“I twig,” replied the Major, adding, “then you have to pay fifty pounds for him, eh?”
“Or return him,” replied Billy, “or return him. He made me promise if over I wanted to part with him, I would give him the refusal of him again.”
“Humph!” grunted the Major, looking the horse over attentively. “Fifty puns,” muttered he to himself,—“must be worth that if he’s sound, and only eight off. Wouldn’t mind giving fifty for him myself,” thought he; “must be something wrong about him—certain of that—or Sir Moses wouldn’t have parted with him;” with which firm conviction, and the full determination to find out the horse’s weak point, the Major trotted along the Bodenham Road, through the little hamlet of Maywood, thence across Faulder the cattle jobber’s farm, into the Heath-field Road at Gilden Bridge. A quarter of a mile further, and Mr. Wotherspoon’s residence was full in sight.
The “Tower” never, perhaps, showed to greater advantage than it did on this morning, for a bright winter’s sun lit up the luxuriant ivy on its angular, gable-ended walls, nestling myriads of sparrows that flew out in flocks at the approach of each visitor.
“What place is this?” asked our hero, as, at a jerk of the Major’s head, Solomon turned off the road through the now propped-open gate of the approach to the mansion.
“Oh, this is where we meet,” replied the Major; “this is Mr. Wotherspoon’s, the gentleman you remember out with us the day we had the famous run when we lost the hare at Mossheugh Law—the farm by the moor, you know, where the pretty woman was churning—you remember, eh?”
“O, ah!” repeated Billy: “but I thought they called his place a Tower,—Ivy something Tower,” thinking this was more like two great sentry boxes placed at right angles, and covered with ivy than anything else.
“Well, yes; he calls this a Tower,” replied the Major, seeing by Billy’s face that his friend had not risen in his estimation by the view of his mansion. “Capital feller Spoon, though,” continued he, “must go in and pay our respects to him and his lady.” So saying, he turned off the road upon the closely eaten sward, and, calling to Solomon to stop and let the hounds have a roll on the grass, he dismounted, and gave his horse in charge of a fustian-clad countryman, telling him to walk him about till he returned, and he would remember him for his trouble. Our friend Billy did the same, and knocking the mud sparks off his boots against the well pipe-clayed door-steps, prepared to enter the Tower. Before inducting them, however, let us prepare the inmates for their reception.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Wotherspoon had risen sufficiently early to enable them to put the finishing stroke to their respective arrangements, and then to apparel themselves for the occasion. They were gorgeously attired, vieing with the rainbow in the colour of their clothes. Old Spoon, indeed, seemed as if he had put all the finery on he could raise, and his best brown cauliflower wig shone resplendent with Macassar oil. He had on a light brown coat with a rolling velvet collar, velvet facings and cuffs, with a magnificent green, blue, and yellow striped tartan velvet vest, enriched with red cornelian buttons, and crossed diagonally with a massive Brazilian gold chain, and the broad ribbon of his gold double-eye-glasses. He sported a light blue satin cravat, an elaborately worked ruby-studded shirt front, over a pink flannel vest, with stiff wrist-bands well turned up, showing the magnificence of his imitation India garnet buttons. On his clumsy fingers he wore a profusion of rings—a brilliant cluster, a gold and opal, a brilliant and sapphire, an emerald half-hoop ring, a massive mourning, and a signet ring,—six in all,—genuine or glass as the case might be, equally distributed between the dirty-nailed fingers of each hand. His legs were again encased in the treacherous white cords and woe-begone top-boots that were best under the breakfast table. He had drawn the thin cords on very carefully, hoping they would have the goodness to hang together for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Wotherspoon was bedizened with jewellery and machinery lace. She wore a rich violet-coloured velvet dress, with a beautiful machinery lace chemisette, fastened down the front with large Cairngorum buttons, the whole connected with a diminutive Venetian chain, which contrasted with the massive mosaic one that rolled and rattled upon her plump shoulders. A splendid imitation emerald and brilliant brooch adorned her bust, while her well-rounded arms were encircled with a mosaic gold, garnet and turquoise bracelet, an imitation rose diamond one, intermixed with pearl, a serpent armlet with blood-stone eyes, a heavy jet one, and an equally massive mosaic gold one with a heart’s ease padlock. Though in the full development of womanhood, she yet distended her figure with crinoline, to the great contraction of her room.