CHAPTER XLI
ANOTHER CATASTROPHE
No reproving nightmare censured Mr. Jorrocks for over-night indulgence, and he awoke without the symptoms of a headache. His top-boots had got the mud washed off, and his red coat and drab shags stood invitingly at the bed-foot. He was soon in them and downstairs. The active magistrate was before him, however, and they met in the baronial hall.
Mr. Muleygrubs’ costume was very striking. A little brown coat with filagree buttons, red waistcoat, white moleskins, and Wellington boots with wash-leather knee-caps. His Britannia-metal-looking spurs, with patent leather straps, were buckled inside. A large breast-pin, representing Justice with her scales, secured the ends of a red-striped white neckcloth.
“Good morning, Mr. Jorrocks!” exclaimed our J.P., with extended hand; “I fear you’ve not slept well, you are down so early; hope the bed was comfortable, best in the house, barring—”
“Oh, quite comfey, thank ye,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “only I have had as much of it as I want, and thought I’d have a turn round your place afore breakfast. It seems a werry fine mornin’.”
“Beautiful morning,” replied Mr. Marmaduke.
| “ ‘There is a freshness in the mornin’ hair, |
| And life, what bloated ease can never ’ope to share;’ ” |
replied Mr. Jorrocks. “Let’s have a look at your stud.”
They then got their hats. First they went to the stable, then to the cow-bier, next to the pig-sty, and looked into the hen-house.
“You haven’t a peacock, have ye?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.
“No,” replied Mr. Muleygrubs.
“Wonders at that—finest birds possible; my Junks is as wise as most Christians. A peacock on each of those towers would look noble,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, turning to the castle as they sauntered along the garden.
Two or three men in blue trousers were digging away; but a garden in winter being an uninteresting object, Mr. Muleygrubs merely passed through it (by the longest way, of course), and striking into a gravel walk by the side of the sluggish stream, made a détour, and got upon the carriage road. Here they suddenly came upon two mechanic-looking men in white aprons and paper caps.
“Holloa, there, you sirs! where are you going?” exclaimed Mr. Muleygrubs.
“Poor men out of work, sir,” replied the foremost, touching his cap. “Weavers, your honour—been out of work all the winter.”
“Poor fellows!” said Mr. Muleygrubs, soothingly.
“True, I assure you, your honour,” rejoined the other. “My comrade’s wife’s just lying-in of her tenth child, and I’ve a wife and six bairns all lying ill of the fever.”
“Poor fellows!” repeated Muleygrubs again. “You don’t look like common beggars—S. Vs., sturdy vagrants —I. R., incorrigible rogues.”
“Necessity’s driv us to it, yer honour—never begged afore.”
“You’d work if you could get it, I dare say,” continued the J.P., in the same consoling strain.
“Oh, that we would, yer honour!” exclaimed both. Mr. Muleygrubs smiled, for he had them.
“Come along, then,” said he, leading the way to a heap of stones by the side of the carriage-road. “Now,” he said, slowly and solemnly, “mark what I say. I am a justice of the peace of our sovereign lady the Queen, charged with the preservation of the peace and the execution of the laws of this great kingdom—hem!” (The men looked blank.) “There is an hact called the Vagrant Hact,” continued Mr. Muleygrubs, “which declares that all persons who, being able to work and thereby maintain themselves and their families, shall wilfully refuse or neglect so to do, shall be deemed rogues and vagabonds, within the true intent and meaning of the hact, and may be committed to hard labour in the house of correction—hem!—Now, gentlemen,” said he, “there are two heaps of stones, hard and soft, you are both out of work—there are two hammers, and when you have broken those stones, my bailiff will measure them off and pay you for them, and thus you will get employment, and save a trip to the mill. Take the hammers and set to work.”
“Down upon them, I think,” chuckled Mr. Muleygrubs to Mr. Jorrocks, as they returned to the house. “That’s one of the few pulls we magistrates have—I keep my avenue in repair and my walks weeded by the vagrants.”
“But not for nothin’?” observed Mr Jorrocks, inquiringly.
“Oh, yes—they never work long—generally sneak off at the end of an hour or two, forfeiting what they’ve done. All these heaps,” pointing to sundry heaps of stones among the trees, “have been broken by beggars. Shall be able to sell some to the surveyors this year. Working beggars, and employing the new police about one’s place occasionally are really the only pulls we justices have.”
“Dress the poliss up as flunkeys, I s’pose,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“Just so,” replied Mr. Muleygrubs, “or work them in the garden. It’s by far the best way of disposing of the force,” continued Mr. Muleygrubs; “for you see, in a thinly populated district, where each man has a considerable range, you never know where to lay hands on a policeman, whereas, about here, they know they have only to send to his worship’s to get one directly.”
“No doubt it is,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, adding, aloud to himself, as the bearings of the case crossed his mind, “and the best thing for the thief too. Wonders now if the beggar would let one make earth-stoppers on them —stop the thief o’ the world.”
In the present instance the police were not of much avail, for the weavers, having seen the justice into his castle, pocketed the hammer-heads and cut their sticks.
Among the group who stood in the baronial hall waiting Mr. Muleygrubs’ return was Mr. Macpherson, the wily churchwarden of the neighbouring parish. “Taken the liberty of calling upon you to request your countenance to a subscription for repairing our organ,” said he.
“Confound your subscriptions!” interrupted the justice—“my hand’s never out of my pocket. Why do you all come to me?”
“We always go to the people of the first consequence first,” replied the churchwarden, in a tone more directed to Mr. Jorrocks than to Mr. Muleygrubs.
“Very kind of you,” replied he, satirically—“kind and considerate both.”
“The example of gentlemen in high stations has great influence,” replied Mr. Macpherson.
“Then why not go to Sir Harry Martin?”
“Because you are the largest landowner in the parish,” replied the Scotchman, in the same “talk-at-him” tone as before.
This was a clencher—proclaimed in his own baronial hall, in the presence of Mr. Jorrocks, as the greatest man and largest landowner in the parish, was something.
“Well,” said he, with a relaxing brow, “put me down for a couple of guineas.”
“Thank you kindly,” replied Mr. Macpherson, taking a horn inkstand out of his pocket, and writing the name Marmaduke Muleygrubs, Esq., J.P., £2 2s., at the head of the first column.
“You’d like it put in the papers, I suppose?” observed Mr. Macpherson.
“Papers! to be sure!” replied Mr. Muleygrubs, ruffled at the question; “what’s the use of my giving if it isn’t put in the papers?”
A Jew picture-dealer next claimed the justice’s ear. He had a kitcat of a grim-visaged warrior, with a lacecollar, and his hand resting on a basket-handled sword.
“Got a match for your dining-room por——”
“I’ll speak to you after!” exclaimed Mr. Muleygrubs, hastily pushing the purveyor of ancestors aside, and drawing Mr. Jorrocks onward to the breakfast-room.
There was a great spread in the way of breakfast, at least a great length of table down the room. A regiment of tea-cups occupied one end of the table, coffee-cups the other, and the cold game-pie was in the middle. Four loaves, two of white and two of brown bread, guarded the corners, and there were two butter-boats and four plates of jelly and preserve.
“Come, there’s plenty to eat, at all ewents,” observed Mr. Jorrocks aloud to himself, as he advanced to greet Mrs. Muleygrubs, and give the little Muleygrubs the morning chuck under the chin. “S’pose you’ve a party comin’ this mornin’,” continued he, looking at the cups, and then pulling out his watch; “five minutes to ten by ’Andley Cross,” said he: “’ounds will be here in twenty minutes—Pigg’s werry punctual.”
Mrs. Muleygrubs said, “That being a county family, they wished to make themselves popular, and would give a public breakfast to the Hunt.”
Mr. Jorrocks said, “Nothin’ could be more proper.”
Five minutes elapsed, and he looked again at his watch,1 observing, “that the ’ounds would be there in a quarter of an hour.”
“Hadn’t we better be doin’, think ye?” asked Mr. Jorrocks, impatiently, as Mr. Muleygrubs entered the room after his deal for the ancestor; “ ’ounds ’ll be here in no time.”
“I suppose there’s no great hurry,” observed Mr. Muleygrubs, carelessly.
“ ’Deed but there is,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “punctuality is the purliteness o’ princes, and I doesn’t like keepin’ people waitin’.”
“Well, then,” said Mr. Muleygrubs, “we’ll ring for the arn.”
In it came, hissing, for the footmen wanted to be off to the hunt.
Dry-toast, buttered-toast, muffins, twists, rolls, &c., were scattered down the table, and two stands of eggs flanked the cold game-pie in the centre.
There is no greater nuisance than making a feast and no one coming to eat it,—even Gog and old Magog complained when William the Fourth disappointed the guzzlers in Guildhall:—
| “Said Gog to old Magog, ‘Why, fury and thunder! |
| There surely is some unaccountable blunder,’ ” &c. |
In vain Mr. Marmaduke played with his breakfast, and pretended to enjoy everything. His eye kept wandering to the window in hopes of seeing some one, even the most unwelcome of his friends, cast up. Still no one arrived, and the stiff-necked boy sat in the baronial hall without being summoned to open the doors. A group of children first ventured to enter the forbidden field in front of the Justice’s, emboldened by a mole-catcher, who was combining business with pleasure. A boy on a pony next arrived, and was the object of attention until two grooms appeared, and began to fuss about the stirrups, and rub their horses down with handkerchiefs. Presently more arrived; then came more ponies, then a few farmers, and at last a red-coat, to the delight of the youngsters, who eyed the wearer with the greatest reverence. Meanwhile Mr. Jorrocks worked away at his breakfast, first at the solids, then at the sweets, diversified with a draught at the fluids.
Four red-coated gentry came cantering into the field, smoking and chattering like magpies. Out rushed the figure footman to enlist them for the breakfast, but the hard-hearted mortals ask for cherry-brandy outside. Mr. Jorrocks looked at his watch, and the children raise a cry of “Here they come!” as James Pigg and Benjamin were seen rounding a belt of trees, with the hounds clustered at Pigg’s horse’s heels, while a Handley Cross helper on Mr. Jorrocks’s horse assisted to whip in. As they come towards the front, up goes the window, and Mrs. Muleygrubs and the children rush to the view.
Pleased with the sight, Mr. Muleygrubs desired the foot-boy to give the men a glass of claret a-piece.
“Thank ye, no!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; “I’ll give them a seidlitz pooder a-piece when they gets ’ome.”
“Do you love your huntsman, Mr. Jonnocks?” asked Magdalene Margery, who was now a candidate for the great man’s favour.
“I loves everybody, more or less, my little dear,” replied our Master, patting her plaistered head.
“Well, but would you kith him?” demanded Victoria Jemima.
“Would you pay for his shoes?” asked Albert Erasmus, who sported a new pair himself.
“He wears bouts, my dear,” replied our ready friend.
“Do you hunt well, Mr. Jonnocks?—Are you a good hunter?” asked Master Memnon.
“Capital, my dear!—best in England!” replied our Master.
“Why don’t you shoot the fox, Mr. Jonnocks?” now demanded Darius, astonished at the size and number of the pack. “P-a-a-r shoots the fox,” added he, in a loud tone of confident superiority.
“Nonsense, Darius! nothin’ of the sort!” exclaimed the guilty Muleygrubs.
“You d-o-o-o,” drawled Darius, eyeing his parent with a reproving scowl.
“Hush! you foolish boy!” stamped Marmaduke, looking as if he would eat him.
“Be bund to say he does,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, aloud to himself, with a knowing jerk of his head.
“Bless us! what a many dogs you have!” exclaimed Mr. Muleygrubs, anxious to turn the conversation.
“ ’Ounds! if you please,” replied our master.
“Well, hounds!” aspirated Mr. Muleygrubs, as if correcting Mr. Jorrocks’s pronunciation. “Is it possible you know all their names?”
“Quite possible,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, making for the window that had just been opened.
Giving one of his well-known shrill gallery whistles, the pack caught sight of their master, and breaking away, dash through the windows, demolishing the glass, upsetting the children, and seizing all the dainties left on the breakfast-table of Cockolorum Castle.
Mr. Muleygrubs was knocked under the table, Mrs. Muleygrubs and all the little Muleygrubs hurried out, and the stiff-necked foot-boy had a chase after Priestess, who ran off with the cold reindeer tongue. Three or four hounds worried the pie, and Ravager—steady old Ravager—charged through the coffee-cups to get at the rolls. Altogether, there was a terrible crash.
Mr. Jorrocks bolted out of the window, and, by dint of whooping and holloaing, aided by the foot-boy’s endeavours, succeeded in drawing off the delinquents, and sending Ben in for his cap, desired him to apologize for not returning to bid his hostess adieu, on the plea that the hounds would be sure to follow him.
The commotion was not confined to the house, and Ethelred the gardener’s nerves were so shook, that he forgot where to enlarge the bag-fox, which he did so clumsily, that the animal, as if in revenge, made straight for his garden, followed by Jorrocks, and the whole train-band bold, who made desperate havoc among the broccoli and winter cabbages. The poor, confused, half-smothered brute took refuge up the flue, from whence being at length ejected, our “indifferent man about blood” celebrated his obsequies with “ten miles straight on end” honours. He then made a show of drawing again, but as “P-a-a-r shoots the fox,” we need not state the result.
