So clear was I from doubt upon that score, and all my proceedings had been so blameless, ever since that casual "peep through the hedge,"—as Dariel's father called it,—that instead of any squeamishness or self-reproach, I had two points to dwell upon of maltreatment to myself. Why had I been sent to London on a special errand, and then deprived of all chance of completing it? And again, had I been told of that hateful Prince Hafer, and purposely goaded into just wrath against him, simply that I might break forth into rude behaviour, and so be dismissed as a savage, who could not control himself before a lady?
That supposition was too wretched to be borne with, not for the low esteem of me it implied, but rather on account of the paltriness imputed to the highest, and noblest, and loveliest of her sex. Against all that my truer mind revolted, and my own experience did the like. But men have a trick of saying such small things about women (when the feminine back is turned), partly because they think it lofty so to speak, and partly because of the poets and sages who have set them this example, and partly (a very small part, let us hope) in right of their own experience. And these things come into a man's lower mind, when depression sinks it in the mud-deposits of the heart.
"Halloa, George Cranleigh! What a blue study you must be in! Don't I carry a light at my fore-peak? And if you can't see it you might smell it."
It was rather dark as I came near home, after that interview with the police, and the trees at the back of the Hall were thick; but I might have seen Stoneman and his cigar, if I had been at all on the lookout. "Come in," he went on; "I waylaid you because I want a chat with you most uncommonly, and they told me at your den that you were gone this way. Fishing again? No rod this time! But perhaps you leave it at some farmhouse." This man had his little faults; and among them was a trick of suggesting a handy fib, and then smashing it, if adopted; the which is not a friendly trick. "Not been fishing, eh? Something better, I daresay. Well, come in here; I want to show you something good, and the wonderful fellow who does it."
This was as dark as the sky itself to me. But I followed him, for he was a leading man; and in little matters I submit my steps to theirs. Verily, on this occasion I did not walk amiss. For when we were in Jackson Stoneman's little crib, such as any man of nous, with a big roof over his head, is fain to keep for his own better moments, there was something which no magnificence can bring home into the simple human breast. Who is the most delightful writer of our race, since Heaven took Shakespeare away in hot haste, when his hand was too close on the Tree of Life? The answer, although so long in coming, comes louder, as every year adds to the echo—"William Makepeace Thackeray."
That man of vast brain, with the fresh heart of a child, would have been pleased to see what I beheld; and his tender touch only could have touched it off. A bright fire was burning in a low, plain grate, there was not a whiff of smoke throughout it, and in front of the red clear glow, at a distance nicely calculated, stood a beautiful machine with its back to us. Kneeling on the rug was a long-sided man, so intent on his work that he never heard the door, with a silver spoon (once apostolic perhaps) in his right hand, and a long slender crook in his left. What he was tending could not be seen as yet; but a glorious fragrance held possession of the air, and wafted a divine afflatus to any heart not utterly insensible. Sûr Imar's broil was not a patch upon it.
"Ach! it is to spoil everyting dat you are here." The artist frowned and grunted, without getting up, as Stoneman introduced me. "My name is Hopmann; but dese bairds, what will dere names be, if I interrupt?"
Peeping in over the lid of the alcove, which had an enamel lining, I saw four partridges hung skilfully from hooks, with a swivel to each; so that every bird might revolve with zeal, or pause with proper feeling, as his sense of perfection and of duty bade him. While in the tray beneath them, some clear brown gravy was simmering, with a beaded eddy where the basting trickled. In and out among them, the silver spoon was gliding most skilfully and impartially, administering a drip to each, as sweetly and fairly as their own dear mother did it, in their happy nest. But instead of their dear mother, alas, it was not even an Englishman who was tending them, but a German doctor with a very red face, gazing most severely at them through big silver spectacles. "Not you look! Not you come near!" this gentleman cried, as he gave me a push, in return for the bow I offered him.
"Come in here, George," said Stoneman, with a wink at me. "Let him alone, and I will tell you all about him. He is the best fellow that ever lived; but you will never get it out of his head that almost everything we do is wrong."
"Everyting, everyting! Not almost, but everyting the Englishman do wrong," the Herr Doctor shouted, as Stoneman led me into the next room, where a snug supper-table was set out for the three of us.