by R S Surtees
“Perfectly, thir,” replied the major, who had all the colonel’s sayings stereotyped in his mind.
Another dead pause then ensued, broken only by the renewed tapping of the tail as before.
“He’s no great horseman, I imagine,” observed the colonel, at length breaking silence.
“Not a bit of one,” replied the major, “doesn’t set up for one indeed; but his money’s just as good as if he was — indeed, better, for as it is he can’t compare notes — thay this orth is not so good as my old bay, or so fast as my young grey; or this orth would have been better if he’d had four legs, or a thuffithenty of wind; or make any unpleathant reflecthions of that sort.”
“Very true,” replied the colonel, “very true; and therefore, Fibby, I’ll confide the whole of this delicate affair to your management. Do what you think best, only don’t kill the goose, you know, that lays us the golden what d’ye call the thing-um-bobs — you twig, eh?” said the colonel, putting as much expression into his great red apple face as he could — meaning, “Don’t forget Angelena’s in the case.”
“I understand, thir,” replied the major.
“And be quick about it,” rejoined the colonel.
“Of courthe, thir,” replied the major; “but, in the meantime, p’r’aps you’d have the goodneth not to do anything more in the matter yourthelf, or mention it to any one,” added he, drawing his long legs up to further the colonel’s departure — meaning, “Don’t let Collop have a further finger in the pie.”
“Certainly not!” exclaimed the colonel, “certainly not! Too many cooks spoil the broth. Should never be more than two at a deal — that’s to say, if you expect to deal. Besides,” added he, as he waddled away on his heels, “it’s no use keepin’ a dog and barkin’ oneself.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE MAJOR KNOWS OF ANOTHER HORSE.
“YOU DID WELL not to buy that Thmallbeere orth, I think,” observed the major confidentially to Tom, after having exhausted the usual topic of the weather, the dirtiness of the streets, the fewness of the foot people, and the number of horsemen, as he found our friend a few days after the misdeal sucking his cane-handle at Miss Isinglass’s door, waiting for Padder and Proggy, and the young Emperor of Morocco, to join arms and polish the flags, and take up their usual stations at street corners. “You did well not to buy that Thmallbeere orth, I think,” observed the major, after criticising two or three that passed along. “The fact ith, he’th a nice orth and a neat orth, but Beer — Thwipes, as we call him — wouldn’t have parted with him if he’d been quite the thing.”
“Well now, that’s what I thought!” exclaimed Tom, “that’s what I thought! I was sure there was something wrong when I heard the price.”
“You thowed your judgment,” replied the major, brightening up, “you thowed your judgment; but please have the goodneth not to tell the colonel I thaid tho, for the betht of us are liable to be dethieved, and I’m thure the colonel’s great regard for you would prevent his theeing you impothed upon knowingly.”
“I’m sure of that too,” replied Tom, “I’m sure of that too,” and he thought of Angelena, and her singing, and her fifty thousand pounds, and how he would like to be pinning the heartsease and forget-me-not white cornelian brooch upon her beautiful chemisette. Then he thought he’d better get the brooch back before he appropriated it to another, and wondered whether he could safely entrust old Trueboy, the cashier, to negotiate the return of it, and the promise of marriage letter, the next time old Daiseyfield came to their bank to get a bill done.
These pleasant reflections were interrupted by the major resuming the subject of the horse.
“What you should have should be a nith, steady, well-trained orth, that’s been used to troopth, and the firing of vollithes, and so on; much such an orth as Thwipes’s, in fact — only a little gamer, higher couraged animal — more of an orth, in short. You are stout — I don’t mean to say fat,” continued the major, looking down on Tom’s great puffy figure, “but full-limbed, just what a man ought to be, and should have an orth to correthpond. It’s a bore being under-orthed, feeling that you should be carrying the orth instead of the orth carrying you.”
“So I think,” replied — Hall, “so I think,” adding, “I liked the cut of Swipes’s horse uncommonly.”
“Did you?” replied the major, “did you?” adding, after a pause, “Well, then, do you know, I think I can tell you of one very like him, as like as Voltigeur to the Flying Dutchman; liker, indeed, for he’s got never any white about him. He belonged to poor Charley Chucklehead of the Bluths, who drank himself detheased. Thweetest snaffle-bridle orth I almost ever thaw; can canter round a hat, and throw the dirt in the faces of all those bragging Heartycheerites who think nobody can ride but themselves. It’s no uth keepin’ an orth that can only do one thing,” continued the major, “ethpethially now that you’ve made up your mind to go into the yeomanry instead of our corps. Bleth ye! why a mere charger would be no more uth to you than a thimney-piece ornament the greater part of the year. He’d be a deal worse than a thimney-piece ornament, for he’d be constantly having his pecker in the manger, and peckers in mangers cost money, as you and I know,” the major thinking it might be convenient to invest Tom with a little more equestrian knowledge than he really possessed.
“Well, but I could ride him on the road, and on the heath, and so on,” observed Tom, who had been repeatedly reminded by Angelena of the projected excursions to Heatherblow Heath.
“Oh, in courth,” replied the major, “in courth; only a twenty-pound ‘ack would do all that; but when we talk about orthes, we mean valuable animals— ‘undred or ‘undred and fifty guineas’ worth, and so on — orthes that do a gentleman credit, and not cat-legged cripples, that look as if they’d ethcaped from a cothermonger’s cart.”
“Well,” mused Tom, “I should like to get a good ‘un.”
“Take my word for it, my dear feller,” replied the major, “there’s nothin’ like a good one — there’s nothin’ makes a man feel so bumpthously conthequenthal as being cocked a-top of a good ‘un. So now, if you really feel inclined for a creditable animal, a good-looking animal, and don’t mind prithe, why I would really advise you to send for this blue orth, and to be quick about it, for he’ll soon be caught up. Good orthes don’t hang fire in London.”
“Well,” mused Tom. “Well,” repeated he, remembering what his father had said about not buying an officer’s horse, “I should like to look at him — there’d be no harm in that, you know.”
“True,” replied the major, fearing that Tom was one of that numerous tribe, the looking sort — one of those weary fellows who are always wanting horses and never buy them; the major, we say, fearing Tom was one of the wrong sort, and that it was going to be all labour lost, at once pinned him by asking if he should write and have the horse down by the rail to look at; and after much humming and hawing and hesitation, Tom at length gave his consent, induced, perhaps, not a little by the observation that it would only be the expense of the rail if Tom didn’t buy him, that little word “only” being extremely useful in leading people astray.
And the major having enjoined our friend to secrecy, lest any of the “dealers” should be beforehand with them, took a most affectionate leave of him, and went to report progress to the colonel, whom he found half-frantic with rage at the ear-ache and stomach-ache accounts that were pouring in upon him.
CHAPTER XII.
CLENCHING A BARGAIN.
TWO DAYS AFTER, Tom and the major were at the Fleecyborough station, waiting the arrival of the 2.30 train from town, which, coming with its usual punctuality, about three-quarters of an hour after time, the last joint of the tail, in the shape of a horse-box, was chopped off, and the snorting monster presently pursued its course, without appearing either better or worse for the operation.
The train having whisked out of sight, all eyes were turned to the amputated member, which, arriving so easily, now took half a dozen porters
to coax to a siding. Having at length accomplished the undertaking, a side wing was let down, disclosing a horse, in a complete set of new clothing, attended by a melancholy-looking groom, with a band of crape puckered mournfully round his cockaded hat. He saluted the major with a sorrowful look, as if the meeting was productive of painful recollections; and the pent-up horse being released from confinement, came clattering over the boards, making as much noise as Timour the Tartar’s at Astley’s. Having reached terra firma, he stood shaking and stretching himself, and staring about at his leisure.
“What, you’ve clipped him, have you?” observed the major, eyeing his bright mouse-coloured coat.
“He was getting rather woolly,” replied the man.
“And plaited his mane, too,” added the major, as the groom stripped off the hood, and exhibited a racing mane.
“Didn’t lie very well, sir,” said Joe, a complaint that could not be laid to his door.
“Captain’All wants a charger, not a racer,” observed the major.
“He’ll get both if he gets this ‘oss,” replied Joe, with a sigh, sweeping the clothing over his tail.
“What! he’s been raced, has he?” asked Tom, thinking of his nomination for the Warrior Stakes.
“Raced, yes!” replied the groom, as if surprised at the question. “Raced, and won, too. Won the Gammon Stakes at Stewpony — not in the ‘Calendar,’ and so much the better, for he won’t have to carry hextry weight as a winner.”
He was very like what the major had described — very like Swipes’s horse, only clipped, with a bang tail instead of a life-guard’s one, and a leaded mane instead of a flowing one. His action, too, was much the same; “Easy as a chair,” as the major said, on alighting, after a canter round on Mr Ploughharrow’s pasture.
“Try, him yourself, Hall,” said the major, handing Tom the rein.
The coast being clear, and the elastic-seated saddle roomy, with raised padding for the knees, Tom screwed up his courage and mounted. After a very quiet walk down Soberton-lane, he ventured back into the field, and, with due caution, worked the horse from a trot into a canter, without eliciting any of those inconvenient ebullitions of spirit that sometimes attend the too sudden transition from highway to turf. And Tom tit-uped about very pleasantly. The major saw, by the self-satisfied grin on Tom’s face, as he at length returned with the slack rein of confidence, that it was a “case,” and was fully prepared for his “tender question.”
“I’ll tell you in two words,” replied the major, in reply to Tom’s tender question as to how much, “I’ll tell you in two words. Chucklehead gave a ‘under’d and sixty for this orth. The ecthecutors, to effect an immediate sale, will take a ‘under’d and twenty; but you must be quick about it,” added he, “for the groom tells me that Mr Meyers has been to look at him for the Printh.”
And Tom gaped and gasped as usual, for the money, he thought, was a vast, and he would have liked to have consulted his father, and Mr Trueboy and Padder and Froggy and the street swells of Fleecyborough, to say nothing of any chance opinion he might be able to pick up; it being a remarkable fact that, however deficient men may be in intelligence or general information, there are very few who are not equal to giving an opinion about a horse. The major, who had been in at as many deals, good, bad, and indifferent as most people, knew there was nothing like clenching a bargain at the satisfied moment, and observing to the man “that he oughtn’t to have let Mr Meyers see the orth before they were done with him,” whispered in Tom’s ear, “that if Meyers thought him good enough for the Printh, Tom might, perhaps, path him as good enough for him” — a suggestion that had considerable weight with our friend, who stood staring and wishing to pick a hole if he could, but fearing to commit himself in the attempt.
“‘I don’t advithe,’ as the City merchants write to their country correthpondents, nor do I wish to influence your dethithon,” continued the cunning major, “but I really think he’s very much the sort of orth you should have. He has all the temper and dothility of Swipes’s orth, combined with higher courage and more strength — a gayer and better animal altogether — a fitter animal for a gentleman of your figure and thubstance; and, besides being a perfectly broke charger, is a very thuperior ‘unter — isn’t he, Joe?” continued he, appealing to the man.
“I believe ye,” replied Joe, with a snatch of his hat. “If you’d seen him the day the Queen’s Jelly-calf Staggers met at Maidenhead Thicket, how he thro’d the dirt in Davis’s face and Bartlett’s face and Cox’s face, and in all the London hell-keepers’ and horse-dealers’ faces, you’d have said he was an oss to go indeed. That’s wot set Meyers arter him for the Prince,” added he.
“No doubt,” assented the major, “no doubt. An orth that distinguithes himself is soon thnapped up, at any prithe. Now,” continued he, turning to Tom, “you’d better make up your mind, and remember, if a well-broke charger is desirable, a well-made hunter is equally so. It would never do for a gentleman of your fortin and accomplithments to be tumbled about in the dirt like an orth-breaker’s man. Half the pleasure of hunting consists in being carried comfortably.”
And Tom thought there was a good deal in that; for though he had never been out, on horseback at least, he had studied ‘Punch’ attentively, and thought some of Mr Briggs’s predicaments anything but pleasant; and there were a series of “Alkens,” in Grammar the bookseller’s window, representing red-coated gentlemen in every species of discomfiture, some on their nobs, some on their horses’ nobs, some on their backs, some dashed into melon-frames, some hurried into rivers, some into ditches, that made Tom think it was desirable to have a tractable horse.
“It’s a vast of money,” at length said he, after a good suck of his whip-handle.
“I’m afraid you won’t get it for leth,” replied the major; “at least, if what the man tells me is correct. But you had better talk to him yourthelf, and see.” Tom stood mute.
“The captain thinks the orth dear at the money,” at length observed the major, turning spokesman.
“Does he?” replied the man, with the utmost indifference. “Won’t get him for a copper less,” added he, preparing to replace the clothing, muttering something about “fool for coming.”
Tom still stood agape, not knowing what to do.
“You’d throw the clothin’ and thaddle in, at all events?” observed the major.
“I’ve no instructions to do nothin’ of the sort,” replied the man, tartly but firmly.
“Ah! that’s all Mr Meyers’s doing,” whispered the major to Tom. “Made them independent.”
“Humph!” mused Tom, staring vacantly.
“Well, you’d better thettle it one way or other,” at length observed the major; “the man will be wanting to go back by the next train.”
It then occurred to Tom that he would have to pay the railway expenses if he did not buy; and, like many people involved in one expense, he went on in hopes of retrieving it.
“Well, but I can’t pay for him now — at least — I mean — I haven’t got the money in my pocket,” stammered Tom.
“Oh! never mind that,” replied the major; “give the man five shillings, and we’ll arrange that together. Here, my man,” continued the major, pulling out two half-crowns, and giving them to the groom, “Captain’All will take the orth, and I’ll write to your people by to-night’s posth, and if they require the thaddle and things back, they shall be thent, but I don’t expect they’ll be thuch screws.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the man, pocketing his douceur, adding, “You’ll be wanting him taken into town, won’t you?”
“No,” replied the major, not thinking it prudent to let this man have the run of any of the town taps; “I’ll get a man here,” jerking his head towards the railway station.
Having got the horse and a railway porter, they nodded their adieux in return to the groom’s parting salute, and set off on the well-cindered white-posted footpath, with the horse led alongside them on the roa
d.
“You’ve done a wise thing, I think,” observed the major, squeezing Tom’s fat arm, as they tramped along. “I’m sure the colonel will approve of it, and there’s no man has your interest more warmly at heart than he has. You’ve got a very nith orth — a very neat orth — a very gentlemanlike orth.”
“Yes, I think he is a nice horse,” replied Tom, eyeing him as he stared and sauntered leisurely along. “Where shall I get him a bed, think ye?”
“Oh, haven’t you a stable?” asked the major.
“Yes, we have a stable,” replied Tom, “but it’s full of coals and casks and empty bottles and things.”
“Well, but they could be emptied out. Is it damp?”
“Yes, I think it’s damp,” replied Tom; “at least, there’s green upon the walls.”
“Ah, that won’t do. Orthes should be kept dry and warm.”
“Do for one night, I suppose,” said Tom, with an offhand sort of air.
“Do for your orth, if that’s what you mean,” rejoined the major. “Orthes don’t take so much killing as some people suppose. No, no; you’d better take him to the Thalutation, or one of the inns, till you get him a proper stable of his own.”
So saying, he gave the word of command “to the Thalutation,” and horse and groom and friends turned up Spooneypope-street accordingly; and as Tom chanced to look back, he saw heads popped out of windows and shop doors, and a general commotion on his track, so acceptable is a little excitement in the country. The news soon spread that Tom Hall had bought a horse. Young people said he was going it, old ones shook their heads and said they wished he mightn’t make the old man’s money fly.