Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour
Page 16
CHAPTER XVI
THE DINNER
Notwithstanding Jawleyford's recommendation to the contrary, Mr. Spongemade himself an uncommon swell. He put on a desperately stiff starcher,secured in front with a large gold fox-head pin with carbuncle eyes; afine, fancy-fronted shirt, with a slight tendency to pink, adorned withmosaic-gold-tethered studs of sparkling diamonds (or French paste, as thecase might be); a white waistcoat with fancy buttons; a blue coat withbright plain ones, and a velvet collar, black tights, with broadblack-and-white Cranbourne-alley-looking stockings (socks rather), andpatent leather pumps with gilt buckles--Sponge was proud of his leg. Theyoung ladies, too, turned out rather smart; for Amelia, finding that Emilywas going to put on her new yellow watered silk, instead of a dyed satinshe had talked of, made Juliana produce her broad-laced blue satin dressout of the wardrobe in the green dressing-room, where it had been laid awayin an old tablecloth; and bound her dark hair with a green-beaded wreath,which Emily met by crowning herself with a chaplet of white roses.
Thus attired, with smiles assumed at the door, the young ladies entered thedrawing-room in the full fervour of sisterly animosity. They were very muchalike in size, shape, and face. They were tallish and full-figured. MissJawleyford's features being rather more strongly marked, and her eyes ashade darker than her sister's; while there was a sort of subdued air abouther--the result, perhaps, of enlarged intercourse with the world--or maybeof disappointments. Emily's eyes sparkled and glittered, without knowingperhaps why.
Dinner was presently announced. It was of the imposing order that peoplegive their friends on a first visit, as though their appetites were largeron that day than on any other. They dined off plate; the sideboardsglittered with the Jawleyford arms on cups, tankards, and salvers;'Brecknel and Turner's' flamed and swealed in profusion on the table; whileevery now and then an expiring lamp on the sideboards or bracketsproclaimed the unwonted splendour of the scene, and added a flavour to therepast not contemplated by the cook. The room, which was large and lofty,being but rarely used, had a cold, uncomfortable feel; and, if it hadn'tbeen for the looks of the thing, Jawleyford would, perhaps, as soon thatthey had dined in the little breakfast parlour. Still there was everythingvery smart; Spigot in full fig, with a shirt frill nearly tickling hisnose, an acre of white waistcoat, and glorious calves swelling within hisgauze-silk stockings. The improvised footman went creaking about, as suchgentlemen generally do.
The style was perhaps better than the repast: still they had turtle-soup(Shell and Tortoise, to be sure, but still turtle-soup); while the wineswere supplied by the well-known firm of 'Wintle & Co.' Jawleyford sankwhere he got it, and pretended that it had been 'ages' in his cellar: 'hereally had such a stock that he thought he should never get through it'--towit, two dozen old port at 36_s._ a dozen, and one dozen at 48_s._; twodozen pale sherry at 36_s._, and one dozen brown ditto at 48_s._; threebottles of Bucellas, of the 'finest quality imported,' at 38_s._ a dozen;Lisbon 'rich and dry,' at 32_s._; and some marvellous creaming champagne at48_s._, in which they were indulging when he made the declaration: 'don'twait of me, my dear Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed Jawleyford, holding up a longneedle-case of a glass with the Jawleyford crests emblazoned about; 'don'twait of me, pray,' repeated he, as Spigot finished dribbling the froth intoSponge's glass; and Jawleyford, with a flourishing bow and waive of hisempty needle-case, drank Mr. Sponge's very good health, adding, 'I'm_extremely_ happy to see you at Jawleyford Court.'
It was then Jawleyford's turn to have a little froth; and having sucked itup with the air of a man drinking nectar, he set down his glass with ashake of the head, saying:
'There's no such wine as that to be got now-a-days.'
'Capital wine!--Excellent!' exclaimed Sponge, who was a better judge of alethan of champagne. 'Pray, where might you get it?'
'Impossible to say!--Impossible to say!' replied Jawleyford, throwing uphis hands with a shake, and shrugging his shoulders. 'I have such a stockof wine as is really quite ridiculous.'
'_Quite_ ridiculous,' thought Spigot, who, by the aid of a false key, hadbeen through the cellar.
Except the 'Shell and Tortoise' and 'Wintle,' the estate supplied therepast. The carp was out of the home-pond; the tench, or whatever it was,was out of the mill-pond; the mutton was from the farm; thecarrot-and-turnip-and-beet-bedaubed stewed beef was from ditto; while thegarden supplied the vegetables that luxuriated in the massive silverside-dishes. Watson's gun furnished the old hare and partridges that openedthe ball of the second course; and tarts, jellies, preserves, and custardsmade their usual appearances. Some first-growth Chateaux Margaux 'Wintle,'again at 66_s._, in very richly cut decanters accompanied the old 36_s._port; and apples, pears, nuts, figs, preserved fruits, occupied thesplendid green-and-gold dessert set. Everything, of course, was handedabout--an ingenious way of tormenting a person that has 'dined.' Theladies sat long, Mrs. Jawleyford taking three glasses of port (when shecould get it); and it was a quarter to eight when they rose from the table.
Jawleyford then moved an adjournment to the fire; which Sponge gladlyseconded, for he had never been warm since he came into the house, the heatfrom the fires seeming to go up the chimneys. Spigot set them a littleround table, placing the port and claret upon it, and bringing them a plateof biscuits in lieu of the dessert. He then reduced the illumination on thetable, and extinguished such of the lamps as had not gone out ofthemselves. Having cast an approving glance around, and seen that they hadwhat he considered right, he left them to their own devices.
'Do you drink port or claret, Mr. Sponge?' asked Jawleyford, preparing topush whichever he preferred over to him.
'I'll take a little port, _first_, if you please,' replied our friend--asmuch as to say, 'I'll finish off with claret.'
'You'll find that very good, I expect,' said Mr. Jawleyford, passing thebottle to him; 'it's '20 wine--very rare wine to get now--was a very richfruity wine, and was a long time before it came into drinking. Connoisseurswould give any money for it.'
'It has still a good deal of body,' observed Sponge, turning off a glassand smacking his lips, at the same time holding the glass up to the candleto see the oily mark it made on the side.
'Good sound wine--good sound wine,' said Mr. Jawleyford. 'Have plentylighter, if you like.' The light wine was made by watering the strong.
'Oh no, thank you,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'oh no, thank you. I like goodstrong military port.'
'So do I,' said Mr. Jawleyford, 'so do I; only unfortunately it doesn'tlike me--am obliged to drink claret. When I was in the Bumperkin yeomanrywe drank nothing but port.' And then Jawleyford diverged into a longrambling dissertation on messes and cavalry tactics, which nearly sent Mr.Sponge asleep.
'Where did you say the hounds are to-morrow?' at length asked he, after Mr.Jawleyford had talked himself out.
'To-morrow,' repeated Mr. Jawleyford, thoughtfully, 'to-morrow--they don'thunt to-morrow--not one of their days--next day. ScramblefordGreen--Scrambleford Green--no, no, I'm wrong--Dundleton Tower--DundletonTower.'
'How far is that from here?' asked Mr. Sponge.
'Oh, ten miles--say ten miles,' replied Mr. Jawleyford. It was sometimesten, and sometimes fifteen, depending upon whether Mr. Jawleyford wantedthe party to go or not. These elastic places, however, are common in allcountries--to sight-seers as well as to hunters. 'Close by--close by,' oneday. 'Oh! a lo-o-ng way from here,' another.
It is difficult, for parties who have nothing in common, to drive aconversation, especially when each keeps jibbing to get upon a privatesubject of his own. Jawleyford was all for sounding Sponge as to where hecame from, and the situation of his property; for as yet, it must beremembered, he knew nothing of our friend, save what he had gleaned atLaverick Wells, where certainly all parties concurred in placing him highon the list of 'desirables,' while Sponge wanted to talk about hunting, themeets of the hounds, and hear what sort of a man Lord Scamperdale was. Sothey kept playing at cross-purposes, without either getting much out of theother.
Jawleyford's intimacy with Lord Scamperdale seemed to havediminished with propinquity, for he now no longer talked ofhim--'Scamperdale this, and Scamperdale that--Scamperdale, with whom hecould do anything he liked'; but he called him 'My Lord Scamperdale,' andspoke of him in a reverent and becoming way. Distance often lends boldnessto the tongue, as the poet Campbell says it:
Lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
There are few great men who haven't a dozen people, at least, who 'keepthem right,' as they call it. To hear some of the creatures talk, onewould fancy a lord was a lunatic as a matter of course.
Spigot at last put an end to their efforts by announcing that 'tea andcoffee were ready!' just as Mr. Sponge buzzed his bottle of port. They thenadjourned from the gloom of the large oak-wainscoted dining-room, to theeffulgent radiance of the well-lit, highly gilt, drawing-room, where ourfair friends had commenced talking Mr. Sponge over as soon as they retiredfrom the dining-room.