The Wayfarers

by J. C. Snaith

"Do," says the squire, taking him up angrily. "Burn me, was there ever such insolence? Are you not aware that I am at present engaged with your betters, and yet you have the damnable impertinence to ask me what you shall do."

"But the highwayman, if you please, your honour," says the other, who was rather a stubborn fellow.

"Oh, the highwayman," says the squire. "How dare you intrude a person of that low character when I am engaged with a brother magistrate? Let the highwayman go to the devil too."

"In short," says I, reading the squire's disposition, "you can all go to the devil, the sooner the better. Do you think the meeting of two gentlemen can be disturbed by such a petty matter? I am about to ask the honour of the company of my brother justice over a bottle. Landlord, have the goodness to bring up some more of your excellent Burgundy, and also do us the service of sending these dirty rascals about their business. There are no highwaymen here, and if there were, do you suppose that gentlemen are to be put to inconvenience by them?"

Hereupon the squire, finding himself received in such high favour, hastened to second my proposal. The posse was sent packing into the wind and rain to continue the pursuit of Mr. William Sadler, although they evidently had not the least idea as to which direction he might be in; whilst the magistrate proposed to take his ease in his inn, in the society of the very rogue his men had gone forth to seek.

The host soon returned with the wine, and we settled ourselves to good-fellowship. To judge by the sly satisfaction that appeared at intervals in Mr. Sadler's venerable countenance, he was very well pleased with the arrangement; whilst I am sure the squire was vastly so. As for Cynthia and myself, I think we both had some share in this satisfaction also. We figured to ourselves the eventuality of being able to repay this numscull fellow in his own coin, by putting upon him some of the indignity he had been so prompt to put upon us that afternoon.

In a person of a better capacity it might have been a matter of surprise that we should have gone unrecognized. But this squire was but a poor apology of a fellow, with probably as many wits as a rabbit, and as great a discernment as a mole. And in my case there may have been some little excuse, for after all one man is very much like another, and differs not so much in his appearance as in his circumstances. In the parlour of a tavern it is as easy to pass for a justice of the peace as it is in the stocks to pass for a rogue. Perhaps in Cynthia's case an even better excuse could be found for him. Instead of a dejected and bedraggled creature (madam hath twice already blotted this sentence out!) trudging at the side of a forlorn musicianer that blew the flute, here was a very different person. Her muddy cloak had been discarded to disclose a very tolerable travelling attire beneath, which, laced as it was, could pass very well in the country for the first fashion. Besides, in some impalpable feminine way, by some cunning trick of the sex, she had added here and there a touch to her hair and her person, till she shone forth as fair and trim in the glow of the fire and the candles as Herrick's Julia. She was no longer the wandering female (saving her presence!), but the lady of quality, holding her court of three. The brightness of the place was communicated to her cheeks and her eyes. The dainty malice, the grave insolence, the superb disdain, the assurance and yet the solicitude of fashion wedded to beauty, youth to breeding, was a sufficient masque to the draggle-tailed little creature of the afternoon. If it may be said of men that they are the victims of their circumstances, and cut their figure in the world according to them, how much more truly may the same be said of women, for are they not chameleons that receive their hue from their surroundings?

Being completely confident that we ran no risk of discovery from any exercise the squire might make of his natural faculties, I had no compunction about introducing Mrs. Cynthia and Mr. Sadler, that the feast of reason and the flow of soul might be unimpeded. Thoroughly alive to the whimsicality of the passages that were like to ensue from such ill-assorted company sitting down together, I mischievously determined to give the thing a more extravagant touch if possible, by sailing as near to the truth as I could. Therefore, fully aware of the delicious savour of the whole affair, Mrs. Cynthia was presented as my wife, the Countess of Tiverton, and our friend Mr. Sadler, the highwayman and lord knows what besides, as her ladyship's choleric papa, his grace of Salop.

Never, I vow, was a man so overcome with the society in which he found himself as this rustical clown of a justice. Having plainly been used to no better all his life than that of his pigs, his sheep, his cows, his horses, the village beadle, and the worthies of the village ale-house, he had no higher sense of rendering what he conceived was due to our superior dignity, than they had in rendering the same to his. His bows, his smirks, his grimaces, his gross flatteries, would have excited our pity had he deserved any. They were so grotesque that even Mr. Sadler grinned through his great beard.

The landlord too fell in very sagaciously with the whole thing. Whatever opinion he might entertain on his own part of our figure in the world, the fact that we had been admitted to the friendship of Mr. Sadler was a sufficient guarantee of his not going unrequited. Armed with this assurance he produced some really excellent wine in liberal quantities, and furnished us with the fullest meed of his respectful service; though it is gravely to be doubted whether he considered we had any better right to enjoy our titles than had Mr. Sadler. But I will go bail for the justice, who rejoiced in the name of Hodgkin, that no such doubts invaded his mind. He was simply happy. His wildest dreams were realized. His loftiest ambitions were fulfilled. Was he not hobnobbing with the great at their own table on terms of perfect equality? He never addressed any of us without bringing in our titles somehow, either as the prologue or the epilogue of what he had to say, sometimes as both, and in the middle too. And just as a duke is a personage of more consideration than an earl, even if he be a justice of the peace, or a countess if she be young and fair, so did our squire, after he had felt his way a bit, had drunk a glass or two and got used to such unaccustomed company, direct the main of his attention to his grace of Salop. Indeed such advances did he presently make in the good esteem of that venerable nobleman that he was fain to direct nearly the whole of his discourse to him. He played him, and ogled him, your grace'd him this, and your grace'd him that, until he felt he had ingratiated himself into the highest favour. And having attained to this good fortune, he could hardly bring himself to so much as look at Cynthia and me. As in the case of his rustics and the inn-keeper, we, as it were, presently discovered him engaged with our betters; and he clearly hoped we should understand that to be the case.