CHAPTER XXVI.
Philosophy of smiles. Twm sets out for modern Babylon. New use of a pack-saddle. A gentleman of the road, and how Twm borrowed his horse.
Laughter was the order of the morning at Ystrad Feen. Grief causes the loss of the appetite, but mirth produced the same effect in a different way on this particular occasion, as no one seemed to have strength nor leisure to attack the tempting delicacies spread before them in such profusion. Laughter, loud, strong, boisterous, hearty ringing laughter, burst forth again and again as Twm, in the drollest manner, excited their risibility by a relation of what had passed the preceding evening.
“A bull in boots!” chuckled the Baronet, laughing till the tears ran down his florid countenance. “A bull in boots!” cried the lady of Ystrad Feen, till a sweet glow diffused itself over her whole countenance, developing, by the effort a pair of the finest dimples that ever lent their attraction to a female face. “A bull in boots!” cried the Reverend John David Rhys, whose excited countenance bore animated contrast to the “pale cast of thought” that usually distinguished him, and with whom laughter was not habitual.
“A bull in boots!” tittered Miss Meredith, with something more than a simper, or small grin, used to exhibit a fine set of teeth (which Parson Rhys thought peerless;) for honest, hearty, spleen-dispersing laughter, was not voted to be vulgar in those days; nor gentility and insipidity considered as synonymous terms.
“A bull in boots!” muttered a tall elderly gentleman with a long saturnine nose, that seemed to curl away, half disdainfully, from the mouth beneath it, which laughed, however, in spite of the nose, inclining to extend itself from ear to ear, in revenge for never having so indulged itself before. “A bull in boots!” repeated he sneeringly; “how ridiculous! I should have as soon thought to see a pig in pattens.”
In the midst of this merriment, Tommy Thomas made his appearance, to announce something; but catching the exclamation of “a bull in boots,” and “a pig in pattens,” was immediately infected with the general contagion, and laughed and snorted like a pig in a hay-field, when a cunning cur has suddenly seized him by the buttocks. The new arrival promised additional fun, and all were prepared to enjoy it. At length he explained himself in a brief sentence, “Mr. Prothero is coming!”
Twm now made a hasty retreat for some unexplained purpose; and in a few minutes the portly figure of Squire Prothero was seen in the yard, sitting on his horse, and laughing till too convulsed to alight. The company ran out and greeted him, while the good-natured squire co-mingled with their mirthful peals as hearty a “ho, ho, ho!” as ever shook his jolly fat sides.
“Laugh away, ho, ho, ho! laugh away,” cried he, “I know I look an ass, after bragging up such a nincompoop as my fellow against this young wag of yours. But where is he? where is the young dog? I suppose my noble bull is slaughtered by this time.”
“Tough steaks he gave us for breakfast,” cried the baronet, “tough as an alligator with his scales on.”