CHAPTER IV — WHEREIN IS COMMENCED THE ADVENTURE OF THE MACINTOSH, AND OTHER MATTERS
“How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes ill deeds done.”
“Come, tailor, let us see't;
Oh! mercy.... What masking stuff is here?
What's this? a sleeve?”
“Disguise, I see; thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.”
“A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!”
—Shakspeare.
ON returning to the pupils' room Lawless commenced (to my great delight, as I thereby enjoyed a complete immunity from his somewhat troublesome attentions) a full, true, and particular account of the pigeon-match, in which his friend Clayton had, with unrivalled skill, slain a sufficient number of victims to furnish forth pies for the supply of the whole mess during the ensuing fortnight. At length, however, all was said that could be said, even upon this interesting subject, and the narrator, casting his eyes around in search of wherewithal to amuse himself, chanced to espy my new writing-desk, a parting gift from my little sister Fanny, who, with the self-denial of true affection, had saved up her pocket-money during many previous months in order to provide funds for this munificent present.
“Pinafore, is that desk yours?” demanded Lawless.
Not much admiring the sobriquet by which he chose to address me, I did not feel myself called upon to reply.
“Are you deaf, stupid? don't you hear me speaking to you?—where did you get that writing-desk?”
Still I did not answer.
“Sulky, eh? I shall have to lick him before long, I see. Here you, what's your name? Fairlegh, did your grand-mother give you that writing-desk?”
“No,” replied I, “my sister Fanny gave it to me the day before I left home.”
“Oh, you have got a sister Fanny, have you? how old is she, and what is she like?”
“She is just thirteen, and she has got the dearest little face in the world,” answered I, earnestly, as the recollection of her bright blue eyes and sunny smile came across me.
"How interesting!” sighed Coleman; “it quite makes my heart beat; you could not send for her, could you?”
“And she gave you that desk, did she?—how very kind of her,” resumed Lawless, putting the poker in the fire.
“Yes, was it not?” said I, eagerly. “I would not have any harm happen to it for more than I can tell.”
“So I suppose,” replied Lawless, still devoting himself to the poker, which was rapidly becoming red-hot. “Have you ever,” continued he, “seen this new way they have of ornamenting things? encaustic work, I think they call it:—it's done by the application of heat, you know.”
“I never even heard of it,” said I.
“Ah! I thought not,” rejoined Lawless. “Well, as I happen to understand the process, I'll condescend to enlighten your ignorance. Mullins, give me that desk.”
“Don't touch it,” cried I, bounding forward to the rescue; “I won't have anything done to it.”
My design was, however, frustrated by Cumberland and Lawless, who, both throwing themselves upon me at the same moment, succeeded, despite my struggles, in forcing me into a chair, where they held me, while Mullins, by their direction, with the aid of sundry neckcloths, braces, etc., tied me hand and foot; Coleman, who attempted to interfere in my behalf, receiving a push which sent him reeling across the room, and a hint that if he did not mind his own business he would be served in the same manner.
Having thus effectually placed me hors de combat, Lawless took possession of my poor writing-desk, and commenced tracing on the top thereof, with the red-hot poker, what he was pleased to term a “design from the antique,” which consisted of a spirited outline of that riddle-loving female the Sphinx, as she appeared when dressed in top-boots and a wide-awake, and regaling herself with a choice cigar! He was giving the finishing touch to a large pair of moustaches, with which he had embellished her countenance, and which he declared was the only thing wanting to complete the likeness to an old aunt of Dr. Mildman's, whom the pupils usually designated by the endearing appellation of “Growler,” when the door opened, and Thomas announced that “Smithson” was waiting to see Mr. Lawless.
“Oh yes, to be sure, let him come in; no, wait a minute. Here, you, Coleman and Mullins, untie Fairlegh; be quick!—confound that desk, how it smells of burning, and I have made my hands all black too. Well, Smithson, have you brought the things?”
The person to whom this query was addressed was a young man, attired in the extreme of the fashion, who lounged into the room with a “quite at home” kind of air, and, nodding familiarly all around, arranged his curls with a ring-adorned hand, as he replied in a drawling tone:—
“Ya'as, Mr. Lawless, we're all right—punctual to a moment—always ready 'to come to time,' as we say in the ring”.
“Who is he?” whispered I to Coleman.
“Who is he?” replied Coleman; “why the best fellow in the world, to be sure'. Not know Smithson, the prince of tailors, the tailor par excellence! I suppose you never heard of the Duke of Wellington, have you?”
I replied humbly that I believed I had heard the name of that illustrious individual mentioned in connection with Waterloo and the Peninsula—and that I was accustomed to regard him as the first man of the age.
“Aye, well then, Smithson is the second; though I really don't know whether he is not quite as great in his way as Wellington, upon my honour. The last pair of trousers he made for Lawless were something sublime, too good for this wicked world, a great deal.”
During this brief conversation Smithson had been engaged in extricating a somewhat voluminous garment from the interior of a blue bag, which a boy, who accompanied him, had just placed inside the study-door.
“There, this is the new invention I told you about; a man named Macintosh hit upon it. Now, with this coat on, you might stand under a water-fall without getting even damp. Try it on, Mr. Lawless; just the thing, eh, gents?”
Our curiosity being roused by this panegyric, we gathered round Lawless to examine the garment which had called it forth. Such of my readers as recollect the first introduction of Macintoshes will doubtless remember that the earlier specimens of the race differed very materially in form from those which are in use at the present day. The one we were now inspecting was of a whity-brown colour, and, though it had sleeves like a coat, hung in straight folds from the waist to the ankles, somewhat after the fashion of a carter's frock, having huge pockets at the side, and fastening round the neck with a hook and eye.
“How does it do?” asked Lawless, screwing himself round in an insane effort to look at the small of his own back, a thing a man is certain to attempt when trying on a coat. “It does not make a fellow look like a Guy, does it?”
"No, I rather admire the sort of thing,” said Cumberland.
“A jolly dodge for a shower of rain, and no mistake,” put in Coleman.
“It is deucedly fashionable, really,” said Smithson—“this one of yours, and one we made for Augustus Flareaway, Lord Fitz-scamper's son, the man in the Guards, you know, are the only two out yet.”
“I have just got it at the right time then,” said Lawless; “I knew old Sam was going to town, so I settled to drive Clayton over to Woodend, in the tandem, to-morrow. The harriers meet there at eleven, and this will be the very thing to hide the leathers, and tops, and the green cutaway. I saw you at the match, by-the-by, Smithey, this morning.”
“Ya'as, I was there; did you see the thing I was on?”
“A bright bay, with a star on the forehead! a spicy-looking nag enough—whose is it?”
“Why, young Robarts, who came into a lot of tin the other day, has just bought it; Snaffles charged him ninety guineas for it.”
“And what is it worth?” asked Lawless.
“Oh! he would not do a dirty thing by any gent I introduced,” replied Smithson. “I took young Robarts there: he merely made his fair profit out of it; he gave forty pounds for it himself to a man who bred it, only the week before, to my certain knowledge: it's a very sweet thing, and would carry him well, but he's afraid to ride it; that's how I was on it to-day. I'm getting it steady for him.”
“A thing it will take you some time to accomplish, eh? A mount like that is not to be had for nothing, every day, is it?”
“Ya'as, you're about right there, Mr. Lawless; you're down to every move, I see, as usual. Any orders to-day, gents? your two vests will be home to-morrow, Mr. Coleman.”
“Here, Smithson, wait a moment,” said Cumberland, drawing him on one side; “I was deucedly unlucky with the balls this morning,” continued he in a lower tone, “can you let me have five-and-twenty pounds?”
“What you please, sir,” replied Smithson, bowing.
“On the old terms, I suppose?” observed Cumberland.
“All right,” answered Smithson; “stay, I can leave it with you now,” added he, drawing out a leather case; “oblige me by writing your name here—thank you.”
So saying, he handed some bank-notes to Cumberland, carefully replaced the paper he had received from him in his pocket-book, and withdrew.
"Smithey was in great force to-night,” observed Lawless, as the door closed behind him—“nicely they are bleeding that young ass Robarts among them—he has got into good hands to help him to get rid of his money, at all events. I don't believe Snaffles gave forty pounds for that bay horse; he has got a decided curb on the off hock, if I ever saw one, and I fancy he's a little touched in the wind, too and there's another thing I should say——”
What other failing might be attributed to Mr. Robarts' bay steed we were, however, not destined to learn, as tea was at this moment announced. In due time followed evening prayers, after which we retired for the night. Being very sleepy I threw off my clothes, and jumped hastily into bed, by which act I became painfully aware of the presence of what a surgeon would term “certain foreign bodies”—i.e., not, as might be imagined, sundry French, German, and Italian corpses, but various hard substances, totally opposed to one's preconceived ideas of the component parts of a feather-bed. Sleep being out of the question on a couch so constituted, I immediately commenced an active search, in the course of which I succeeded in bringing to light two clothes-brushes, a boot-jack, a pair of spurs, Lemprière's Classical Dictionary and a brick-bat. Having freed myself from these undesirable bed-fellows I soon fell asleep, and passed (as it seemed to me) the whole night in dreaming that I was a pigeon, or thereabouts, and that Smithson, mounted on the top-booted Sphinx, was inciting Lawless to shoot at me with a red-hot poker.
As Coleman and I were standing at the window of the pupils' room, about ten o'clock on the following morning, watching the vehicle destined to convey Dr. Mildman to the coach-office, Lawless made his appearance, prepared for his expedition, with his hunting-costume effectually concealed under the new Macintosh.
“Isn't Mildman gone yet? Deuce take it, what a time he is! I ought to be off—I'm too late already!”
“They have not even put his carpet-bag in yet,” said I.
“Well, I shall make a bolt, and chance it about his seeing me,” exclaimed Lawless; “he'll only think I'm going out for a walk rather earlier than usual, if he does catch a glimpse of me, so here's off.”
Thus saying, he placed his hat upon his head, with the air of a man determined to do or die, and vanished.
Fortune is currently reported to favour the brave, and so, to do her justice, she generally does; still, at the best of times, she is but a fickle jade, at all events she appeared determined to prove herself so in the present instance; for scarcely had Lawless got a dozen paces from the house, before Dr. Mildman appeared at the front door with his great coat and hat on, followed by Thomas bearing a carpet-bag and umbrella, and, his attention being attracted by footsteps, he turned his head, and beheld Lawless. As soon as he perceived him he gave a start of surprise, and, pulling out his eye-glass (he was rather short-sighted), gazed long and fixedly after the retreating figure. At length, having apparently satisfied himself as to the identity of the person he was examining, he replaced his glass, stood for a moment as if confounded by what he had seen, and then turning, abruptly re-entered the house, and shut his study-door behind him with a bang, leaving Thomas and the fly-driver mute with astonishment. In about five minutes he re-appeared, and saying to Thomas, in a stern tone, “Let that note be given to Mr. Lawless the moment he returns,” got into the fly and drove off.
“There's a precious go,” observed Coleman; “I wonder what's in the wind now. I have not seen old Sam get up the steam like that since I have been here. He was not half so angry when I put Thomas's hat on the peg where he hangs his own, and he, never noticing the difference, put it on, and walked to church in it, gold band and all.”
“I wouldn't be Lawless for something,” observed I; “I wonder what the note's about?”
“That's just what puzzles me,” said Coleman. “I should have thought he had seen the sporting togs, but that's impossible; he must have a penetrating glance indeed if he could see through that Macintosh.”
“Lawless was too impatient,” said Cumberland; “he should have waited a few minutes longer, and then Mildman would have gone off without knowing anything about him. Depend upon it, the grand rule of life is to take things coolly, and wait for an opportunity: you have the game in your own hands then, and can take advantage of the follies and passions of others, instead of allowing them to avail themselves of yours.”
“In plain English, cheat instead of being cheated,” put in Coleman.
“You're not far wrong there, Freddy; the world is made up of knaves and fools—those who cheat, and those who are cheated—and I, for one, have no taste for being a fool,” said Cumberland.
“Nor I,” said Mullins; “I should not like to be a fool at all; I had rather be——”
“A butterfly,” interrupted Coleman, thereby astonishing Mullins to such a degree that he remained silent for some moments, with his mouth wide open as if in the act of speaking.
“You cannot mean what you say; you surely would not wish to cheat people,” said I to Cumberland; “if it were really true that one must be either a knave or a fool, I'd rather be a fool by far—I'm sure you could never be happy if you cheated any one,” continued I. “What does the Bible say about doing to others as you would have others do to you?”
“There, don't preach to me, you canting young prig,” said Cumberland angrily, and immediately left the room.
“You hit him pretty hard then,” whispered Coleman; “a very bad piece of business happened just before I came, about his winning a lot of tin from a young fellow here, at billiards, and they do say that Cumberland did not play fairly. It was rather unlucky your saying it; he will be your enemy from henceforth, depend upon it. He never forgets nor forgives a thing of that sort.”
“I meant no harm by the remark,” replied I; “I knew nothing of his having cheated any one; however, I do not care; I don't like him, and I'm just as well pleased he should not like me. But now, as my foreign relations seem to be rapidly assuming a warlike character (as the newspapers have it), what do you say to giving me a lesson in sparring, as you proposed, by way of preparation?”
“With all my heart,” replied Coleman.
And accordingly the gloves were produced, and my initiatory lesson in the pugilistic art commenced by Coleman's first placing me in an exceedingly uncomfortable attitude, and then very considerately knocking me out of it again, thereby depositing me with much skill and science flat upon the hearth-rug. This manouvre he repeated with great success during some half hour or so, at the end of which time I began to discover the knack with which it was done, and proceeded to demonstrate the proficiency I was making, by a well-directed blow, which, being delivered with much greater force than I had intended, sent Coleman flying across the room. Chancing to encounter Mullins in the course, of his transit he overturned that worthy against the table in the centre of the apartment, which, yielding to their combined weight, fell over with a grand crash, dragging them down with it, in the midst of an avalanche of books, papers, and inkstands.
This grand coup brought, as might be expected, our lesson to a close for the day, Coleman declaring that such another hit would inevitably knock him into the middle of next week, if not farther, and that he really should not feel justified in allowing such a serious interruption to his studies to take place.
“And now, what are we going to do with ourselves?” asked I; “as this is a holiday, we ought to do something.”
“Are you fond of riding?” inquired Coleman.
“Nothing I like better,” replied I; “I have been used to it all my life; I have had a pony ever since I was four years old.”
“I wish I was used to it,” said Coleman. “My governor living in London, I never crossed a horse till I came here, and I'm a regular muff at it; but I want to learn. What do you say to a ride this afternoon?”
“Just the thing,” said I, “if it is not too expensive for my pocket.”
“Oh no,” replied Coleman; “Snaffles lets horses at as cheap a rate as any one, and good 'uns to go, too; does not he, Cumberland?”
“Eh, what are you talking about?” said Cumberland, who had just entered the room; “Snaffles? Oh yes, he's the man for horse flesh. Are you going to amuse yourself by tumbling off that fat little cob of his again, Fred?”
“I was thinking of having another try,” replied Coleman; “what do you say, Fairlegh? Never mind the tin; I daresay you have got plenty, and can get more when that's gone.”
“I have got a ten-pound note,” answered I; “but that must last me all this quarter: however, we'll have our ride to-day.”
“I'll walk down with you,” said Cumberland; “I'm going that way; besides, it's worth a walk any day to see Coleman mount; it took him ten minutes the last time I saw him, and then he threw the wrong leg over, so that he turned his face to the tail.”
“Scandalum magnatum! not a true bill,” replied Coleman.
“Now, come along, Fairlegh, let's get ready, and be off.” During our walk down to Snaffles' stables Cumberland (who seemed entirely to have forgotten my mal à propos remark) talked to me in a much more amiable manner than he had yet done; and the conversation naturally turning upon horses and riding, a theme always interesting to me, I was induced to enter into sundry details of my own exploits in that line. We reached the livery stables just as I had concluded a somewhat egotistical relation concerning a horse which a gentleman in our neighbourhood had bought for his invalid son, but which, proving at first too spirited, I had undertaken to ride every day for a month in order to get him quiet; a feat I was rather proud of having satisfactorily accomplished.
“Good-morning, Mr. Snaffles; is Punch at home?” asked Coleman of a stout red-faced man, attired in a bright green Newmarket coat and top-boots.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Lawless told me your governor was gone to town, so I kept him in, thinking perhaps you would want him.”
“That's all right,” said Coleman; “and here's my friend, Mr. Fairlegh, will want a nag too.”
“Proud to serve any gent as is a friend of yours, Mr. Coleman,” replied Snaffles, with a bob of his head towards me, intended as a bow. “What stamp of horse do you like, sir? Most of my cattle are out with the harriers to-day.”
“Snaffles—a word with you,” interrupted Cumberland.
“One moment, sir,” said Snaffles to me, as he crossed over to where Cumberland was standing.
“Come and look at Punch; and let's hear what you think of him,” said Coleman, drawing me towards the stable.
“What does Cumberland want with that man?” asked I.
“What, Snaffles? I fancy he owes a bill here, and I daresay it is something about that.”
“Oh, is that all?” rejoined I.
“Why, what did you think it was?” inquired Coleman.
“Never mind,” I replied; “let's look at Punch.”
And accordingly I was introduced to a little fat, round, jolly-looking cob, about fourteen hands high, who appeared to me an equine counterpart of Coleman himself. After having duly praised and patted him I turned to leave the stable, just as Cumberland and Snaffles were passing the door, and I caught the following words from the latter, who appeared rather excited:—
“Well, if any harm comes of it, Mr. Cumberland, you'll remember it's your doing, not mine”.
Cumberland's reply was inaudible, and Snaffles turned to me, saying:—
“I've only one horse at home likely to suit you, sir; you'll find her rather high-couraged, but Mr. Cumberland tells me you won't mind that”.
“I have been mentioning what a good rider you say you are,” said Cumberland, laying a slight emphasis on the say.
“Oh, I daresay she will do very well,” replied I. “I suppose she has no vice about her.”
“Oh dear, no,” said Snaffles, “nothing of the sort.—James,” added he, calling to a helper, “saddle the chestnut mare, and bring her out directly.”
The man whom he addressed, and who was a fellow with a good-humoured, honest face, became suddenly grave, as he replied in a deprecatory tone:—
“The chestnut mare? Mad Bess, sir?”
“Don't repeat my words, but do as you are told,” was the answer; and the man went away looking surly.
After the interval of a few minutes a stable door opposite was thrown open, and Mad Bess made her appearance, led by two grooms. She was a bright chestnut, with flowing mane and tail, about fifteen-and-a-half hands high, nearly thorough-bred, and as handsome as a picture; but the restless motion of her eye disclosing the white, the ears laid back at the slightest sound, and a half-frightened, half-wild air, when any one went up to her, told a tale as to her temper, about which no one in the least accustomed to horses could doubt for an instant.
“That mare is vicious,” said I, as soon as I had looked at her.
“Oh dear, no, sir, quiet as a lamb, I can assure you. Soh, girl! soh!” said Snaffles, in a coaxing tone of voice, attempting to pat her; but Bess did not choose to “soh,” if by “sohing” is meant, as I presume, standing still and behaving prettily; for on her master's approach she snorted, attempted to rear, and ran back, giving the men at her head as much as they could do to hold her.
“She's a little fresh to-day; she was not out yesterday, but it's all play, pretty creature! nothing but play,” continued Snaffles.
“If you are afraid, Fairlegh, don't ride her,” said Cumberland; “but I fancied from your conversation you were a bold rider, and did not mind a little spirit in a horse: you had better take her in again, Snaffles.”
“Leave her alone,” cried I, quickly (for I was becoming irritated by Cumberland's sneers, in spite of my attempt at self-control), “I'll ride her. I'm no more afraid than other people; nor do I mind a spirited horse, Cumberland; but that mare is more than spirited, she's ill-tempered—look at her eye!”
“Well, you had better not ride her, then,” said Cumberland.
“Yes, I will,” answered I, for I was now thoroughly roused, and determined to go through with the affair, at all hazards. I was always, even as a boy, of a determined, or, as ill-natured people would call it, obstinate disposition, and I doubt whether I am entirely cured of the fault at the present time.
“Please yourself; only mind, I have warned you not to ride her if you are afraid,” said Cumberland.
"A nice warning,” replied I, turning away;—“who'll lend me a pair of spurs?”
“I've got a pair here, sir; if you'll step this way I'll put them on for you,” said the man whom I had heard addressed as “James,”—adding, in a lower tone, as he buckled them on, “for Heaven's sake, young gentleman, don't mount that mare unless you're a first-rate rider.”
“Why, what's the matter with her? does she kick?” inquired I.
“She'll try and pitch you off, if possible, and if she can't do that, she'll bolt with you, and then the Lord have mercy upon you!”
This was encouraging, certainly!
“You are an honest fellow, James,” replied I; “and I am much obliged to you. Ride her I must, my honour is at stake, but I'll be as careful as I can, and, if I come back safe, you shall have half a crown.”
“Thank you, sir,” was the reply, “I shall be glad enough to see you come back in any other way than on a shutter, without the money.”
Of a truth, the race of Job's comforters is not yet extinct, thought I, as I turned to look for Coleman, who had been up to this moment employed in superintending the operation of saddling Punch, and now made his appearance, leading that renowned steed by the bridle.
“Why, Fairlegh, you are not going to ride that vicious brute to be sure; even Lawless won't mount her, and he does not care what he rides in general.”
“Nevermind about Lawless,” said I, assuming an air of confidence I was very far from feeling; “she won't eat me, I daresay.”
“I don't know that,” rejoined Coleman, regarding Mad Bess with a look of horror; “Cumberland, don't let him mount her.”
“Nay, I can't prevent it; Fairlegh is his own master, and must do as he likes,” was the answer.
“Come, we can't keep the men standing here the whole day,” said I to Coleman; “mount Punch, and get out of my way as fast as you can, if you are going to do so at all”—a request with which, seeing I was quite determined, he at length unwillingly complied, and having, after one or two failures, succeeded in throwing his leg over the cob's broad back, rode slowly out of the yard, and took up his station outside in order to witness my proceedings.
“Now, then,” said I, “keep her as steady as you can for a minute, and as soon as I am fairly mounted give her her head—stand clear there.”
I then took a short run, and, placing one hand on the saddle, while I seized a lock of the mane with the other, I sprang from the ground and vaulted at once upon her back, without the aid of the stirrup, a feat I had learned from a groom who once lived with us, and which stood me in good stead on the present occasion, as I thereby avoided a kick with which Mad Bess greeted my approach. I next took up the reins as gently as I could, the men let go her head, and after a little plunging and capering, though much less than I had expected, her ladyship gave up hostilities for the present, and allowed me to ride her quietly up and down the yard. I then wished Cumberland (who looked, as I thought, somewhat mortified) a good-afternoon, turned a deaf ear to the eulogies of Mr. Snaffles and his satellites, and proceeded to join Coleman. As I left the yard my friend James joined me, under the pretence of arranging my stirrup leather, when he took the opportunity of saying:—
“She'll go pretty well now you're once mounted, sir, as long as you can hold her with the snaffle, but if you are obliged to use the curb—look out for squalls!!!”