CHAPTER XXII

THE CUT-’EM-DOWN CAPTAINS

HAVING now got a huntsman, and arranged with Duncan Nevin for mounting him until he fell in with screws of his own, Mr. Jorrocks felt if he had business matters arranged in the City, he would be all ready for a start, “business first, and pleasure afterwards,” having always been one of his prudential mottoes. Accordingly he slipped down by express-train to the Loopline station, on the Lilywhite and Gravelcoin lines, to meet his traveller (representative as he calls himself) Bugginson, to wet samples, and hear how things were looking in the Lane—and the up-train not fitting cleverly, Mr. Jorrocks repaired to the Imperial Hotel, where, being as an M.F.H. “rayther above the commercials,” he turned into the sumptuously furnished coffee-room. There he found a couple of regular cut-’em-down swells, viz., Captain Arthur Crasher, of the Horselydown Hussars, and Captain Blucher Brusher, of the Leatherhead Lancers, carousing after a week’s career with Sir Peregrine Cropper’s hounds.

Having exchanged their wet hunting things for dry tweeds, and got the week’s thorns out of their legs, they had dined and drowned dull care in a couple of bottles of undeniable, Moet-corked, gooseberry champagne, and were now picking their teeth, twiddling their luxuriant moustaches, and stroking their stomachs with the utmost complacency. Mr. Jorrocks’s entry rather disturbed them.

“Old boy’s made a mistake,” whispered the hussar, raising his eyebrows as our creaking-booted friend deposited his reversible coat and writing-case on the sideboard—the captain adding aloud, “What shall we have to dwink?”

“Do us no harm, I des-say,” replied Brusher, staring intently at Jorrocks, adding, “’spose we say clart?”

“Clart be it,” rejoined Crasher, ringing the bell, and presently they had a jug of tolerable St. Jullien, doing duty for Chateau Margaux. The glasses being large, and the measure thick and highly cut, the men of war were not long in discussing its contents, and a second bottle, with an anchovy toast, presently followed.

The captains then began to talk. They were the crack men of their respective regiments, then quartered at Furloughton, each with an admiring knot of his own, and each with the most sovereign contempt of the other’s prowess. To hear them talk each other over after mess was peculiarly edifying. “Well, what the deuce anybody sees in that Crasher’s equitation, I can’t for the life of me imagine!” Brusher would exclaim, amongst his own set, “Rider! I really think he’s the very worst rider I ever set eyes on!” Then the hussar would express his opinion of Brusher. “Poor Brusher, poor devil!” Crusher would say, “he is without exception the greatest humbug that ever got on a horse—greatest tailor I ever saw in my life.” And so the gallant men turned out each morning full of envy, hatred, and malice, with the fixed determination of cutting each other down, regardless alike of hounds, master, and field. Hark to their conversation!

“Well, I think I never had a better week’s work,” observed Crasher, throwing himself back in his chair, and eyeing Jorrocks, to see what effect the announcement would have upon him. “Had sixteen falls in five days.”

“Sixteen, have you?” exclaimed Brusher, doubtingly; “I didn’t think you’d had so many. I’ve had fifteen.”

“No, surely!” replied Crasher, incredulously.

“Yes, I have,” asserted Brusher, confidently—“Three on Monday, two on Toosday, four on Thursday, three yesterday, and three to-day.”

“Three to-day!” reiterated Crasher.

“Yes, three,” repeated Brusher.

“Ah, but that’s reckoning the mill reservoir,” observed Crasher.

“Well, surely one’s entitled to reckon the reservoir—was deuced near drowned.”

“Well, but I was in the reservoir too,” observed Crasher, “so that makes me seventeen.”

“But mark! I was in first!” rejoined Brusher, energetically.

“Ah, but you didn’t take the stiff post and rail with the yawner out of Cricklewood-spiny though,” exclaimed Crasher.

“’Cause I wasn’t there, my dear fellow,” replied Brusher; “neither did you take the brook at Waterfield Glen, or the stiff stake and rice-bund on the top of Cranfordheel Hill.”

“Oh! didn’t I, my dear feller! that’s all you know,” sneered Crasher. “I took it just after Tom Stot’s horse all but came back over at it. Help yourself, and let’s dwink fox-hunting,” continued he, filling a bumper and passing the claret jug to his friend, or his foe, whichever he considered him.

“Ah, fox-’untin’ indeed,” grunted old Jorrocks from behind his Times newspaper—“glad you don’t ’unt with me—should ’ave to insure all my ’ounds’ lives and my own too, I should think.”

The captains having done honour to the sport that accommodated them with so much jumping, then commenced a more elaborate calculation on their fingers of the number of falls they had each had, in the midst of which they were interrupted by the rushing of a dark green corduroy-clad porter into the room, exclaiming, pro bono publico, “Please, gents! the ’bus for the height-fifteen train ’ll be ’ere in ten minnits!” then addressing Captain Crasher, in a lower tone, he said, “Pleaz, zur, your grum wishes to know if you ’ave any horders for ’im afore you goes?”

“Of c-o-o-o-r-s-e, I have,” drawled the captain, pompously napkining his moustache with the greatest coolness, adding—“send him here.”

The porter withdrew, and presently a stiffly-built, blue-coated, stripe-vested, drab-gaitered groom entered, and with a snatch of his fore-lock, placed himself under the gas-lit chandelier.

The following laconic dialogue then ensued between the captain and him, the captain hardly deigning to look at the man, and treating him quite on the word of command principle:—

Captain.—“Hunt Toosday—Hardriding Hill.”

Groom (with another snatch at the fore-lock).—“Yes, sir.”

Captain.—“Talavera first—Barrosa second.”

Groom (as before).—“Yes, sir.”

Captain.—“Or say Barrosa first—Corunna second.”

Groom.—“Yes, sir.”

Captain.—“Wednesday, Lubberfield Park, Salamanca first—Talavera second.”

Groom.—“Yes, sir.”

Captain.—“Thursday, Riddlerough, Toulouse first—Badajoz second.”

Groom.—“Yes, sir.”

Captain.—“Must send on to the ‘Bull’ at Lushinger.”

Groom (lowly and timidly).—“Please, sir, I shall ’ave to trouble you for some money, sir.”

“D——n and b——t!” roared the captain, boiling up furiously, “didn’t I tell you you were only to ask me for money once a month?”

Groom (looking confused).—“Well, sir,—but if you don’t give me enough to last, sir, what ham I to do, sir?”

“Do!” roared the captain, knitting his brows, and eyeing the man as if he would exterminate him. “Do! Do as you did before—go to Mr. Castors.” So saying, the captain rose from his seat, and dashing his napkin on the floor, bundled the man neck and crop out of the room.

The other captain quickly followed, peeping over the Times as he passed, to see whether Jorrocks was laughing, and hurried up-stairs, taking three steps at a stride.

Presently the twang of a horn, the rumbling of wheels, with the bumping of portmanteaus on the stairs and in the passage, announced the coming of the ’bus, and then the sound of hurrying footsteps was followed by “r-e-e-it!” and the bang of a door outside, when the renewed thunder of wheels announced that the cut-’em-down captains were gone.