CHAPTER CXXXIII.
SKILLIGALEE'S HISTORY.
"You remember the day we parted, after having lived together for nearly six months. I gave you two guineas to find your way up to London, where I recommended you to proceed to seek your fortune; and I told you that I had as much left for myself, to help me to get away from a part of the country where the numerous burglaries I had committed had put all the constables on the alert after me. But in reality I had but two or three shillings remaining in my pocket. I knew that if I told you the real state of my finances, you would not accept so much as I had given you; but I was afraid that you might be implicated in my difficulties, and so I was determined that you should have sufficient to convey you clear away from Staffordshire.
"Well, when we parted, I walked along the road leading away from the village, as disconsolate as might be; and yet you know that I am not naturally of a very mournful disposition. It was nine o'clock in the evening, if you remember, when I put you into the waggon that was to take you to London. I went on until I reached a lonely public-house, by the way-side. It was then eleven o'clock; and I was both tired and hungry. I entered the Three Compasses (which was the sign of the public-house), and sat down in the parlour. There was another traveller there—a short stout man, with a very red face, and who was committing desperate havoc upon a large cheese and loaf, from which he, however, occasionally diverted his attention, in order to pay his respects to a pot of porter. I ordered some refreshment, and inquired if I could be accommodated with a bed. The old widow woman who kept the place, said that the only bed she had to spare was already engaged by the gentleman then at supper, but that I might sleep in the hay-loft if I chose. Thereupon the red-faced man gave a long stare at me, shrugged his shoulders, and went on eating. I suppose that my appearance was not respectable enough to induce him to resign half of his bed for my accommodation; and, indeed, I was dreadfully shabby—almost in rags, as you may well remember. So I accepted the offer of the hay-loft; and retired to that place as soon as I had finished my supper.
"But as I clambered up the ladder to my roosting-place, my unfortunate trousers caught a nail; and one leg was split completely down to the foot. I was now in a most wretched dilemma, not knowing how I should contrive to mend my luckless inexpressibles. But I soon fell asleep, in spite of my unpleasant reflections; and when I awoke, the dawn of the mild spring morning was just breaking. I examined my garment, and was reduced to despair at its appearance. At length I resolved to dress myself, go down stairs, borrow a needle and thread of the old woman, and be my own tailor. When I descended into the yard, I found a lad busily employed in cleaning a pair of boots, while a pair of trousers lay upon a bench, neatly folded up, having evidently gone through the process of brushing. I immediately recognised the stout drab pantaloons which the red-faced man wore on the preceding evening; and my eyes dwelt longingly upon them. In reply to my questions, the boy said that his grandmother (the old widow who kept the public-house) was not up yet, but that he could get me a needle and thread, as he knew where she kept her work-bag. I begged him to do so; and he very obligingly went into the house for that purpose.
"The moment he had disappeared I snatched up the red-faced man's drab trousers in one hand, and his excellent pair of bluchers in the other: then, without waiting to look behind me, I jumped over the fence which separated the stable-yard from the fields, and was speedily scampering across the open country as fast as my legs would carry me. When I had run about a mile, I reached a little grove, situated on the bank of a stream: and there I halted.
"The red-faced gentleman's boots were a wonderful improvement upon my old broken shoes; but his pantaloons fitted somewhat awkwardly, being a world too wide round the waist, and a foot too short in the legs. However, they were better than my old tattered unmentionables, and I could not complain that they were dear!
"I pursued my way along the banks of the stream until past mid-day, when I came to a village, where I halted at a public-house to take some refreshment. My two or three shillings were still unchanged, because I had not paid a single penny for my entertainment at the Three Compasses. While I sate enjoying my bread and cheese and beer, I revolved in my mind various plans to better my condition. But my attention was speedily averted from that topic to the conversation of two old men, who were sitting at another table in the tap-room.
"'So poor old Joe Dobbin's scapegrace nephew is coming home at last?' said one.—'Yea,' replied the other: 'he has been seeking his fortune, as a sailor, all over the world, for the last ten years; and now that he hasn't a penny, and is a-weary of a sea-faring life, he has written to say that he is coming home to his poor old blind uncle.'—'Ah! Tom Tittlebat has been a wild 'un in his day, I'll answer for it,' said the first old man. 'But his uncle seems quite delighted at the idea of seeing him again,' observed the other old fellow.—'He says that he shall persuade upon Tom to stay at home and take care of him; and then he'll be able to turn away cross old Margery, who robs him and ill-treats him in a shameful manner.'
"I devoured every word of this conversation; and my mind was instantly made up. I accordingly joined in the discourse, called for some ale, of which I made the two old fellows partake, and so artfully pumped them that in half an hour I knew all about old blind Dobbin and his graceless nephew Tom Tittlebat, without having appeared even to ask a single question concerning them. At length, when I had my lesson complete. I burst out into a hearty laugh, and cried out, 'What, Master Buckley, don't you remember me then? and you, good Master Dottings, am I quite a stranger to you too?' The old men stared; and then, with another hearty laugh I boldly announced myself to be Tom Tittlebat. You should have seen the old fellows—how glad they were! One swore that he had all along suspected who I was; and the other vowed that my features were unchanged since he last saw me, although my face was a little tanned! Then I called for more ale, and plied the old boys well, so that they might help to favour the imposture which I meditated.