When a man has experienced some great and totally unexpected reverse of fortune, has been swept from one plane of existence to another, that he should fail at once to recognize the full magnitude of that change is but natural, for his faculties must of necessity be numbed more or less by its very suddenness.
Yesterday I had been reduced from affluence to poverty with an unexpectedness that had dazed me for the time being, and, from the poverty of an hour ago, I now found myself reduced to an utter destitution, without the wherewithal to pay for the meanest night's lodging. And, contrasting the careless ease of a few days since with my present lamentable situation, I fell into a gloomy meditation; and the longer I thought it over, the more dejected I became. To be sure, I might apply to Sir Richard for assistance, but my pride revolted at even the thought, more especially at such an early stage; moreover, I had determined, beforehand, to walk my appointed road unaided from the first.
From these depressing thoughts I was presently aroused by a loud, rough voice at no great distance, to which, though I had been dimly conscious of it for some time, I had before paid no attention. Now, however, I raised my eyes from the spot upon the floor where they had rested hitherto, and fixed them upon the speaker.
He was a square-shouldered, bullet-headed fellow, evidently held in much respect by his companions, for he occupied the head of the table, and I noticed that when ever he spoke the others held their peace, and hung upon the words with an appearance of much respect.
"'Yes, sirs,' says I," he began, louder than before, and with a flourish of his long-stemmed pipe, "'yes, sirs, Tom Cragg's my name an' craggy's my natur,' says I. 'I be 'ard, sirs, dey-vilish 'ard an' uncommon rocky! 'Ere's a face as likes good knocks,' I says, 'w'y, when I fought Crib Burke o' Bristol 'e broke 'is 'and again' my jaw, so 'e did, an' I scarce knowed 'e'd 'it me till I see 'im 'oppin' wi' the pain of it. Come, sirs,' says I, 'who'll give me a black eye; a fiver's all I ask.' Well, up comes a young buck, ready an' willin'. 'Tom,' says 'e, 'I'll take two flaps at that figger-head o' yourn for seven guineas, come, what d'ye say?' I says, 'done,' says I. So my fine gentleman lays by 'is 'at an' cane, strips off 'is right-'and glove, an' 'eavin' back lets fly at me. Bang comes 'is fist again' my jaw, an' there's my gentleman a-dabbin' at 'is broken knuckles wi' 'is 'ankercher. 'Come, my lord,' says I, 'fair is fair, take your other whack.' 'Damnation!' says 'e, 'take your money an' go to the devil!' says 'e, 'I thought you was flesh an' blood an' not cast iron!' 'Craggy, my lord,' says I, gathering up the rhino, 'Cragg by name an' craggy by natur', my lord,' says I."
Hereupon ensued a roar of laughter, with much slapping of thighs, and stamping of feet, while the bullet-headed man solemnly emptied his tankard, which was the signal for two or three of those nearest to vie for its possession, during which Tom Cragg sucked dreamily at his pipe and stared placidly up at the ceiling.
"Now, Tom," said a tall, bony individual, chiefly remarkable in possessing but one eye, and that so extremely pale and watery as to give one the idea that it was very much overworked, "now, Tom," said he, setting down the refilled tankard at the great man's elbow with a triumphant flourish, "tell us 'ow you shook 'ands wi' the Prince Regent."
"Ah! tell us," chimed the rest.
"Well," said the bullet-headed man, stooping to blow the froth from his ale, "it was arter I beat Jack Nolan of Brummagem. The Prince 'e come a-runnin' to me 'e did, as I sat in my corner a-workin' at a loose tusk. 'Tom,' 'e says, 'Tom, you be a wonder.' 'I done Jack Nolan up proper I think, your 'Ighness,' says I. 'Tom,' says 'e, wi' tears in 'is eyes, 'you 'ave; an' if I 'ad my way,' says 'e, 'I'd make you Prime Minister to-morrer!' 'e says. An' slapped me on the back 'e did, wi' 'is merry own 'and, an' likewise gave me this 'ere pin," saying which, he pointed to a flaming diamond horseshoe which he wore stuck through his neckerchief. The stones were extremely large and handsome, looking very much out of place on the fellow's rough person, and seemed in some part to bear out his story. Though, indeed, as regarded his association with the Prince Regent, whose tastes were at all times peculiar (to say the least), and whose love for "the fancy" was notorious, I thought it, on the whole, very probable; for despite Craggy's words, foolishly blatant though they sounded, there was about him in his low, retreating brow, his small, deep-set eyes, his great square jowl and heavy chin, a certain air there was no mistaking. I also noticed that the upper half of one ear was unduly thick and swollen, which is a mark (I believe) of the professional pugilist alone.
"Tom," cried the one-eyed man, "wot's all this we heerd of Ted Jarraway of Swansea bein' knocked out in five rounds by this 'ere Lord Vibbot, up in London?"
"Vibbot?" repeated Cragg, frowning into his tankard, "I 'aven't 'eard of no Vibbot, neither lord, earl, nor dook."
"Come, Tom," coaxed the other, "everybody's heerd o' Buck Vibbot, 'im they calls the 'Fightin' Barronite.'"
"If," said Cragg, rolling his bullet-head, "if you was to ask me who put Ted Jarraway to sleep, I should answer you, Sir Maurice Vibart, commonly called 'Buck' Vibart; an' it took ten rounds to do it, not five."
As may be expected, at this mention of my cousin's name I pricked up my ears.
"And what's all this 'bout him 'putting out' Tom Cragg, in three?" At this there was a sudden silence and all eyes were turned towards the speaker, a small, red-headed fellow, with a truculent eye. "Come," said he, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke, "in three rounds! What d'ye say to that now, come?"
Cragg had started up in his chair and now sat scowling at his inquisitor open-mouthed; and in the hush I could hear the ticking of the clock in the corner, and the crackle of the logs upon the hearth. Then, all at once, Cragg's pipe shivered to fragments on the floor and he leapt to his feet. In one stride, as it seemed, he reached the speaker, who occupied the corner opposite mine, but, even as he raised his fist, he checked himself before the pocket-pistol which the other held levelled across the table.
"Come, come—none o' that," said the red-headed man, his eye more truculent than ever, "I ain't a fightin' cove myself, and I don't want no trouble—all I asks is, what about Buck Vibart putting out Tom Cragg—in three rounds? That's a civil question, ain't it—what d'ye say now—come?"
"I says," cried Tom Cragg, flourishing a great fist in the air, "I says as 'e done it—on a foul!" And he smote the table a blow that set the glasses ringing.
"Done it on a foul?" cried three or four voices.
"On a foul!" repeated Cragg.
"Think again," said the red-headed man, "'t were said as it was a werry clean knock-out."
"An' I say it were done on a foul," reiterated Cragg, with another blow of his fist, "an' wot's more, if Buck Vibart stood afore me—ah, in this 'ere very room, I'd prove my words."
"Humph!" said the red-headed man, "they do say as he's wonderful quick wi' his 'mauleys,' an' can hit—like a sledgehammer."
"Quick wi' 'is 'ands 'e may be, an' able to give a goodish thump, but as for beatin' me—it's 'all me eye an' Betty Martin,' an' you can lay to that, my lads. I could put 'im to sleep any time an' anywhere, an' I'd like—ah! I'd like to see the chap as says contrairy!" And here the pugilist scowled round upon his hearers (more especially the red-headed man) so blackly that one or two of them shuffled uneasily, and the latter individual appeared to become interested in the lock of his pistol.
"I'd like," repeated Cragg, "ah! I'd like to see the cove as says contrairy."
"No one ain't a-goin' to, Tom," said the one-eyed man soothingly, "not a soul, Lord bless you!"
"I only wish they would," growled Cragg.
"Ain't there nobody to obleege the gentleman?" inquired the red-headed man.
"I'd fight any man as ever was born—wish I may die!" snorted Cragg.
"You always was so fiery, Tom!" purred the one-eyed man, blinking his pale orb.
"I were," cried the prizefighter, working himself into another rage, "ah! an' I'm proud of it. I'd fight any man as ever wore breeches—why, burn me! I'd give any man ten shillin' as could stand up to me for ten minutes."
"Ten shillings!" said I to myself, "ten shillings, when one comes to think of it, is a very handsome sum—more especially when one is penniless and destitute!"
"Wish I may die!" roared Cragg, smiting his fist down on the table again, "a guinea—a golden guinea to the man as could stand on 'is pins an' fight me for five minutes—an' as for Buck Vibart—curse 'im, I say as 'e won on a foul!"
"A guinea," said I to myself, "is a fortune!" And, setting down my empty tankard, I crossed the room and touched Cragg upon the shoulder.
"I will fight you," said I, "for a guinea."
Now, as the fellow's eyes met mine, he rose up out of his chair and his mouth opened slowly, but he spoke no word, backing from me until he was stayed by the table, where he stood, staring at me. And once again there fell a silence, in which I heard the tick of the clock in the corner and the crackle of the logs upon the hearth.
"You?" said he, recovering himself with an effort, "you?" and, as he spoke, I saw his left eyelid twitch suddenly.
"Exactly," I answered, "I think I can stand up to even you—for five minutes." Now, as I spoke, he winked at me again. That it was meant for me was certain, seeing that his back was towards the others, though what he intended to convey I could form no idea, so I assumed as confident an air as possible and waited. Hereupon the one-eyed man broke into a sudden raucous laugh, in which the others joined.
"'Ark to 'im, lads," he cried, pointing to me with the stern of his pipe, "'e be a fine un to stand up to Tom Cragg—I don't think."
"Tell 'un to go an' larn hisself to grow whiskers fust!" cried a second.
"Ay, to be sure, 'e aren't got so much as our old cat!" grinned a third.
"Stay!" cried the one-eyed man, peering up at me beneath his hand. "Is they whiskers a-peepin' at me over 'is cravat or do my eyes deceive me?" Which pleasantry called forth another roar of laughter at my expense.
Now, very foolishly perhaps, this nonsense greatly exasperated me, for I was, at that time, painfully conscious of my bare lips and chin. It was, therefore, with an effort that I mastered my quickly rising temper, and once more addressed myself to Cragg.
"I am willing," said I, "to accept your conditions and fight you—for a guinea—or any other man here for that matter, except the humorous gentleman with the watery eye, who can name his own price." The fellow in question stared at me, glanced slowly round, and, sitting down, buried his face in his tankard.
"Come, Tom Cragg," said I, "a while ago you seemed very anxious for a man to fight; well—I'm your man," and with the words I stripped off my coat and laid it across a chairback.
This apparent willingness on my part was but a cloak for my real feelings, for I will not here disguise the fact that the prospect before me was anything but agreeable; indeed my heart was thumping in a most unpleasant manner, and my tongue and lips had become strangely parched and dry, as I fronted Cragg.
Truly, he looked dangerous enough, with his beetling brow, his great depth of chest, and massive shoulders; and the possibility of a black eye or so, and general pounding from the fellow's knotted fists, was daunting in the extreme. Still, the chance of earning a guinea, even under such conditions, was not to be lightly thrown away; therefore I folded my arms and waited with as much resolution as I could.
"Sir," said Cragg, speaking in a very altered tone, "sir, you seem oncommon—eager for it."
"I shall be glad to get it over," said I.
"If," he went on slowly, "if I said anything against—you know who, I'm sorry for it—me 'aving the greatest respec' for—you know who—you understand me, I think." And herewith he winked, three separate and distinct times.
"No, I don't understand you in the least," said I, "nor do I think it at all necessary; all that I care about is the guinea in question."
"Come, Tom," cried one of the company, "knock 'is 'ead off to begin with."
"Ay, set about 'm, Tom—cut your gab an' finish 'im," and here came the clatter of chairs as the company rose.
"Can't be done," said Cragg, shaking his head, "leastways—not 'ere."
"I'm not particular," said I, "if you prefer, we might manage it very well in the stable with a couple of lanthorns."
"The barn would be the very place," suggested the landlord, bustling eagerly forward and wiping his hands on his apron, "the very place—plenty of room and nice and soft to fall on. If you would only put off your fightin' till to-morrow, we might cry it through the villages; 'twould be a big draw. Ecod! we might make a purse o' twenty pound—if you only would! Think it over—think it over."
"To-morrow I hope to be a good distance from here," said I; "come, the sooner it is over the better, show us your barn." So the landlord called for lanthorns and led the way to a large outbuilding at the back of the inn, into which we all trooped.
"It seems to be a good place and very suitable," said I.
"You may well say that," returned the landlord; "it's many a fine bout as has been brought off in 'ere; the time Jem Belcher beat 'The Young Ruffian' the Prince o' Wales sat in a cheer over in that theer corner—ah, that was a day, if you please!"
"If Tom Cragg is ready," said I, turning up the wristbands of my shirt, "why, so am I." Here it was found to every one's surprise, and mine in particular, that Tom Cragg was not in the barn. Surprise gave place to noisy astonishment when, after much running to and fro, it was further learned that he had vanished altogether. The inn itself, the stables, and even the haylofts were ransacked without avail. Tom Cragg was gone as completely as though he had melted into thin air, and with him all my hopes of winning the guinea and a comfortable bed.
It was with all my old dejection upon me, therefore, that I returned to the tap-room, and, refusing the officious aid of the One-Eyed Man, put on my coat, readjusted my knapsack and crossed to the door. On the threshold I paused, and looked back.
"If," said I, glancing round the ring of faces, "if there is any man here who is at all willing to fight for a guinea, ten shillings, or even five, I should be very glad of the chance to earn it." But, seeing how each, wilfully avoiding my eye, held his peace, I sighed, and turning my back upon them, set off along the darkening road.
Evening had fallen, and I walked along in no very happy frame of mind, the more so, as the rising wind and flying wrack of clouds above (through which a watery moon had peeped at fitful intervals) seemed to presage a wild night. It needed but this to make my misery the more complete, for, as far as I could tell, if I slept at all (and I was already very weary), it must, of necessity, be beneath some hedge or tree.
As I approached the brow of the hill, I suddenly remembered that I must once more pass the gibbet, and began to strain my eyes for it. Presently I spied it, sure enough, its grim, gaunt outline looming through the murk, and instinctively I quickened my stride so as to pass it as soon as might be.
I was almost abreast of it when a figure rose from beneath it and slouched into the road to meet me. I stopped there and then, and grasping my heavy staff waited its approach.
"Be that you, sir?" said a voice, and I recognized the voice of TomCragg.
"What are you doing—and there of all places?"
"Oh—I ain't afeared of 'im," answered Cragg, jerking his thumb towards the gibbet, "I ain't afeard o' none as ever drawed breath—dead or livin'—except it be 'is 'Ighness the Prince Regent."
"And what do you want with me?"
"I 'opes as theer's no offence, my lord," said he, knuckling his forehead, and speaking in a tone that was a strange mixture of would-be comradeship and cringing servility. "Cragg is my name, an' craggy's my natur', but I know when I'm beat. I knowed ye as soon as I laid my 'peepers' on ye, an' if I said as it were a foul, why, when a man's in 'is cups, d'ye see, 'e's apt to shoot rayther wide o' the gospel, d'ye see, an' there was no offence, my lord, strike me blind! I know you, an' you know me—Tom Cragg by name an' craggy by—"
"But I don't know you," said I, "and, for that matter, neither do you know me."
"W'y, you ain't got no whiskers, my lord—leastways, not with you now, but—"
"And what the devil has that got to do with it?" said I angrily.
"Disguises, p'raps!" said the fellow, with a sly leer, "arter that theer kidnappin'—an' me 'avin' laid out Sir Jarsper Trent, in Wych Street, accordin' to your orders, my lord, the Prince give me word to 'clear out'—cut an' run for it, till it blow'd over; an' I thought, p'raps, knowin' as you an' 'im 'ad 'ad words, I thought as you 'ad 'cut stick' too—"
"And I think—that you are manifestly drunk," said I, "if you still wish to fight, for any sum—no matter how small—put up your hands; if not, get out of my road." The craggy one stepped aside, somewhat hastily, which done, he removed his hat and stood staring and scratching his bullet-head as one in sore perplexity.
"I seen a many rum goes in my time," said he, "but I never see so rummy a go as this 'ere—strike me dead!"
So I left him, and strode on down the hill. As I went, the moon shot out a feeble ray, through some rift in the rolling clouds, and, looking back, I saw him standing where I had left him beneath the gibbet, still scratching his bullethead, and staring after me down the hill.
Now, though the whole attitude and behavior of the fellow was puzzling to no small degree, my mind was too full of my own concerns to give much thought to him—indeed, scarce was he out of my sight but I forgot him altogether; for, what with my weariness, the long, dark road before and behind me, and my empty pockets, I became a prey to great dejection. So much so that I presently sank wearily beside the way, and, resting my chin in my hands, sat there, miserably enough, watching the night deepen about me.
"And yet," said I to myself, "if, as Epictetus says—'to despise a thing is to possess it,' then am I rich, for I have always despised money; and if, weary as I am, I can manage to condemn the luxury of a feather bed, then tonight, lying in this grassy ditch beneath the stars, I shall slumber as sweetly as ever I did between the snowy sheets." Saying which, I rose and began to look about for some likely nook in the hedge, where I might pass the night. I was thus engaged when I heard the creak of wheels, and the pleasant rhythmic jingle of harness on the dark hill above, and, in a little while, a great wagon or wain, piled high with hay, hove into view, the driver of which rolled loosely in his seat with every jolt of the wheels, so that it was a wonder he did not roll off altogether. As he came level with me I hailed him loudly, whereupon he started erect and brought his horses to a stand:
"Hulloa!" he bellowed, in the loud, strident tone of one rudely awakened, "w'at do 'ee want wi' I?"
"A lift," I answered, "will you give a tired fellow a lift on his way?"
"W'y—I dunno—be you a talkin' chap?"
"I don't think so," said I.
"Because, if you be a talkin' chap, I beant a-goin' to give 'ee a lift, no'ow—not if I knows it; give a chap a lift, t' other day, I did—took 'im up t' other side o' Sevenoaks, an' 'e talked me up 'ill an' down 'ill, 'e did—dang me! if I could get a wink o' sleep all the way to Tonbridge; so if you 'm a talkin' chap, you don't get no lift wi' I."
"I am generally a very silent chap," said I; "besides, I am too tired and sleepy to talk, even if I wished—"
"Sleepy," yawned the man, "then up you get, my chap—I'm sleepy too—I allus am, Lord love ye! theer's nowt like sleep—up wi' you, my chap." Forthwith, up I clambered and, laying myself down among the fragrant hay, stretched out my tired limbs, and sighed. Never shall I forget the delicious sense of restfulness that stole over me as I lay there upon my back, listening to the creak of the wheels, the deliberate hoof-strokes of the horses, muffled in the thick dust of the road, and the gentle snore of the driver who had promptly fallen asleep again. On we went as if borne on air, so soft was my bed, now beneath the far-flung branches of trees, sometimes so low that I could have touched them with my hand, now, beneath a sky heavy with sombre masses of flying cloud or bright with the soft radiance of the moon. On I went, careless alike of destination, of time, and of future, content to lie there upon the hay, and rest. And so, lulled by the gentle movement, by the sound of wheels and harness, and the whisper of the soft wind about me, I presently fell into a most blessed sleep.
How long I slept I have no idea, but when I opened my eyes it was to find the moon shining down on me from a cloudless heaven; the wind also had died away; it seemed my early fears of a wild night were not to be fulfilled, and for this I was sufficiently grateful. Now as I lay, blinking up to the moon, I presently noticed that we had come to a standstill and I listened expectantly for the jingle of harness and creak of the wheels to recommence. "Strange!" said I to myself, after having waited vainly some little time, and wondering what could cause the delay, I sat up and looked about me. The first object my eyes encountered was a haystack and, beyond that, another, with, a little to one side, a row of barns, and again beyond these, a great, rambling farmhouse. Evidently the wain had reached its destination, wherever that might be, and the sleepy wagoner, forgetful of my presence, had tumbled off to bed. The which I thought so excellent an example that I lay down again, and, drawing the loose hay over me, closed my eyes, and once more fell asleep.
My second awakening was gradual. I at first became conscious of a sound, rising and falling with a certain monotonous regularity, that my drowsy ears could make nothing of. Little by little, however, the sound developed itself into a somewhat mournful melody or refrain, chanted by a not unmusical voice. I yawned and, having stretched myself, sat up to look and listen. And the words of the song were these:
"When a man, who muffins cries,Cries not, when his father dies,'Tis a proof that he would ratherHave a muffin than his father."
The singer was a tall, strapping fellow with a good-tempered face, whose ruddy health was set off by a handsome pair of black whiskers. As I watched him, he laid aside the pitchfork he had been using, and approached the wagon, but, chancing to look up, his eye met mine, and he stopped:
"Hulloa!" he exclaimed, breaking short off in the middle of a note, "hulloa!"
"Hallo!" said I.
"W'at be doin' up theer?"
"I was thinking," I returned, "that, under certain circumstances, I, for one, could not blame the individual, mentioned in your song, for his passionate attachment to muffins. At this precise moment a muffin—or, say, five or six, would be highly acceptable, personally."
"Be you partial to muffins, then?"
"Yes, indeed," said I, "more especially seeing I have not broken my fast since midday yesterday."
"Well, an' w'at be doin' in my hay?"
"I have been asleep," said I.
"Well, an' what business 'ave ye got a-sleepin' an' a-snorin' in my hay?"
"I was tired," said I, "and 'Nature her custom holds, let shame say what it will,' still—I do not think I snored."
"'Ow do I know that—or you, for that matter?" rejoined the farmer, stroking his glossy whiskers, "hows'ever, if you be quite awake, come on down out o' my hay." As he said this he eyed me with rather a truculent air, likewise he clenched his fist. Thinking it wisest to appear unconscious of this, I nodded affably, and letting myself down from the hay, was next moment standing beside him.
"Supposin' I was to thump 'ee on the nose?" he inquired.
"What for?"
"For makin' so free wi' my hay."
"Why then," said I, "I should earnestly endeavor to thump you on yours."
The farmer looked me slowly over from head to foot, with a dawning surprise.
"Thought you was a common tramper, I did," said he.
"Why, so I am," I answered, brushing the clinging hay from me.
"Trampers o' the road don't wear gentlemen's clothes—leastways, I never see one as did." Here his eyes wandered over me again, from my boots upward. Half-way up, they stopped, evidently arrested by my waistcoat, a flowered satin of the very latest cut, for which I had paid forty shillings in the Haymarket, scarcely a week before; and, as I looked down at it, I would joyfully have given it, and every waistcoat that was ever cut, to have had that forty shillings safe back in my pocket again.
"That be a mighty fine weskit, sir!"
"Do you think so?" said I.
"Ah, that I do—w'at might be the cost of a weskit the like o' that, now?"
"I paid forty shillings for it, in the Haymarket, in London, scarcely a week ago," I answered. The fellow very slowly closed one eye at the same time striking his nose three successive raps with his forefinger:
"Gammon!" said he.
"None the less, it's true," said I.
"Any man as would give forty shillin' for a garment as is no mortal good agen the cold—not reachin' fur enough, even if it do be silk, an' all worked wi' little flowers—is a dommed fool!—"
"Assuredly!" said I, with a nod.
"Howsomever," he continued, "it's a handsome weskit, there's no denyin', an' well worth a woman's lookin' at—a proper man inside of it."
"Not a doubt of it," said I.
"I mean," said he, scratching his ear, and staring hard at the handle of the pitchfork, "a chap wi' a fine pair o' whiskers, say."
"Hum!" said I.
"Now, woman," he went on, shifting his gaze to the top button of his left gaiter, "woman is uncommon fond o' a good pair o' whiskers—leastways, so I've heerd."
"Indeed," said I, "few women can look upon such things unmoved, I believe, and nothing can set off a pair of fine, black whiskers better than a flowered satin waistcoat."
"That's so!" nodded the farmer.
"But, unfortunately," said I, passing my hand over my smooth lips and chin, "I have no whiskers."
"No," returned the farmer, with a thoughtful shake of the head, "leastways, none as I can observe."
"Now, you have," said I.
"So they do tell me," he answered modestly.
"And the natural inference is that you ought to have a flowered waistcoat to go with them."
"Why, that's true, to be sure!" he nodded.
"The price of this one is—fifteen shillings," said I.
"That's a lot o' money, master," said he, shaking his head.
"It's a great deal less than forty," said I.
"An' ten is less than fifteen, an' ten shillin' is my price; what d'ye say—come now."
"You drive a hard bargain," said I, "but the waistcoat is yours at your own price." So saying, I slipped off knapsack and coat, and removing the garment in question, having first felt through the pockets, handed it to him, whereupon he slowly counted the ten shillings into my hand; which done, he sat down upon the shaft of a cart near by, and, spreading out the waistcoat on his knees, looked it over with glistening eyes.
"Forty shillin' you paid for 'un, up to Lunnon," said he, "forty shillin' it were, I think?"
"Forty shillings!" said I.
"Ecod, it's a sight o' money! But it's a grand weskit—ah, that it is!"
"So you believe me now, do you?" said I, pocketing the ten shillings.
"Well," he answered slowly, "I won't go so fur as that, but 'tis a mighty fine weskit theer's no denyin', an' must ha' cost a sight o' money—a powerful sight!" I picked up my knapsack and, slipping it on, took my staff, and turned to depart. "Theer's a mug o' homebrewed, an' a slice o' fine roast beef up at th' 'ouse, if you should be so inclined—"
"Why, as to that," said I, over my shoulder, "I neither eat nor drink with a man who doubts my word."
"Meanin' those forty shillin'?"
"Precisely!"
"Well," said he, twisting his whisker with a thoughtful air, "if you could manage to mak' it twenty—or even twenty-five, I might mak' some shift to believe it—though 'twould be a strain, but forty!—no, damme, I can't swaller that!"
"Then, neither can I swallow your beef and ale," said I.
"Wheer be goin'?" he inquired, rising, and following as I made for the gate.
"To the end of the road," I answered.
"Then you be goin' pretty fur—that theer road leads to the sea."
"Why, then I'm going to the sea," said I.
"What to do?"
"I haven't the ghost of an idea," I returned.
"Can you work?"
"Yes," said I.
"Can ye thatch a rick?"
"No," said I.
"Shear a sheep?"
"No," said I.
"Guide a plough?"
"No," said I.
"Shoe a 'oss?"
"No," said I.
"Then ye can't work—Lord love me, wheer 'ave 'e been?"
"At a university," said I.
"Where, master?"
"At a place warranted to turn one out a highly educated incompetent," I explained.
"Why, I don't hold wi' eddication nor book-larnin', myself, master. Here I be wi' a good farm, an' money in the bank, an' can't write my own name," said the farmer.
"And here am I, a 'first' in 'Litterae Humaniores,' selling my waistcoat that I may eat," said I. Being come to the gate of the yard, I paused. "There is one favor you might grant me," said I.
"As what, master?"
"Five minutes under the pump yonder, and a clean towel." The farmer nodded, and crossing to one of the outhouses, presently returned with a towel. And, resting the towel upon the pump-head, he seized the handle, and sent a jet of clear, cool water over my head, and face, and hands.
"You've got a tidy, sizeable arm," said he, as I dried myself vigorously, "likewise a good strong back an' shoulders; theer's the makin's of a man in you as might do summat—say in the plough or smithin' way, but it's easy to see as you're a gentleman, more's the pity, an' won't. Hows'ever, sir, if you've a mind to a cut o' good beef, an' a mug o' fine ale—say the word."
"First," said I, "do you believe it was forty shillings yes or no?"
The farmer twisted his whisker, and stared very hard at the spout of the pump.
"Tell 'ee what," said he at length, "mak' it thirty, an' I give ye myBible oath to do the best wi' it I can."
"Then I must needs seek my breakfast at the nearest inn," said I.
"An' that is the 'Old Cock,' a mile an' a half nearer Tonbridge."
"Then the sooner I start the better," said I, "for I'm mightily sharp set."
"Why, as to that," said he, busy with his whisker again, "I might stretch a pint or two an' call it—thirty-five, at a pinch—what d'ye say?"
"Why, I say 'good morning,' and many of them!" And, opening the gate, I started off down the road at a brisk pace. Now, as I went, it began to rain.
There are times (as I suppose) when the most aesthetic of souls will forget the snow of lilies, and the down of a butterfly's wing, to revel in the grosser joys of, say, a beefsteak. One cannot rhapsodize upon the beauties of a sunset, or contemplate the pale witchery of the moon with any real degree of poetic fervor, or any degree of comfort, while hunger gnaws at one's vitals, for comfort is essential to your aesthete, and, after all, soul goes hand in hand with stomach.
Thus, I swung along the road beneath the swaying green of trees, past the fragrant, blooming hedges, paying small heed to the beauties of wooded hill and grassy dale, my eyes constantly searching the road before me for some sign of the "Old Cock" tavern. And presently, sure enough, I espied it, an ugly, flat-fronted building, before which stood a dilapidated horse trough and a battered sign. Despite its uninviting exterior, I hurried forward, and mounting the three worn steps pushed open the door. I now found myself in a room of somewhat uninviting aspect, though upon the hearth a smouldering fire was being kicked into a blaze by a sulky-faced fellow, to whom I addressed myself:
"Can I have some breakfast here?" said I.
"Why, it's all according, master," he answered, in a surly tone.
"According to what?" said I.
"According to what you want, master."
"Why, as to that—" I began.
"Because," he went on, administering a particularly vicious kick to the fire, "if you was to ask me for a French hortolon—or even the 'ump of a cam-el—being a very truthful man, I should say—no."
"But I want no such things," said I.
"And 'ow am I to know that—'ow am I to know as you ain't set your 'eart on the 'ump of a cam-el?"
"I tell you I want nothing of the sort," said I, "a chop would do—"
"Chop!" sighed the man, scowling threateningly at the fire, "chop!"
"Or steak," I hastened to add.
"Now it's a steak!" said the man, shaking his head ruefully, and turning upon me a doleful eye, "a steak!" he repeated; "of course—it would be; I s'pose you'd turn up your nose at 'am and eggs—it's only to be expected."
"On the contrary," said I, "ham and eggs will suit me very well; why couldn't you have mentioned them before?"
"Why, you never axed me as I remember," growled the fellow.
Slipping my knapsack from my shoulders, I sat down at a small table in a corner while the man, with a final kick at the fire, went to give my order. In a few minutes he reappeared with some billets of wood beneath his arm, and followed by a merry-eyed, rosy-cheeked lass, who proceeded, very deftly, to lay a snowy cloth and thereupon in due season, a dish of savory ham and golden-yolked eggs.
"It's a lovely morning!" said I, lifting my eyes to her comely face.
"It is indeed, sir," said she, setting down the cruet with a turn of her slender wrist.
"Which I make so bold as to deny," said the surly man, dropping the wood on the hearth with a prodigious clatter, "'ow can any morning be lovely when there ain't no love in it—no, not so much as would fill a thimble? I say it ain't a lovely morning, not by no manner o' means, and what I says I ain't ashamed on, being a nat'rally truthful man!" With which words he sighed, kicked the fire again, and stumped out.
"Our friend would seem somewhat gloomy this morning," said I.
"He've been that way a fortnight now, come Satu'day," replied the slim lass, nodding.
"Oh?" said I.
"Yes," she continued, checking a smile, and sighing instead; "it's very sad, he've been crossed in love you see, sir."
"Poor fellow!" said I, "can't you try to console him?"
"Me, sir—oh no!"
"And why not? I should think you might console a man for a great deal."
"Why, you see, sir," said she, blushing and dimpling very prettily, "it do so happen as I'm the one as crossed him."
"Ah!—I understand," said I.
"I'm to be married to a farmer—down the road yonder; leastways, I haven't quite made up my mind yet."
"A fine, tall fellow?" I inquired.
"Yes—do 'ee know him, sir?"
"With a handsome pair of black whiskers?" said I.
"The very same, sir, and they do be handsome whiskers, though I do say it."
"The finest I ever saw. I wish you every happiness," said I.
"Thankee sir, I'm sure," said she, and, dimpling more prettily than ever, she tripped away, and left me to my repast.
And when I had assuaged my hunger, I took out the pipe of Adam, the groom, the pipe shaped like a negro's head, and, calling for a paper of tobacco, I filled and lighted the pipe, and sat staring dreamily out of the window.
Happy is that man who, by reason of an abundant fortune, knows not the meaning of the word hunger; but thrice happy is he who, when the hand of famine pinches, may stay his craving with such a meal as this of mine. Never before, and never since have I tasted just such eggs, and such ham—so tender! so delicate! so full of flavor! It is a memory that can never fade. Indeed, sometimes (even now), when I grow hungry, (about dinner-time) I see once more the surly-faced man, the rosy-cheeked waiting-maid, and the gloomy chamber of the "Old Cock" tavern as I saw them upon that early May morning of the year of grace 18—.
So I sat, with a contented mind, smoking my pipe, and staring out at the falling summer rain. And presently, chancing to turn my eyes up the road, I beheld a chaise that galloped in a smother of mud. As I watched its rapid approach, the postilion swung his horses towards the inn, and a moment later had pulled up before the door. They had evidently travelled fast and far, for the chaise was covered with dirt; and the poor horses, in a lather of foam, hung their heads, while their flanks heaved distressfully.
The chaise door was now thrown open, and three gentlemen alighted. The first was a short, plethoric individual, bull-necked and loud of voice, for I could hear him roundly cursing the post-boy for some fault; the second was a tall, languid gentleman, who carried a flat, oblong box beneath one arm, and who paused to fondle his whisker, and look up at the inn with an exaggerated air of disgust; while the third stood mutely by, his hands thrust into the pockets of his greatcoat, and stared straight before him.
The three of them entered the room together, and, while the languid gentleman paused to survey himself in the small, cracked mirror that hung against the wall, the plethoric individual bustled to the fire, and, loosening his coats and neckerchief, spread out his hands to the blaze.
"A good half-hour before our time," said he, glancing towards the third gentleman, who stood looking out of the window with his hands still deep in his pockets; "we did the last ten miles well under the hour—come, what do you say to a glass of brandy?"
At this, his languid companion turned from the mirror, and I noticed that he, too, glanced at the silent figure by the window.
"By all means," said he, "though Sir Jasper would hardly seem in a drinking humor," and, with the very slightest shrug of the shoulders, he turned back to the mirror again.
"No, Mr. Chester, I am not—in a drinking humor," answered Sir Jasper, without turning round, or taking his eyes from the window.
"Sir Jasper?" said I to myself, "now where, and in what connection, have I heard such a name before?"
He was of a slight build, and seemingly younger than either of his companions by some years, but what struck me particularly about him was the extreme pallor of his face. I noticed also a peculiar habit he had of moistening his lips at frequent intervals with the tip of his tongue, and there was, besides, something in the way he stared at the trees, the wet road, and the gray sky—a strange wide-eyed intensity—that drew and held my attention.
"Devilish weather—devilish, on my life and soul!" exclaimed the short, red-faced man, in a loud, peevish tone, tugging viciously at the bell-rope, "hot one day, cold the next, now sun, now rain— Oh, damn it! Now in France—ah, what a climate—heavenly—positively divine; say what you will of a Frenchman, damn him by all means, but the climate, the country, and the women—who would not worship 'em?"
"Exactly!" said the languid gentleman, examining a pimple upon his chin with a high degree of interest, "always 'dored a Frenchwoman myself; they're so—so ah—so deuced French, though mark you, Selby," he broke off, as the rosy-cheeked maid appeared with the brandy and glasses, "though mark you, there's much to be said for your English country wenches, after all," saying which, he slipped his arm about the girl's round waist. There was the sound of a kiss, a muffled shriek, and she had run from the room, slamming the door behind her, whereupon the languid gentleman went back to his pimple.
"Oh! as to that, Chester, I quarrel only with the climate. God madeEngland, and the devil sends the weather!"
"Selby," said Sir Jasper, in the same repressed tone that he had used before and still without taking his eyes from the gray prospect of sky and tree and winding road, "there is no fairer land, in all the world, than this England of ours; it were a good thing to die—for England, but that is a happiness reserved for comparatively few." And, with the words, he sighed, a strange, fluttering sigh, and thrust his hands deeper into his pockets.
"Die!" repeated the man Selby, in a loud, boisterous way. "Who talks of death?"
"Deuced unpleasant subject!" said the other, with a shrug at the cracked mirror. "Something so infernally cold and clammy about it—like the weather."
"And yet it will be a glorious day later. The clouds are thinning already," Sir Jasper went on; "strange, but I never realized, until this morning, how green—and wonderful—everything is!"
The languid Mr. Chester forgot the mirror, and turned to stare at Sir Jasper's back, with raised brows, while the man Selby shook his head, and smiled unpleasantly. As he did so, his eye encountered me, where I sat, quietly in my corner, smoking my negro-head pipe, and his thick brows twitched sharply together in a frown.
"In an hour's time, gentlemen," pursued Sir Jasper, "we shall write 'finis' to a more or less interesting incident, and I beg of you, in that hour, to remember my prophecy—that it would be a glorious day, later."
Mr. Chester filled a glass, and crossing to the speaker, tendered it to him without a word; as for Selby, he stood stolidly enough, his hands thrust truculently beneath his coat-tails, frowning at me.
"Come," said Mr. Chester persuasively, "Just a bracer!" Sir Jasper shook his head, but next moment reached out a white, unsteady hand, and raised the brandy to his lips; yet as he drank, I saw the spirit slop over, and trickle from his chin.
"Thanks, Chester," said he, returning the empty glass; "is it time we started yet?"
"It's just half-past seven," answered Mr. Chester, consulting his watch, "and I'm rather hazy as to the exact place."
"Deepdene Wood," said Sir Jasper dreamily.
"You know the place?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Then we may as well start, if you are ready?"
"Yes, it will be cool and fresh, outside."
"Settle the bill, Selby, we'll walk on slowly," said Mr. Chester, and, with a last glance at the mirror, he slipped his arm within Sir Jasper's, and they went out together.
Mr. Selby meanwhile rang for the bill, frowning at me all the time.
"What the devil are you staring at?" he demanded suddenly, in a loud, bullying tone.
"If you are pleased to refer to me, sir," said I, "I would say that my eyes were given for use, and that having used them upon you, I have long since arrived at the conclusion that I don't like you."
"Ah?" said he, frowning fiercer than ever.
"Yes," said I, "though whether it is your person, your manner, or your voice that displeases me most, I am unable to say."
"An impertinent young jackanapes!" said he; "damnation, I think I'll pull your nose!"
"Why, you may try, and welcome, sir," said I; "though I should advise you not, for should you make the attempt I should be compelled to throw you out of the window."
At this moment the pretty maid appeared, and tendered him the bill with a curtesy. He glanced at it, tossed some money upon the table, and turned to stare at me again.
"If ever I meet you again—" he began.
"You'd probably know me," I put in.
"Without a doubt," he answered, putting on his hat and buttoning his befrogged surtout; "and should you," he continued, drawing on his gloves, "should you stare at me with those damned, impertinent fishes' eyes of yours, I should, most certainly, pull your nose for you—on the spot, sir."
"And I should as certainly throw you out of the window!" I nodded.
"An impertinent young jackanapes!" said he again, and went out, banging the door behind him. Glancing from the window, I saw him catch up with the other two, and all three walk on together down the road. Sir Jasper was in the middle, and I noticed that his hands were still deep in his pockets. Now, as I watched their forms getting smaller and smaller in the distance, there grew upon me a feeling that he who walked between would nevermore come walking back.
And, in a little, having knocked out my negro-head pipe upon my palm, I called for and settled my score. As I rose, the pretty chambermaid picked up my knapsack from the corner, and blushing, aided me to put it on.
"My dear, thank you," said I, and kissed her. This time she neither shrieked nor ran from the room; she merely blushed a trifle rosier.
"Do you think I have fishes' eyes, my dear?"
"La! no, sir—handsome they be, I'm sure, so bright an' black an' wi' little lights a-dancing in them—there, sir, do ha' done, and go along wi' you!"
"By the way," I said, pausing upon the worn steps, and looking back at her, "by the way, how far is it to Deepdene Wood?"
Some half-mile along the road, upon the left hand, was a stile, and beyond the stile, a path—a path that led away over field, and meadow, and winding stream, to the blue verge of distant woods.
Now, midway between these woods and the place where I stood, there moved three figures; and, far away though they were, I could still make out that the middle one walked with his hands—those tremulous betraying hands—thrust deep within his pockets.
And presently I climbed the stile, and set off along the path.
"Sir Jasper!" said I to myself. Somewhere in the background of my consciousness I had a vague recollection of having heard mention of such a name before, but exactly when and where I could not, for the life of me, remember.
"Sir Jasper!" said I to myself again. "It is a very uncommon name, and should be easy to recollect." I had often prided myself on possessing a singularly retentive memory, more especially for names and faces, but, upon the present occasion, the more I pondered the matter, the more hazy I became. So I walked on through the sweet, wet grass, racking my brain for a solution of the problem, but finding none.
When I again looked up, the three figures had vanished where the path took a sharp bend round a clump of pollard oaks, and, determined not to lose them, I hurried my steps; but when I, in turn, rounded the corner, not a soul was in sight.
The path sloped up gently before me, with a thick hedge upon my right, and, after crossing a brawling stream, lost itself in the small wood or coppice, that crowned the ascent. Wondering, I hastened forward, and then, happening to look through the hedge, which grew very thick and high, I stopped all at once.
On the other side of the hedge was a strip of meadow bounded by the brook I have mentioned; now across this stream was a small rustic bridge, and on this bridge was a man. Midway between this man and myself stood a group of four gentlemen, all talking very earnestly together, to judge by their actions, while somewhat apart from these, his head bent, his hands still thrust deep in his pockets, stood Sir Jasper. And from him, for no apparent reason, my eyes wandered to the man upon the bridge—a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, in a buff-colored greatcoat, who whistled to himself, and stared down into the stream, swinging his tasselled riding-boot to and fro. All at once, as if in response to some signal, he rose, and unbuttoning his surtout, drew it off and flung it across the handrail of the bridge.
Mr. Chester was on his knees before the oblong box, and I saw the glint of the pistols as he handed them up. The distance had already been paced and marked out, and now each man took his ground—Sir Jasper, still in his greatcoat, his hat over his eyes, his neckerchief loose and dangling, one hand in his pocket, the other grasping his weapon; his antagonist, on the contrary, jaunty and debonnair, a dandy from the crown of his hat to the soles of his shining boots.
Their arms were raised almost together. The man Selby glanced from one to the other, a handkerchief fluttered, fell, and in that instant came the report of a pistol. I saw Sir Jasper reel backward, steady himself, and fire in return; then, while the blue smoke yet hung in the still air, he staggered blindly, and fell.
Mr. Chester, and two or three more, ran forward and knelt beside him, while his opponent shrugged his shoulders, and, taking off his hat, pointed out the bullet hole to his white-faced second.
And in a little while they lifted Sir Jasper in their arms, but seeing how his head hung, a sudden sickness came upon me, for I knew, indeed, that he would go walking back nevermore. Yet his eyes were wide and staring—staring up at the blue heaven with the same fixed intensity as they had done at the inn.
Then I, too, looked up at the cloudless sky, and round upon the fair earth; and, in that moment, I, for one, remembered his prophecy of an hour ago. And, indeed, the day was glorious.
In due season I came into Tonbridge town, and following the High Street, presently observed a fine inn upon the right-hand side of the way, which, as I remember, is called "The Chequers." And here were divers loiterers, lounging round the door, or seated upon the benches; but the eyes of all were turned the one way.
And presently, as I paused before the inn, to look up at its snow-white plaster, and massive cross-beams, there issued from the stable yard one in a striped waistcoat, with top-boots and a red face, who took a straw from behind his ear, and began to chew it meditatively; to whom I now addressed myself.
"Good afternoon!" said I.
"Arternoon!" he answered.
"A fine day!" said I.
"Is it?" said he.
"Why—to be sure it is," said I, somewhat taken aback by his manner; "to be sure it is."
"Oh!" said he, and shifted the straw very dexterously from one corner of his mouth to the other, by some unseen agency, and stared up the road harder than ever.
"What are you looking at?" I inquired.
"'Ill," said he.
"And why do you look at the hill?"
"Mail," said he.
"Oh!" said I.
"Ah!" said he.
"Is it the London coach?"
"Ah!" said he.
"Does it stop here?"
"Ah!" said he.
"Do you ever say anything much beside 'ah'?" I inquired.
He stopped chewing the straw, and with his eyes on the distance, seemed to turn this question over in his mind; having done which, he began to chew again.
"Ah!" said he.
"Why, then you can, perhaps, tell me how many miles it is—"
"Five," said he.
"I was about to ask how far it was to—"
"The Wells!" said he.
"Why—yes, to be sure, but how did you know that?"
"It's use!" said he.
"What do you mean?"
"They all ask!" said he.
"Who do?"
"Tramps!" said he.
"Oh! so you take me for a tramp?"
"Ah!" said he.
"And you," said I, "put me in mind of a certain Semi-quavering Friar."
"Eh?" said he, frowning a little at the hill.
"You've never heard of Rabelais, or Panurge, of course," said I. TheOstler took out his straw, eyed it thoughtfully, and put it back again.
"No," said he.
"More's the pity!" said I, and was about to turn away, when he drew the nearest fist abruptly from his pocket, and extended it towards me.
"Look at that!" he commanded.
"Rather dirty," I commented, "but otherwise a good, useful member, I make no doubt."
"It's a-goin'," said he, alternately drawing in and shooting out the fist in question, "it's a-goin' to fill your eye up."
"Is it?" said I.
"Ah!" said he.
"But what for?"
"I aren't a Semmy, nor yet a Quaver, an' as for Friers," said he, very deliberately, "why—Frier yourself, says I."
"Nevertheless," said I, "you are gifted with a certain terse directness of speech that greatly reminds me of—"
"Joe!" he called out suddenly over his shoulder. "Mail, Joe!"
Lifting my eyes to the brow of the hill, I could see nothing save a faint haze, which, however, gradually grew denser and thicker; and out from this gathering cloud, soft, and faint with distance, stole the silvery notes of a horn. Now I saw the coach itself, and, as I watched it rapidly descending the hill, I longed to be upon it, with the sun above, the smooth road below, and the wind rushing through my hair. On it came at a gallop, rocking and swaying, a good fifteen miles an hour; on it came, plunging into the green shade of trees, and out into the sun again, with ever the gathering dust cloud behind; while clear and high rang the cheery note of the horn. And now, from the cool shadows of the inn yard, there rose a prodigious stamping of hoofs, rattling of chains, and swearing of oaths, and out came four fresh horses, led by two men, each of whom wore topboots, a striped waistcoat, and chewed upon straws.
And now the coach swung round the bend, and came thundering down upon "The Chequers," chains jingling, wheels rumbling, horn braying and, with a stamp and ring of hoof, pulled up before the inn.
And then what a running to and fro! what a prodigious unbuckling and buckling of straps, while the jovial-faced coachman fanned himself with his hat; and swore jovially at the ostlers, and the ostlers swore back at the coachman, and the guard, and the coach, and the horses, individually and collectively; in the midst of which confusion, down came the window with a bang, and out of the window came a flask, and a hand, and an arm, and, last of all, a great, fat face, round, and mottled, and roaring as it came:
"Oho—I say damn it! damn everybody's eyes and bones—brandy! O yoho, house—I say brandy! Guard, landlord, ostlers—brandy, d'ye hear? I say, what the devil! Am I to die for want of a drop of brandy? Oho!"
Now, little by little, I became conscious (how, I cannot define) that I was the object of a close and persistent scrutiny—that I was being watched and stared at by some one near by. Shifting my eyes, therefore, from the mottled face at the coach window, I cast them swiftly about until they presently met those of one of the four outside passengers—a tall, roughly-clad man who leaned far out from the coach roof, watching me intently; and his face was thin, and very pale, and the eyes which stared into mine glowed beneath a jagged prominence of brow.
At the time, though I wondered at the man's expression, and the fixity of his gaze, I paid him no further heed, but turned my attention back to Mottle-face, who had, by this time, bellowed himself purple. Howbeit, in due time, the flask having been replenished and handed to him, he dived back into the recesses of the coach, jerked up the window, and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
But now the four fresh horses were in and harnessed, capering and dancing with an ostler at the head of each; the Driver tossed off his glass of rum and water, cast an eye up at the clouds, remarked: "Wind, by Gemini!" settled his feet against the dashboard, and gathered up the reins. And now, too, the Guard appeared, wiping his lips as he came, who also cast an eye up at the heavens, remarked: "Dust, by Jingo!" and swung himself up into the rumble.
"All right behind?" sang out the Driver, over his shoulder.
"All right!" sang back the guard.
"Then—let 'em go!" cried the Driver. Whereupon the ostlers jumped nimbly back, the horses threw up their heads, and danced undecidedly for a moment, the long whip cracked, hoofs clattered, sparks flew, and, rumbling and creaking, off went the London Mail with such a flourish of the horn as woke many a sleepy echo, near and far. As I turned away, I noticed that there remained but three outside passengers; the pale-faced man had evidently alighted, yet, although I glanced round for him, he was nowhere to be seen.
Hereupon, being in no mind to undergo the operation of having my eye filled up, and, moreover, finding myself thirsty, I stepped into the "Tap." And there, sure enough, was the Outside Passenger staring moodily out of the window, and with an untouched mug of ale at his elbow. Opposite him sat an old man in a smock frock, who leaned upon a holly-stick, talking to a very short, fat man behind the bar, who took my twopence with a smile, smiled as he drew my ale, and, smiling, watched me drink.
"Be you from Lunnon, sir?" inquired the old man, eyeing me beneath his hoary brows as I set down my tankard.
"Yes," said I.
"Well, think o' that now—I've been a-goin' to Lunnon this five an' forty year—started out twice, I did, but I never got no furder nor Sevenoaks!"
"How was that?" I inquired.
"Why, theer's 'The White Hart' at Sevenoaks, an' they brews fine ale at'The White Hart,' d'ye see, an' one glass begets another."
"And they sent ye back in the carrier's cart!" said the fat man, smiling broader than ever.
"Ever see the Lord Mayor a-ridin' in 'is goold coach, sir?" pursued the old man.
"Yes," said I.
"Ever speak to 'im?"
"Why, no."
"Ah well, I once knowed a man as spoke to the Lord Mayor o' Lunnon's coachman—but 'e's dead, took the smallpox the year arterwards an' died, 'e did."
At this juncture the door was thrown noisily open, and two gentlemen entered. The first was a very tall man with black hair that curled beneath his hat-brim, and so luxuriant a growth of whisker that it left little of his florid countenance exposed. The second was more slightly built, with a pale, hairless face, wherein were set two small, very bright eyes, rather close together, separated by a high, thin nose with nostrils that worked and quivered when he spoke, a face whose most potent feature was the mouth, coarse and red, with a somewhat protuberant under lip, yet supported by a square, determined chin below—a sensual mouth with more than a suspicion of cruelty lurking in its full curves, and the big teeth which gleamed white and serrated when he laughed. Indeed, the whole aspect of the man filled me with an instinctive disgust.
They were dressed in that mixture of ultra-fashionable and horsey styles peculiar to the "Corinthian," or "Buck" of the period, and there was in their air an overbearing yet lazy insolence towards all and sundry that greatly annoyed me.
"Fifteen thousand a year, by gad!" exclaimed the taller of the two, giving a supercilious sniff to the brandy he had just poured out.
"Yes, ha! ha!—and a damnably pretty filly into the bargain!"
"You always were so infernally lucky!" retorted the first.
"Call it rather the reward of virtue," answered his companion with a laugh that showed his big, white teeth.
"And what of Beverley—poor dey-vil?" inquired the first.
"Beverley!" repeated the other; "had he possessed any spirit he would have blown his brains out, like a gentleman; as it was, he preferred merely to disappear," and herewith the speaker shrugged his shoulders, and drank off his glass with infinite relish and gusto.
"And a—pretty filly, you say?"
"Oh, I believe you! Country bred, but devilish well-blooded—trustBeverley for that."
"Egad, yes—Beverley had a true eye for beauty or breed, poor dey-vil!" This expression of pity seemed to afford each of them much subtle enjoyment. "Harking back to this—filly," said the big man, checking his merriment, "how if she jibs, and cuts up rough, kicks over the traces—devilish awkward, eh?"
His companion raised his foot and rested it carelessly, upon the settle near by, and upon the heel of his slim riding-boot I saw a particularly cruel-looking, long-necked spur.
"My dear Mostyn," said he, his nostrils working, "for such an emergency there is nothing like a pair of good sharp 'persuaders,'" here he tapped the spur lightly with the slender gold-mounted cane he carried; "and I rather fancy I know just how and when to use 'em, Mostyn." And once again I saw the gleam of his big, white teeth.
All this I heard as they lolled within a yard of me, manifesting a lofty and contemptuous disregard for all save themselves, waited upon most deferentially by the smiling fat fellow, and stared at by the aged man with as much admiring awe as if they had each been nothing less than a lord mayor of London at the very least. But now they leaned their heads together and spoke in lowered tones, but something in the leering eyes of the one, and the smiling lips of the other, told me that it was not of horses that they spoke.