CHAPTER VII
OUR HERO ARRIVES AT LAVERICK WELLS
Punctual to the moment, the railway train, conveying the redoubtablegenius, glid into the well-lighted, elegant little station of LaverickWells, and out of a first-class carriage emerged Mr. Sponge, in a 'down theroad' coat, carrying a horse-sheet wrapper in his hand. So small andinsignificant did the station seem after the gigantic ones of London, thatMr. Sponge thought he had wasted his money in taking a first-class ticket,seeing there was no one to know. Mr. Leather, who was in attendance, havingreceived him hat in hand, with all the deference due to the master oftwenty hunters, soon undeceived him on that point. Having eased him of hiswrapper, and inquired about his luggage, and despatched a porter for a fly,they stood together over the portmanteau and hat-box till it arrived.
'How are the horses?' asked Sponge.
'Oh, the osses be nicely, sir,' replied Leather; 'they travelled downuncommon well, and I've had 'em both removed sin they com'd, so either on'em is fit to go i' the mornin' that you think proper.'
'Where are the hounds?' asked our hero.
''Ounds be at Whirleypool Windmill,' replied Leather, 'that's about fivemiles off.'
'What sort of country is it?' inquired Sponge.
'It be a stiffish country from all accounts, with a good deal o' waterjumpin'; that is to say, the Liffey runs twistin' and twinin' about it likea H'Eel.'
'Then I'd better ride the brown, I think,' observed Sponge, after a pause:'he has size and stride enough to cover anything, if he will but facewater.'
'I'll warrant him for that,' replied Leather; 'only let the Latchfords wellinto him, and he'll go.'
'Are there many hunting-men down?' inquired our friend casually.
'Great many,' replied Leather, 'great many; some good 'ands among 'em too;at least to say their grums, though I never believe all these jockeys say.There be some on 'em 'ere now,' observed Leather, in an undertone, with awink of his roguish eye, and jerk of his head towards where a knot of themstood eyeing our friend most intently.
'Which?' inquired Sponge, looking about the thinly peopled station.
'There,' replied Leather, 'those by the book-stall. That be Mr. Waffles,'continued he, giving his master a touch in the ribs as he jerked hisportmanteau into a fly, 'that be Mr. Waffles,' repeated he, with a knowingleer.
'Which?' inquired Mr. Sponge eagerly.
'The gent in the green wide-awake 'at, and big-button'd overcoat,' repliedLeather, 'jest now a speakin' to the youth in the tweed and all tweed; thatbe Master Caingey Thornton, as big a little blackguard as any in theplace--lives upon Waffles, and yet never has a good word to say for him,no, nor for no one else--and yet to 'ear the little devil a-talkin' to him,you'd really fancy he believed there wasn't not never sich another man i'the world as Waffles--not another sich rider--not another sichracket-player--not another sich pigeon-shooter--not another sich fine chapaltogether.'
'Has Thornton any horses?' asked Sponge.
'Not he,' replied Leather, 'not he, nor the gen'lman next him nouther--he,in the pilot coat, with the whip sticking out of the pocket, nor the one inthe coffee-coloured 'at, nor none on 'em in fact'; adding, 'they all liveon Squire Waffles--breakfast with him--dine with him--drink with him--smokewith him--and if any on 'em 'appen to 'ave an 'orse, why they sell to him,and so ride for nothin' themselves.'
'A convenient sort of gentleman,' observed Mr. Sponge, thinking he, too,might accommodate him.
The fly-man now touched his hat, indicative of a wish to be off, having afare waiting elsewhere. Mr. Sponge directed him to proceed to the BrunswickHotel, while, accompanied by Leather, he proceeded on foot to the stables.
Mr. Leather, of course, had the valuable stud under lock and key, withevery crevice and air-hole well stuffed with straw, as if they had been themost valuable horses in the world. Having produced the ring-key from hispocket, Mr. Leather opened the door, and having got his master in, speedilyclosed it, lest a breath of fresh air might intrude. Having lighted alucifer, he turned on the gas, and exhibited the blooming-coated horses,well littered in straw, showing that he was not the man to payfour-and-twenty shillings a week for nothing. Mr. Sponge stood eyeing themfor some seconds with evident approbation.
'If any one asks you about the horses, you can say they are _mine_, youknow,' at length observed he casually, with an emphasis on the mine.
'In course,' replied Leather.
'I mean, you needn't say anything about their being _jobs_,' observedSponge, fearing Leather mightn't exactly 'take.'
'You trust me,' replied Leather, with a knowing wink and a jerk of hiselbow against his master's side; 'you trust me,' repeated he, with a lookas much as to say, 'we understand each other.'
'I've hadded a few to them, indeed,' continued Leather, looking to see howhis master took it.
'Have you?' observed Mr. Sponge inquiringly.
'I've made out that you've as good as twenty, one way or another,' observedLeather; 'some 'ere, some there, all over in fact, and that you jest runabout the country, and 'unt with 'oever comes h'uppermost.'
'Well, and what's the upshot of it all?' inquired Mr. Sponge, thinking hisgroom seemed wonderfully enthusiastic in his interest.
'Why, the hupshot of it is,' replied Leather, 'that the men are all mad,and the women all wild to see you. I hear at my club, the Mutton Chop andMealy Potato Club, which is frequented by flunkies as well as grums, thatthere's nothin' talked of at dinner or tea, but the terrible rich strangerthat's a comin', and the gals are all pulling caps, who's to have the firstchance.'
'Indeed,' observed Mr. Sponge, chuckling at the sensation he was creating.
'The Miss Shapsets, there be five on 'em, have had a game at fly loo foryou,' continued Leather, 'at least so their little maid tells me.'
'Fly _what_?' inquired Mr. Sponge.
'Fly loo,' repeated Leather, 'fly loo.'
Mr. Sponge shook his head. For once he was not 'fly.'
'You see,' continued Leather, in explanation, 'their father is one of themtight-laced candlestick priests wot abhors all sorts of wice andhimmorality, and won't stand card playin', or gamblin', or nothin' o' thatsort, so the young ladies when they want to settle a point, who's to bemarried first, or who's to have the richest 'usband, play fly loo. 'Sposingit's at breakfast time, they all sit quiet and sober like round the table,lookin' as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, and each has a lump o'sugar on her plate, or by her cup, or somewhere, and whoever can 'tice afly to come to her sugar first, wins the wager, or whatever it is they playfor.'
'Five on 'em,' as Leather said, being a hopeless number to extract any goodfrom, Mr. Sponge changed the subject by giving orders for the morrow.
Mr. Sponge's appearance being decidedly of the sporting order, and hishorses maintaining the character, did not alleviate the agitated minds ofthe sporting beholders, ruffled as they were with the threatening,vapouring insinuations of the coachman-groom, Peter Leather. There isnothing sets men's backs up so readily, as a hint that any one is coming totake the 'shine' out of them across country. We have known the most deadlyfeuds engendered between parties who never spoke to each other by adroitgo-betweens reporting to each what the other said, or, perhaps, did notsay, but what the 'go-betweens' knew would so rouse the British lion as tomake each ride to destruction if necessary.
'He's a varmint-looking chap,' observed Mr. Waffles, as the party returnedfrom the railway station; 'shouldn't wonder if he can go--dare say he'lltry--shouldn't wonder if he's floored--awfully stiff country this forhorses that are not used to it--most likely his are Leicestershire nags,used to fly--won't do here. If he attempts to take some of our big bankedbullfinches in his stride, with a yawner on each side, will get intogrief.'
'Hang him,' interrupted Caingey Thornton, 'there are good men in allcountries.'
'So there are!' exclaimed Mr. Spareneck, the steeple-chase rider.
'I've no notion of a fellow lording it, because he happens to come out ofLeicestershire,' rejoi
ned Mr. Thornton.
'Nor I!' exclaimed Mr. Spareneck.
'Why doesn't he stay in Leicestershire?' asked Mr. Hoppey, now raising hisvoice for the first time--adding, 'Who asked him here?'
'Who, indeed?' sneered Mr. Thornton.
In this mood our friends arrived at the Imperial Hotel, where there wasalways a dinner the day before hunting--a dinner that, somehow, was servedup in Mr. Waffles's rooms, who was allowed the privilege of paying for allthose who did not pay for themselves; rather a considerable number, webelieve.
The best of everything being good enough for the guests, and profuseliberality the order of the day, the cloth generally disappeared before acontented audience, whatever humour they might have set down in. As theleast people can do who dine at an inn and don't pay their own shot, is todrink the health of the man who does pay, Mr. Waffles was always lauded andapplauded to the skies--such a master--such a sportsman--suchknowledge--such science--such a pattern-card. On this occasion the toastwas received with extra enthusiasm, for the proposer, Mr. Caingey Thornton,who was desperately in want of a mount, after going the rounds of the oldlaudatory course, alluded to the threatened vapourings of the stranger, andexpressed his firm belief that he would 'meet with his match,' a 'taking ofthe bull by the horns,' that met with very considerable favour from thewine-flushed party, the majority of whom, at that moment, made very'small,' in their own minds, of the biggest fence that ever was seen.
There is nothing so easy as going best pace over the mahogany.
Mr. Waffles, who was received with considerable applause, and patting ofthe table, responded to the toast in his usual felicitous style, assuringthe company that he lived but for the enjoyment of their charming society,and that all the money in the world would be useless, if he hadn't LaverickWells to spend it in. With regard to the vapourings of a 'certaingentleman,' he thought it would be very odd if some of them could not takethe shine out of him, observing that 'Brag' was a good dog, but 'Holdfast'was a better, with certain other sporting similes and phrases, allindicative of showing fight. The steam is soon got up after dinner, and asthey were all of the same mind, and all agreed that a gross insult hadbeen offered to the hunt in general, and themselves in particular, the onlyquestion was, how to revenge it. At last they hit upon it. Old Slocdolager,the late master of the hunt, had been in the habit of having Tom Towler,the huntsman, to his lodgings the night before hunting, where, over a glassof gin-and-water, they discussed the doings of the day, and the generalarrangements of the country.
Mr. Waffles had had him in sometimes, though for a different purpose--atleast, in reality for a different purpose, though he always made huntingthe excuse for sending for him, and that purpose was, to try how manysilver foxes' heads full of port wine Tom could carry off without tumbling,and the old fellow being rather liquorishly inclined, had never made anyobjection to the experiment. Mr. Waffles now wanted him, to endeavour,under the mellowing influence of drink, to get him to enter cordially intowhat he knew would be distasteful to the old sportsman's feelings, namely,to substitute a 'drag' for the legitimate find and chase of the fox.Fox-hunting, though exciting and exhilarating at all times, except,perhaps, when the 'fallows are flying,' and the sportsman feels that in allprobability, the further he goes the further he is leftbehind--Fox-hunting, we say, though exciting and exhilarating, does not,when the real truth is spoken, present such conveniences for neck-breaking,as people, who take their ideas from Mr. Ackermann's print-shop window,imagine. That there are large places in most fences is perfectly true; butthat there are also weak ones is also the fact, and a practised eye catchesup the latter uncommonly quick. Therefore, though a madman may ride at thebig places, a sane man is not expected to follow; and even should any onebe tempted so to do, the madman having acted pioneer, will have cleared theway, or at all events proved its practicability for the follower.
In addition to this, however, hounds having to smell as they go, cannottravel at the ultra steeple-chase pace, so opposed to 'looking before youleap,' and so conducive to danger and difficulty, and as going even at afair pace depends upon the state of the atmosphere, and the scent the foxleaves behind, it is evident that where mere daring hard riding is theobject, a fox-hunt cannot be depended upon for furnishing the necessaryaccommodation. A drag-hunt is quite a different thing. The drag can be madeto any strength; enabling hounds to run as if they were tied to it, and canbe trailed so as to bring in all the dangerous places in the country with acertain air of plausibility, enabling a man to look round and exclaim, ashe crams at a bullfinch or brook, 'he's leading us over a most desperatecountry--never saw such fencing in all my life!' Drag-hunting, however, aswe said before, is not popular with sportsmen, certainly not with huntsmen,and though our friends with their wounded feelings determined to have one,they had yet to smooth over old Tom to get him to come into their views.That was now the difficulty.
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 7