My Friend Smith Part 60

I was to meet my party at the Horseshoe stables in the City, and thither I repaired in good time, in my smartest get-up, and with a shilling plum-cake under my arm, which I had made up my mind to take as my contribution to the commissariat of the expedition. I pa.s.sed Style Street on my way, and came in for hilarious greeting from Billy.

"Hi! shine 'e boots, governor? My eye, there's a n.o.b! Shine 'e all over, governor. Ain't you got 'em on, though? What's up, mister?"

"See you again soon, Billy," said I, bustling on. I was angry with him for the way he laughed, and for the description of me I knew quite well he would presently give to Jack Smith.

Early as I was at the rendezvous, Hawkesbury was before me, and with him his friend Masham. The latter was a queer-looking fellow of about thirty. He was pale and dark round the eyes, like a person who hadn't slept for a week. His lips were large and red, and the lower part of his face a good deal too big for the upper. Altogether Mr Masham was neither a very healthy nor a very prepossessing-looking specimen; but Hawkesbury had told me he was clever and very amusing, so I supposed I oughtn't to judge by appearances.

"Punctual as usual," said Hawkesbury, as I approached. "Phil, this is my friend Batchelor I was telling you of."

I wished secretly I knew exactly what he had been telling him of me.

"Oh," said Masham, eyeing me all over, as he lit a cigar, and then held out his cigar-case to me. "What do you smoke, Batchelor?"

"I don't smoke, thank you," said I.

"Have you given it up, then?" said Hawkesbury. "You used to smoke at Doubleday's parties."

"Ah! I thought he looked like a chap that smoked," said Masham, holding out his case again. "Don't be modest, Batchelor. We're all friends here."

I didn't like the style of this Masham. Indeed, I was a trifle afraid of him already, and half repented coming.

"I gave up smoking some weeks ago," said I, determined not to give in if I could help. "I found I couldn't afford it."

"The very reason you should take a cigar now when you've a chance of getting one for nothing," replied Masham, digging me pleasantly in the ribs.

"Thanks, I'd rather not, if you'll excuse me," I replied again.

"Can't excuse you, my dear fellow. We're all bound to be sociable to- day. At least, so I fancy."

"Come, Batchelor," said Hawkesbury. "We may as well humour him. I'd advise you to take a cigar. I'll take one, too, to keep you company, though I hate them. They always make me feel sick."

So saying, he took a cigar and lit it. I felt bound to do the same, not only to relieve myself of Masham's importunity, but to avoid disturbing the harmony of our party at the very beginning of the day.

At this moment Whipcord arrived on the scene, as stylish as ever, with his hat all on one side of his head and his straw all on one side of his mouth.

"What cheer, my venerable chums?" he cried, as he approached. "Ah!

Masham. You turned up again! I thought we'd lost--"

"That'll do," said Masham, with a significant jerk of his head towards me. "Have a weed?"

"Thanks, we'll see about that later on. I'm off my smoke just now. Ah!

young Batchelor, you there? Brought your boxing-gloves with you, I hope? Hot fellow with the gloves is Batchelor, Phil. Well, where's your trap, Hawkesbury?"

"There it is coming out."

Whipcord eyed it professionally and critically. He liked the dogcart, but didn't think much of the horse.

"Do all right for a water-cart, I dare say," observed he, "or cat's meat. But I don't see how we're to get to Windsor and back with such a rheumatic old screw."

"You're out there, mister," said the ostler, who was harnessing the animal. "You'll find he ain't such a screw as you think. You'll need to keep a steady hand on him all the way, pertikler on the road home, or he'll screw you a way you don't fancy."

Whipcord laughed.

"I'll do my best," he said. "He does look a sort of beast to be nervous of, certainly."

The ostler grinned cynically, and we meanwhile mounted to our seats, Hawkesbury and Whipcord being in front, and I, much to my disgust, being placed beside Masham on the back seat.

Despite Whipcord's desponding prophecies, our charger stepped out at a pretty fair pace, and in due time we began to shake off the dust of London from our wheels and meet the first traces of country.

For a considerable time my companion absorbed himself in his cigar--much to my satisfaction--and I, for fear of appearing anxious for conversation, betook myself to mine.

At length, however, after about half an hour thus occupied, Masham broke the silence.

"Know Hawkesbury well?" he asked.

"Pretty well," I answered; "we were at school together first, and now we're in the same office."

"Nice boy at school?"

"Yes; I think so."

"Not quite sure, eh?"

"I always got on well with him."

"Yes, you would. Sort of a nest for bad eggs, that school, wasn't it?"

"Yes--that is, a good many of the boys were a bad sort," said I, not very comfortable to be undergoing this cross-examination.

"I understand. You weren't, of course, eh?" said he, digging me in the ribs with his knuckles.

His manner was most offensive. I felt strongly inclined to resent it, and yet somehow I felt that to be civil to him would be the less of two evils.

"Hawkesbury doing well at the office, eh?"

"Certainly!" said I. "Why not?"

"See no reason at all. Worthy chap, Hawkesbury. Nice boy at home; great comfort to the old people."

"Really," said I, "you know him much better than I do."

"Ah! should get to know Hawkesbury all you can. Moral chap--like you and me, eh?" and here followed another dig in the ribs.

This was getting intolerable. However, at this point Whipcord pulled up at a wayside inn, much to my relief. Anything was better than Masham's conversation.

We halted a quarter of an hour, to give our horse time to get breath, as Whipcord explained, but, as it really seemed, to allow that gentleman and Masham to refresh themselves also.

When we started again my companion began almost immediately to resume the conversation, but this time it was of a less personal nature, though disagreeable enough.