CHAPTER XXXVI

SIVIN AND FOUR’S ELIVIN

LTHOUGH old Sivin and Four was one of that numerous tribe who see no beauty in anything but a good balancesheet, yet the instinctive promptings of an ambitious wife, coupled with the fact of his odious rival Mr. Dibworth having set up a country house (Discount Park as it was called, its realname being Daisy Bank), made him rayther incline to follow suit—provided, of course, he could do so without any very grievous sacrifice of his beloved cash. It took him a long, long time, and many careful calculations, before he came to any such conclusion. “Sivin and four’s elivin,” he used to begin in the gloomy solitude of his sweating room, with the pertinent notice outside, “Sivin and four’s elivin, and sivin’s eighteen, and three’s twenty-one, don’t know that it would cost much more to live in the country than it does here, and eight is twenty-nine—might kill one’s own mutton and save twopence i’ pund that way, and nine is thirty-eight—would have to keep a chay, but then the nag would lead the coals, and sivin is forty-five—might turn him to account in other ways, and six is fifty-one—a cow would come in capital, and sivin is fifty-eight, and help to keep a pig, and eight is sixty-six—might have some poultry too, and sivin is sivinty-three, and eggs at summut like trade price.”

The idea having once entered his mind, when it was not at all encumbered with company, he worked it up and down and round about with all the variation of figures until he got it firmly fixed, and then he began to talk incontinently to masons and joiners, and painters and plumbers, and people when they came on their usual excursions to the Bank, about land and labour, and sand and plaster, and prices generally. And here let us observe, that in addition to immunity from abuse, bankers enjoy another advantage, namely, that of not getting cheated, and of having everything they want at trade or nearly trade price; no one daring to impose upon them lest they should retaliate the next time the unlucky wight wanted a slip of stamped paper converted into sovereigns or nice crisp £5 notes. So each tradesman told our friend in a quiet confidential sort of way what their usual charges were, but what they could do such and such things for if he should happen to want them. And having sifted and sorted, and “sivin and four’d” these matters well in his mind, and arrived at some sort of conclusion as to what he could build such a house as would serve his purpose for, he next began casting about in quest of an estate to place it upon. The first purchasing symptoms that developed themselves were when our banker, having got a glass, began button-holeing his man—generally some one whom he knew hadn’t the means—and asking if he was going to buy—buy Selwood Hill, Beechwood Grove, the Haw, or whatever estate was in the market. All glorious glass! that can unlock the inmost heart of such a man as this, and make him tell what the rack would hardly extort in cool sobriety. How his cold grey eye glistened as he brought his great protuberant stomach and nasty brandy-smelling breath to bear against some unfortunate wight while he poured forth the history of his wealth—his bonds, his mortgages, his money in the funds, his intended purchases of property. He seemed to have a design upon every place, large or small, rich or poor, near or distant. But when the sobering dawn of day returned, he took no steps to realise his grand prospects and enable him to show off as Peter Pounce showed off to poor Parson Adams, when the latter rode with Peter in his chariot, by exclaiming—“Ah! my heir will have reason to wish I had loved money more and land less;” for if reminded of his grand monopolising land scheme, Sivin and Four would seem to have forgotten all about it, and would hurry away as if afraid of committing himself by a single indiscreet word.

At length things took a different turn. The reader may remember the Sivin and Four prognostication of a deuce of an overdraw, by the Duke of Tergiversation, on account of the present of the haunch of venison; and His Grace did not disappoint the prophet’s expectations, for cheque after cheque came dribbling in, till our friend was almost frantic. First there came one for a hundred and twenty-three pounds for Mashtub the brewer, next one for seventy-nine pounds for Charbon the coal merchant, then one for fifty on account for Mulcture the miller, and lastly one for two hundred and ninety for Spanker the horse-dealer of Dunchurch. “Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-nine’s a hundred and ten; how the deuce can any man carry on business in this way?” exclaimed he, as the latter was brought in to him; “and sivinty’s a ’undred and eighty—might just as well throw open the door and give him the run of the till, and ninety’s two ’underd and sivinty—wish most heartily Dibworth had him—would stop his gallop in no time—soon set his ricketty concern to rest.”

Now we mentioned that the Duke had a small property—small at least for a Duke—called Garlandale, a few miles from Mayfield, on the Canons Ashby Road—which was not tied up in the stringent way peculiar to peerages, and upon this our Banker had long cast an eye as peculiarly adapted, in his mind, in consequence of its freedom from toll-bars, for the erection of a villa residence. He had even gone so far as to mention it incidentally to Mr. Acreage, the steward, saying, that he wondered his Grace kept a little out-lying place of that sort, for which he dared say he could get him a customer; and once, after dining at the Fox and Hounds farmers’ ordinary, and imbibing the communicative glass, the Banker went so far as to say that he wouldn’t mind buying it himself, adding, with a slap of his brandy-charged stomach, and a wink of his hazy eye, “you know I’m a substantial man.”

People, however, don’t like selling land, and somehow or other the thing never got any further. But when the cheques began dropping in, completely overbalancing an already top-heavy account, our Banker got fidgetty, and finding he could make nothing of Mr. Acreage, he determined to open a correspondence with his Grace himself. So he took a large square sheet of paper, and beginning quite at the top of the page, as if he had a great deal to communicate, he commenced with the ominous words, “Mayfield Bank, established 1774,” and proceeded in a very few lines to draw his Grace’s attention to his account, and request that he would reduce the balance against him as soon as convenient. The Duke, however, having a good nose for a dun, took no notice of the letter, upon which our friend wrote him another, more pressing and mandatory in its terms, which sharing a similar fate, as soon as our Banker heard that the flag was flying on the castle keep, indicating that his Grace had arrived in the country, he ordered Tripper’s one-horse chaise, and dressing himself in his seediest apparel, and very impoverished it was, he proceeded to the siege of the Duke’s fortress, a castle that seemed to command the whole country. Nor did the Banker quail as mile after mile lessened the distance and revealed the size and strength of the place; its ivy-mantled towers rising majestically above ancient trees rich in the luxuriance of their autumnal tints. Nor did the park appal him, nor the frowning gates, the massive loop-holed walls, the inner walls, the moat, the bastion or the bridge, he seemed to pass through everything as a matter of course, and after a rumble under the frowning portcullis, the noiseless sweep of a wood-paved court-yard brought him up short at a little door on the left of the vestibule.

“Shall I ring, sir?” now asked Wagstaff the ostler, who had driven him, descending and touching his greasy hat with his baggy Berlin-gloved hand.

“Ring,” replied the Banker, dry-shaving his double-chin, adding, “and ask if the Duke is at home.”

Wagstaff then gave one of those extraordinary lurches peculiar to stable-men, and hitched himself up the steps to the door. Taking the little brass nob of the bell, he drew it with the greatest caution, and then stood listening for a response, like a terrier with its ear at a rat-hole. Slight as the summons was, it answered the purpose, and brought a powdered footman to the door, whose trim undress clothes contrasted with the miscellaneous half-plain half-livery costume of the comer.

“Duke at home?” muttered the driver, as if half afraid of asking the question. What if the Duke should insist upon seeing him!

“Who is it?” asked the footman.

“Sivin and four’s elivin, and eighteen’s twenty-nine—what business is that of his, I wonder?” muttered the Banker, sitting forward in the little chaise, and again lowering the white worsted comforter from his face, so that the servant might see.

“O, I beg pardon, sir,” continued the servant stepping down to the carriage-door; “beg pardon, sir—don’t know whether his Grace is at home or not; but if you’ll please to alight, sir, I’ll show you in to Mr. Cucumber, who will be able to tell you,” so saying, the man unfolded the jingling steps of the carriage, and proffered our Banker an arm to descend.

“Wait!” exclaimed Mr. Goldspink to the driver, as his foot touched terra firma; so saying he bundled in after the footman, leaving the driver to hitch to and fro, and flagellate himself into warmth with his arms, at the door.