CHAPTER XLIX

THE CUT-’EM-DOWN CAPTAIN’S QUADS

Christmas, that withering, relentless season, that brings so many people short up, having exercised its blighting influence on our cut-’em-down captain, the following hand-bill, having paid a visit to St. Botolph’s Lane, arrived in due course at Handley Cross, “with Mr. Castor’s comp^ts.” written inside the envelope:—

HUNTERS FOR SALE.

TO BE SOLD BY AUCTION, AT TWELVE O’CLOCK ON WEDNESDAY NEXT,

By MR. TAPPINGTON,

IN THE IMPERIAL HOTEL YARD, LOOPLINE,

(The property of an Officer going Abroad), the following very superior HORSES, well known with Sir Peregrine Cropper’s and Mr. Slasher’s hounds.

1st.—Talavera, a brown bay, with black points, 7 years old, nearly thorough bred.

2nd.—Corunna, a bright chestnut, or bitter-beer colour, 8 years old, also nearly thorough bred.

Loopline is at the Junction of the Lily-White Sand with the Gravelsin and Boodler Railways, and Trains stop there every hour.

Loopline.

“Humph,” said Mr. Jorrocks, reading it at breakfast as he dry-shaved his chin, “Humph—got to the end of his tether, has he? thought ’ow it would be—Not ’zactly the time for buyin’ quads though, with a yard and a ’alf of snow on the ground; ’owsomever, that ’ill make ’em easier bought pr’aps.—All the swells will be hup in town seeing their aunts or gettin’ their ’airs cut. May as well ’ave a ride in the rail as poke about i’ the snow—shall go second class though,” adding—

Accordingly on the appointed day, our Master, having filled one pantaloon pocket with sovereigns and five pound notes, and the other with samples of tea, proceeded on his destination, telling Mrs. Jorrocks he was going to meet Bugginson. Screech—hiss—whistle, roll, rattle roll—porter! what’s this station?—whistle—hiss—screech—roll, rattle, roll, “tickets ready, please, Loopline station! Loopline station! change here for the Boodler line,” and he was there.

Loopline, with its piles of dirty snow and yards of icicles, looked very different to what it did on Mr. Jorrocks’s former visit, and even Castors seemed greatly the worse for wear. The Captain’s horses having, in his judgment, nearly completed the awkward exploit of eating their heads off before the storm came, he felt morally certain that it would last for six weeks or two months, which would leave him desperately in the lurch. The consequence was he had taken it uncommonly to heart, and his buff waistcoat and drab shorts and continuations were a good deal roomier.

“Well, old bouy, ’ow goes it?” asked Jorrocks, greeting him familiarly as he found him pacing restlessly up and down the stable yard.

“Oh! sir, mister, mister, mister,” replied Castors, not being able to hit off the name, “Oh! sir, I’ve been hill, desperate hill. I’ve ’ad the lumbago, sir, to an extent, sir, that’s ’ardly creditable, sir.”

“You don’t say so,” observed Mr. Jorrocks compassionately; “why don’t you take a leetle o’ the old remedy—’ot with—”

“Ah, ’ot with,” sighed Castors with a shake of his head, as he fixed his watery grey eyes earnestly on Jorrocks, to see if he was not one of the many customers with whom he drunk for the “good of the house.” “Ah, ’ot with, indeed!” repeated he, as if nothing loth to try the remedy.

“You don’t want to buy any tea?” said Mr. Jorrocks, producing a sample as he spoke.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Jorrocks!” now exclaimed Castors, brightening up, “it’s Mr. Jorrocks,—you’d get a bill from me, sir, didn’t ye? a bill ’bout the capting’s ’osses, ye know. You told me to send you one, you know.”

“Ah, ’osses, indeed,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “No time this for buying ’osses, old bouy—glass down to fecit—country bund hup in a hiron frost and like to continue under snow for the next two months;” Mr. Jorrocks breathing heavily on the bright pure atmosphere as he spoke.

“Too ’ard to last, too ’ard to last,” retorted Castors, fidgeting at the observation. “Never know’d it stand when it was so desp’rate ’ard,” added he, with a heavy emphasis on the “desp’rate.” How he wished the Captain had gone to the Cross Keys, the White Hart, any house but his.

“You’d better look at the tea,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, still holding the sample out on the palm of his hand, “Tea ’ill be hup you’ll see, and you’d better buy afore it rises. This is a first chop article—Lapsang Souchong.”

“Well, but I’m busy just now, I’m busy just now,” retorted Castors testily. “Come after the sale, sir, come after the sale, and we’ll see if we can do business.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, pocketing the sample, and buttoning his brown bear cloth jacket comfortably up to the throat, “I’ll go into the town and see what I can do with the grocers there;” so saying he swaggered off, without noticing Castors’ exclamation of “You’ll be back to the sale then! you’ll be back to the sale!”

Twelve o’clock came, but brought with it no symptoms of a start—half-past, and still the same. Time is of little value in the country. At length as one o’clock drew near, a lank-haired, seedy-looking half boots, half waiter sort of youth appeared with what at first sight might have been taken for a Punch and Judy show, but which, on being placed on the ground, proved to be the auctioneer’s rostrum. This was a signal for sundry indolent-looking, sportingly-attired but horseless youths, and small dealers with their slangy attendants, to turn in, and some dozen drab-coated farmers, for it was market day, and general idlers mingling with the rest, the auctioneer swigged off the remains of his tumbler of brandy and water, and attended by a brilliant staff, consisting of the aforesaid seedy one, swaggered imposingly upon the scene. He was a burly, big-faced, impudent fellow, with a round of whisker, a consequential sort of hat, and a corporation so large as to look as if he had thriven in all the occupations he had turned his hand to—Hatter, Wine Merchant, Coal Merchant, Accountant, Land Agent, Temperance Hotel Keeper, Stationer, Broker, and General Negotiator.

He seemed to be a sort of character, for his appearance was hailed with a round of jokes and coarse salutes, which gradually subsided into inquiries after the health of Mrs. Tappington and the little Taps. Having replied to these, he ascended the rostrum, and clearing his throat with a substantial hem! commanded silence, and proceeded to read the conditions of sale; after which Talavera came trotting up to the hammer.

“Now,” said the auctioneer. “will any gentleman with the wit in his head and the money in his pocket, favour me with an offer for this proud animal, whose worth is far beyond the reach of my ’umble imagination?

“Make a ring, gentlemen, make a ring,” continued he, motioning with his hand, adding to the ostler, “Trot him round, and he’ll soon enlarge the circle of our acquaintance” whereupon crack went the circus whip of the man in the middle, and round spun the horse with his heels in the air, snowballing the shrinking company with the greatest precision.

That feat being accomplished, he was again trotted up to the rising ground by the rostrum, where he stood panting and snorting with a watchful eye, wondering what was going to happen. “Now, gentlemen,” continued the auctioneer, “perhaps some of you will favour me with an offer for this proud animal—a horse, as far as my ’umble judgment goes, as near perfection as it is possible to imagine. What will any gentleman say for a beginning?”

“Ah! to be sure,” to a dirty-looking anything-arian, who now approached him, “ah! to be sure, examine him, sir! examine him attentively, sir! examine his mouth! examine his eyes! examine his legs! examine his nose! Well, what d’ye make of his age?”

“Seventy-two,” replied the man, coolly.

“Old enough for anything!” retorted the auctioneer, amid the laughter of the company. “What will any gentleman say for this grand animal, with the high courage of a gentleman, and all the docility—this noble viewly beast, with the neck and chest described in the book of Job? Look at his chest! look at his loins! look at his bellows, but mind his heels!” added he, as the horse began plunging and kicking from the cold.

“Ten guineas,” now offered the man who had examined him.

“Ten guineas?” retorted the auctioneer, angrily, “ten guineas! you must be joking; ten guineas for a proud animal like this! You astonish him! you insult him! you degrade him! Ten guineas for such a horse as this! It’s a downright insult to the whole animal creation. And ten guineas are only bid,” continued the auctioneer, adopting the offer, and proceeding to force, and screw, and coax, and exhort, and dwell, in a way that would take Tattersall at least a week to get through an ordinary Monday’s sale. At length the hammer fell on both the proud animals, and on Flaps, the saddler of Loopline, declaring his principal, Mr. Jorrocks was found to be the purchaser of both Talavera at twenty-eight, and Corunna at thirty pounds. Mr. Jorrocks then adjourned to inaugurate his purchase with brandy and water, and let Castors know what a great man he really was. And Castors was much chagrined to find that Flaps was not bidding for Martin Greenwood, of the Triumphant Chariot Livery Stables, where he had occasional dealings, for, by very little management, he could have made the Cut-em-down Captain’s bill cover a good deal more purchase money. Mr. Jorrocks, however, mollified him with the old specific, and also succeeded in selling him a couple of chests of tea, Lapsang Souchong and strong Congou—which he managed to deduct from the price of the horses. And Handley Cross being reduced to a state of perfect torpor by the frost, the news that old Jacky, as they profanely called Mr. Jorrocks, had bought some new nags, was a great accommodation, and drew divers parties to the station to criticize them as they came. Among others was our old friend Mr. Barnington, who, being struck with the looks and action of bitter-beer-coloured Corunna, asked our Master if he would sell him?

“Oh! why, faith, Barney,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, raising his eyebrows, puffing out his cheeks, dangling his seals, and looking the very essence of good-natured innocent simplicity; “oh! why, faith, Barney, I’ve never thought o’ nothin’ o’ the sort, but you’re a good sort o’ feller, and subscribes liberal to my ’ounds: I doesn’t care ’bout the lucre o’ gain, nobody cares less ’bout money nor I do, and you may take him for sixty—take him for sixty, and no more ’bout it.” So saying, Mr. Jorrocks passed his purchase to his friend, who felt flattered by the favour, and complimented Pigg with a sovereign.

Pigg, too, was pleased with the horse that went into his stud, so that altogether our Master did pretty well—cleared his railway expenses, as he said. The thing now was, to get a little work out of his establishment, for he was no man for keeping things to look at.

The storm weighed heavily on Mr. Jorrocks’s spirits, and James Pigg d—d the south country, and swore “they never had seck weather i’ the north.” Often did our worthy, warming himself at Batsay’s pittance of a kitchen fire, wish himself at Deavilboger’s never-failing grate.

“Ar think we’re gannin’ to have fresh,” observed Pigg to his master one day, as the latter was paying his usual lengthy visit to the stable.

“Have what?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.

“Fresh,” repeated Pigg, with an emphasis; “ye ken what fresh weather is, dinnat ye?”

“Vy, no,” replied our Master thoughtfully; “you don’t mean a thaw?”

“Yeas, a thow,” replied Pigg.

“I vish we may!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, brightening up; “somehow the day feels softer; but the hair generally is after a fall. Howsomever, nous werrons, as we say in France: it’ll be a long time afore we can ’unt, though—’edges will be full o’ snow.”

“Ay, dike backs,” replied Pigg, “lies lang i’ them; but one can always loup in, or loup o’er.”

“Ah, that’s all werry good talkin’,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, shaking his head, and jingling the silver in his breeches pocket; “that’s werry good talkin’,” repeated he, “but there are sich things as ’osses’ necks to be considered.”

“A! but if ar’ll risk mar neck, ye surely may risk yeer ’osses’,” observed Pigg.

“Don’t know,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, smiling at his huntsman’s keenness. “Fear we shalln’t have a chance in a hurry. Have you seen Junks?”

“No, ar’s not; the missis was on the house-end as I came to stable, but Gabriel weren’t there.”

“Ah, the missis is nothin’.” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “had Gabriel been there it would have been summat like; good bird Mrs. Junks, but hasn’t Gabey’s delicate perception ’bout the weather—follows—never takes a lead. A scream from Gabey would give one ’opes of getting the Jenny Linds to work again.” So saying our master drew on his American over-shoes, and returned to the consolations of the cupboard.

Despite Mr. Jorrocks’s opinion of her, Mrs. Junks was a true prophet. The next day, Gabriel himself descended from the stable top into the garden with a loud and piercing scream. His crest was erect, his neck feathers slightly ruffled, and as he lifted one foot and then the other out of the snow, there was an air of comfort in his walk that told of other feelings than that of frost. Mr. Jorrocks went out at the back-door in his slippers, and poking his finger into the snow, proclaimed it was a thaw—a large drop splashing on his wig confirmed the judgment—spouts began to trickle, then to run, sewers to overflow, streets stood in snow-broth, and the prospect of a return to verdure and animation was the only consolation for wet-footed walkers. It was a decided thaw. There was a gentle wind, and the rain fell soft and warm—laurels expanded to the more genial atmosphere, the leafless trees seemed to increase in size, and the lately distinct distant objects resumed their gray dimness in the landscape.

Mr. Jorrocks soon began to wax uncommonly eager, and he, who had reproved Pigg’s ardour, now in turn proposed a day—a quiet bye, just by their two selves, to see “’ow the country looked and when they could begin to advertise.” And as luck would have it, they fell in with a high-conditioned old flyer, who led Pigg such a dance as never was seen, and left Mr. Jorrocks stuck in a snow-wreath in Eastfield Lane, out of which he had to be dug at an expense of seven shillings, the tinkers who found him refusing to put in a spade until he said what he’d give. That cooled our Master’s courage for a week, at the end of which time, things got into working order, and the establishment soon assumed such a form as tempted Mr. Jorrocks into the indiscretion disclosed in the following chapter.