The Last of the Foresters Part 83

Verty gazed after it.

"I say, Mr. Roundjacket," he observed, at length, "how funny it is for Miss Lavinia to come to see you!"

"Hum!--hum!--we are--hum--ah--! The fact is, my dear Verty!" cried Mr.

Roundjacket, rising, and limping through a _pas seul_, in spite of his rheumatism--"the fact is, I have been acting the most miserable and deceptive way to you for the last hour. Yes, my dear boy! I am ashamed of myself! Carried away by the pride of opinion, and that fondness which bachelor's have for boasting, I have been deceiving you! But it never shall be said that Robert Roundjacket refused the amplest reparation. My reparation, my good Verty, is taking you into my confidence. The fact is--yes, the fact really is--as aforesaid, or rather as _not_ aforesaid, myself and the pleasing Miss Lavinia are to be married before very long! Don't reply, sir! I know my guilt--but you might have known I was jesting. You must have suspected, from my frequent visits to Apple Orchard--hum--hum--well, well, sir; it's out now, and I've made a clean breast of it, and you're not to speak of it! I am tired of bachelordom, sir, and am going to change!"

With these words, Mr. Roundjacket executed a pirouette upon his rheumatic leg, which caused him to fall back in his chair, making the most extraordinary faces, which we can compare to nothing but the contortions of a child who bites a crab-apple by mistake.

The twinge soon spent its force, however; and then Mr. Roundjacket and Verty resumed their colloquy--after which, Verty rose and took his leave, smiling and laughing to himself, at times.

He had reason. Miss Lavinia, who had denounced wife-hunters, was about to espouse Mr. Roundjacket, who had declared matrimony the most miserable of mortal conditions; all which is calculated to raise our opinion of the consistency of human nature in a most wonderful degree.

CHAPTER LVIII.

HOW MR. RUSHTON PROVED THAT ALL MEN WERE SELFISH, HIMSELF INCLUDED.

Leaving Mr. Roundjacket contemplating the ceiling, and reflecting upon the various questions connected with bachelorship and matrimony, Verty returned to the office, and reported to Mr. Rushton that the poet was rapidly improving, and would probably be at his post on the morrow.

This intelligence was received with a growl, which had become, however, so familiar an expression of feeling to the young man, that he did not regard it.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Rushton, "what news is there about town?"

"News, sir? I heard none."

"Did'nt you pa.s.s along the streets?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you met n.o.body?"

"Oh, yes; I met Ralph, and Mr. Jinks, and others."

"Jinks! I'll score that Jinks yet!" said Mr. Rushton; "he is an impertinent jackanapes, and deserves to be put in the stocks."

"I don't like him much," said Verty, smiling, "I think he is very foolish."

"Hum! I have no doubt of it: he had the audacity to come here once and ask an _opinion_ of me without offering the least fee."

"An opinion, sir?"

"Yes, sir; have you been thus long in the profession, or in contact with the profession," added Mr. Rushton, correcting himself, "without learning what an _opinion_ is?"

"Oh, sir--I think I understand now--it is--"

"A very gratifying circ.u.mstance that you do," said Mr. Rushton, with the air of a good-natured grizzly bear. "Well, sir, that fellow, I say, had the audacity to consult me upon a legal point--whether the tailor O'Brallaghan, being bound over to keep the peace, could attack him without forfeiting his recognizances--that villain Jinks, I say, had the outrageous audacity to ask my opinion on this point, and then when I gave it, to rise and say that it was a fine morning, and so strut out, without another word. A villain, sir! the man who consults a lawyer without the preparatory retainer, is a wretch too deep-dyed to reform!"

Having thus disposed of Jinks, Mr. Rushton snorted.

"I don't like him," Verty said, "he does not seem to be sincere, and I think he is not a gentleman. But, I forget, sir; you asked me if there was any news. I _did_ hear some people talking at the corners of the street as I pa.s.sed.

"About what?"

"The turn out of the Dutch and Irish people the day after tomorrow, sir."

"Hum!" growled Mr. Rushton, "we'll see about that! The authorities of Winchester are performing their duty after a pretty fashion, truly--to permit these villainous plots to be hatched tinder their very noses.

What did you hear, sir?"

"They were whispering almost, sir, and if I had'nt been a hunter I could'nt have heard. They were saying that there would be knives as well as shillalies," said Verty.

"Hum! indeed! This must be looked to! Will we! The wretches. We are in a fine way when the public peace is to be sacrificed to the whim of some outlandish wretches."

"Anan?" said Verty.

"Sir?" asked Mr. Rushton.

"I do not know exactly what _outlandish_ means," Verty replied, with a smile.

A grim smile came to the lips of the lawyer also.

"It means a variety of things," he said, looking at Verty; "some people would say that _you_, sir, were outlandish."

"Me!" said Verty.

"Yes, you; where are those costumes which I presented to you?"

"My clothes, sir--from the tailor's?"

"Yes, sir."

Verty shook his head.

"I did'nt feel easy in them, sir," he said; "you know I am an Indian--or if I am not, at least I am a hunter. They cramped me."

Mr. Rushton looked at the young man for some moments in silence.

"You are a myth," he said, grimly smiling, "a dream--a chimera. You came from no source, and are going nowhere. But I trifle. If I am permitted, sir, I shall inst.i.tute proper inquiries as to your origin, which has occasioned so much thought. The press of business I have labored under during the last month has not permitted me. Wretched life. I'm sick of it--and go to it like a horse to the traces."

"Don't you like law, sir?"

"No--I hate it."

"Why, sir?"

"'Why!'" cried Mr. Rushton, "there you are with your annoying questions! I hate it because it lowers still more my opinion of this miserable humanity. I see everywhere rascality, and fraud, and lies; and because there is danger of becoming the color of the stuff I work in, 'like the dyer's hand.' I hate it," growled Mr. Rushton.