CHAPTER XXXVII

MR. CUCUMBER

WE do not know under what denomination of servant Mr. Cucumber came, for he did not fill any of the offices in the curious mélange at the head of the tax-papers, that makes little people thankful they are not great ones. He was neither a maître d’Hôtel, nor a house-steward, nor a master of the horse, nor a groom of the chamber, nor a valet, nor a butler, nor an underbutler, nor a clerk of the kitchen, nor a confectioner, nor a cook, nor a house-porter, nor a footman, nor a running footman; neither did he fill any of the various out-of-door offices enumerated in the list, being in point of fact neither more nor less than a dun-stopper, and therefore we should think as exempt from duty as old Willy Walker the earth-stopper who shuts the foxes out of their homes for the Duke’s hounds. Be that, however, as it may, dun-stopping was Cucumber’s forte, and he was extremely expert at it. From his easy chair on the central tower, he could sweep all the converging roads to the castle, select such vehicles as should pass, and arrange such a string of excuses for those to be turned, as were never surpassed. He was always “so sorry” the Duke wasn’t in—would have been so happy to have seen Mr. Maskell, Mr. Lewis, or whoever it was. His Grace was just gone to Orbelle Petty Sessions, or had left not half an hour before for Tidswell Tower. Wondered Mr. So-and-So hadn’t met him. And there was such a frank open air about his hearty face that none but a trickster could doubt his sincerity. Even if the Duke was seen meandering about among the laurels and evergreens of the shrubbery, composing, as was his wont, an explosion for Parliament, Cucumber would declare it wasn’t him—“some person very like him though,” he would say. So he smoothed them, and liquored them, and sent them away, trusting to chance for a better excuse another time. Having the run of the Duke’s letters, he easily divined what had brought the old coronet-winkered and pelican-padded mare to the side-door, and collected his faculties as the Banker traversed the somewhat gloomy corridor leading to his presence.

A great man’s great man is generally a much greater man than the great man himself, and, both in size and importance, the duplicate far surpassed the original. Indeed the Duke, who was generally in difficulties, could be as free and easy as any one when it suited his purpose, while Cucumber having no cares or contentions, no bills to meet or balances to square, revelled from year’s end to year’s end in the tranquillity of stately enjoyment. He was always “Mr. Cucumber,” tall, portly, and pompous, to whom the little children touched their caps in trembling awe, and tradesmen toadied with obsequious servility. Our great man having had his peep, had resumed his wine and walnuts, when our Banker was announced, and laying down the “Post,” he arose from his easy chair, and drawing himself out to his utmost altitude, towered imposingly above the little man, just as one sees a great dog impressing its importance on a little one prior to the commencement of a conflict.

Mr. Cucumber “was extremely glad to see Mr. Goldspink” bowing and tendering him the two fore fingers of friendship, then motioning him to a seat as he resumed his own.

“Sivin and four’s elivin, and elivin’s twenty-two,” rayther a cool customer this, I think, poking his hat under his seat, “Must just pitch into him with the book.” So saying our banker dived into his greasy-mouthed outside coat-pocket, and fishing out first a dirty snuff-coloured bandana, next a rusty-looking old ready-reckoner, he finally drew forth that multum in parvo, the passbook containing the skimmings of so many transactions, annuities, jointures, dowers, mortgages, bonds, bills, &c. “Sivin and four’s elivin, and eighteen’s twenty-nine—just called to speak to his Grace ’bout his little ’count with us,” the spokesman tapping the ill-omened parchment-backed book with his podgy finger-nails as he spoke.

“Oh, indeed,” replied Mr. Cucumber coolly, “what the balance is getting too great for you to hold for us is it? Well, Christmas is coming on, and his Grace will soon draw a little out for you now that he’s here.”

Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-nine’s a underd and ten, never heard such an impittant dog in my life, mused the Banker, eyeing Cucumber severely.

“No,” retorted Mr. Goldspink, with irritated eyes, “not too heavy to hold, but too much over the left to allow of my keeping.”

“Ah, indeed,” rejoined Mr. Cucumber blandly, seeing he had gone too far, and recollecting that he had a post-dated cheque of his Grace’s that would be about coming due, which he would like to have cashed. “Ah, indeed, sorry to hear that; but his Grace you know is the most careless man in money matters that was ever known. However, it will not be an insurmountable sum I dessay, and our rent day’s coming on which will put all matters right, so take a glass of wine and come back—say the Monday after the rent day—and then see what we can do for you.”

Sivin and four’s elivin, and sivin eighteen, that won’t suit me, pondered our friend, looking at his shabby shoes, and sivin’s twenty-five—must have a word with the Duke himself to-day; so settling that matter in his own mind, he next looked the splendid man full in his great prosperous harvest-moon face, set off with a profusion of slightly-frosted curling brown hair and whiskers, and declared that the case was so urgent and necessitous, that nothing but a personal interview with his Grace would have the least effect, and he even went so far as to hint that the stability of the Bank—a Bank “stablished sivinteen underd and sivinty-four,” might be jeopardised; and altogether his manner was so urgent and impressive that, used as Cucumber was to the imperative mood, he could not sustain the picture which the banker’s fancy had drawn. He thought there must be something in it, and fearing for his own “fifty.” he determined to depart from his general rule, and endeavour to get the Duke to see his unwelcome guest.

“Take the paper,” said he, handing the banker the “Post,” “and I’ll try what I can do for you.” So saying, Cucumber gave his bushy whiskers a renovating brush at the glass, and disappeared through an invisible door in the wainscot.

“That’s an impittant chap I’ll be bund,” said the Banker as the door closed on his exit. He then began thinking what he should say to the Duke when he got to him.