Christmas Penny Readings Part 8

"What a good job Retort has gone!" I muttered; "I shall never have the face to tell anyone what I have given." And now, as it was fast getting dusk, and our Jewish friends were beginning to be sportive and indulge in such little freaks of fancy as bonneting the porters, and accidentally causing articles of furniture to fall against their fellows, all of which tended to make the confusion worse than before, I left the auctioneer hurrying through the last of that day's lots, and made the best of my way out; when, to my surprise, I found Retort in the hall.

"Ah, well met!" I exclaimed, hurriedly following his example; and thrusting my pencilled catalogue into my pocket, feeling very desirous not to talk of the day's purchases until a little softened down by dinner and a gla.s.s or two of sherry. However, Retort did not seem at all disposed to speak upon the subject; and, after a little pressing, the touchy bachelor consented to dine with me and take pot luck.

But pot luck that day was nothing to be grumbled at, for Mrs Scribe had exerted herself to have everything snug, as she afterwards told me, in consequence of my having been "a good boy," and undertaken to get the few things she wanted before mamma came down. So pot luck that day consisted of some well-made ox-tail soup--not at all burnt--caught, as our queen of the kitchen terms it--a nice flakey bit of crimped cod with oysters; boiled fowls and tongue; two species of kickshaws; Stilton and celery. The bottled ale was good, the sherry pleasant, and Mrs S amiability itself; so that by degrees the creature comforts acted like anodyne or unguent to my raw temper; and when my smiling partner left us over our wine, I leaped out of my chair, opened the door, and earned the smile tendered for my acceptance.

"Hem!" said Retort, as soon as we were alone.

"Come, fill your gla.s.s, Tom," I said; "that's a capital gla.s.s of wine, even if it isn't one of your wonderful vintages. I call that Pantheon Port--fit drink for all the G.o.ds--ruby Ambrosia."

"Hum," said Retort very superciliously--"Gilbey's, eh?"

"Now, I do call that shabby," I said, "to sneer at a fellow because he frankly offers you a cheap gla.s.s, and isn't above owning to it. Now, if you had dined with old Blunkarn, he'd have given you a worse gla.s.s, and vowed it was '20 port."

"But how did you get on at the sale?" said Retort hastily, so as to change the subject.

"Rascally!" I exclaimed, firing up. "Those confounded Jews!"

"Wasn't it scandalous," said Retort.

"The most iniquitous affair I ever saw!" I exclaimed.

"The scoundrels ought to be indicted for conspiracy," said my friend.

"_I'll_ show them up, my boy," I said. "I'll send columns to the papers if they'll only put them in."

"Ah, do," said my companion. "Now, you see, I bid for a thing or two."

"You," I said; "why, what for? Bachelor in lodgings?"

"Well--er--er--yes," said Retort, stammering, "er--er at present, you know--at present."

"Why, you don't mean to say--" I burst out.

"Hush, my dear fellow! don't speak so loud."

"That you've proposed to Miss Visite?"

"Well--er--yes, my dear sir, I have," simpered the great b.o.o.by.

"Then I congratulate you," I exclaimed. "Here, Nelly," I said, running towards the door.

"No, no, no--don't, don't, there's a good fellow," cried Retort, dragging me back towards the table; "don't call Mrs Scribe. Let me break it to her gently some other time. I'd rather do it myself."

"Just as you like," I said, good-humouredly; and then I toasted the future Mrs Retort's most honoured name.

"Well," continued Retort, drawing forth his catalogue, "I was telling you that I bid for a few lots, but those fellows run them up so, that I couldn't get a thing."

"Yes, it was too bad," I muttered, fumbling in my pocket for my catalogue, to find that I had left it in the coat I had taken off.

"Here, Emily," I said, when the maiden answered the bell, "fetch that catalogue out of my coat-pocket in the dressing-room. Don't show it to any one else. Bring it straight here;" for I was rather alarmed lest Mrs Scribe should see the figures made beside the lots I had secured.

Emily soon returned, and then, with a somewhat darkened brow, I began to refer to the different items.

"What did you bid for, Tom?" I said to my friend, who was poring over the list, evidently deep in for furnishing. "But I never thought of your getting married, old chap; though I did half fancy that you were sweet after Miss V."

"Why, you don't suppose I should have wasted a day at a sale if I had not wanted things, do you?"

"Never gave it a thought," said I. "And so you didn't buy anything after all?"

"No," said Retort. "Did you?"

"Well--er--er--um, ye-e-es; a few things--a few."

"Things went dear, though, didn't they?"

"Well, yes, on the whole, they did. But what did you bid for?"

"Oh, I thought that Turkey carpet would just suit us; and as you were going in for the drawing-room Brussels, why, I bid for it; but those Israelitish villains run it up to twenty-two pounds."

I was so out of breath for a moment that I couldn't speak.

"Then," continued my dear friend, "I wanted those card and occasional tables, but couldn't get them; they bought the dinner-service, too, at six ten, and the china for seven pounds. Then I took a strong fancy to that wool mattress, but of course I wasn't going to give five guineas for it. It certainly was a beautifully soft and thick one, but one could buy it new for the money, or less."

"Did you bid for any of the plate?" I gasped in husky tones.

"Well, 'pon my word, old chap, I'm half ashamed to own it, but I really was stupid enough to go as far as eleven and sixpence an ounce for it-- which is an absurd price, you know. But there, thank goodness! I've escaped, for I haven't bought a single lot."

I did not speak for quite five minutes, for the simple reason that I could not. What was I to do, or what was I to say? I wanted to call him names, and take him by the collar to shake him till his teeth chattered. But who could so treat a guest?

"Let's go up and have some tea," I said at last, very hoa.r.s.ely; and then, recovering myself, I stopped him, for I felt sure he would begin talking upstairs, while Mrs Scribe, on the subject being broached, would ask--what as yet she had not had opportunity for--what I had secured.

"Stop a minute, Tom," I said. "Don't say a word about the sale upstairs."

He looked at me strangely, and kept his counsel as well as mine--and not a single word has since pa.s.sed our lips; but in after days, when dining at our house in company with his wife, I have seen his eyes wander from the Turkey carpet to the dinner-service, and again, in the drawing-room, from the occasional tables to the china tea-cups and saucers; and then he has glanced darkly at me, with the look of a found-out conspirator, and I have looked darkly at him. But, no, not even to the wife of my bosom have I ever unburdened myself respecting the prices I paid for the new acquisitions to our furnishing department. While as to that five-guinea wool mattress, I could almost swear that, whoever stuffed it, stuffed in the miserable sheep's trotters and bones, for whenever by chance we have slept in the visitors' room, upon airing principles, I have always felt lumps right through the feather bed.

"No, my love, the price has nothing to do with you," I said, while being cross-questioned. "You have the things, so you ought to be satisfied."

"So I am, and it's very good of you," said Mrs Scribe; "and now you'll be good, too, and not tease mamma--now, won't you!"

"All right."

"And I say, dear."

"Well!" (from under the counterpane).

"Don't, now--same as you did last time--don't ask poor mamma how long she means to stay."