“Tell us a little about him, when you were with him, Tom,” said Harry Thorsby.
“Well,” said Tom, as he continued to run about, changing plates and attending to everybody’s wants, “I don’t like telling tales out of school; but since my old master signed the warrant with Squire Bullockshed for picking up a hare that I happened to see in a snickle”—here Tom was drowned in a loud burst of laughter from the gentlemen—“since he did that, I don’t feel so tongue-tied as afore. Well, it is true enough, my captain did sow his wild oats pretty freely. It was a gay time, that regimental time. What with a splendid mess, and fine horses, and dogs, and fine”—Tom hesitated a moment—“fine people of one sort or another, money did go, though. My captain blazed away faster than any of them. Wasn’t he heir to the fine old estate of Beech-Lees? Well, it was the old story: my captain wor continually out at the elbows. Money, money, money wor always wanted. The governor, as he called him, that wor his honoured father, after a while stopped dead short, and wouldn’t out with a stiver. ‘Tom,’ he said—that worn’t me, it wor my captain, he wor named Thomas—‘Tom,’ he said, ‘must live on his pay.’ Live on his pay! The pay of the whole regiment wouldn’t have done for him. Well, he used to write to his father’s steward to send him money, telling him he should find the good of it when he came to the estate. And the steward sent him money for awhile, but then he writ that the Squire had got an inkling of what he was doing, and kept such a strict ferreting into the books, that it was all up in that quarter. The steward remained a good sum out of pocket.
“I believe my captain had managed to borrow considerable sums of the Jews on what are called past-a-bits, but the Squire soon let them know that the estate wasn’t entailed, and that was up too, and the Jews were as keen after him as so many hounds after a hare. As to borrowing of any of the brother officers, they were all pretty much of a muchness, that is, they were all very able to borrow, but not to lend. There was only one of them that was able to lend, and that was the Major, and he had the unfortunate name of Need.”—Much laughter, and loud cachination, or what Betty Trapps called crowing, from Thorsby.—“Major Need was always in need. You might as well have asked fire of a fish as money of the Major. He always pleaded poverty, and said the mess was really so extravagant, he should get all the leave of absence that he could. And you may believe me, he did spend the greater part of his time at home. And what was he doing? Why, he was just as busy as a bee in planting a vast lot of poor, sandy land that he had with larch trees. There he was, while my captain and the rest of the officers were sowing their wild oats, always busy in sowing larch seed, and having a lot of men at work planting the young trees out as they grew. There you might see this poor man, who never had a penny to lend to a brother officer in distress, riding away to his beggarly land not worth a rent of a shilling an acre, mounted on a sturdy pony, bearing a sort of bag slung on his back, with his dinner in it, and a big pruning-knife and a little saw in it besides—going, he was, to prune his larches as they wanted it, and keep a sharp eye on his men at work. Well, I was that way the other day, and bless my stars! what a vast of fine woods that man has, and they tell me he is as rich as a duke, him that in our regiment’s time never had a penny to lend or spend.
“Well, it came to a sharp pass at last with my captain. The lady asked if I had been in any battles. Ay, troth, I was at that time in battles enow, with those unreasonablest of varmint, called duns. My captain would have been awlis in prison if mother nature had not blest me with a good share of contrivance, and a skull that could stand sharp acquaintance with constables’ staffs. Oh! if I do miss heaven at last, it will be for all the lies I told them, for my captain. How often I have sworn that he was gone down to see his honoured father, who was on his death-bed, when all the while he was trembling in every limb behind the door that I held in their faces.
“Once I was nearly sold. Oh, my gracious! didn’t my heart leap into my mouth! Things were come to such a pass that something very ingenious must be thought of. ‘I have it,’ said I to the captain. ‘I’ll hire a coffin, and when they come I’ll say you’re just dead.’ ‘No, Tom!’ he said, ‘no; that won’t do.’ Then said I, ‘I give in, and there’s nothing for it but the debtor’s gaol.’ Well, that cowed him. ‘Do as you like, Tom,’ said he; and very soon I had hired a good oak-coffin and gilt breastplate from the undertaker just by. ‘Now,’ said I, ‘when these fellows come thundering to-day, as I hear they will—they swear they’ll break locks—you just lie down in a sheet, and leave the rest to me.’
“Well, no sooner said than done. I had hardly time to lock the door, and compose my captain’s goodly limbs decently in the coffin, and put the lid loosely on, when, bang! came the constables at the door. Quick, quick did I open. ‘Oh, is it you?’ said I, sobbing bitterly, and with brooks of water running from my eyes, for I had a famous strong onion hidden in my handkerchief. ‘Oh! come in,’ said I, ‘come in, and see what you’ve done. You’ve broken his heart at last. There he lies! Oh, enjoy the sight—do, do! Enjoy the misery you have made. Oh! what hearts are bleeding down the country there for this handsome, good-hearted young gentleman that you’ve killed!’
“I off with the coffin-lid—ghastly looked my captain’s face, with whiting that I had daubed it with. ‘There!’ said I, ‘you’ve killed him. Your worrying had brought him so low, he catched the typhus, and——’ Here my tears stopped my voice. ‘Fie! typhus!’ exclaimed the fellows in horror, and out they brushed. But it was nearly all ruination. My captain, impatient of his coffin, lifted his head before they were well out of the door, and said, laughing, ‘Are those scamps gone?’ Quick one of the constables turned, ‘Didn’t I hear something? Didn’t I see something stir?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said I, ‘you saw the wind from the door blow the shroud up, and with it, no doubt, the air of the fever. Ha! away!—it is as much as your life is worth.’ The man bolted, and for that time all was right. But it was a very near touch, with the captain’s impatience.” (Loud Hear, hears! and much laughter.)
“Lucky for us, the regiment marched next day, and my captain had gone off in the night. But at our next quarters it was not much better. The captain was clean swept out of money, trinkets, and of almost all his clothes. He had a gold watch which his mother had given him. It cost forty guineas, and that he had kept through all. One day he said to me on the parade ground, ‘Tom, I have left my watch on the chimney-piece in my room. Fetch it, or I shall not know when to dismiss the men.’ I knew very well what it meant. He could have dismissed the men well enough, for the town-hall clock was right opposite to him, as he fronted the ranks. I knew that he meant at last to take it to my uncle.”
“Hadst thou an uncle living there?” interrupted Mrs. Heritage.
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Tom, drily. “Poor men have uncles everywhere, and very kind ones; their doors always stand open to them.”