his horse led him a pretty Will-o’-the-wisp sort of dance, tempting him on and on by stopping to eat whenever his rider — or late rider, rather — seemed inclined to give up the chase, thus deluding him from field to lane and from lane to field until our hero was fairly exhausted. — Many were the rushes and dashes and ventures made at him by hedgers and ditchers and drainers, but he evaded them all by laying back his ears and turning the battery of his heels for the contemplation, as if to give them the choice of a bite or a kick.
At length he turned up the depths of the well-known Love Lane, with its paved trottoir, for the damsels of the adjoining hamlets of East and West Woodhay to come dry-shod to the gossip-shop of the well; and here, dressed in the almost-forgotten blue boddice and red petticoat of former days, stood pretty Nancy Bell, talking matrimonially to Giles Bacon, who had brought his team to a stand-still on the higher ground of the adjoining hedge, on the field above.
Hearing the clatter of hoofs, as the grey tried first the hard and then the soft of the lane, Bacon looked that way; and seeing a loose horse he jumped bodily into the lane, extending his arms and his legs and his eyes and his mouth in a way that was very well calculated to stop even a bolder animal than a horse. He became a perfect barrier. The grey drew up with an indignant snort and a stamp of his foot, and turning short round he trotted back, encountering in due time his agitated and indignant master, who had long been vowing what a trimming he would give him when he caught him. Seeing Billy in a hurry, — for animals are very good judges of mischief, as witness an old cock how he ducks when one picks up a stone, — seeing Billy in a hurry we say, the horse again wheeled about, and returned with more leisurely steps towards his first opponent. Bacon and Nancy were now standing together in the lane; and being more pleasantly occupied than thinking about loose horses, they just stood quietly and let him come towards them, when Giles’s soothing w-ho-o-ays and matter-of-course style beguiled the horse into being caught.
Billy presently came shuffling up, perspiring profusely, with his feet encumbered with mud, and stamping the thick of it off while he answered Bacon’s question as to “hoo it happened,” and so on, in the grumpy sort of way a man does who has lost his horse, he presented him with a shilling, and remounting, rode off, after a very fine run of at least twenty minutes.
The first thing our friend did when he got out of sight of Giles Bacon and Nancy, was to give his horse a good rap over the head with his whip for its impudent stupidity in running away, causing him to duck his head and shake it, as if he had got a pea or a flea in hiss ear. — He then began wheeling round and round, like a dog wanting to lie down, much to Billy’s alarm, for he didn’t wish for any more nonsense. That performance over, he again began ducking and shaking his head, and then went moodily on, as if indifferent to consequences. Billy wished he mightn’t have hit him so hard.
When he got home, he mentioned the horse’s extraordinary proceedings to the Major, who, being a bit, of a vet. and a strong suspector of Sir Moses’ generosity to boot, immediately set it down to the right cause — megrims — and advised Billy to return him forthwith, intimating that Sir Moses was not altogether the thing in the matter of horses; but our friend, who kept the blow with the whip to himself, thought he had better wait a day or two and see if the attack would go off. — In this view he was upheld by Jack Rogers, who thought his old recipe, “leetle drop gin,” would set him all right, and proceeded to administer it to himself accordingly. And the horse improved so much that he soon seemed himself again, whereupon Billy, recollecting Sir Moses’s strenuous injunctions to give him the refusal of him if ever he wanted to part with him, now addressed him the following letter: —
“Yammerton Grange.
“Dear Sir Moses,
“As I find I must return to town immediately after the hunt ball, to which you were so good as invite me, and as the horse you were so good as give me would be of no use to me there, I write, in compliance with my promise to offer him back to you if ever I wanted to part with him, to say that he will be quite at your service after our next day’s hunting, or before if you like, as I dare say the Major will mount me if 1 require it. He is a very nice horse, and I feel extremely obliged for your very handsome intentions with regard to him, which, under other circumstances, 1 should have been glad to accept. Circumstanced as I am, however, he would be wasted upon me, and will be much better back in your stud.
“I will, therefore, send him over on hearing from you; and you can either put my I.O.U. in the fire, or enclose it to me by the Post.
“Again thanking you for your very generous offer, and hoping you are having good sport, I beg to subscribe myself,
“Dear Sir Moses,
“Yours very truly,
“Wm. PRINGLE
“To Sir Moses Mainchance, Bart.,
“Pangburn Park.”
And having sealed it with the great seal of state, he handed it to Rougier to give to the postman, without telling his host what he had done.
The next post brought the following answer: —
“Many, very many thanks to you, my dear Pringle, for your kind recollection of me with regard to the grey, which I assure you stamps you in my opinion as a most accurate and excellent young man. — You are quite right in your estimate of my opinion of the horse; indeed, if I had not considered him something very far out of the common way, I should not have put him into your hands; but knowing him to be as good as he’s handsome, I had very great satisfaction in placing him with you, as well on your own account as from your being the nephew of my old and excellent friend and brother baronet, Sir Jonathan Pringle — to whom I beg you to make my best regards when you write.
“Even were it not so, however, I should be precluded from accepting your kind and considerate offer for only yesterday I sent Wetun into Doubleimupshire, to bring home a horse I’ve bought of Tom Toweler, on Paul Straddler’s recommendation, being, as I tell Paul, the last I’ll ever buy on his judgment, unless he turns out a trump, as he has let me in for some very bad ones.
“But, my dear Pringle, ain’t you doing yourself a positive injustice in saying that you would have no use for the grey in town? Town, my dear fellow, is the very place for a horse of that colour, figure, and pretension; and a very few turns in the Park, with you on his back, before that best of all pennyworths, the chair-sitting swells, might land you in the highest ranks of the aristocracy — unless, indeed, you are booked elsewhere, of which, perhaps, I have no business to inquire.
“I may, however, as a general hint, observe to the nephew of my old friend, that the Hit-im and Hold-imshire Mammas don’t stand any nonsense, so you will do well to be on your guard. No; take my advice, my dear fellow, and ride that horse in town. — It will only be sending him to Tat.’s if you tire of him there, and if it will in any way conduce to your peace of mind, and get rid of any high-minded feeling of obligation, you can hand me over whatever you get for him beyond the £50 — And that reminds me, as life is uncertain, and it is well to do everything regularly, I’ll send my agent, Mr. Mordecai Nathan, over with your I.O.U., and you can give me a bill at your own date — say two or three months — instead, and that will make vs all right and square, and, I hope, help to maintain the truth of the old adage, that short reckonings make long friends, — which I assure you is a very excellent one.
“And now, having exhausted both my paper and subject, I shall conclude with repeating my due appreciation of your kind recollection of my wishes; and with best remembrances to your host and hostess, not forgetting their beautiful daughters, whom I hope to see in full feather at the ball, I remain,
“My dear Pringle.
“Very truly and sincerely, yours,
“Moses Mainchance.
“To Wm. P
ringle”
We need scarcely add that Mr. Mordecai Nathan followed quickly on the heels of the letter, and that the I. 0. U. became a short-winded bill of exchange, thus saddling our friend permanently with the gallant grey. And when Major Yammerton heard the result, all the consolation Billy got from him was, “I told you so,” meaning that he ought to have taken his advice, and returned the horse as unsound.
With this episode about the horse, let us return to Pangburn Park.
CHAPTER LVII. THE ANTHONY THOM TRAP.
SIR MOSES WAS so fussy about his clothes, sending to the laundry for this shirt and that, censuring the fold of this cravat and that, inquiring after his new hunting ties and best boots, that Mrs. Margerum began to fear the buxom widow, Mrs. Vivian, was going to be at Lord Repartee’s, and that she might be saddled with that direst of all dread inflictions to an honest conscientious housekeeper, a teasing, worreting, meddling mistress. That is a calamity which will be best appreciated by the sisterhood, and those who watch how anxiously “widowers and single gentlemen” places are advertised for in the newspapers, by parties who frequently, not perhaps unaptly, describe themselves as “thoroughly understanding their business.”
Sir Moses, indeed, carried out the deception well; for not only in the matter of linen, but in that of clothes also, was he equally particular, insisting upon having all his first-class daylight things brought out from their winter quarters, and reviewing them himself as they lay on the sofa, ere he suffered Mr. Bankhead to pack them.
At length they were sorted and passed into the capacious depths of an ample brown leather portmanteau, and the key being duly turned and transferred to the Baronet, the package itself was chucked into the dog-cart in the unceremonious sort of way luggage is always chucked about. The vehicle itself then came to the door, and Sir Moses having delivered his last injunctions about the hounds and the horses, and the line of coming to cover so as to avoid public-houses, he ascended and touching the mare gently with the whip, trotted away amid the hearty— “well shut of yous” of the household. Each then retired to his or her private pursuits; some to drink, some to gamble, some to write letters, Mrs. Margerum, of course, to pick up the perquisites. Sir Moses, meanwhile, bowled away ostentatiously through the lodges, stopping to talk to everybody he met, and saying he was going away for the night.
Bonmot Park, the seat of Lord Repartee, stands about the junction of Hit-im and Hold-imshire, with Featherbedfordshire. Indeed, his great cover of Tewington Wood is neutral between the hunts, and the best way to the park on wheels, especially in winter time, is through Hinton and Westleak, which was the cause of Sir Moses hitting upon it for his deception, inasmuch as he could drive into the Fox and Hounds Hotel; and at Hinton, under pretence of baiting his mare without exciting suspicion, and there make his arrangements for the night. Accordingly, he took it very quietly after he got clear of his own premises, coveting rather the shades of evening that he had suffered so much from before, and as luck would have it by driving up Skinner Lane, instead of through Nelson Street, he caught a back view of Paul Straddler, as for the twenty-third time that worthy peeped through the panes of Mrs. Winship, the straw-bonnet maker’s window in the market-place, at a pretty young girl she had just got from Stownewton. Seeing his dread acquaintance under such favourable circumstances, Sir Moses whipped Whimpering Kate on, and nearly upset himself against the kerb-stone as he hurried up the archway of the huge deserted house, — the mare’s ringing hoofs alone, announcing his coming.
Ostler! Ostler! Ostler! cried he in every variety of tone, and at length the crooked-legged individual filling that and other offices, came hobbling and scratching his head to the summons. Sir Moses alighting then, gave him the reins and whip; and wrapper in hand, proceeded to the partially gas-lit door in the archway, to provide for himself while the ostler looked after the mare.
Now, it so happened, that what with bottle ends and whole bottles, and the occasional contributions of the generous, our friend Peter the waiter was even more inebriated than he appears at page 263; and the rumbling of gig-wheels up the yard only made him waddle into the travellers’ room, to stir the fire and twist up a bit of paper to light the gas, in case it was any of the despised brotherhood of the road. — He thought very little of bagmen — Mr. Customer was the man for his money. Now, he rather expected Mr. Silesia, Messrs. Buckram the clothiers’ representative, if not Mr. Jaconette, the draper’s also, about this time; and meeting Sir Moses hurrying in top-coated and eravated with the usual accompaniments of the road, he concluded it was one of them; so capped him on to the commercial room with his dirty duster-holding hand.
“Get me a private room, Peter; get me a private room,” demanded the Baronet, making for the bottom of the staircase away from the indicated line of scent.
“Private room,” muttered Peter.
“Why, who is it?”
“Me! me!” exclaimed Sir Moses, thinking Peter would recognise him.
“Well, but whether are ye a tailor or a draper?” demanded Peter, not feeling inclined to give way to the exclusiveness of either.
“Tailor or draper! you stupid old sinner — don’t you see it’s me — me Sir Moses Mainchance?”
“Oh, Sir Moses, Sir, I beg your pardon, Sir,” stammered the now apologising Peter, hurrying back towards the staircase. “I really begs your pardon, Sir; but my eyes are beginning to fail me, Sir — not so good as they were when Mr. Customer hunted the country. — Well Sir Moses, Sir, I hope you’re well, Sir; and whether will you be in the Sun or the Moon? You can have a fire lighted in either in a minute, only you see we don’t keep fires constant no ways now, ‘cept in the commercial room. — Great change, Sir Moses, Sir, since Mr. Customer hunted the country; yes, Sir, great change — used to have fires in every room, Sir, and brandy and—”
“Well, but,” interrupted Sir Moses, “I can’t sit freezing up stairs till the fire’s burnt up. — You go and get it lighted, and come to me in the commercial-room and tell me when it’s ready; and here!” continued he, “I want some dinner in an hour’s time, or so.”
“By all means, Sir Moses. What would you like to take, Sir Moses?” as if there was everything at command.
Sir Moses— “Have you any soup?”
Peter— “Soup, Sir Moses. No, I don’t think there is any soup.”
Sir Moses— “Fish; have you any fish?”
Peter— “Why, no; I don’t think there’ll be any fish to-day, Sir Moses.”
Sir Moses— “What have you, then?”
Peter — (Twisting the dirty duster), “Mutton chops — beef steak — beef steak — mutton chops — boiled fowl, p’raps you’d like to take?”
Sir Moses— “No. I shouldn’t (muttering, most likely got to be caught and killed yet.) Tell the cook,” continued he, speaking up, “to make on a wood and coal fire, and to do me a nice dish of mutton chops on the gridiron; not in the frying-pan mind, all swimming in grease; and to boil some mealy potatoes.”
Peter— “Yes, Sir Moses; and what would you like to have to follow?”
“Cheese!” said Sir Moses, thinking to cut short the inquiry.
“And hark’e.” continued Sir Moses: Don’t make a great man of me by bringing out your old battered copper showing-dishes; but tell the cook to send the chops up hot and hot, between good warm crockery-ware plates, with ketchup or Harvey sauce for me to use as I like.”
“Yes, Sir Moses,” replied Peter, toddling off to deliver as much of the order as he could remember.
And Sir Moses having thawed himself at the commercial-room fire, next visited the stable to see that his mare had been made comfortable, and told the ostler post-boy boots to be in the way, as he should most likely want him to take him out in the fly towards night. As he returned, he met Bessey Bannister, the pretty chambermaid, now in the full glow of glossy hair and crinoline, whom he enlisted as purveyor of the mutton into the Moon, in lieu of the antiquated Peter, whose services he was too glad to dispense with. — It certainl
y is a considerable aggravation of the miseries of a country inn to have to undergo the familiarities of a dirty privileged old waiter.
So thought Sir Moses, as he enjoyed each succeeding chop, and complimented the fair maiden so on her agility and general appearance, that she actually dreamt she was about to become Lady Mainchance.
CHAPTER LVIII. THE ANTHONY THOM TAKE.
SIR MOSES MAINCHANCE, having fortified himself against the night air with a pint of club port, and a glass of pale brandy after his tea, at length ordered out the inn fly, without naming its destination to his fair messenger. These vehicles, now so generally scattered throughout the country, are a great improvement on the old yellow post-chaise, that made such a hole in a sovereign, and such a fuss in getting ready, holloaing, “Fust pair out!” and so on, to give notice to a smock-frocked old man to transform himself into a scarlet or blue jacketed post-boy by pulling off his blouse, and who, after getting a leg-up and a ticket for the first turnpike-gate, came jingling, and clattering, and cracking his dog-whip round to the inn door, attracting all the idlers and children to the spot, to see who was going to get into the “chay.” The fly rumbles quietly round without noise or pretension, exciting no curiosity in any one’s mind; for it is as often out as in, and may only be going to the next street, or to Woodbine Lodge, or Balsam Bower, on the outskirts of the town, or for an hour’s airing along the Featherbedfordshire or the old London road. It does not even admit of a pull of the hair as a hint to remember the ostler as he stands staring in at the window, the consequence of which is, that the driver is generally left to open the door for his passenger himself. Confound those old iniquities of travelling! — a man used never to have his hand out of his pocket. Let not the rising generation resuscitate the evil, by contravening the salutary regulation of not paying people on railways.