“What?” asked Pen, and in a tone of such wonder, that Foker burst out laughing, and said, “He was blowed if he didn’t think Pen was such a flat as not to know what coaching meant.”
“I’m come down with a coach from Oxford. A tutor, don’t you see, old boy? He’s coaching me, and some other men, for the little go. Me and Spavin have the drag between us. And I thought I’d just tool over and go to the play. Did you ever see Rowkins do the hornpipe?” and Mr. Foker began to perform some steps of that popular dance in the inn yard, looking round for the sympathy of his groom and the stable-men.
Pen thought he would like to go to the play too: and could ride home afterwards, as there was a moonlight. So he accepted Foker’s invitation to dinner, and the young men entered the inn together, where Mr. Foker stopped at the bar, and called upon Miss Rincer, the landlady’s fair daughter, who presided there, to give him a glass of ‘his mixture.’
Pen and his family had been known at the George ever since they came into the country; and Mr. Pendennis’s carriages and horses always put up there when he paid a visit to the county town. The landlady dropped the heir of Fairoaks a very respectful curtsey, and complimented him upon his growth and manly appearance, and asked news of the family at Fairoaks, and of Doctor Portman and the Clavering people, to all of which questions the young gentleman answered with much affability. But he spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Rincer with that sort of good nature with which a young Prince addresses his father’s subjects; never dreaming that those bonnes gens were his equals in life.
Mr. Foker’s behaviour was quite different. He inquired for Rincer and the cold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked Miss Rincer when she would be ready to marry him, and paid his compliments to Miss Brett, the other young lady in the bar, all in a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness which set all these ladies in a giggle; and he gave a cluck, expressive of great satisfaction, as he tossed off his mixture which Miss Rincer prepared and handed to him.
“Have a drop,” said he to Pen, “it’s recommended to me by the faculty as a what-do-you-call-’em—a stomatic, old boy. Give the young one a glass, R., and score it up to yours truly.”
Poor Pen took a glass, and everybody laughed at the face which he made as he put it down—gin, bitters, and some other cordial was the compound with which Mr. Foker was so delighted as to call it by the name of Foker’s own. As Pen choked, sputtered, and made faces, the other took occasion to remark to Mr. Rincer that the young fellow was green, very green, but that he would soon form him; and then they proceeded to order dinner—which Mr. Foker determined should consist of turtle and venison; cautioning the landlady to be very particular about icing the wine.
Then Messrs. Foker and Pen strolled down the High Street together—the former having a cigar in his mouth, which he had drawn out of a case almost as big as a portmanteau. He went in to replenish it at Mr. Lewis’s, and talked to that gentleman for a while, sitting down on the counter: he then looked in at the fruiterer’s, to see the pretty girl there, to whom he paid compliments similar to those before addressed to the bar at the George; then they passed the County Chronicle office, for which Pen had his packet ready, in the shape of ‘Lines to Thyrza,’ but poor Pen did not like to put the letter into the editor’s box while walking in company with such a fine gentleman as Mr. Foker. They met heavy dragoons of the regiment always quartered at Chatteris; and stopped and talked about the Baymouth balls, and what a pretty girl was Miss Brown, and what a dem fine woman Mrs. Jones was. It was in vain that Pen recalled to his own mind what a stupid ass Foker used to be at school—how he could scarcely read, how he was not cleanly in his person, and notorious for his blunders and dulness. Mr. Foker was no more like a gentleman now than in his school days: and yet Pen felt a secret pride in strutting down High Street with a young fellow who owned tandems, talked to officers, and ordered turtle and champagne for dinner. He listened, and with respect too, to Mr. Foker’s accounts of what the men did at the University of which Mr. F. was an ornament, and encountered a long series of stories about boat-racing, bumping, College grass-plats, and milk-punch—and began to wish to go up himself to College to a place where there were such manly pleasures and enjoyments. Farmer Gurnett, who lives close by Fairoaks, riding by at this minute and touching his hat to Pen, the latter stopped him, and sent a message to his mother to say that he had met with an old schoolfellow, and should dine in Chatteris.
The two young gentlemen continued their walk, and were passing round the Cathedral Yard, where they could hear the music of the afternoon service (a music which always exceedingly impressed and affected Pen), but whither Mr. Foker came for the purpose of inspecting the nursery-maids who frequent the Elms Walk there, and who are uncommonly pretty at Chatteris, and here they strolled until with a final burst of music the small congregation was played out.
Old Doctor Portman was one of the few who came from the venerable gate. Spying Pen, he came and shook him by the hand, and eyed with wonder Pen’s friend, from whose mouth and cigar clouds of fragrance issued, which curled round the Doctor’s honest face and shovel hat.