CHAPTER XIV. COMPRISING A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE COMPANY AT THEPEACOCK ASSEMBLED; AND A TALE TOLD BY A BAGMAN
It is pleasant to turn from contemplating the strife and turmoil ofpolitical existence, to the peaceful repose of private life. Although inreality no great partisan of either side, Mr. Pickwick was sufficientlyfired with Mr. Pott's enthusiasm, to apply his whole time and attentionto the proceedings, of which the last chapter affords a descriptioncompiled from his own memoranda. Nor while he was thus occupied was Mr.Winkle idle, his whole time being devoted to pleasant walks and shortcountry excursions with Mrs. Pott, who never failed, when such anopportunity presented itself, to seek some relief from the tediousmonotony she so constantly complained of. The two gentlemen being thuscompletely domesticated in the editor's house, Mr. Tupman and Mr.Snodgrass were in a great measure cast upon their own resources. Takingbut little interest in public affairs, they beguiled their time chieflywith such amusements as the Peacock afforded, which were limited to abagatelle-board in the first floor, and a sequestered skittle-ground inthe back yard. In the science and nicety of both these recreations,which are far more abstruse than ordinary men suppose, they weregradually initiated by Mr. Weller, who possessed a perfect knowledge ofsuch pastimes. Thus, notwithstanding that they were in a great measuredeprived of the comfort and advantage of Mr. Pickwick's society, theywere still enabled to beguile the time, and to prevent its hangingheavily on their hands.
It was in the evening, however, that the Peacock presented attractionswhich enabled the two friends to resist even the invitations of thegifted, though prosy, Pott. It was in the evening that the 'commercialroom' was filled with a social circle, whose characters and manners itwas the delight of Mr. Tupman to observe; whose sayings and doings itwas the habit of Mr. Snodgrass to note down.
Most people know what sort of places commercial rooms usually are. Thatof the Peacock differed in no material respect from the generality ofsuch apartments; that is to say, it was a large, bare-looking room, thefurniture of which had no doubt been better when it was newer, with aspacious table in the centre, and a variety of smaller dittos in thecorners; an extensive assortment of variously shaped chairs, and an oldTurkey carpet, bearing about the same relative proportion to the size ofthe room, as a lady's pocket-handkerchief might to the floor of a watch-box. The walls were garnished with one or two large maps; and severalweather-beaten rough greatcoats, with complicated capes, dangled from along row of pegs in one corner. The mantel-shelf was ornamented with awooden inkstand, containing one stump of a pen and half a wafer; a road-book and directory; a county history minus the cover; and the mortalremains of a trout in a glass coffin. The atmosphere was redolent oftobacco-smoke, the fumes of which had communicated a rather dingy hue tothe whole room, and more especially to the dusty red curtains whichshaded the windows. On the sideboard a variety of miscellaneous articleswere huddled together, the most conspicuous of which were some verycloudy fish-sauce cruets, a couple of driving-boxes, two or three whips,and as many travelling shawls, a tray of knives and forks, and themustard.
Here it was that Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were seated on the eveningafter the conclusion of the election, with several other temporaryinmates of the house, smoking and drinking.
'Well, gents,' said a stout, hale personage of about forty, with onlyone eye--a very bright black eye, which twinkled with a roguishexpression of fun and good-humour, 'our noble selves, gents. I alwayspropose that toast to the company, and drink Mary to myself. Eh, Mary!'
'Get along with you, you wretch,' said the hand-maiden, obviously notill-pleased with the compliment, however.
'Don't go away, Mary,' said the black-eyed man.
'Let me alone, imperence,' said the young lady.
'Never mind,' said the one-eyed man, calling after the girl as she leftthe room. 'I'll step out by and by, Mary. Keep your spirits up, dear.'Here he went through the not very difficult process of winking upon thecompany with his solitary eye, to the enthusiastic delight of an elderlypersonage with a dirty face and a clay pipe.
'Rum creeters is women,' said the dirty-faced man, after a pause.
'Ah! no mistake about that,' said a very red-faced man, behind a cigar.
After this little bit of philosophy there was another pause.
'There's rummer things than women in this world though, mind you,' saidthe man with the black eye, slowly filling a large Dutch pipe, with amost capacious bowl.
'Are you married?' inquired the dirty-faced man.
'Can't say I am.'
'I thought not.' Here the dirty-faced man fell into ecstasies of mirthat his own retort, in which he was joined by a man of bland voice andplacid countenance, who always made it a point to agree with everybody.
'Women, after all, gentlemen,' said the enthusiastic Mr. Snodgrass, 'arethe great props and comforts of our existence.'
'So they are,' said the placid gentleman.
'When they're in a good humour,' interposed the dirty-faced man.
'And that's very true,' said the placid one.
'I repudiate that qualification,' said Mr. Snodgrass, whose thoughtswere fast reverting to Emily Wardle. 'I repudiate it with disdain--withindignation. Show me the man who says anything against women, as women,and I boldly declare he is not a man.' And Mr. Snodgrass took his cigarfrom his mouth, and struck the table violently with his clenched fist.
'That's good sound argument,' said the placid man.
'Containing a position which I deny,' interrupted he of the dirtycountenance.
'And there's certainly a very great deal of truth in what you observetoo, Sir,' said the placid gentleman.
'Your health, Sir,' said the bagman with the lonely eye, bestowing anapproving nod on Mr. Snodgrass.
Mr. Snodgrass acknowledged the compliment.
'I always like to hear a good argument,' continued the bagman, 'a sharpone, like this: it's very improving; but this little argument aboutwomen brought to my mind a story I have heard an old uncle of mine tell,the recollection of which, just now, made me say there were rummerthings than women to be met with, sometimes.'
'I should like to hear that same story,' said the red-faced man with thecigar.
'Should you?' was the only reply of the bagman, who continued to smokewith great vehemence.
'So should I,' said Mr. Tupman, speaking for the first time. He wasalways anxious to increase his stock of experience.
'Should _you_? Well then, I'll tell it. No, I won't. I know you won'tbelieve it,' said the man with the roguish eye, making that organ lookmore roguish than ever. 'If you say it's true, of course I shall,' saidMr. Tupman.
'Well, upon that understanding I'll tell you,' replied the traveller.'Did you ever hear of the great commercial house of Bilson & Slum? Butit doesn't matter though, whether you did or not, because they retiredfrom business long since. It's eighty years ago, since the circumstancehappened to a traveller for that house, but he was a particular friendof my uncle's; and my uncle told the story to me. It's a queer name; buthe used to call it
THE BAGMAN'S STORY
and he used to tell it, something in this way.
'One winter's evening, about five o'clock, just as it began to growdusk, a man in a gig might have been seen urging his tired horse alongthe road which leads across Marlborough Downs, in the direction ofBristol. I say he might have been seen, and I have no doubt he wouldhave been, if anybody but a blind man had happened to pass that way; butthe weather was so bad, and the night so cold and wet, that nothing wasout but the water, and so the traveller jogged along in the middle ofthe road, lonesome and dreary enough. If any bagman of that day couldhave caught sight of the little neck-or-nothing sort of gig, with aclay-coloured body and red wheels, and the vixenish, ill tempered, fast-going bay mare, that looked like a cross between a butcher's horse and atwopenny post-office pony, he would have known at once, that thistraveller could have been no other than Tom Smart, of the great house ofBilson and Slum, Cateaton Street, City. However, as there was no
bagmanto look on, nobody knew anything at all about the matter; and so TomSmart and his clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, and the vixenishmare with the fast pace, went on together, keeping the secret amongthem, and nobody was a bit the wiser.
'There are many pleasanter places even in this dreary world, thanMarlborough Downs when it blows hard; and if you throw in beside, agloomy winter's evening, a miry and sloppy road, and a pelting fall ofheavy rain, and try the effect, by way of experiment, in your own properperson, you will experience the full force of this observation.
'The wind blew--not up the road or down it, though that's bad enough,but sheer across it, sending the rain slanting down like the lines theyused to rule in the copy-books at school, to make the boys slope well.For a moment it would die away, and the traveller would begin to deludehimself into the belief that, exhausted with its previous fury, it hadquietly laid itself down to rest, when, whoo! he could hear it growlingand whistling in the distance, and on it would come rushing over thehill-tops, and sweeping along the plain, gathering sound and strength asit drew nearer, until it dashed with a heavy gust against horse and man,driving the sharp rain into their ears, and its cold damp breath intotheir very bones; and past them it would scour, far, far away, with astunning roar, as if in ridicule of their weakness, and triumphant inthe consciousness of its own strength and power.
'The bay mare splashed away, through the mud and water, with droopingears; now and then tossing her head as if to express her disgust at thisvery ungentlemanly behaviour of the elements, but keeping a good pacenotwithstanding, until a gust of wind, more furious than any that hadyet assailed them, caused her to stop suddenly and plant her four feetfirmly against the ground, to prevent her being blown over. It's aspecial mercy that she did this, for if she _had _been blown over, thevixenish mare was so light, and the gig was so light, and Tom Smart sucha light weight into the bargain, that they must infallibly have all gonerolling over and over together, until they reached the confines ofearth, or until the wind fell; and in either case the probability is,that neither the vixenish mare, nor the clay-coloured gig with the redwheels, nor Tom Smart, would ever have been fit for service again.
'"Well, damn my straps and whiskers," says Tom Smart (Tom sometimes hadan unpleasant knack of swearing)--"damn my straps and whiskers," saysTom, "if this ain't pleasant, blow me!"
'You'll very likely ask me why, as Tom Smart had been pretty well blownalready, he expressed this wish to be submitted to the same processagain. I can't say--all I know is, that Tom Smart said so--or at leasthe always told my uncle he said so, and it's just the same thing.
"'Blow me," says Tom Smart; and the mare neighed as if she wereprecisely of the same opinion.
"'Cheer up, old girl," said Tom, patting the bay mare on the neck withthe end of his whip. "It won't do pushing on, such a night as this; thefirst house we come to we'll put up at, so the faster you go the soonerit's over. Soho, old girl--gently--gently."
'Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well acquainted with thetones of Tom's voice to comprehend his meaning, or whether she found itcolder standing still than moving on, of course I can't say. But I cansay that Tom had no sooner finished speaking, than she pricked up herears, and started forward at a speed which made the clay-coloured gigrattle until you would have supposed every one of the red spokes weregoing to fly out on the turf of Marlborough Downs; and even Tom, whip ashe was, couldn't stop or check her pace, until she drew up of her ownaccord, before a roadside inn on the right-hand side of the way, abouthalf a quarter of a mile from the end of the Downs.
'Tom cast a hasty glance at the upper part of the house as he threw thereins to the hostler, and stuck the whip in the box. It was a strangeold place, built of a kind of shingle, inlaid, as it were, with cross-beams, with gabled-topped windows projecting completely over thepathway, and a low door with a dark porch, and a couple of steep stepsleading down into the house, instead of the modern fashion of half adozen shallow ones leading up to it. It was a comfortable-looking placethough, for there was a strong, cheerful light in the bar window, whichshed a bright ray across the road, and even lighted up the hedge on theother side; and there was a red flickering light in the opposite window,one moment but faintly discernible, and the next gleaming stronglythrough the drawn curtains, which intimated that a rousing fire wasblazing within. Marking these little evidences with the eye of anexperienced traveller, Tom dismounted with as much agility as his half-frozen limbs would permit, and entered the house.
'In less than five minutes' time, Tom was ensconced in the room oppositethe bar--the very room where he had imagined the fire blazing--before asubstantial, matter-of-fact, roaring fire, composed of something shortof a bushel of coals, and wood enough to make half a dozen decentgooseberry bushes, piled half-way up the chimney, and roaring andcrackling with a sound that of itself would have warmed the heart of anyreasonable man. This was comfortable, but this was not all; for asmartly-dressed girl, with a bright eye and a neat ankle, was laying avery clean white cloth on the table; and as Tom sat with his slipperedfeet on the fender, and his back to the open door, he saw a charmingprospect of the bar reflected in the glass over the chimney-piece, withdelightful rows of green bottles and gold labels, together with jars ofpickles and preserves, and cheeses and boiled hams, and rounds of beef,arranged on shelves in the most tempting and delicious array. Well, thiswas comfortable too; but even this was not all--for in the bar, seatedat tea at the nicest possible little table, drawn close up before thebrightest possible little fire, was a buxom widow of somewhere abouteight-and-forty or thereabouts, with a face as comfortable as the bar,who was evidently the landlady of the house, and the supreme ruler overall these agreeable possessions. There was only one drawback to thebeauty of the whole picture, and that was a tall man--a very tall man--in a brown coat and bright basket buttons, and black whiskers and wavyblack hair, who was seated at tea with the widow, and who it required nogreat penetration to discover was in a fair way of persuading her to bea widow no longer, but to confer upon him the privilege of sitting downin that bar, for and during the whole remainder of the term of hisnatural life.
'Tom Smart was by no means of an irritable or envious disposition, butsomehow or other the tall man with the brown coat and the bright basketbuttons did rouse what little gall he had in his composition, and didmake him feel extremely indignant, the more especially as he could nowand then observe, from his seat before the glass, certain littleaffectionate familiarities passing between the tall man and the widow,which sufficiently denoted that the tall man was as high in favour as hewas in size. Tom was fond of hot punch--I may venture to say he was_very_ fond of hot punch--and after he had seen the vixenish mare wellfed and well littered down, and had eaten every bit of the nice littlehot dinner which the widow tossed up for him with her own hands, he justordered a tumbler of it by way of experiment. Now, if there was onething in the whole range of domestic art, which the widow couldmanufacture better than another, it was this identical article; and thefirst tumbler was adapted to Tom Smart's taste with such peculiarnicety, that he ordered a second with the least possible delay. Hotpunch is a pleasant thing, gentlemen--an extremely pleasant thing underany circumstances--but in that snug old parlour, before the roaringfire, with the wind blowing outside till every timber in the old housecreaked again, Tom Smart found it perfectly delightful. He orderedanother tumbler, and then another--I am not quite certain whether hedidn't order another after that--but the more he drank of the hot punch,the more he thought of the tall man.
'"Confound his impudence!" said Tom to himself, "what business has he inthat snug bar? Such an ugly villain too!" said Tom. "If the widow hadany taste, she might surely pick up some better fellow than that." HereTom's eye wandered from the glass on the chimney-piece to the glass onthe table; and as he felt himself becoming gradually sentimental, heemptied the fourth tumbler of punch and ordered a fifth.
'Tom Smart, gentlemen, had always been very much attached to the publicline. It had been long his
ambition to stand in a bar of his own, in agreen coat, knee-cords, and tops. He had a great notion of taking thechair at convivial dinners, and he had often thought how well he couldpreside in a room of his own in the talking way, and what a capitalexample he could set to his customers in the drinking department. Allthese things passed rapidly through Tom's mind as he sat drinking thehot punch by the roaring fire, and he felt very justly and properlyindignant that the tall man should be in a fair way of keeping such anexcellent house, while he, Tom Smart, was as far off from it as ever.So, after deliberating over the two last tumblers, whether he hadn't aperfect right to pick a quarrel with the tall man for having contrivedto get into the good graces of the buxom widow, Tom Smart at lastarrived at the satisfactory conclusion that he was a very ill-used andpersecuted individual, and had better go to bed.
'Up a wide and ancient staircase the smart girl preceded Tom, shadingthe chamber candle with her hand, to protect it from the currents of airwhich in such a rambling old place might have found plenty of room todisport themselves in, without blowing the candle out, but which didblow it out nevertheless--thus affording Tom's enemies an opportunity ofasserting that it was he, and not the wind, who extinguished the candle,and that while he pretended to be blowing it alight again, he was infact kissing the girl. Be this as it may, another light was obtained,and Tom was conducted through a maze of rooms, and a labyrinth ofpassages, to the apartment which had been prepared for his reception,where the girl bade him good-night and left him alone.
'It was a good large room with big closets, and a bed which might haveserved for a whole boarding-school, to say nothing of a couple of oakenpresses that would have held the baggage of a small army; but whatstruck Tom's fancy most was a strange, grim-looking, high backed chair,carved in the most fantastic manner, with a flowered damask cushion, andthe round knobs at the bottom of the legs carefully tied up in redcloth, as if it had got the gout in its toes. Of any other queer chair,Tom would only have thought it was a queer chair, and there would havebeen an end of the matter; but there was something about this particularchair, and yet he couldn't tell what it was, so odd and so unlike anyother piece of furniture he had ever seen, that it seemed to fascinatehim. He sat down before the fire, and stared at the old chair for halfan hour.--Damn the chair, it was such a strange old thing, he couldn'ttake his eyes off it.
'"Well," said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and staring at the oldchair all the while, which stood with a mysterious aspect by thebedside, "I never saw such a rum concern as that in my days. Very odd,"said Tom, who had got rather sage with the hot punch--"very odd." Tomshook his head with an air of profound wisdom, and looked at the chairagain. He couldn't make anything of it though, so he got into bed,covered himself up warm, and fell asleep.
'In about half an hour, Tom woke up with a start, from a confused dreamof tall men and tumblers of punch; and the first object that presenteditself to his waking imagination was the queer chair.
'"I won't look at it any more," said Tom to himself, and he squeezed hiseyelids together, and tried to persuade himself he was going to sleepagain. No use; nothing but queer chairs danced before his eyes, kickingup their legs, jumping over each other's backs, and playing all kinds ofantics.
"'I may as well see one real chair, as two or three complete sets offalse ones," said Tom, bringing out his head from under the bedclothes.There it was, plainly discernible by the light of the fire, looking asprovoking as ever.
'Tom gazed at the chair; and, suddenly as he looked at it, a mostextraordinary change seemed to come over it. The carving of the backgradually assumed the lineaments and expression of an old, shrivelledhuman face; the damask cushion became an antique, flapped waistcoat; theround knobs grew into a couple of feet, encased in red cloth slippers;and the whole chair looked like a very ugly old man, of the previouscentury, with his arms akimbo. Tom sat up in bed, and rubbed his eyes todispel the illusion. No. The chair was an ugly old gentleman; and whatwas more, he was winking at Tom Smart.
'Tom was naturally a headlong, careless sort of dog, and he had had fivetumblers of hot punch into the bargain; so, although he was a littlestartled at first, he began to grow rather indignant when he saw the oldgentleman winking and leering at him with such an impudent air. Atlength he resolved that he wouldn't stand it; and as the old face stillkept winking away as fast as ever, Tom said, in a very angry tone--
'"What the devil are you winking at me for?"
'"Because I like it, Tom Smart," said the chair; or the old gentleman,whichever you like to call him. He stopped winking though, when Tomspoke, and began grinning like a superannuated monkey.
'"How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face?" inquired Tom Smart,rather staggered; though he pretended to carry it off so well.
'"Come, come, Tom," said the old gentleman, "that's not the way toaddress solid Spanish mahogany. Damme, you couldn't treat me with lessrespect if I was veneered." When the old gentleman said this, he lookedso fierce that Tom began to grow frightened.
'"I didn't mean to treat you with any disrespect, Sir," said Tom, in amuch humbler tone than he had spoken in at first.
'"Well, well," said the old fellow, "perhaps not--perhaps not. Tom--"
'"Sir--"
'"I know everything about you, Tom; everything. You're very poor, Tom."
'"I certainly am," said Tom Smart. "But how came you to know that?"
'"Never mind that," said the old gentleman; "you're much too fond ofpunch, Tom."
'Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting that he hadn't tasted adrop since his last birthday, but when his eye encountered that of theold gentleman he looked so knowing that Tom blushed, and was silent.
'"Tom," said the old gentleman, "the widow's a fine woman--remarkablyfine woman--eh, Tom?" Here the old fellow screwed up his eyes, cocked upone of his wasted little legs, and looked altogether so unpleasantlyamorous, that Tom was quite disgusted with the levity of his behaviour--at his time of life, too!
'"I am her guardian, Tom," said the old gentleman.
'"Are you?" inquired Tom Smart.
'"I knew her mother, Tom," said the old fellow: "and her grandmother.She was very fond of me--made me this waistcoat, Tom."
'"Did she?" said Tom Smart.
'"And these shoes," said the old fellow, lifting up one of the red clothmufflers; "but don't mention it, Tom. I shouldn't like to have it knownthat she was so much attached to me. It might occasion someunpleasantness in the family." When the old rascal said this, he lookedso extremely impertinent, that, as Tom Smart afterwards declared, hecould have sat upon him without remorse.
'"I have been a great favourite among the women in my time, Tom," saidthe profligate old debauchee; "hundreds of fine women have sat in my lapfor hours together. What do you think of that, you dog, eh!" The oldgentleman was proceeding to recount some other exploits of his youth,when he was seized with such a violent fit of creaking that he wasunable to proceed.
'"Just serves you right, old boy," thought Tom Smart; but he didn't sayanything.
'"Ah!" said the old fellow, "I am a good deal troubled with this now. Iam getting old, Tom, and have lost nearly all my nails. I have had anoperation performed, too--a small piece let into my back--and I found ita severe trial, Tom."
'"I dare say you did, Sir," said Tom Smart.
'"However," said the old gentleman, "that's not the point. Tom! I wantyou to marry the widow."
'"Me, Sir!" said Tom.
'"You," said the old gentleman.
'"Bless your reverend locks," said Tom (he had a few scattered horse-hairs left)--"bless your reverend locks, she wouldn't have me." And Tomsighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar.
'"Wouldn't she?" said the old gentleman firmly.
'"No, no," said Tom; "there's somebody else in the wind. A tall man--aconfoundedly tall man--with black whiskers."
'"Tom," said the old gentleman; "she will never have him."
'"Won't she?" said Tom. "If you stood in the bar, old gentleman, you'dt
ell another story."
'"Pooh, pooh," said the old gentleman. "I know all about that."
'"About what?" said Tom.
'"The kissing behind the door, and all that sort of thing, Tom," saidthe old gentleman. And here he gave another impudent look, which madeTom very wroth, because as you all know, gentlemen, to hear an oldfellow, who ought to know better, talking about these things, is veryunpleasant--nothing more so.
'"I know all about that, Tom," said the old gentleman. "I have seen itdone very often in my time, Tom, between more people than I should liketo mention to you; but it never came to anything after all."
'"You must have seen some queer things," said Tom, with an inquisitivelook.
'"You may say that, Tom," replied the old fellow, with a verycomplicated wink. "I am the last of my family, Tom," said the oldgentleman, with a melancholy sigh.
'"Was it a large one?" inquired Tom Smart.
'"There were twelve of us, Tom," said the old gentleman; "fine,straight-backed, handsome fellows as you'd wish to see. None of yourmodern abortions--all with arms, and with a degree of polish, though Isay it that should not, which it would have done your heart good tobehold."
'"And what's become of the others, Sir?" asked Tom Smart--
'The old gentleman applied his elbow to his eye as he replied, "Gone,Tom, gone. We had hard service, Tom, and they hadn't all myconstitution. They got rheumatic about the legs and arms, and went intokitchens and other hospitals; and one of 'em, with long service and hardusage, positively lost his senses--he got so crazy that he was obligedto be burnt. Shocking thing that, Tom."
'"Dreadful!" said Tom Smart.
'The old fellow paused for a few minutes, apparently struggling with hisfeelings of emotion, and then said--
'"However, Tom, I am wandering from the point. This tall man, Tom, is arascally adventurer. The moment he married the widow, he would sell offall the furniture, and run away. What would be the consequence? Shewould be deserted and reduced to ruin, and I should catch my death ofcold in some broker's shop."
'"Yes, but--"
'"Don't interrupt me," said the old gentleman. "Of you, Tom, I entertaina very different opinion; for I well know that if you once settledyourself in a public-house, you would never leave it, as long as therewas anything to drink within its walls."
'"I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, Sir," said TomSmart.
'"Therefore," resumed the old gentleman, in a dictatorial tone, "youshall have her, and he shall not."
'"What is to prevent it?" said Tom Smart eagerly.
'"This disclosure," replied the old gentleman; "he is already married."
'"How can I prove it?" said Tom, starting half out of bed.
'The old gentleman untucked his arm from his side, and having pointed toone of the oaken presses, immediately replaced it, in its old position.
'"He little thinks," said the old gentleman, "that in the right-handpocket of a pair of trousers in that press, he has left a letter,entreating him to return to his disconsolate wife, with six--mark me,Tom--six babes, and all of them small ones."
'As the old gentleman solemnly uttered these words, his features grewless and less distinct, and his figure more shadowy. A film came overTom Smart's eyes. The old man seemed gradually blending into the chair,the damask waistcoat to resolve into a cushion, the red slippers toshrink into little red cloth bags. The light faded gently away, and TomSmart fell back on his pillow, and dropped asleep.
'Morning aroused Tom from the lethargic slumber, into which he hadfallen on the disappearance of the old man. He sat up in bed, and forsome minutes vainly endeavoured to recall the events of the precedingnight. Suddenly they rushed upon him. He looked at the chair; it was afantastic and grim-looking piece of furniture, certainly, but it musthave been a remarkably ingenious and lively imagination, that could havediscovered any resemblance between it and an old man.
'"How are you, old boy?" said Tom. He was bolder in the daylight--mostmen are.
'The chair remained motionless, and spoke not a word.
'"Miserable morning," said Tom. No. The chair would not be drawn intoconversation.
'"Which press did you point to?--you can tell me that," said Tom. Devila word, gentlemen, the chair would say.
'"It's not much trouble to open it, anyhow," said Tom, getting out ofbed very deliberately. He walked up to one of the presses. The key wasin the lock; he turned it, and opened the door. There was a pair oftrousers there. He put his hand into the pocket, and drew forth theidentical letter the old gentleman had described!
'"Queer sort of thing, this," said Tom Smart, looking first at the chairand then at the press, and then at the letter, and then at the chairagain. "Very queer," said Tom. But, as there was nothing in either, tolessen the queerness, he thought he might as well dress himself, andsettle the tall man's business at once--just to put him out of hismisery.
'Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his way downstairs, withthe scrutinising eye of a landlord; thinking it not impossible, thatbefore long, they and their contents would be his property. The tall manwas standing in the snug little bar, with his hands behind him, quite athome. He grinned vacantly at Tom. A casual observer might have supposedhe did it, only to show his white teeth; but Tom Smart thought that aconsciousness of triumph was passing through the place where the tallman's mind would have been, if he had had any. Tom laughed in his face;and summoned the landlady.
'"Good-morning ma'am," said Tom Smart, closing the door of the littleparlour as the widow entered.
'"Good-morning, Sir," said the widow. "What will you take for breakfast,sir?"
'Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made no answer.
'"There's a very nice ham," said the widow, "and a beautiful cold lardedfowl. Shall I send 'em in, Sir?"
'These words roused Tom from his reflections. His admiration of thewidow increased as she spoke. Thoughtful creature! Comfortable provider!
'"Who is that gentleman in the bar, ma'am?" inquired Tom.
'"His name is Jinkins, Sir," said the widow, slightly blushing.
'"He's a tall man," said Tom.
'"He is a very fine man, Sir," replied the widow, "and a very nicegentleman."
'"Ah!" said Tom.
'"Is there anything more you want, Sir?" inquired the widow, ratherpuzzled by Tom's manner.
'"Why, yes," said Tom. "My dear ma'am, will you have the kindness to sitdown for one moment?"
'The widow looked much amazed, but she sat down, and Tom sat down too,close beside her. I don't know how it happened, gentlemen--indeed myuncle used to tell me that Tom Smart said he didn't know how it happenedeither--but somehow or other the palm of Tom's hand fell upon the backof the widow's hand, and remained there while he spoke.
'"My dear ma'am," said Tom Smart--he had always a great notion ofcommitting the amiable--"my dear ma'am, you deserve a very excellenthusband--you do indeed."
'"Lor, Sir!" said the widow--as well she might; Tom's mode of commencingthe conversation being rather unusual, not to say startling; the fact ofhis never having set eyes upon her before the previous night being takeninto consideration. "Lor, Sir!"
'"I scorn to flatter, my dear ma'am," said Tom Smart. "You deserve avery admirable husband, and whoever he is, he'll be a very lucky man."As Tom said this, his eye involuntarily wandered from the widow's faceto the comfort around him.
'The widow looked more puzzled than ever, and made an effort to rise.Tom gently pressed her hand, as if to detain her, and she kept her seat.Widows, gentlemen, are not usually timorous, as my uncle used to say.
'"I am sure I am very much obliged to you, Sir, for your good opinion,"said the buxom landlady, half laughing; "and if ever I marry again--"
'"_If_," said Tom Smart, looking very shrewdly out of the right-handcorner of his left eye. "_If_--"
"Well," said the widow, laughing outright this time, "_when _I do, Ihope I shall have as good a husband as you describe."
'"Jinkins
, to wit," said Tom.
'"Lor, sir!" exclaimed the widow.
'"Oh, don't tell me," said Tom, "I know him."
'"I am sure nobody who knows him, knows anything bad of him," said thewidow, bridling up at the mysterious air with which Tom had spoken.
'"Hem!" said Tom Smart.
'The widow began to think it was high time to cry, so she took out herhandkerchief, and inquired whether Tom wished to insult her, whether hethought it like a gentleman to take away the character of anothergentleman behind his back, why, if he had got anything to say, he didn'tsay it to the man, like a man, instead of terrifying a poor weak womanin that way; and so forth.
'"I'll say it to him fast enough," said Tom, "only I want you to hear itfirst."
'"What is it?" inquired the widow, looking intently in Tom'scountenance.
'"I'll astonish you," said Tom, putting his hand in his pocket.
'"If it is, that he wants money," said the widow, "I know that already,and you needn't trouble yourself." '"Pooh, nonsense, that's nothing,"said Tom Smart, "I want money. 'Tain't that."
'"Oh, dear, what can it be?" exclaimed the poor widow.
'"Don't be frightened," said Tom Smart. He slowly drew forth the letter,and unfolded it. "You won't scream?" said Tom doubtfully.
'"No, no," replied the widow; "let me see it."
'"You won't go fainting away, or any of that nonsense?" said Tom.
'"No, no," returned the widow hastily.
'"And don't run out, and blow him up," said Tom; "because I'll do allthat for you. You had better not exert yourself."
'"Well, well," said the widow, "let me see it."
'"I will," replied Tom Smart; and, with these words, he placed theletter in the widow's hand.
'Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom Smart said the widow'slamentations when she heard the disclosure would have pierced a heart ofstone. Tom was certainly very tender-hearted, but they pierced his, tothe very core. The widow rocked herself to and fro, and wrung her hands.
'"Oh, the deception and villainy of the man!" said the widow.
'"Frightful, my dear ma'am; but compose yourself," said Tom Smart.
'"Oh, I can't compose myself," shrieked the widow. "I shall never findanyone else I can love so much!"
'"Oh, yes you will, my dear soul," said Tom Smart, letting fall a showerof the largest-sized tears, in pity for the widow's misfortunes. TomSmart, in the energy of his compassion, had put his arm round thewidow's waist; and the widow, in a passion of grief, had clasped Tom'shand. She looked up in Tom's face, and smiled through her tears. Tomlooked down in hers, and smiled through his.
'I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom did or did not kiss thewidow at that particular moment. He used to tell my uncle he didn't, butI have my doubts about it. Between ourselves, gentlemen, I rather thinkhe did.
'At all events, Tom kicked the very tall man out at the front door halfan hour later, and married the widow a month after. And he used to driveabout the country, with the clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, andthe vixenish mare with the fast pace, till he gave up business manyyears afterwards, and went to France with his wife; and then the oldhouse was pulled down.'
'Will you allow me to ask you,' said the inquisitive old gentleman,'what became of the chair?'
'Why,' replied the one-eyed bagman, 'it was observed to creak very muchon the day of the wedding; but Tom Smart couldn't say for certainwhether it was with pleasure or bodily infirmity. He rather thought itwas the latter, though, for it never spoke afterwards.'
'Everybody believed the story, didn't they?' said the dirty-faced man,refilling his pipe.
'Except Tom's enemies,' replied the bagman. 'Some of 'em said Tominvented it altogether; and others said he was drunk and fancied it, andgot hold of the wrong trousers by mistake before he went to bed. Butnobody ever minded what _they _said.'
'Tom Smart said it was all true?'
'Every word.'
'And your uncle?'
'Every letter.'
'They must have been very nice men, both of 'em,' said the dirty-facedman.
'Yes, they were,' replied the bagman; 'very nice men indeed!'