Christmas Penny Readings Part 10

"Yes, sir."

"And carpet-bag?"

"Yes, sir."

"And writing-case?"

"Oh yes, sir; all there--that's the door, sir; you'll find everything well-aired, and a nice fire;" and then the maiden tripped off and disappeared at the back. But I had left my skin rug in the hall; and, as it was so excessively cold, I went down the broad staircase once more, and fetched it; returned to the bedroom door, opened it to make sure I was right--not a doubt of it: nice fire--the great four-post bedstead with the great blue hangings. No; they were green, and I was about to start back, only a heavy breath from the bed told me that I was right; and, besides, I recollected that blue always looked green by candle-light; and this was the case, too, with the paper I observed.

"Most extraordinary people that Major and his wife," I thought; and then I wound up my watch, laid it upon the chimney-piece, carefully locked and bolted the door, and then, drawing a chair up to the fire, sat down to give my feet a good warm. The room was most comfortably furnished, and the chair soft and well stuffed; when, what with the heat of the fire, the cold wind during my ride, and, perhaps, partly owing to the night-cap I had partaken of, I fell into a sort of doze, and then the doze deepened into a sleep, in which I dreamed that the Major had called me out for endeavouring to elope with his wife, when it was that strange eye of hers which had run away with me, while her set of false teeth were in full chase behind to seize me like some rabid dog.

The horror became so great at last that I started from my sleep, kicking the fender as I did so, when the fire-irons clattered loudly.

"What's that?" cried a familiar voice, which sounded rather softly, as if from beneath the clothes.

"Only the fire-irons, my dear sir," I said, blandly--"I kicked them."

The next moment an exclamation made me turn sharply round; when, horror of horrors! there was a set of teeth upon the dressing-table, and from between the curtains of the bed Mrs Major's eyes fixing me in the most horrifying way.

"Monster!" cried a cracked voice, which sent me sprawling up against the wash-stand, whose fittings clattered loudly; while at one and the same moment I heard the voice of the Major talking, and the loud, hearty laugh of Broxby upon the stairs.

I was melting away fast when more of Mrs Major appeared through the curtains; in fact, the whole of her head, night-cap, papers and all, and the cracked voice shrieked--

"Monster, there's help at hand!--Alfred, Alfred, help! help!" and then the head disappeared; when I heard from inside the curtains a choking, stifling noise; and then came a succession of shrieks for aid.

"For pity's sake, silence, madam!" I cried, running to the door; but the next moment I ran back.

"Open this door, here!--open!" roared the Major, kicking and thundering, so that the panels cracked. "Matilda, my angel, I am here."

"Don't, don't; pray don't scream, ma'am," I implored.

"Oh! oh! oh! help, help, help! murder!" shrieked Mrs Major.

"Here, hi! oh! villain! A man's voice! Break in the door; smash it off the hinges. I am here, Matilda, I am here. Broxby, what is this?"

roared the Major; and then the door cracked and groaned beneath the blows thundered upon it.

"Oh! oh! oh!" shrieked Mrs Major.

"What shall I do?" I muttered, wringing my hands and trembling like a leaf. I ran to the bed to implore Mrs Major to be still, but she only shrieked the louder. I ran to the door, but fled again on hearing the thunderings and roarings of the Major, who beat frantically, louder and louder.

"Sir, sir," I cried, "it's a mistake."

"Oh! villain," he shrieked. "Here, here, a poker; my pistols. Broxby, there'll be murder done."

"Madam, oh! madam," I cried, in agony, "have pity, and hear me."

"Oh! oh! oh! help! help!" shrieked the wretched woman; when I heard the door going crack, crack; the panel was smashed in, and the sounds of the hubbub of voices entered the room, wherein I could detect that of the Major, more like a wild beast than anything, when, dashing to the window, I pushed back the fastener, threw up the sash, and crept out, lowered myself down till I hung by my hands, when, with my last look, I saw an arm reaching through the broken panel, the bolt slipped, the key turned, and a rush of people into the room; when, losing my hold, I fell crash into a tree, and then from branch to branch to the ground, where I lay, half-stunned, upon the cold snow.

"There he is," shouted a voice from above me, whose effect was like electricity to my shattered frame, for I leaped up, and gaining the pathway, fled to the road, and then on towards the station, only pausing once to listen for the sounds of pursuit and to tie my handkerchief round my head to screen it from the icy breeze. I ran till I was breathless, and then walked, but only to run again, and this I kept on till I had pa.s.sed the six miles between Broxby's Beat and Ancaster, where I arrived just before the night mail came in, at a quarter to four.

One of the porters was very civil, and, supposing that my hat had been blown off and lost, sold me a very dirty old greasy cap for five shillings, and then I once more felt safe as I leaned back in a carriage, and felt that we were going towards London at the rate of forty miles an hour. But I did not feel thoroughly safe until I had gained entrance, in the cold dark morning, to my chambers by means of my latchkey, and having barricaded the door, tried to forget my sorrows in sleep, but I could not, while, as my laundress supposed that I should be away for a week, everything was in a most deplorable state, in consequence of the old woman meaning to have a good clean up on Boxing-day.

I did not go out for a week, for I had to take precautions for my health's sake, putting my feet in hot water, and taking gruel for the bad cold I caught; but for that, and the nervous shock, I was not hurt, though my clothes were much torn. It was about eight days after that a letter arrived while I was at breakfast, bearing the Ancaster post-mark, directed to me in Broxby's familiar hand; but I had read it twice, with disgust portrayed on every lineament, before I perceived that my late friend had evidently written to his brother and to me at the same sitting, when, by some hazard, the letters had been cross-played and put in the wrong envelopes, for the abominable epistle was as follows:--

"Dear d.i.c.k,--You should have come down. Such a spree. My ribs are sore yet with laughing, and I shall never get over it. I sent old Gus Littleboy an invite. Poor fool, but no harm in him except blundering.

The Major was here; quite a houseful, in fact. Gus was to sleep with Tim Peters, and got somehow into the Major's room while he was down with me finishing the toddy. Murder, my boy. Oh! you should have been here to hear the screaming, and seen the Major stamp and go on.

He kicked the panel in, when poor Gus fled by the window, and has not sent for his traps yet. For goodness sake contrive for the Major to meet him at your place when I'm up next week. It will be splitting, and of course I can't manage it now.

"Yours affectionately,

"Joe Broxby."

I need scarcely tell a discerning public that I refused the invitation sent me by Mr Richard Broxby, of Bedford Square, when it arrived the next week; while when, some months after, I encountered the Major and his wife upon the platform of the Great Nosham, Somesham, and Podmorton Railway, I turned all of a cold perspiration, for my nerves will never recover the shock.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CABBY AT CHRISTMAS.

Rather cold outside here, sir; but of course, if you like riding on the box best, why it's nothing to me, and I'm glad of your company. Come on. "Ony a bob's worth, Tommy," says that chap as drove Mr Pickwick, him as set the old gent and his friends down as spies. The poor chap must have had a bad day, you see, and got a bit raspy; and I've known the time as I've felt raspy, too, and ready to say, "Ony a bob's worth, Tommy." You see ours is a trade as flucterates a wonderful sight, and the public's got it into their heads as we're always a-going to take 'em in somehow or other; so jest like that American gal in the story, "Don't," says Public. "Don't what?" says we. "Don't overcharge," says Public. "Well, we wasn't a-over-charging," says we. "No, but aint you going to?" says Public. Puts it into our heads, and makes us charge extra through being so suspicious. You see we're poor men, but not such a bad sort, considering. Public servants we are, badged and numbered, bound to do work by fixed rule and charge, so what I say is that you should treat us accordingly. "Civil and pleasant," says you--"Civil and pleasant," says we. "Drawn swords," says you--"Drawn swords," says we.

Peace or war, which you likes, and the Beak for umpire. There's a werry good sorter clay underneath some of our weskets, if you only takes and moulds it the right way, when you'll find all go as easy as can be; but make us ill-tempered and hot, why of course we turns brittle and cracks; while, you know, if you goes the other way too far, and moistens our clay too much, why--Well, human natur's only human natur, is it? and of course the clay gets soft and sticky, and a nuisance. Keep half-way, you know, and then you're all right, and will find us decent working, when you moulds us up and brings out a model cabby.

You see you calls them black fellows men and brothers, but I'm blest if I think some people thinks as we are; for, instead of brothers, they treat us as if we was werry distant relations indeed, and then sets to and fights it out with us for every sixpence we earns. Don't believe a word we say, they don't, and as to thinking we're honest--bless your heart no, not they! "Oh, they're a bad lot, kebmen," says Mrs John Bull, and she says as the straw's musty, the lining fusty, and the seat's dusty, and then grumbles at the horse, and blows up the driver and flings dirt at him.

"You rascal--you scoundrel! I'll summons you; I'll put you on the treadmill; I'll have the distance measured; I'll--I'll write to the _Times_ and have your rascality exposed. Drive me to Bow Street--no to Great Marlbro' Street--or--there--no, take your fare, but mind I've taken your number, and I'll introduce the subject in the House this very night."

"I'll--I'll--I'll," I says to myself. "Nice ile yours 'ud be to grease the wheels of Life with." And that was Mr MP, that was; for it was over a mile as he rode. And only think of wanting to put a Hansom driver off with sixpence. Then, again, I drives a gent to the rail, and his missus with him, and when he gets out he sorter sneaks a shillin'

into my hand, and then's going to shuffle off, when "Wot's this here for?" I says.

"Your fare, my man," he says, werry mildly.

"Hayten-pence more," I says.

"Sixpence a mile, my good man," he says, "and Mogg's guide says that--"

"Mogg's guide doesn't say that kebs is to be made carriers' waggons on for nothing," I says; and then the porters laughed, and he gives me the difference of the half-crown; and only nat'ral, for I'll tell you what there was. First there was three boxes--heavy ones--on the roof; two carpet-bags and a portmanty on the seat aside me; a parrot's cage, a cap-box, a gun-case, and a whole bundle o' fishing-rods, and umbrellys, and things on the front seat; and him and his missus on the back. And arter the loading up and loading down, and what not, I don't think as it was so werry dear. I sarved him out, though, for I took and bit every blessed bit o' silver, making believe as I didn't think 'em good, and stood grumbling there till the porters had got all the things in, and Master Generous had put hisself outer sight.

You see, sir, it ain't us as has all the queer pints; there's some as I knows on, if they was brought down to kebbing, 'stead of being swells, they'd be a jolly sight worse than we.

Didn't know Tom Sizer, I s'pose? No, you wouldn't know him, I dare say.

Out an out driver, he was, poor chap. But what was the use on it to him? Just because he was clever with the reins, and could do a'most anything with any old knacker of a 'oss, the guv'nor sets him up the shabbiest of any man as went outer the yard. There he was, poor chap, with the wust 'oss and the wust keb, and then being only a seedy-looking cove hisself, why he turned out werry rough. But that didn't matter; Tom allus managed to keep upsides with the guv'nor, and was never behind. Being a quiet sorter driver, yer see, he'd got some old ladies as was regular customers, and one way and another he made it up. And it was always the guv'nor's artfulness, you know: he had old 'osses and a old keb or two, and if he'd sent some men out with 'em they'd ha'

brought back a'most nothing.

A regular sharp, teasing winter came on; rain, and freeze, and blow; and then our pore old Tom he got dreadful shaky at last, and his cough teased him awful, so none of us was surprised when we found one day as he warn't come to the yard; nor we warn't surprised next day when he didn't come; nor yet when a whole week pa.s.sed away and his keb stood under the shed, and his 'oss kep in the stable, for they was such bad 'uns none of our chaps'd have anything to do with 'em; and more'n once I see the guv'nor stand with his hat half-raised in one hand, and scratting his head with t'other, as he looked at the old worn keb, as much as to say, "I shall never make anything outer that any more."

Christmas arternoon comes, and I thinks as I'll go and have a look at Tom. So I tidies up a bit, puts on a white choker, and ties it coachman's fashion, and fixes it with a horse-shoe pin, as my missus give me when we was courting. Then I brushes my hat up, and was just going off, when the missus says, "Wot d'yer want yer whip for?" she says. "Wot do I want my whip for?" I says, and then I stops short, and goes and stands it up in the corner by the drawers, for it didn't seem nat'ral to go out without one's whip, and it ain't often as we goes out walking, I can tell you.

Well, I toddles along, and gets to the place at last, where Tommy held out: tall house it was, just aside Awery Row, and opposite to a mews; werry pleasant lookout in summer-time, for the coachmen's wives as lived over the stables was fond of their flowers and birds; but even in winter time there was allus a bit o' life going on: chaps cleaning first-cla.s.s 'osses, or washing carriages, or starting off fresh and smart to drive out shopping or in the park. Fine, clean-legged, stepping 'osses, and bright warnished carriages and coachmen in livery; and all right up to the mark, you knew.