At that very same moment, and from the south door, issued William Pitt Scully, Esquire, M.P., and his staff. Mr. Scully had a brand-new blue coat and brass buttons, buff waistcoat, white kerseymere tights, pumps with large rosettes, and pink silk stockings.
“This wool,” said he to a friend, “was grown on Oldborough sheep, this cloth was spun in Oldborough looms, these buttons were cast in an Oldborough manufactory, these shoes were made by an Oldborough tradesman, this HEART first beat in Oldborough town, and pray Heaven may be buried there!”
Could anything resist a man like this? John Perkins, who had come down as one of Scully's aides-de-camp, in a fit of generous enthusiasm, leaped on a whist-table, flung up a pocket-handkerchief, and shrieked—“SCULLY FOR EVER!”
Heeltap, who was generally drunk, fairly burst into tears, and the grave tradesmen and Whig gentry, who had dined with the Member at his inn, and accompanied him thence to the “Gorgon Arms,” lifted their deep voices and shouted “Hear!” “Good!” “Bravo!” “Noble!” “Scully for ever!” “God bless him!” and “Hurrah!”
The scene was tumultuously affecting; and when young Perkins sprang down from the table and came blushing up to the Member, that gentleman said, “Thank you, Jack! THANK you, my boy! THANK you,” in a way which made Perkins think that his supreme cup of bliss was quaffed; that he had but to die: for that life had no other such joy in store for him. Scully was Perkins's Napoleon—he yielded himself up to the attorney, body and soul.
Whilst this scene was going on under one chandelier of the ballroom, beneath the other scarlet little General Gorgon, sumptuous Lady Gorgon, the daughters and niece Gorgons, were standing surrounded by their Tory court, who affected to sneer and titter at the Whig demonstrations which were taking place.
“What a howwid thmell of whithkey!” lisped Cornet Fitch, of the Dragoons, to Miss Lucy, confidentially. “And the—the are what they call Whigth, are they? He! he!”
“They are drunk, ——me, —drunk, by ——!” said the General to the Mayor.
“WHICH is Scully?” said Lady Gorgon, lifting her glass gravely (she was at that very moment thinking of the syllabubs). “Is it that tipsy man in the green coat, or that vulgar creature in the blue one?”
“Law, my Lady,” said the Mayoress, “have you forgotten him? Why, that's him in blue and buff.”