"If that letter does not succeed," quoth the Juggler after he had read it over for the second time, "I surrender all faith in human gullibility. It shall appear to-morrow morning in the newspapers; and as to what may follow after, why—we shall just leave that to the chapter of accidents."
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW AUGUSTINE RETORTED ON THE JUGGLER; AND HOW HIPPOPOTAMUS CAME OVER TO BULLOCKSHATCH.
Next morning, the letter appeared in print, and was circulated all over Bullockshatch. You have no idea what a commotion it created. Some people who knew the Juggler well from old experience, pronounced it at once to be a mere tub thrown out to catch a whale, and argued that in reality it meant nothing. But others, who detested Peter from the bottom of their hearts, and yet felt a sort of sneaking kindness for the Juggler, were loud in their commendation and praise of his spirited, straightforward conduct; and declared their firm conviction that he would go on, and give Peter such a trouncing for his insolence, as he had not received for many a day. Those who were of the Gray and Claretson faction, looked exceedingly glum; swore that they had always considered the Juggler as little better than a time-serving fellow; and that, notwithstanding his braggadocio, he durst not take a single step against Peter. "If we are in for it," said they, "so is he. Let him clear up those doings of Mat-o'-the-Mint as he best can." Peter's friends, of course, were furious; at least the majority of them, who did not comprehend the truth of the axiom, that the main use of language is to conceal ideas. Others, who were more learned in Jesuitry, winked and hinted at a dispensation.
But the man, of all others, who was the most astounded—and no wonder—was poor Augustine. You must know that, for several years, the Juggler had been on extremely cool terms with Dr Martin, and seldom, if ever, set foot within his church. But, as it had always been considered a point of etiquette that the Squire's head-steward should attend some place of worship, the Juggler, who could do nothing like other people, compromised the matter by joining two congregations at once. Of a Sunday forenoon he was a regular attendant on the ministrations of Augustine; in the afternoon, he went to a meeting-house where the minister was a relative of Jack's. He had helped Augustine to set up his nick-nackeries; assisted at the most suspicious of his ceremonies; and never made the slightest objection to the practices, which he now thought fit to denounce to Martin! Augustine, at the first sight of the letter, doubted the evidence of his eyesight.
"Bones of Saint Thomas-à-Beckett!" said he, "is it possible that he can have written this? Supposing that I was to blame—which I am not—is it for him to turn against me at the last hour, after all that he has said and done, and throw the whole blame of Peter's delinquencies at my door? But I won't stand it—that's flat. I'll write him a tickler that shall touch him to the quick, if he has any spark of conscience remaining; and, now that I think on't, I'll just step over to the vestry, where I shall be less disturbed."
I don't know what kind of disturbance Augustine contemplated at home, but it must have been slight indeed compared with that which he was doomed to meet at the chapel. All the ragamuffins in the neighbourhood, who took their cue from the Juggler, were congregated around the door; and no sooner did Augustine appear, than he was saluted with yells of "No candles! no sham Peters! down with the humbug!" and so forth; so that the poor gentleman had much difficulty in elbowing his way to the vestry, where he locked himself in, not altogether, as you may easily believe, in a comfortable frame of mind. When he attempted to perform service, matters grew worse and worse. There was shouting, braying, and hissing, both inside and outside the door, so that a large posse of constables was required to keep the mob in order; and, at last, the chapel was shut up.
Augustine, however, wrote his letter, which was a stinger, though rather too long, and published it. It is just possible that he may have received an answer; but if so, I have not seen it, nor can I therefore undertake to clear up the mystery which envelopes this remarkable episode. This much is certain, that if Augustine's statement was true, the Juggler gave ample proof, if proof was necessary, that he was still eminently qualified to exhibit feats of dexterity at any booth in Bartholomew Fair, and could turn his back upon himself with any man in the kingdom.
It is my opinion that the Juggler, after having written his famous letter to Martin, would very willingly have held his tongue, until he was compelled to address the household. But it is not easy, when a fire is once kindled, to put it out. Not that the kindling was the work of Johnny, for Peter's insolent proclamation was of itself enough to raise a conflagration in Bullockshatch; but now that the head-steward had declared himself—or was supposed to have done so—it was necessary that he should go through with it. It so happened, that a day or two afterwards he was engaged, along with others of the Squire's servants, to eat custard with one of the village magistrates; and the good man, in proposing his health, could not help alluding to the very noble, magnificent, and satisfactory letter which had been written by the honourable head-steward on the subject of Peter's unwarrantable attack on the liberties of the Squire. At this the whole company rose and cheered, so that the Juggler could not very well forbear touching on the topic, though he handled it with as much caution as he would have used towards a heated poker. He talked about his determination to uphold the just rights of Esquire Bull, and so forth; but what those rights were, he did not specify, neither did he drop any hint as to the nature of the steps which he proposed to adopt. But you may conceive his disgust, when he heard two of the servants whom he had brought along with him, fall foul of Peter in the most unqualified terms! The first of these, one Kewpaw, so named after his habitual pronunciation of his birthplace in the North farm, had the exquisite taste to say that he, being a Justice of the Peace, would be but too happy and proud to preside at the trial either of Peter, or of his delegate Hippopotamus, for the insult offered to Squire Bull, and would give them a practical insight into the nature of a mittimus; while the other, who had been wild in his youth, but now sat at the head of the upper servants' table, declared his intention of dancing a fandango on the hat of Hippopotamus on the first convenient opportunity. These dignified speeches were of course enthusiastically cheered, though they were as bitter as wormwood to the Juggler, who felt himself every hour more and more compromised before he had made up his mind to any definite course of action.
Meanwhile Martin, who knew from old experience how little dependence could be placed in the Juggler at any time, bestirred himself to take the sense of the people of Bullockshatch as to Peter's arrogant pretensions. He was fully conscious that a general demonstration on their part would not only be highly gratifying to the Squire, but extremely useful in influencing the views of the servants. Meetings were accordingly held in every corner of the estate, at which both tenantry and villagers signified their readiness to stand by Squire Bull to the last, and voted him addresses to that effect. It was true that Obadiah, though he durst not declare openly for Peter, took every occasion of carping at the proceedings of Martin—insinuating, in his sneaking way, that this access of zeal might be traced to a wholesome regard to the maintenance of his tithes, "wherein," quoth Obadiah, "I, though a humble labourer in the vineyard, have neither part nor portion." But Martin, who knew the man, and valued his remarks accordingly, proceeded in the performance of his duty; being well aware that even an angel of light would have been subjected to the malignant criticisms of Obadiah.
A day was presently fixed when Squire Bull was to receive the addresses of the tenantry at the manor-house. Nobody doubted that the answers would have been bluff, hearty, and decided, as was the Squire's usual manner; and that Peter would receive more than a hint of the probable reward of his impertinence. And, most assuredly, had the matter depended alone upon the disposition of the Squire, they would have been abundantly gratified. But there was an old rule of the estate, that, on such occasions, the answer to the addresses should be written by the head-steward, not by the Squire, who was seldom allowed to look at the paper before he was required to read it. When the day came, there was an immense concourse of deputations, from all parts of the estate, gathered in the lobbies, and each was successively ushered into the drawing-room, where the Squire was seated, with the Juggler standing at his elbow. When the first address was finished, the Juggler slipped a sheet of paper into the hand of the Squire, who forthwith began to read it as follows:—