Ten Thousand a-Year Volume I Part 22

"I do, i' faith! Why, they'd give thousands and thousands to get you out of the way--and what's _money_ to _them_? But they must look very sharp that get at you in the premises of Thomas Tag-rag, I warrant 'em!--Talking of that, ah, ha!--it _will_ be a funny thing to see you, Mr. t.i.tmouse--Squire t.i.tmouse--ah, ha, ha!"

"You won't hardly expect me to go out with _goods_, I suppose, sir?"

inquired t.i.tmouse, somewhat anxiously.

"Ha, ha, ha!--Ha, ha, ha!--Might as well ask me if I'd clean that beast Lutestring's shoes! No, no, my dear Mr. t.i.tmouse, you and I have done with each other as master and servant; it's only as friends that we know each other now!--You may say and do whatever you like, and come and go when and where you like!--It's true it will make my other hands rather jealous, and get me into trouble; but what do I care? Suppose they _do_ all give me warning for your sake? Let 'em go, say I!" He snapped his fingers with an air of defiance. "_Your_ looks and manners would keep a shop full of customers--one t.i.tmouse is worth a hundred of them."

"'Pon my soul, you speak most uncommon gentleman-like, sir, certainly!"

said t.i.tmouse, with a little excitement--"and if you'd only _always_--but that's all past and gone; and I've no objections to say at once, that all the articles I may want in your line I'll have at your establishment, pay cash down, and ask for no discount. And I'll send all my friends, for, in course, sir, you know I shall have lots of them!"

"Don't forget your oldest, your truest, your humblest friend, Mr.

t.i.tmouse," said Tag-rag, with a cringing air.

"That I won't!" replied t.i.tmouse, heatedly.

[It flashed across his mind that a true and old friend would be only too happy to do him some such trifling service as to lend him a ten-pound note.]

"Hem!--Now, _are_ you such a friend, Mr. Tag-rag?" cried he, sheepishly.

"Am I?--Can you doubt me? Try me! See what I would not do for you!

Friend, indeed!" and he looked quite fondly at t.i.tmouse.

"Well, I believe you; sir! And the fact is, a--a--a--you see, Mr.

Tag-rag, though all this heap of money's _coming_ to me, I'm precious low just _now_"----

"Ye--e--e--s, Mr. t.i.tmouse," quoth Tag-rag, anxiously; his dull gray eye fixed on that of t.i.tmouse steadfastly.

"Well--if you've a mind to prove your words, Mr. Tag-rag, and don't mind advancing me a ten-pound note"----

"Hem!" involuntarily uttered Tag-rag, so suddenly and violently, that it made t.i.tmouse start. Then Tag-rag's face flushed over; he twirled about his watch-key rapidly, and wriggled about in his chair with visible agitation.

"Oh, you aren't going to do it! If so, you'd better say it at once,"

quoth t.i.tmouse, rather cavalierly.

"Why--_was_ ever anything so unfortunate?" stammered Tag-rag. "That cursed lot of French goods I bought only yesterday, to be paid for this very morning--and it will drain me of every penny!"

"Ah--yes! True! Well, it don't much signify," said t.i.tmouse, carelessly, running his hand through his bushy hair. "In fact, I needn't have bothered an old friend at all, now I think of it--Mr. Gammon says he's my banker to any amount. I beg pardon, I'm sure"----

Tag-rag was in a horrid dilemma. He felt so fl.u.s.tered by the suddenness and seriousness of the thing, that he could not see his way plain in any direction.

"Let me see," at length he stammered; and pulling a ready-reckoner out of his pocket, he affected to be consulting it, as if to ascertain merely the state of his banker's account, but really desiring a few moments' time to collect his thoughts. 'Twas in vain, however; nothing occurred to him; he saw no way of escape; his old friend the devil deserted him for a moment--supplying him with no ready lie to meet the exigency. He must, he feared, cash up! "Well," said he--"it certainly _is_ rather unfortunate, just at this precise moment; but I'll step to the shop, and see how my ready-money matters stand. It sha'n't be a trifle, Mr. t.i.tmouse, that shall stand between us. But--if I _should_ be hard run--perhaps--eh? Would a five-pound note do?"

"Why--a--a--certainly, if it wouldn't suit you to advance the ten"----

"I dare say," interrupted Tag-rag, a trifle relieved, "I shall be able to accommodate you _so_ far. Perhaps you'll step on to the shop presently, and then we can talk over matters!--By the way, did you ever see anything so odd? forgot the main thing! _Do_ come and take your mutton with me at Clapham next Sunday--my womankind will be quite delighted. Nay, 'tis _their_ invitation--ha, ha!"

"You're uncommon polite," replied t.i.tmouse, coloring with pleasure. Here seemed the first pale primrose of the coming spring--an invitation to Satin Lodge!

"The politeness--the favor--will be yours, Mr. t.i.tmouse! I'm uncommon proud of your coming! We shall be quite alone! have you all to ourselves; only me, my wife, and daughter--an only child, Mr.

t.i.tmouse--_such_ a child! She's really often said to me, 'I wonder'--but,---- I won't make you vain, eh? _Shall_ I call it a fixture?"

"'Pon my life, Mr. Tag-rag, you're monstrous uncommon polite. It's true, I was going to dine with Mr. Gammon"----

"Oh! pho! (I mean no disrespect, mind!) he's only a bachelor--_I've_ got ladies in the case, and all that--eh, Mr. t.i.tmouse? and a _young_ one!"

"Well, thank you, sir. Since you're so pressing"----

"That's it! An engagement, poz!--Satin Lodge--for Sunday next," said Tag-rag, rising and looking at his watch. "Time for me to be off. See you soon at the shop? Soon arrange that little matter of business, eh?

You understand? Good-by! good-by!" and shaking t.i.tmouse cordially by the hand, Tag-rag took his departure. As he hurried on to his shop, he felt in a most painful perplexity about this loan of five pounds. It was truly like squeezing five drops of blood out of his heart. But what was to be done? Could he offend t.i.tmouse? Where was he to stop, if he once began? Dare he ask for security? Suppose the whole affair should after all turn into smoke?

Now, consider the folly of Tag-rag. Here was he in all this terrible pucker about advancing _five pounds_ on the strength of prospects and chances which he had deemed safe for adventuring _his daughter_ upon--her, the only object on earth, except money, that he regarded with anything like sincere affection. How was this? The splendor of the future possible good fortune of his daughter, might, perhaps, have dazzled and confused his perceptions. Then, again, _that_ was a _remote_ contingent venture; but this sudden appeal to his pocket--the demand of an immediate outlay and venture--was an instant pressure, and he felt it severely. Immediate profit was everything to Tag-rag--'twas his very life's blood! He was, in truth, a _tradesman to his heart's core_. If he could have seen the immediate _quid pro quo_, or could, at all events, have got, if only by way of earnest, as it were, a bit of poor t.i.tmouse's heart, and locked it up in his desk, he would not have cared so much; it would have been a little in his line;--but here was a FIVE-POUND NOTE going out forthwith, and nothing immediate, visible, palpable, replacing it. Oh! t.i.tmouse had unconsciously pulled Tag-rag's very heart-strings!

Observe, discriminating reader, that there is all the difference in the world between a TRADESMAN and a MERCHANT; and, moreover, that it is not every _tradesman_ that is a Tag-rag.

All these considerations combined to keep Tag-rag in a perfect fever of doubt and anxiety, which several hearty curses (I regret to say) failed in effectually relieving. By the time, however, that t.i.tmouse had made his appearance at Mr. Tag-rag's shop, with a sufficiently sheepish air, and was beginning to run the gantlet of grinning contempt from the "_gents_" on each side of the shop, Tag-rag had determined on the course he should pursue in the very embarra.s.sing matter above referred to. To the inexpressible amazement of all present, he bolted out of a little counting-house or side-room, hastened to meet t.i.tmouse with outstretched hand and cordial speech, drew him into his little room, and shut the door. There Tag-rag informed his flurried young friend that he had made arrangements (with a little inconvenience, which, however, between friends, signified nothing) for lending t.i.tmouse five pounds.

"And, as life's uncertain, my dear Mr. t.i.tmouse," said Tag-rag, as t.i.tmouse, with ill-disguised ecstasy, put the five-pound note into his pocket--"even between the dearest friends--eh? Understand? It's not _you_ I fear, nor you me, because we've confidence in each other. But if anything should happen, those we leave behind us"---- Here he took out of his desk an "I. O. U. 5," ready drawn up and dated--"a mere slip--a word or two--is satisfaction to both of us."

"Oh yes, sir! yes, sir!--anything!" said t.i.tmouse; and hastily taking the pen proffered him, signed his name, on which Tag-rag felt a little relieved. Lutestring was then summoned into the room, and thus (not a little to his disgust and astonishment) addressed by his imperious employer: "Mr. Lutestring, you will have the goodness to see that Mr.

t.i.tmouse, while he may do me the honor to condescend to be here, is treated by every person in my establishment with the utmost possible respect. Whoever treats this gentleman with the slightest disrespect isn't any longer a servant of mine. D' ye hear me, Mr. Lutestring?"

added Tag-rag, sternly, observing a very significant glance of mingled hatred and wonder which Lutestring directed towards t.i.tmouse. "D' ye hear me, sir?"

"Oh, yes, sir! yes, sir! your orders shall be attended to," he replied in as insolent a tone as he could venture upon, leaving the room with a half audible whistle of contempt, while a grin overspread his features.

Within five minutes he had filled, the mind of every shopman in the establishment with feelings of mingled wonder, hatred, and fear towards t.i.tmouse. What, thought they, could have happened? What was Mr. Tag-rag about? This was all of a piece with his rage at Lutestring the day before. "Cuss t.i.tmouse! and Tag-rag too!" said or thought every one of them!

t.i.tmouse, for the remainder of the day, felt, as may be imagined, but little at his ease; for--to say nothing of his insuperable repugnance to the discharge of any of his former duties--his uneasiness under the oppressive civilities of Mr. Tag-rag; and the evident disgust towards him entertained by his companions; many most important considerations arising out of recent and coming events--his altering circ.u.mstances--were momentarily forcing themselves upon his attention.

The first of these was his _hair_; for Heaven seemed to have suddenly given him the long-coveted means of changing its detested hue; and the next was _an eyegla.s.s_, without which, he had long felt his appearance and appointments to be painfully incomplete. Early in the afternoon, therefore, on the readily admitted plea of important business, he obtained the permission of the obsequious Mr. Tag-rag to depart for the day; and instantly directed his steps to the well-known shop of a fashionable perfumer and perruquier, in Bond Street--well-known to those, at least, who were in the habit of glancing at the enticing advertis.e.m.e.nts in the newspapers. Having watched through the window till the coast was clear, (for he felt a natural delicacy in asking for a hair-dye before people who could in an instant perceive his urgent occasion for it,) he entered the shop, where a well-dressed gentleman was sitting behind the counter reading. He was handsome; and his elaborately curled hair was of a heavenly black (so at least t.i.tmouse considered it) which was better than a thousand printed advertis.e.m.e.nts of the celebrated fluid which formed the chief commodity there vended.

t.i.tmouse with a little hesitation, asked this gentleman what was the price of their article "for turning _light_ hair black"--and was answered--"only seven and sixpence for the smaller-sized bottle." One was in a twinkling placed upon the counter, where it lay like a miniature mummy, swathed, as it were, in manifold advertis.e.m.e.nts.

"You'll find the fullest directions within, and testimonials from the highest n.o.bility to the wonderful efficacy of the 'CYANOCHAITANTHROPOPOION.'"[12]

"_Sure_ it will do, sir?" inquired t.i.tmouse, anxiously.

"Is _my_ hair dark enough to your taste, sir?" said the gentleman, with a calm and bland manner--"because I owe it entirely to this invaluable specific."

"Do you, indeed, sir?" inquired t.i.tmouse: adding with a sigh, "but, between ourselves, look at mine!"--and, lifting off his hat for a moment, he exhibited a great crop of bushy, carroty hair.

"Whew! rather ugly that, sir!"--exclaimed the gentleman, looking very serious--"What a curse it is to be born with such hair, isn't it?"

"'Pon my life I think so, sir!" answered t.i.tmouse, mournfully; "and do you really say, sir, that this what's-its-name turned _yours_ of that beautiful black?"

"Think? 'Pon my honor, sir,--certain; no mistake, I a.s.sure you! I was fretting myself into my grave about the color of my hair! Why, sir, there was a n.o.bleman in here (I don't like to mention names) the other day, with a head that seemed as if it had been dipped into water, and then powdered with brick-dust; but--I a.s.sure you, the Cyanochaitanthropopoion was too much for it--it turned black in a very short time. You should have seen his lordship's ecstasy--[the speaker saw that t.i.tmouse would swallow anything; so he went on with a confident air]--and in a month's time he had married a beautiful woman whom he had loved from a child, but who had vowed she could never bring herself to marry a man with such a head of hair."

"How long does it take to do all this, sir?" interrupted t.i.tmouse, eagerly, with a beating heart.

"Sometimes two--sometimes three days. In four days' time, I'll answer for it, your most intimate friend would not know you. My wife did not know me for a long while, and wouldn't let me salute her--ha, ha!" Here another customer entered; and t.i.tmouse, laying down the five-pound note he had squeezed out of Tag-rag, put the wonder-working bottle into his pocket, and on receiving his change, departed, bursting with eagerness to try the effects of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion. Within half an hour's time he might have been seen driving a hard bargain with a p.a.w.nbroker for a ma.s.sive-looking eyegla.s.s, upon which, as it hung suspended in the window, he had for months cast a longing eye; and he eventually purchased it (his eyesight, I need hardly say, was perfect) for only fifteen shillings. After taking a hearty dinner in a little dusky eating-house in Rupert Street, frequented by fashionable-looking foreigners, with splendid heads of curling hair and mustaches, he hastened home, eager to commence the grand experiment. Fortunately, he was undisturbed that evening. Having lit his candle, and locked his door, with tremulous fingers he opened the papers enveloping the little bottle; and glancing over their contents, got so inflamed with the numberless instances of its efficacy, detailed in brief but glowing terms--as--the "Duke of....--the Countess of....--the Earl of, &c. &c.

&c. &c.--the lovely Miss----, the celebrated Sir Little Bull's-eye, (who was so gratified that he allowed his name to be used)--all of whom, from having hair of the reddest possible description, were now possessed of raven-hued locks"--that he threw down the paper, and hurriedly got the cork out of the bottle. Having turned up his coat-cuffs, he commenced the application of the Cyanochaitanthropopoion, rubbing it into his hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, with all the energy he was capable of, for upwards of half an hour. Then he read over again every syllable on the papers in which the bottle had been wrapped; and about eleven o'clock, having given sundry curious glances at the gla.s.s, got into bed, full of exciting hopes and delightful anxieties concerning the success of the great experiment he was trying. He could not sleep for several hours. He dreamed a rapturous dream--that he bowed to a gentleman with coal-black hair, whom he fancied he had seen before--and suddenly discovered that he was only looking at _himself_ in a gla.s.s!!--This awoke him. Up he jumped--sprang to his little gla.s.s breathlessly--but ah! merciful Heavens! he almost dropped down dead! His hair was perfectly _green_--there could be no mistake about it. He stood staring in the gla.s.s in speechless horror, his eyes and mouth distended to their utmost, for several minutes. Then he threw himself on the bed, and felt fainting. Out he presently jumped again, in a kind of ecstasy--rubbed his hair desperately and wildly about--again looked into the gla.s.s--there it was, rougher than before; but eyebrows, whiskers, and head--all were, if anything, of a more vivid and brilliant green.

Despair came over him. What had all his past troubles been to this?--what was to become of him? He got into bed again, and burst into a perspiration. Two or three times he got into and out of bed, to look at himself--on each occasion deriving only more terrible confirmation than before, of the disaster which had befallen him. After lying still for some minutes, he got out of bed, and kneeling down, tried to say his prayers; but it was in vain--and he rose half choked. It was plain he must have his head shaved, and wear a wig, which would be making an old man of him at once. Getting more and more disturbed in his mind, he dressed himself, half determined on starting off to Bond Street, and breaking every pane of gla.s.s in the shop window of the infernal impostor who had sold him the liquid which had so frightfully disfigured him. As he stood thus irresolute, he heard the step of Mrs. Squallop approaching his door, and recollected that he had ordered her to bring up his tea-kettle about that time. Having no time to take his clothes off, he thought the best thing he could do, would be, to pop into bed again, draw his nightcap down to his ears and eyebrows, pretend to be asleep, and, turning his back towards the door, have a chance of escaping the observation of his landlady. No sooner thought of, than done. Into bed he jumped, and drew the clothes over him--not aware, however, that in his hurry he had left his legs, with boots and trousers on, exposed to view--an unusual spectacle to his landlady, who had, in fact, scarcely ever known him in bed at so late an hour before. He lay as still as a mouse. Mrs. Squallop, after glancing with surprise at his legs, happening to direct her eyes towards the window, beheld a small bottle standing there--only half of whose dark contents were remaining. Oh gracious!--of course it must be POISON, and Mr. t.i.tmouse must be dead!--In a sudden fright she dropped the kettle, plucked the clothes off the trembling t.i.tmouse, and cried out--"Oh, Mr. t.i.tmouse! Mr.

t.i.tmouse! what _have_ you been"----

"Well, ma'am, what the devil do you mean? How dare you"---- commenced t.i.tmouse, suddenly sitting up, and looking furiously at Mrs. Squallop.