CHAPTER XXIII
THE CUT-’EM-DOWN CAPTAIN’S GROOM
“Got a rummish customer there, I guess,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, as the groom now re-entered the room to pick up the waifs and strays.
“Hev that,” replied the groom, grinning, and pocketing a pair of dog-skin gloves and a cigar-case his master had left on the mantelpiece. The groom then made a dash at the nearly emptied claret jug.
“Ah, that ’ill do ye no good, my frind,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “that ’ill do ye no good. See,” continued he, “’ere’s a shillin’ for ye—get yourself a glass o’ summut warm and comfortable—that ’ill werry likely give you the cholera.”
“Thank ’e, sir,” replied the man, taking and pocketing the money.
“Are you a stoppin’ ’ere?” asked Mr. Jorrocks, who had now arranged himself with a coat-lap over each arm before the fire.
“I nam,” replied the man, with a knowing leer, adding —“’cause why?—I can’t get away.”
“’D ed,” smiled Mr. Jorrocks.
“W t, you’re i’ Short’s Gardens, are ye?” whispered he.
“Just so,” nodded the man. “Hup the spout,” jerking upwards with his thumb.
“I thought he looked like a fast ’un,” rejoined Mr. Jorrocks.
“They’ll be ’avin’ im’ fast afore long, I’m a thinkin’,” observed the groom. “Mr. Castor ’ere has wot he calls a lion on his ’osses for I don’t know ’ow much.”
“Wot, you’re standin’ ’ere, are ye?” asked Mr. Jorrocks.
“Yes, and ’ave been these six weeks, at sixpence a quartern for whoats and all other things in like proportion.”
“In-deed!” ejaculated Mr. Jorrocks, thinking he ouldn’t like to keep horses on those terms. “Well,” continued he, thinking it might lead to something, “’ave ye aught good for anything?”
“They’re not bad ’osses, none on them,” replied the groom; “all past mark o’ mouth and all done work, but they can go.”
“Can they?” said Mr. Jorrocks, wondering if they would carry Pigg.
“I assure you they can,” responded the groom confidently.
“Carry weight?” asked Mr. Jorrocks in an off-hand sort of way.
“Why, I doesn’t know that they’d carry you,” smiled the man, eyeing our friend’s substantial form; “but they’d carry anything i’ moderation.”
“Oh, it’s not for myself,” retorted Mr. Jorrocks, with a frown and a toss of the head; “I’m a commercial gent, an £ s. d. man, not one o’ your cut-across country chaps; only if I could pick up a thing cheap that would ride and go in ’arness ’casionally, I wouldn’t mind a trifle. But I’m not a figurante—not a three figur’ man at all,” added he,—“far from it—keeps no cats wot don’t catch mice.”
“Well, either of ours will go in ’arness,” replied the groom.
“Vot! ’ave you only two!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “why the man talked as if he ’ad twenty.”
“Only two to call our own—our own habsolute own,” explained the man—“the rest are jobs—twelve guineas per lunar month, and precious ’ard times they ’ave of it, I can tell ye. He does knock ’em about, I assure you.”
Just then, Castors, the landlord, came to say that Mr. Bugginson had arrived, and availing himself of the introduction, Mr. Jorrocks sought an opportunity, after he got matters arranged with his traveller, for having a little conversation with Castors, beginning on indifferent subjects, and drawing gradually up to the captain, when, finding the groom’s statement pretty well confirmed, Mr. Jorrocks slipped with Castors into the stable to have a look at the nags. Amidst the heaps of clothes and straw in which they were enveloped, our master found pretty good, though abused legs and big hocks, and after observing that he’d “seen wus ’osses,” he quietly withdrew, arm in arm with the landlord.
“You see,” said Jorrocks in an undertone, “I’m only a tradesman—a post-hoffice directory, not a peerage man—and I doesn’t give extravagant out o’ the way prices for nothin’—least of all for ’osses, but if it so ’appens as you ’spects that these quads o’ the captin’s come to grief, why I wouldn’t mind takin’ of them at a low moderate figur—twenty or five-and-twenty pund p’raps—or maybe hup to thirty—jest ’cordin’ as they looked out o’ doors by daylight, sooner nor they should be degraded i’ the ’bus or get into an old ooman’s cruelty-wan.”
“Just so, sir,” replied Castors, thinking it well to have a customer in view.
“As to their ’untin’ qualities,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, with a pshaw and a pish, “I doesn’t look at ’em at all i’ that light. It’s no commendation to a man wot wants an ’oss for his chay to be offered one that can jump hover the moon.”
“Certainly not,” replied Castors, who sat a horse with firmness, ease, and grace, until he began to move, when he generally tumbled off.
“So,” continued Jorrocks, “if you find yourself in a fix, you know where to send to,” our friend diving into his pocket as he spoke, and fishing out an enormous steel-clasped, purple-backed bill-case, from whence he selected one of his City cards, “Jorrocks & Co., Grocers and Tea Dealers, St. Botolph’s Lane,” and presented it to Castors, who received it with a bow. They then passed by a side-door into the bar, where successive beakers of brandy and water beguiled the time and caused Mr. Jorrocks to be very late, or rather very early (past three a.m.) in getting back to Handley Cross.
