Now, Old Nobbler had a daughter, like Shylock, and Jephthah, and Virginius, and many other doting old gentlemen. Of course he was very fond of the girl, and she did with him pretty much as she liked. Well, “’tis an old tale and often told;” it was not likely that Barbara Nobbler, in all the flush of eighteen summers, could abide constantly under the same roof with Dick Naggett, and remain insensible to his attractions. The lady was a swarthy bouncing brunette, cherry-lipped, bright-eyed, heavy-handed, and with a foot and ankle of the mill-post order, such as seldom belong to a good mover. Nevertheless, she was a healthy, vigorous girl, with a quick temper, and a good heart. It was natural that she should plunge at once chin-deep in love with rosy, trim, curly-headed, flaxen-haired Dick Naggett. Old Nobbler would not hear of the match, shut Barbara up in her room, and turned Dick off the stool in the office, and worse than that, out of the pig-skin in the saddle-room. There was a dreadful blow-up in the house. The father had a fit of the gout; the daughter was seen dissolved in tears; and the lover, looking trimmer, rosier, and saucier than ever, was observed to take tea, two days running, with Mrs. Furbelow, the dressmaker, a widow of a certain calibre, over the way.
Flirtations, however, in all classes of life, may have been carried on so far that it is better for all parties that they should not be interrupted. Old Nobbler, a man not without legal experience, was prevailed on to listen to reason, and an early wedding was the result, which placed Mr. Naggett’s head once more above water, and indeed put him in immediate possession of a little capital, with the prospective reversion of a little more.
It was in consequence of this windfall that Mr. Naggett embarked on the very flourishing business that he had conducted for some years, at the period when I made his acquaintance,—a business that, somehow or another, led him into all sorts of places where you would have supposed there was neither time nor opportunity for the purchase and sale of meat. It conducted him to Epsom annually, at the Metropolitan Spring Meeting, and required his punctual return, for the Derby and Oaks. It released him from Ascot, probably in consequence of the hot weather, and swarms of flies prevalent in the month of June, but imperatively demanded his attendance in Yorkshire, and twice or thrice within a reasonable distance of Cambridge during the autumn months. In its prosecution he was compelled, at great personal risk and inconvenience, to take an expensive ticket by the very identical train that bore the invincible Tom Sayers down the line to battle with his gallant antagonist; and in order to do it thorough justice, he has often been detained from his own home till the small hours of the morning, and compelled to return fragrant with the combined odours of alcohol and tobacco; nor does it appear that this mysterious business can remain established on a secure basis, apart from the assistance of those agreeable stimulants.
Why it should necessitate, as it seems to do, the proprietorship of a half-bred stallion, three pointers, an Angola cat, the smallest terrier, and the largest mastiff I ever saw, one cockatoo, and a dozen Cochin-China fowls is more than I can take upon me to expound. Probably Mrs. Naggett knows; for she has repeatedly demanded, not without high words, an explanation of its mysterious intricacies.
I should not say, from all I have heard, that Mr. Naggett is a domestic man. The habitual wearing of top-boots, combined with fancy waistcoats, I believe to be inimical to the fireside qualities. Although there are two or three Naggetts, with dark eyes like their mother, and flaxen curls like their father, to be seen playing at hide-and-seek amongst the grove of dead pigs and sheep that pervade the premises, and Mr. N. seems to notice and be fond of the urchins, yet loud altercations are often to be heard in his private residence behind the slaughter-house, and Mrs. N.’s dark eyes are not always undimmed by tears. Fame, however, whose hundred tongues are no less ubiquitous at Waterborough than elsewhere, does not scruple to intimate that the butcher’s lady is quite able to “hold her own;” and the gossips have been heard to affirm, with dark and threatening glances at their own liege lords the while, that “though she has been so put upon, poor dear, she can give him as good as he brings, and quite right too.” The inference is obvious, the moral doubtless not without its effect.
It was not in my nature to fraternise very cordially with a gentleman of Mr. Naggett’s superior qualities. I am bound, nevertheless, to admit, that his advances towards myself were cordial, not to say familiar in the extreme. The undisguised admiration, however, with which Miss Lushington regarded his every movement, and the terms of intimacy on which he obviously stood with that decorous lady, may have prejudiced me somewhat against him. There is a class of men, however, I have often observed, and I say it in justice to Miss Lushington, with whom the genus Barmaid seems to possess some mysterious affinity. As Eastern poets feign that there is a certain bird to which the tree involuntarily bends its branches, and the flower opens its petals, so I am convinced there is a description of individual who is looked on with peculiar favour by actresses, barmaids, hostesses, and other ladies whose avocations bring them much into the presence of a discerning public. These favourites of her sex are generally remarkable for exuberance of spirits, command of language, a vivid freshness of complexion, and general freedom of manner. They are loud in assumption, and great on all topics of political or public interest; also prone to plunge into quarrels, from which they invariably extricate themselves without recourse to ulterior measures. His female admirers, in describing such a one, generally sum up their catalogue of his merits by vowing that he is “very free in company, and quite the gentleman.”
Mr. Naggett, stirring the fire with his boot, and winking facetiously on Miss Lushington, as he drank her health in his hot negus, and asked her whether she had ordered her wedding-bonnet yet, obligingly remarked, that “it was a cold night, and he was sorry to see my arm in a sling;” also “that he had heard of my accident, and hoped it wouldn’t be long before I over-got it,” with which friendly wish, expressed in a compound verb, he finished his negus, and ordered some more, calling Miss L. “my dear,” unblushingly, to my excessive disgust. He then drew his chair to the fire, expressed his astonishment that Tips had gone to “perch,” as he called it, and proceeded to make himself agreeable.
“A nasty fall, sir, yours must have been, as I understand,” said he, “and it’s well as it wasn’t worse. You’ve a nice-ish team standing here, but you’ll excuse me, sir, they’re not exactly the class of horse for a gentleman like you to ride. I’ve been fond of horses all my life, from a boy, I may say, and I’m forty years of age now: forty years of age, though perhaps you wouldn’t think it, and in that time I’ve learned to keep my eyes open. Now, sir, you don’t ride so very light, I’ll be bound to say.”
I am a little touchy about my weight, I confess. I believe most men are, the heavy ones liking to be thought lighter and the light ones heavier than they really are. “I ride thirteen stone,” I replied. “Thirteen stone, to a pound; I weigh every day of my life, and I haven’t varied since I was five-and-twenty.”
“Thirteen stone! indeed, sir!” replied Mr. Naggett, running his eye, as I thought, in a very free-and-easy manner over my proportions. “Well, I shouldn’t have thought it. But you’re thick, sir; thick and a little fleshy. Now, your nags is hardly thirteen-stoners, sir—not in a country like this; I’m sure you must agree with me?”