“To send me on an expedition!” repeated I—“may I be allowed to inquire its nature—where I am to go to—when I am to start—and all other equally essential particulars?”
“They are soon told,” returned Oaklands. “I wrote a few days since to Lawless, asking him to come down for a week's hunting before the season should be over; and this morning I received the following characteristic answer: 'Dear Oaklands, a man who refuses a good offer is an ass (unless he happens to have had a better one). Now, yours being the best offer down in my book at present, I say, “done, along with you, old fellow,” thereby clearly proving that I am no ass. Q. E. D.—eh? that's about the thing, isn't it? Now, look here, Jack Basset has asked me down to Storley Wood for a day's pheasant shooting on Tuesday: if you could contrive to send any kind of trap over about lunch-time, on Wednesday, I could have a second pop at the long-tails, and be with you in time for a half-past six o'clock feed as it is not more than ten miles from Storley to Heathfield. I wouldn't have troubled you to send for me, only the tandem's hors de combat. I was fool enough to lend it to Muffington Spoffkins to go and see his aunt one fine day. The horses finding a fresh hand on the reins, began pulling like steam-engines—Muffington could not hold them—consequently they bolted; and after running over two whole infant schools, and upsetting a retired grocer, they knocked the cart into “immortal smash” against a turnpike-gate, pitching Spoffkins into a horse-pond, with Shrimp a-top of him. It was a regular sell for all parties: I got my cart broken to pieces, Shrimp was all but drowned, and Muffington's aunt cut him off with a shilling, because the extirpated squadron of juveniles turned out, unfortunately, to have been a picked detachment of infantry from her own village. If you could send to meet me at the Feathers' public-house, which is just at the bottom of Storley great wood, it would be a mercy, for walking in cover doesn't suit my short legs, and I'm safe to be used up.—Remember us to Fairlegh and all inquiring friends, and believe me to remain, very heartily, yours, George Lawless.'”
“I comprehend,” said I, as Oaklands finished reading the note, “you wish me to drive over this afternoon and fetch him: it will be a great deal better than merely sending a servant.”
“Why, I had thought of going myself, but, 'pon my word, these sort of things are so much trouble—at least to me, I mean; and, though Lawless is a capital, excellent fellow, and I like him extremely, yet I know he'll talk about nothing but horses all the way home; and not being quite strong again yet, you've no notion how that kind of thing worries and tires me.”
“Don't say another word about it, my dear Harry; I shall enjoy the drive uncommonly. What vehicle had I better take?”
“The phaeton, I think,” replied Oaklands, “and then you can bring his luggage, and Shrimp, or any of his people he may have with him.”
“So be it,” returned I; “I'll walk back with you to the Hall, and then start as soon as you please.
CHAPTER XL — LAWLESS'S MATINÉE MUSICALE
“I was deep in my tradesmen's books, I'm afraid,
But not in my own, by-the-by;
And when rascally tailors came to be paid,
There'll be time enough for that, said I.”
—Song—The Old Bachelor.
“Here's a knocking, indeed! Knock, knock, knock.
Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither.
——Come in, tailor——
Knock, knock. Never at quiet!
What are you? I had thought to have let in
Some of all professions. Anon—anon.”
—Macbeth.