I SCARCELY know any excitement more agreeable than driving, on a fine frosty day, a pair of spirited horses, which demand the exercise of all one's coolness and skill to keep their fiery natures under proper control. Some accident had happened to one of Sir John's old phaeton horses, and Harry, who fancied that, as he was not allowed to use any violent exercise, driving would be an amusement to him, had taken the opportunity of replacing them by a magnificent pair of young, nearly thorough-bred chestnuts; and these were the steeds now entrusted to my guidance. Not being anxious, however, to emulate the fate of the unfortunate Muffington Spoffkins, I held them well in hand for the first three or four miles, and as they became used to their work, gradually allowed them to quicken their pace, till we were bowling along merrily at the rate of ten miles an hour.
A drive of about an hour and a quarter brought me within sight of the little roadside public-house appointed for my rendezvous with Lawless. As I drew sufficiently near to distinguish figures, I perceived the gentleman in question scientifically and picturesquely attired in what might with great propriety be termed no end of a shooting jacket, inasmuch as its waist, being prolonged to a strange and unaccountable extent, had, as a necessary consequence, invaded the region of the skirt to a degree which reduced that appendage to the most absurd and infinitesimal proportions. This wonderful garment was composed of a fabric which Freddy Coleman, when he made its acquaintance some few days later, denominated the Mac Omnibus plaid, a gaudy répertoire of colours, embracing all the tints of the rainbow, and a few more besides, and was further embellished by a plentiful supply of gent.'s sporting buttons, which latter articles were not quite so large as cheese-plates, and represented in bas-relief a series of moving incidents by flood and field. His nether man exhibited a complicated arrangement of corduroys, leather gaiters and waterproof boots, which were, of course, wet through; while, to crown the whole, his head was adorned with one of those round felt hats, which exactly resemble a boiled apple-pudding, and are known by the sobriquet of “wide-awakes,” “cos they av'n't got no nap about 'em”. A stout shooting pony was standing at the door of the ale-house, with a pair of panniers, containing a portmanteau and a gun-case, slung across its back, upon which was seated in triumph the mighty Shrimp, who seemed to possess the singular property of growing older, and nothing else; for, as well as one could judge by appearances, he had not increased an inch in stature since the first day of our acquaintance. His attitude, as I drove up, was one which Hunt would have delighted to perpetuate. Perched on a kind of pack-saddle, his legs stretched so widely apart, by reason of the stout proportions of the pony, as to be nearly at right angles with his upper man, he “held aloft” (not a “snowy scarf,” but) a pewter pot, nearly as large as himself, the contents of which he was transferring to his own throat, with an air of relish and savoir faire, which would have done credit to a seven-feet-high coalheaver. The group was completed by a gamekeeper, who, seated on a low wooden bench, was dividing some bread and cheese with a magnificent black retriever.
“By Jove! what splendid steppers!” was Lawless's exclamation as I drove up. “Now, that's what I call perfect action; high enough to look well, without battering the feet to pieces—the leg a little arched, and thrown out boldly—no fear of their putting down their pins in the same place they pick them up from. Ah!” he continued, for the first time observing me, “Fairlegh, how are you, old fellow? Slap-up cattle you've got there, and no mistake—belong to Sir John Oaklands, I suppose. Do you happen to know where he got hold of them?”
“Harry wanted a pair of phaeton horses, and the coachman recommended these,” replied I; “but I've no idea where he heard of them.”
“Rising five and six,” continued Lawless, examining their mouths with deep interest; “no do there—the tush well up in one, and nicely through in the other, and the mark in the nippers just as it should be to correspond: own brothers, I'll bet a hundred pounds—good full eyes; small heads, well set on; slanting shoulders; legs as clean as a colt's; hoofs a leetle small, but that's the breed. Whereabouts was the figure, did you hear?—five fifties never bought them, unless they were as cheap as dirt, eh?”
“That was about their price, if I remember correctly,” replied I. “Harry thought it was too much to give; but Sir John, the moment he saw his son would like to have them, wrote the cheque, and paid for them on the spot.” “Well, I'll give him all the money any day, if he's tired of his bargain,” rejoined Lawless; “but we won't keep them standing now they're warm. Here, Shrimp, my greatcoat—get off that pony this instant, you luxurious young vagabond. Never saw such a boy in my life to ride as that is—if there is anything that can by possibility carry him, not a step will he stir on foot—doesn't believe legs were meant to walk with, it's my opinion. Why, this very morning, before they brought out the shooting pony, he got on the retriever; and he has such a seat too, that the dog could not throw him, till Basset thought of sending him into the water: he slipped off in double-quick time then, for he has had a regular hydrophobia upon him ever since his adventure in the horse-pond. What, not down yet? I shall take a horsewhip to you, sir, directly.”
Thus admonished, Shrimp, who had taken advantage of his master's preoccupation to finish the contents of the pewter pot, tossed the utensil to the gamekeeper, having previously attracted that individual's attention by exclaiming, in a tone of easy familiarity—“Look out, Leggings!”—then, as the man, taken by surprise, and having some difficulty in saving himself from a blow on the nose, allowed the pot to slip through his hands, Shrimp continued, “Catch it, clumsy! veil, I never—now mind, if you've gone and bumped it, it's your own doing, and you pays for dilapidations, as ve calls 'em at Cambridge. Coming, sir—d'rec'ly, sir—yes, sir.” So saying, he slipped down the pony's shoulder, shook himself to set his dress in order as soon as he reached terra firma, and unbuckling Lawless's driving coat, which was fastened round his waist by a broad strap, jumped upon a horse-block, and held out the garment at arm's length for his master to put on. The gun-case and carpet-bag were then transferred from the pony to the phaeton, and, resigning the reins to Lawless, who I knew would be miserable unless he were allowed to drive, we started. Shrimp being installed in the hind seat, where, folding his arms, he leaned back, favouring us with a glance which seemed to say, “You may proceed, I am quite comfortable”.
“It was about time for me to take an affectionate farewell of Alma Mater,” observed Lawless, after he had criticised and admired the horses afresh, and at such length, that I could not help smiling at the fulfilment of Oaklands' prediction—“it was about time for me to be off, for the duns were becoming rather too particular in their attentions. I got a precious fright the other day, I can tell you. I was fool enough to pay two or three bills, and that gave the rest of the fellows a notion that I was about to bolt, I suppose, for one morning I was regularly besieged by them. I taught them a trick or two, though, before I had done with them: they won't forget me in a hurry, I expect.”
“Indeed! and how did you contrive to fix yourself so indelibly in their recollections?” asked I.
“Eh! 'though lost to sight, to memory dear'—rather that style of thing, you know. So you want to hear all about it, eh? Well, it was a good lark, I must say; I was telling it to Basset last night, and it nearly killed him. I don't know whether you have seen him lately, but he's grown horribly fat. He has taken to rearing prize bullocks, and I think he has caught it of 'em; rides sixteen stone, if he rides a pound. I tell him he'll break his neck some of these days, if he chooses to go on hunting—the horses can't stand it. However, he went into such fits of laughter when I told him about it, that he got quite black in the face, and I rang the bell, and swore he was in an apoplexy, but the servant seemed used to the sort of thing, and brought him a jug of beer, which resuscitated him. Well, to return to my mutton, as the Mounseers have it—the very day I intended to leave Cambridge, Shrimp came in while I was breakfasting, with a great coarse-looking letter in his hand.