Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 29

Jack and my lord always dined as soon as they got home from hunting. Jack, having got himself out of his wraps, and run his bristles backwards with a pocket-comb, was ready for presentation.

'What name shall I _e_nounce?' asked Mr. Spigot, fearful of committing himself before the ladies.

'MISTER SPRAGGON, to be sure,' exclaimed Jack, thinking, because he knew who he was, that everybody else ought to know too.

Spigot then led the way to the music-room.

The peal at the bell had caused a suppressed commotion in the apartment.

Buried in the luxurious depths of a well-cushioned low chair, Mr. Sponge sat, _Mogg_ in hand, with a toe c.o.c.ked up, now dipping leisurely into his work--now whispering something sweet into Amelia's ear, who sat with her crochet-work at his side; while Emily played the piano, and Mrs. Jawleyford kept in the background, in the discreet way mothers do when there is a little business going on. The room was in that happy state of misty light that usually precedes the entrance of candles--a light that no one likes to call darkness, lest their eyes might be supposed to be failing. It is a convenient light, however, for a timid stranger, especially where there are not many footstools set to trip him up--an exemption, we grieve to say, not accorded to every one.

Though Mr. Spraggon was such a cool, impudent fellow with men, he was the most awkward, frightened wretch among ladies that ever was seen. His conversation consisted princ.i.p.ally of coughing. 'Hem!'--cough--'yes, mum,'--hem--cough, cough--'the day,'--hem--cough--'mum, is'--hem--cough--'very,'--hem--cough--'mum, cold.' But we will introduce him to our family circle.

'MR. SPRAGGON!' exclaimed Spigot in a tone equal to the one in which Jack had announced himself in the entrance; and forthwith there was such a stir in the twilit apartment--such suppressed exclamations of:

'Mr. Spraggon!--Mr. Spraggon! What can bring him here?'

Our traveller's creaking boots and radiant leathers eclipsing the sombre habiliments of Mr. Spigot, Mrs. Jawleyford quickly rose from her Pembroke writing-desk, and proceeded to greet him.

'My daughters I think you know, Mr. Spraggon; also Mr. Sponge? Mr.

Spraggon,' continued she, with a wave of her hand to where our hero was ensconced in his form, in case they should not have made each other's speaking acquaintance.

The young ladies rose, and curtsied prettily; while Mr. Sponge gave a sort of backward hitch of his head as he sat in his chair, as much as to say, 'I know as much of Mr. Spraggon as I want.'

'Tell your master Mr. Spraggon is here,' added Mrs. Jawleyford to Spigot, as that worthy was leaving the room. 'It's a cold day, Mr. Spraggon; won't you come near the fire?' continued Mrs. Jawleyford, addressing our friend, who had come to a full stop just under the chandelier in the centre of the room. 'Hem--cough--hem--thank ye, mum,' muttered Jack. 'I'm not--hem--cough--cold, thank ye, mum.' His face and hands were purple notwithstanding.

'How is my Lord Scamperdale?' asked Amelia, who had a strong inclination to keep in with all parties.

'Hem--cough--hem--my lord--that's to say, my lady--hem--cough--I mean to say, my lord's pretty well, thank ye,' stuttered Jack.

'Is he coming?' asked Amelia.

'Hem--cough--hem--my lord's--hem--not well--cough--no--hem--I mean to say--hem--cough--my lord's gone--hem--to dine--cough--hem--with his--cough--friend Lord Bubbley Jock--hem--cough--I mean Barker--cough.'

Jack and Lord Scamperdale were so in the habit of calling his lordship by this nickname, that Jack let it slip, or rather cough out, inadvertently.

In due time Spigot returned, with 'Master's compliments, and he was very sorry, but he was so unwell that he was quite unable to see any one.'

'Oh, dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Jawleyford.

'Poor pa!' lisped Amelia.

'What a pity!' observed Mr. Sponge.

'I must go and see him,' observed Mrs. Jawleyford, hurrying off.

'Hem--cough--hem--hope he's not much--hem--damaged?' observed Jack.

The old lady being thus got rid of, and Jawleyford disposed of--apparently for the night--Mr. Spraggon felt more comfortable, and presently yielded to Amelia's entreaties to come near the fire and thaw himself. Spigot brought candles, and Mr. Sponge sat moodily in his chair, alternately studying _Mogg's Cab Fares_--'Old Bailey, Newgate Street, to or from the Adelphi, the Terrace, 1_s._ 6_d._; Admiralty, 2_s._'; and so on; and hazarding promiscuous sidelong sort of observations, that might be taken up by Jack or not, as he liked. He seemed determined to pay Mr. Jack off for his out-of-door impudence. Amelia, on the other hand, seemed desirous of making up for her suitor's rudeness, and kept talking to Jack with an a.s.siduity that perfectly astonished her sister, who had always heard her speak of him with the utmost abhorrence.

Mrs. Jawleyford found her husband in a desperate state of excitement, his influenza being greatly aggravated by Harry having returned very drunk, with the mare's knees desperately broken 'by a fall,' as Harry hiccuped out, or by his 'throwing her down,' as Jawleyford declared. Horses _fall_ with their masters, servants _throw_ them down. What a happiness it is when people can send their servants on errands by coaches or railways, instead of being kept on the fidget all day, lest a fifty-pound horse should be the price of a bodkin or a basket of fish!

Amelia's condescension quite turned Jack's head; and when he went upstairs to dress, he squinted at his lordship's best clothes, all neatly laid out for him on the bed, with inward satisfaction at having brought them.

'Dash me!' said he, 'I really think that girl has a fancy for me.' Then he examined himself minutely in the gla.s.s, brushed his whiskers up into a curve on his cheeks, the curves almost corresponding with the curve of his spectacles above; then he gave his bristly, porcupine-shaped head a backward rub with a sort of thing like a scrubbing-brush. 'If I'd only had the silver specs,' thought he, 'I should have done.'

He then began to dress; an operation that, ever and anon was interrupted by the outburst of volleys of smoke from the little spluttering, smouldering fire in the little shabby room Jawleyford insisted on having him put into.

Jack tried all things--opening the window and shutting the door, shutting the window and opening the door; but finding that, instead of curing it, he only produced the different degrees of comparison--bad, worse, worst--he at length shut both, and applied himself vigorously to dressing. He soon got into his stockings and pumps, also his black Saxony trousers; then came a fine black laced fringe cravat, and the damson-coloured velvet waistcoat with the cut-steel b.u.t.tons.

'Dash me, but I look pretty well in this!' said he, eyeing first one side and then the other as he b.u.t.toned it. He then stuck a chased and figured fine gold brooch, with two pendant ta.s.sel-drops, set with turquoise and agates, that he had abstracted from his lordship's dressing-case, into his, or rather his lordship's finely worked shirt-front, and crowned the toilet with his lordship's best new blue coat with velvet collar, silk facings, and the Flat Hat Hunt b.u.t.ton--'a striding fox,' with the letters 'F.H.H.'

below.

'Who shall say Mr. Spraggon's not a gentleman?' said he, as he perfumed one of his lordship's fine coronetted cambric handkerchiefs with lavender-water. Scent, in Jack's opinion, was one of the criterions of a gentleman.

Somehow Jack felt quite differently towards the house of Jawleyford; and though he did not expect much pleasure in Mr. Sponge's company, he thought, nevertheless, that the ladies and he--Amelia and he at least--would get on very well. Forgetting that he had come to eject Sponge on the score of insufficiency, he really began to think he might be a very desirable match for one of them himself.

'The Spraggons are a most respectable family,' said he, eyeing himself in the gla.s.s. 'If not very handsome, at all events, very genteel,' added he, speaking of himself in particular. So saying, he adorned himself with his spectacles and set off to explore his way downstairs. After divers mistakes he at length found himself in the drawing-room, where the rest of the party being a.s.sembled, they presently proceeded to dinner.

Jack's amended costume did not produce any difference in Mr. Sponge's behaviour, who treated him with the utmost indifference. In truth, Sponge had rather a large balance against Jack for his impudence to him in the field. Nevertheless, the fair Amelia continued her attentions, and talked of hunting, occasionally diverging into observations on Lord Scamperdale's fine riding and manly character and appearance, in the roundabout way ladies send their messages and compliments to their friends.

The dinner was flat. Jawleyford had stopped the champagne tap, though the needle-case gla.s.ses stood to tantalize the party till about the time that the beverage ought to have been flowing, when Spigot took them off. The flatness then became flatter. Nevertheless, Jack worked away in his usual carnivorous style, and finished by paying his respects to all the sweets, jellies, and things in succession. He never got any of these, he said, at 'home,' meaning at Lord Scamperdale's--Amelia thought, if she was 'my lady,' he would not get any meat there either.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ENTER MR. JACK SPRAGGON, FULL DRESS]

At length Jack finished; and having discussed cheese, porter, and red herrings, the cloth was drawn, and a hard-featured dessert, consisting princ.i.p.ally of apples, followed. The wine having made a couple of melancholy circuits, the strained conversation about came to a full stop, and Spigot having considerately placed the little round table, as if to keep the peace between them, the ladies left the male worthies to discuss their port and sherry together. Jack, according to Woodmansterne fashion, unb.u.t.toned his waistcoat, and stuck his legs out before him--an example that Mr. Sponge quickly followed, and each a.s.sumed an att.i.tude that as good as said 'I don't care twopence for you.' A dead silence then prevailed, interrupted only by the snap, snap, snapping of Jack's toothpick against his chair-edge, when he was not busy exploring his mouth with it. It seemed to be a match which should keep silence longest. Jack sat Squinting his eyes inside out at Sponge, while Sponge pretended to be occupied with the fire. The wine being with Sponge, and at length wanting some, he was constrained to make the first move, by pa.s.sing it over to Jack, who helped himself to port and sherry simultaneously--a gla.s.s of sherry after dinner (in Jack's opinion) denoting a gentleman. Having smacked his lips over that, he presently turned to the gla.s.s of port. He checked his hand in pa.s.sing it to his mouth, and bore the gla.s.s up to his nose.

'Corked, by Jove!' exclaimed he, setting the gla.s.s down on the table with a thump of disgust.

It is curious what unexpected turns things sometimes take in the world, and how completely whole trains of well-preconcerted plans are often turned aside by mere accidents such as this. If it hadn't been for the corked bottle of port, there is no saying but these two worthies would have held a Quakers' meeting without the 'spirit' moving either of them.

'Corked, by Jove!' exclaimed Jack.

'It is!' rejoined Sponge, smelling at his half-emptied gla.s.s.

'Better have another bottle,' observed Jack.

'Certainly,' replied Sponge, ringing the bell. 'Spigot, this wine's corked,' observed Sponge, as old Pomposo entered the room.

'Is it?' said Spigot, with the most perfect innocence, though he knew it came out of the corked batch. 'I'll bring another bottle,' added he, carrying it off as if he had a whole pipe at command, though in reality he had but another out. This fortunately was less corked than the first; and Jack having given an approving smack of his great thick lips, Mr. Sponge took it on his judgement, and gave a nod to Spigot, who forthwith took his departure.

'Old trick that,' observed Jack, with a shake of the head, as Spigot shut the door.

'Is it?' observed Mr. Sponge, taking up the observation, though in reality it was addressed to the fire.

'Noted for it,' replied Jack, squinting at the sideboard, though he was staring intently at Sponge to see how he took it.

'Well, I thought we had a bottle with a queer smatch the other night,'

observed Sponge.