Chapter IV

Little did Brag suspect that a pit so deep as that, which Lord Ilfracombe proposed, was digging for him during his forced absence from his noble friend Lord Tom; still less indeed, did he anticipate the arrival of that noble Earl, which, full as he naturally must be of the history of the dreadful luncheon, if he had imagined it possible, would have satisfied him that the last explosion was at hand. The truth is, that being ignorant of any such facts, and innocent of any such anticipation, Jack’s thoughts were fully occupied in reflections upon the still unexplained fate of his sister Kitty, the worldly advancement of George Brown, and the evidently advantageous marriage of Anne.

In the confusion of his ideas as to the causes of this advancement, and these advantages, and a sort of a compunctious visiting in the shape of a recollection of the manner in which he had treated and talked of the woman whom he once fancied he loved, who certainly had loved him, and whom he now as certainly had lost, Jack passed no pleasant time. The weather was stormy, and although it might have

----suited the present temper of his mind,

it was by no means so agreeable in its congeniality as “the rocking of the battlements” was to the sable hero of Dr. Young.

Time, however, as we all know, will go--although as Shakspeare says, he hath many different paces,--still he keeps going, and after Jack had finished his two glasses of grog, and folded and sealed his letter to his mother, (which he proposed slipping into the post himself the next morning in order that nobody in the inn might see the direction), he rang the bell in order that he might--

To keep his spirits up
By pouring spirits down--

desire the waiter to bring him some more hot brandy and water.

No waiter came to answer the summons; the lout who had previously attended him having gone to the stable; but, instead of that attendant there appeared before him a sylph-like creature, who seemed to have descended from some other sphere to do his bidding--the very Hebe of waiting-maids--a girl as fair, and as modest in her deportment as if she had just stepped from the threshold of a nunnery. “Acasto’s dear remains” could not have been more interesting--her face lovely, her flaxen locks inartificially falling about her ears--her innocent blue eyes cast down upon the floor, and her cheeks suffused with blushes such as tint the opening rose of future whiteness.

Jack was at once confounded, delighted, frightened and amazed: his first impression was, that it was a mistake--that the plainly yet gracefully dressed creature he saw before him was, like himself, a visiter at the inn, and that she had either in mistake, or because she had seen him in the course of the day, entered his room. Don Quixote himself was not more prone to the exaltation of his “loves” than Jack: he gazed, he doubted--rubbed up his hair--pulled up his collar, and was going to try to say something, when Fanny Martin, (such was her name,) saved him the trouble by asking him if _he_ rang?

“I ring!” said Jack, “yes,--yes. I rang--that is--eh!--I beg your pardon--do you?--eh!”--

“What did you please to want, sir?” said Fanny.

“I rang for the waiter,” said Jack.

“Tom only stops in the house till eight, sir,” said Fanny; “I can get you what you want.”

“Umph,” said Jack, “that’s--eh!--well--I’m sorry to give you the trouble,--a glass of hot brandy and water--if you please.”

Fanny curtesied, retired, and shut the door.

Jack’s head was gone--turned, twisted,--what could it mean?--never was such a pretty creature,--what was she--bar-maid, house-maid, chamber-maid--what? It was a bright vision,--it was something to love;--for, upon Moore’s principle, (and Jack had done more in the way of advances, however ill the combats eventually turned out, by the aid of a smattering familiarity with the mischievous beauties of that bewitching poet than anything else)

“’Twere a shame when flowers around us rise
To make light of the rest, if the rose be not there;
And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes
’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair.

“Love’s wing and the Peacock’s are nearly alike,
They are both of them bright, but they’re changeable too;
And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike,
It will tincture love’s plume with a different hue.

“Then, oh! what pleasure, wherever we rove,
To be doom’d to find something that still is dear;
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
We have but to make love to the lips that are near.”

This is a faith almost as convenient and elastic as that of Popery, although vulgarised down by Jack to the practical siege of a chambermaid at Deal, some degrees superior, however, to the red-elbowed Rachel of the Duke’s Head, who, as we have already seen, did most unequivocally reject his “delicate attentions.”

And there was besides a history, of which Fanny Martin was the heroine,--a history that everybody in Deal knew, and which made everybody who knew her modest demeanour and excellent character very solicitous for her welfare. But she shall speak for herself--poor girl! she is but humble. Let us hope--we say no more--that the gaiety and sprightliness of our hero may have no ill effect upon her peace of mind, or the excellence of her character.

Jack, when she left the room, was, as we have seen, what he called “toppled over.”--“Why, bless my soul!” he mentally ejaculated,--that is, said to himself,--“Nancy Brown never was like _that_--Blanche--psha!”--(be it remembered that the ale and grog in which he had solitarily indulged, mixed with his grief and anxieties, had dreadfully fermented.) “Miss Englefield--what’s a Miss!--what indeed--she’s amiss--Mrs. Dallington--two fools--eh!--made me a laughing-stock. What’s the sincerity of that--young Gunnersbury--beast!--hate him--deuce take that old lord with the snuff-box yesterday--The brig--psha! Lovely creature this--must have a talk with _her_--eyes--hair--eh! I hope Brown is gone--ah--foolish--how could he have got that money? Poor Anne--eh--did like her once--Walworth--mud--fog--squash--nonsense, couldn’t--Old mother mad--deuce take Waterloo Bridge--hate Lord Tom--wish he’d pay me my money--don’t like going to Paris--meet Nancy. Hope the farmer has given up his action about the trespass at the steeple chase--eh,--never left direction for the attorney. Hang that old Ilfracombe--Tom’s uncle--made a fool of myself there--beast Figgs and the horses. Want money to carry on the war. What happened to Kitty--all wrong, I suppose. What a noise the wind makes!--bore being at sea. She’s a long time coming--think she was hit--saw her look--innocent--eh! Well--ah--that’s all right and no mistake. Three Mackerels--comb and night-cap;--deuce of a bore--dirty monster--eh!--wonder who the people were standing all about--Tom never said a word. Mrs. Carnaby--eh!--don’t know--pretty woman--poor Carnaby! Well--I wonder if they go to Paris! Old fool, Lady Gunnersbury! Wonder if Lydiard will be married soon. Wretched wet night--good-natured slavey to offer the cab. Oh!--they may all go to Nycko. Where is this fair--eh!--creature. Oh--”

This half-whispered, half-thought soliloquy was scarcely ended, when Fanny re-appeared with the glass of hot brandy and water: this she deposited upon the table, and was about to retire.

“I say,” said Jack, “stop a minute,--just shut the door.”

“I can’t stop, sir,” said Fanny.

“I only want just to say three words to you,” said Jack.

“Well, sir,” said Fanny, “I can hear them as well with the door open, as shut.”

“Yes, so can anybody else,” said Jack.

“I’m sure, sir,” said the girl, looking all modesty, “you would not want to say anything to _me_ that everybody in the house mightn’t hear.”

“No,” said Jack, “only the draft of air from the door, you know, is likely to give one cold. I really want just to ask you--a question or two.”

“Oh, sir,” said Fanny, “I’ll shut to the door, if you wish it, only I can’t stop a minute.”

“Tell me,” said Jack, essaying to take her hand, which she gently withdrew, “what the deuce does it mean?”

“What, sir?” said Fanny.

“Why, don’t you twig?” said Jack. “What the deuce brings such a sweet, lovely creature as you, into such a place as this?”

“My good fortune, sir,” said Fanny.

“Your good fortune,” said Jack, “I should think that you might better your fortune if you chose.”

“No, sir,” said Fanny; “my father was a native of this place, and so was my mother: he was lost at sea, and my mother is dead. I was an orphan, one of four, and my mistress has been a mother to me ever since: I am quite happy where I am, and very grateful for her kindness.”

“You are a regular angel,” said Jack. “I meant to have gone away to-morrow; but now I have seen you I’m not sure I shall ever go away--at least without you.”

“The longer you stay the better, sir,” said Fanny with a smile, which had scarcely left her pretty countenance, before she quitted the room and shut the door.

That smile convinced him that his never-failing qualities of person and conversation had triumphed, and that the fair orphan was all at once, heart and soul devoted to him; and it was at this moment he began to repent his positive engagement to Lord Tom for the next day, to which, as his ruminations have already informed us, he began to grow somewhat disinclined upon other considerations.

A nervous anxiety to see and have the opportunity of again speaking to the really beautiful girl, induced Jack to ring his bell very soon after he had finished his brandy and water, and desire to be shown to his bed-room;--it was then about half past ten o’clock. The sylph came--gave him his candle--attended him to his chamber, and there underwent a certain degree of vulgar persecution in the way of very marked attentions, from which she contrived to escape, not--as a faithful historian, I am bound to say--without the undesired gain of one single kiss from Jack, which was so hastily given and so seriously repulsed, that it remains doubtful whether it fell upon the cheek which the attempt had brightened into a beautiful blush, or upon a depending curl which hung clustering inartificially over it. Probably Crispissa

----tended her favourite lock,

and the presence of Ariel was scarcely needed, since Fanny felt no “shock.”

Jack, however, did not see the door close or hear the retreating footsteps of the delicate hand-maiden, without, as usual, satisfying himself that he had settled _that_ point, and that if it were not for the provoking necessity of going to Dover in the morning, he should, in a very short time, be the favoured of all the admirers which so sweet a “creechur” must necessarily possess.

Full of these new thoughts, which, as his small mind had not room for many, naturally expelled all the other previous occupants, Jack “turned in,” as the sailors say, and tossed and tumbled about, not much soothed or composed by the various noises incidental to a minor inn at Deal during a blowing night. The impending morrow now was viewed by him with double dismay, since he had discovered a new attractive power where he was; and as for the meekness or modesty of anybody in _that_ station, _that_ was all a regular mistake.

Jack had been deposited horizontally for about an hour, with something like an expectation of an accidental “look in” of Fanny to see after his candle, or upon some other little errand to which she might have been excited by his never-failing attractions, when, just as he was dropping off into a slumber, the result of exhaustion of thought, Jack, to his infinite delight, but not surprise, heard a gentle delicate noise at his chamber door, not very much unlike

“The woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree.”

The sound roused him in a moment: he sat up in bed--saw the glimmering of a light through the key-hole, and in one of those half impeded whispers, in which gentlemen under such circumstances sometimes express themselves, said “Who’s there?”

“Me, sir,” was the response uttered in the sweet voice of the gentle Fanny.

“Come in,” said Jack, still more effectually subduing his voice, “come in.”

The pretty rustic obeyed the call, and stood before him with a light in her hand, more lovely to _his_ eyes than ever.

“You are a dear soul,” said Jack, ten thousand ideas rushing at once into his imagination, which as I have just said was not calculated to hold more than one at a time,--“you are come, are you--what is it?--eh!--”

“Why, sir,” said Fanny blushing, and looking modestly down at the candle she carried, “I’m sure I beg pardon, sir,--but--could you spare half your bed to-night?”

“Spare!” said Jack, sitting bolt upright, conscious that he had not overrated the power of his fascination,--“do you doubt it?--spare!--to be sure--to be sure--all right and no mistake.”

“That’s all right indeed, sir,” said Fanny, “because, sir, here is Mr. Van Slush Harridick, a North-Sea trader, just arrived, wet to the skin, who hasn’t been in bed for three weeks, sir, and we should have had no other place whatever to put him in to-night, if you had not been so good as to say ‘yes.’”

“Mr. Van what?” said Jack, in an agony.

“Van Slush Harridick,” was replied in the hoarse gruff voice of a man six feet four in height, and four feet six in circumference, dressed in a well-saturated pea jacket and dreadnought trowsers, who followed the girl into the room the moment the permission was granted;--“And I dank you var moch, zir, vor de commodation: I zleeps zound, and znores not.”

“What does all this mean?” said Jack,--“I don’t understand.”

“Bot I too,” said Van Slush Harridick;--“Vanny ask for half de ped,--you zay yez--wot vor now you zay no. I aff not zlept dry vor dese dree veeks von vay and doder, and I zshall drop to my znoozle like a dop.”

“Like a what, sir?” said Jack.

“A dop,” said the giant.--“Zo, Vanny, get up my bipe, and my pag, and my pacco, and my prandy and vaterz, for bleaze de bigs I mill haf a buff and a zwig pefore I durns in.”

“Do _you_ mean to say, sir,” said Jack, “that you propose to share my bed?”

“Doo be zure I too,” said Harridick, “Vanny asked you; if no?--if yez?--you zaid yez--zo here gose.”

Saying which Harridick began to disencumber himself of some part of his drapery, Fanny having previously obeyed his orders about his pipe, and his bag, and his brandy and water. Brag sat up and reconnoitred the giant, who was shaking his jacket and preparing to make “snug for the night.” Having scanned the size and power of his companion, his next step was out of his comfortable nest.

“Dat’s right,” said Harridick; “go if you like, and leaf it all do me,--I’m not do be drifled mid.”

Finding remonstrance hopeless and resistance impossible, Jack huddled on his clothes in the corner, and when Fanny returned with the North-Sea trader’s little comforts, he was prepared to announce to her his determination of giving up the whole of the accommodation to the newly arrived guest, and passing the night upon the short horse-hair sofa which stood in his sitting-room--an announcement which, in order to convince both the maid and the trader that he was not terrified into a removal, he made to the former in the civilest possible manner.

“I’m zorry do durn you out, my vrend,” said Harridick; “you are bot a liddle vellow, and dere voud haf been blenty of room for poth of os.”

“You are extremely welcome,” said Jack; “in course if you have not been in bed for three weeks, it must be of much greater consequence to _you_ than _me_;--so--Fanny dear, give me a light, and I’ll make myself as snug as I can down stairs.”

“Coot night, coot night, my liddle vrend,” said Harridick; “I’ll too as moch vor you menever you are apoard mein prig in de Nord Zea.”

“I wish with all my heart and soul you were there now,” said Jack to himself. “Good night, sir,--come, light me down, Fanny.”

Accordingly Fanny did as she was bid, and Jack found himself again deposited in his sitting-room. Here he enquired whether he could have a cloak or two, a blanket, or a covering of some kind, to protect him from the chilliness of the night; and his request was answered by the landlady in person, who in bringing up several articles of warm clothing, expressed her regret that he should have been so inconvenienced.

“Why,” said Jack, “I must say, to _me_, used as in course I am to every sort of luxury and comfort, it _is_ rather hard; but the gentleman--is tired--and so--”

“Yes, sir,” said the landlady, “but he should not have interfered with you, only you gave him leave, as my maid tells me, to share your accommodation: indeed, it was Fanny who first thought of asking you; for says she to me, ‘Mam,’ says she, ‘the London gentleman is so very little, there’ll be plenty of room for Mr. Harridick;’ and all our other beds, you see, sir, is quite full.”

“I am much obliged to Fanny for the notion,” said Jack; “I certainly did not think--I--however--”

“Oh, sir,” said the landlady, “if it hadn’t been with your own consent, nobody should have put you out of your room. I’m sure I hope you won’t catch cold, or feel any other illconvenience by sleeping here--and I’m humbly obliged to you for your consideration--will you take anything, sir, before you settle yourself?”

“Don’t care if I do,” said Jack, “a glass of brandy and water, same as the last,--hot, strong, and sweet, eh!--I’m deuced shivery.”

“I’ll send it you directly, sir,” said the landlady, quite delighted at having so far soothed her guest--“Good night, sir.”

“Good night,” said Jack. Casting his eyes round the room, which looked as cheerless as might be; and having reflected for three or four minutes upon the consequences likely to result from his own estimate of his lady-killing qualities, a gentle tap at the door announced that

----“the drink was ready.”

“Come in,” said Jack--and again appeared before him the gentle Fanny with a smoking tumbler of the desired beverage, which she deposited on the table.

“So, Miss Fanny,” said Jack, “it was you who foisted that sea-monster upon me, was it?”

“Sea-monster! sir,” said Fanny.

“Yes, Mr. Harridick, as you call him,” said Jack.

“He is no monster, sir,” said Fanny, “but a very kind-hearted gentleman, and one of my mistress’s best customers.”

“I didn’t think you would play me such a trick as that,” said Jack, looking tenderly and plaintively at the girl:--“the only thing you can do by way of compensation is, to come and sit with me for an hour or two, and tell me all your own history--eh!--and then I’ll make it up with you, smack smooth, and no mistake.”

“Sit up! sir,” said Fanny--“Lord bless you! sir--why, it’s just twelve o’clock: we are all in bed here by twelve. I sleep with my mistress, and she’s waiting for me now.”

“I say, Fanny,” said Brag, somewhat emphatically--

“Come, Fanny--Fanny,” said a voice outside the half-open door, and which Jack recognised as that of the landlady.

“Coming, ma’am,” replied the girl--“coming this minute. Good night, sir!”

“Good night!” said Jack, in a subdued tone.

The girl retired, the door closed, and the last sound Jack heard was a duet of suppressed laughter performed in the passage by the maid and the mistress, in which the voice of the former considerably predominated.

There are sounds to which men sometimes love to shut their ears; Jack, however, could not muster up a sufficient stock of dysecœa to answer his purpose. What could they be laughing at?--at the sea-monster perhaps, thought Jack; there was nothing else ridiculous, that he could discover; and so in no very good humour the little man rolled himself up for the night in a boat-cloak which evidently had not long been home from a voyage.

In the morning everything was naturally as uncomfortable as anything well could be, and Jack, looking about wistfully for his _valise_, began sorely to repent that he had not taken up his abode at “The Three Kings,” or some of the more substantial inns of the place, where he would certainly not have been subjected to such an intrusion and expulsion as those which he had so incautiously brought upon himself. Having got up, just as he lay down, he rang the bell, and enquired whether he should be able to use his last night’s room for dressing; to which Fanny, the cruel fair, replied in the affirmative--that Mr. Harridick was up, and coming down almost directly, and she would just “put the things a little to rights,” and let Jack know when it was ready.

There was nothing in all this, to soothe or console our hero, who could not divest himself of that nervous, aching, sinking feeling, which seems almost miraculously to announce the falling of some heavy blow. He could not account for the sensation, except indeed that with the day had come upon him the reflection, that, besides making himself extremely uncomfortable during the night, he had made himself rather ridiculous into the bargain. However, a few hours would extricate him from his worries; he would be cracking his jokes under the patronage of Lord Tom; and as for the North-Sea trader, as he had, under an erroneous impression, given him permission to accommodate himself, it was much better to concede the point upon an assumed principle of good-nature and consideration, than get into any personal altercation with a man whose place in society could not easily be defined.

While he was congratulating himself upon the success of his diplomacy, a knock at the door, louder than that in which the gentle Fanny announced her presence, startled him; and the permission “Come in” being uttered, the door opened, and Mr. Slush Van Harridick presented himself to Jack’s astonished eyes.

“Cood mornin do you,” said Harridick; “I ope you zlept mell.”

“Good morning, sir,” said Jack:--“slept like a top, as you say--warm, snug, and comfortable; couldn’t be better; all smack smooth, and no mistake.”

“I only looked in,” said the trader, “joost do dell you dat de zea-monster has done tressing, and your room is at your zervice--eh--dat is all. And now, liddle man, de zea-monster is going to git his prakfast.”

Saying which, Harridick shut the door, and calmly walked away, singing a line of a popular Dutch song, which sounded most discordant to Jack’s ears, who was now perfectly satisfied that every word which he had, as he thought privately and confidentially whispered to Fanny, had been by _her_ communicated to his ursine rival; and that in escaping the vengeance of Scylla Brown at Dover, he had run into still greater peril by having offended Charybdis Harridick at Deal, and so got himself, according to his own phraseology, “out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

Shaftesbury says:--“The passion of fear (as a modern philosopher informs me) determines the spirits of the muscles of the knees, which are instantly ready to perform their motion by taking up the legs with incomparable celerity, in order to remove the body out of harm’s way.” Now although it would be unfair and unjust to attribute to any apprehension of consequences, on the part of Mr. Brag, the resolution at which he suddenly arrived, of not stopping any longer where he was, and the immoveable determination he made to depart forthwith; certain it is that he did so resolve and determine, upon the ground that he had been ill-used, imposed upon, turned out of his bed, and generally outraged by the mistress of the house and her handmaiden.

Accordingly Brag, when he had finished his toilette, or, as he generally pronounced it, “twilight,” rang the bell and ordered his bill, giving at the same time a negative to the question if he would have breakfast served. The tone in which this negative was given, and the dignified air which accompanied it, satisfied poor Fanny that her day of influence was over; and when the account was produced and paid, with the smallest possible gratuity for herself, Brag, boiling with rage and indignation, qualified in a certain degree by his anxiety to escape any farther parley with Harridick, quitted the house, bearing in his hand the valise in which his cap, comb, and the rest of his portable comforts for one day’s use had been stowed.

Thus loaded, he emerged from the lane in which, for the benefit of the sea-view (his room facing the street) he had immured himself, and walked on to “The Three Kings,” where enquiring the hour at which the first coach to Dover would start, he ordered breakfast, having first asked whether the waiter had seen Mr. Brag’s servant anywhere about.

Of course the man said no--inasmuch as servant there was none.

“Then,” said Brag, “I have no doubt he drove on last night: never mind, the coach will do.”

Jack, whatever might have been the real source of his anxiety to quit his late residence, felt comparatively happy in his new _locale_. The house was a good one; there was an air of cleanliness and cheerfulness about it; the weather was fine, the sun shone brightly, and his happiness was complete, when, as the waiter was putting down the breakfast, he replied to the question, “What steamer is that smoking in the distance?”--“The Dover boat, sir, for Calais.”

“To-day’s paper, sir,” said the waiter, presenting a copy of “The Dover Telegraph.”

“Thank you!” said Jack, with a princely affability of manner, and forthwith he began his morning meal, alternately cutting, spreading, sweetening, pouring out, and reading, with a mind perfectly at ease. A new cloud, however, rose on the horizon, which threatened the neutralization of the delight which he had just received from the distant smoke of “The Ferret,” in the shape of the following account of the grounding of the brig at the back of the pier, which stared him in the face in large letters under the head of “Local News.”

“The night before last, the brig Rose, from Falmouth to this port, missed the entrance of the harbour, owing to the strength of the gale, and got on shore at the back of the pier. Great apprehensions were entertained for her safety: three of the crew swam on shore, but were severely injured on the shingles by the sea, which ran so high that no assistance could be offered her. About half-past nine a communication was made with the brig by means of a hawser. Lieutenant Brunt, of the royal navy, who happened to be on the spot, seized the first moment to dash through the surf, and at the imminent hazard of his life succeeded in bringing ashore two female passengers, a lady and her daughter, who, by the occasional gleams of moonlight were discernible lashed to one of the masts of the vessel, making signs of distress and supplication. This is the second instance in which Lieutenant Brunt has signalised himself in a similar manner. Three men have been unfortunately lost, but as the weather has moderated, it is thought the brig may be ultimately got off.”

“There’s a go,” said Jack to himself,--“I wish we had been off to France yesterday--now that’s clear contradiction to my story--I saw him do it--didn’t look like a lieutenant--pooh!--deuce take it--that’s bad again--no sooner out of one scrape than into another.” In fact, Jack, like all pretenders, was perpetually dancing the tight rope in constant fear of a tumble. In the present case his fate was certain, for there were but two female passengers on board the brig, and but one man on shore to save both.

Perhaps Lord Tom might not see the paper, or, if he did, might not read the account of the brig; at all events, it was no use discounting misadventures: when they came due, if they were presented, or presented themselves, it was time enough to meet them:--and so Jack read the sporting news, and the London news, and finished his breakfast. Having discovered that the coach would be up in a few minutes, his old failing overcame him.

“Waiter,” said Jack.

“Yes, sir.”

“Does the coach, in going through Walmer, go near the Castle?” said Jack.

“Passes the end of the road leading down to it, sir,” said the man.

“Oh!” said Jack, affecting to consider, “I must go to Dover first, but I think my man may have taken the phaeton direct to Walmer.”

“Oh, sir,” said the waiter, at once impressed, as Jack meant he should be, with the idea that he was going on a visit to the Castle, “I dare say the coachman would stop while somebody ran down and enquired.”

“No, no,” said Jack, “it does not signify, if he is not there, he has probably gone through to Dover himself,--it will be all right in the end, and no mistake.”

In a few moments the coach drove up; the instant it stopped, the waiter, anxious to be most active in the service of the guest, whose destination he flattered himself he had discovered, ran into the room to inform him that one of the duke’s servants, who had come from the Castle early in the morning, was going back, and would, perhaps, be able to give some information on the subject.

This was a staggerer.

“No, no,” said Jack, “_he_ could not know, because I did not expect my man so soon--no,--no--never mind.”

Jack’s distress when he beheld, during the packing of some parcels into the boot of the coach, the said waiter in close conversation with the aforesaid servant, may well be imagined; and the fact that the aforesaid servant occupied an outside place, rendered it absolutely necessary, in order to avoid any farther explanation, that Jack himself should proceed, inside. He accordingly enquired if there were room, and was answered in the affirmative. In he jumped, valise and all, having the whole interior of the coach, entirely to himself. In a few minutes he was again in motion, the coachman having received directions to take up one, at “The Standard.”

Jack did not feel himself at all at his ease about his last effort at dignity:--his name he had given--the total absence of servant or equipage might lead to further enquiries and discoveries, and he get more deeply involved in intricacies and embarrassments. However,

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast,”

and Jack still fancied something more agreeable might turn up in his little journey. The passenger to be taken up at the Standard might be one of the female sex, who by her kindness and sociability might make amends for the treachery of Fanny and the incivility of her mistress. There was even yet a chance of an adventure--of some event which, if it came off, triumphantly, might weigh in the opposite scale against his defeats and discomfitures.

As the coach rattled along, towards Walmer, Jack took all his customary precautions of running his fingers through his curls, pulling up his shirt collars, and setting himself generally in order, so that, when the vehicle stopped at the corner where the roads divide, he was all prepared for conquest. Open went the door, down went the steps, and Jack, longing as lie was to behold his coming victim, considered it more becoming his dignity to affect a perfect indifference, and therefore kept his eyes filled with an expression of military interest towards the gates of the Barrack-yard, until he felt the inclination of the carriage to the weight of the entering passenger, when, turning carelessly “as it were” round to meet, as he hoped, the responsive glance of some Walmer beauty, he beheld squeezing himself into the narrow-door of the coach, enveloped in an immensely thick great coat, his dread and abomination, Mr. Sluys Van Harridick.

Jack then thought that his measure of calamities was full even to overflowing.

“Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take any shape but that”----

said Macbeth, and thought John Brag, Esq.--What! had he waylaid him to revenge himself for the insults offered him? or was he doomed to his society to Dover by mere accident?--what was it?--

“Ah!” cried Harridick, the moment he had succeeded in establishing himself in possession of nearly three-fourths of the coach; “Vot! here agin,--vy I dought you vas gone--I no zee you to prakfast--here is your zea monster come do dravel mid you to Tover.”

“I’m delighted,” said Jack, looking parsnips.

“I spect do vind my prig at Tover,” said Harridick, who seemed by his manner either not to comprehend the compliment of being called a sea monster, in the full acceptation of the words, or to treat the intended affront of his companion with sovereign contempt,--“I lantet at Teal pecause I like Teal,--I haf known de lantlaty vor dventy years, ant her hosbond beforr her--zo I alvays gets ashore dere--to get my znooze, and leaf my mate do get de prig into de harbor.”

“Oh!” said Jack, “then you stay at Dover while the brig is there.”

“Do be zure I too,” said Harridick, “and alldow I am zea monster, I zshall be doo happy do zee you on poard and plow you out mid znaps.”

“You are very kind, sir,” said Jack, still doubting whether he was in earnest in his civility, or indeed, whether being “blown out with snaps” meant anything hospitable and civil, or exactly the reverse.

“As ve are alone,” said Harridick, “I zuppoze you mill haf no hopjecksion do my avving a whiff. I haf no bipe, hot I aff ghiroots mid amadow do light him mid--mill you aff von, mid me?”

“No,” said Jack; “none, I thank you:--but, pray do you smoke if you like.”

“I mean do too zo,” said Sluys, opening a box of particularly fine cigars, striking a light, and methodically beginning his exercise, to the utter confusion of Jack, who knew that by the time he should arrive at “The Ship,” he should be awfully redolent of the fumes of tobacco, before noon.

At this moment the coach stopped to set down the Duke’s servant, who, having been informed by the waiter that the little gentleman with the visionary servant and imaginary phaeton seemed to be going to the Castle, came to the window, touched his hat, and asked whether he should say anything to his man if the carriage had arrived there.

“No,” said Jack, “thank you--no--I shall be back by dinner-time--if I can get back in time--I--”

“His Grace isn’t here, sir,” said the servant; “only if--”

“No, no,” said Jack, “I know--no, no--it’s of no consequence; I dare say my man is gone on to Dover--thank you--much obliged to you.”

The servant again touched his hat, and retired. “All’s right” was the word, and away went the happy couple of “insides.”

It was, it must be confessed, a great comfort, or, as Jack would have called it, “an ’appy release,” that Harridick, who had not during the night sufficiently

“Unfatigued himself with gentle slumbers,”

still felt drowsy; so that, ere the tip of his first cigar had faded into ashy paleness, he had himself subsided into a nap, which greatly relieved his companion from his apprehensions with regard to consequences; and left him luckily in ignorance of the name of his “prig,” to which otherwise he might have felt himself bound to pay a visit. The nap continued until they reached the turning near Dover Castle, when Brag stopped the coach, and indicated his desire to walk down into the town by the short cut, ordering the coachman to send his valise into “The Ship” as soon as he arrived. By this manœuvre Jack contrived to escape from the caravan without waking the bear, and without farther cementing an acquaintance with one from whom, the moment his dread and apprehension of him were overcome, he entertained the most unqualified aversion.

Away bounded Jack, along the side of the hill, until, carefully avoiding “The Three Mackerels,” he cut through the intervening streets, and _viâ_ Snargate reached his inn, where his first enquiries were naturally directed as to the position of Lord Tom: Lord Tom was on the pier. Of course, or, as Jack had it, “in course,” thither Jack repaired; and, sure enough, there he found his lordship, amidst a crowd of persons of all sorts and conditions, who were anxiously watching the process of warping off the unfortunate brig, of which we have already heard so much.

Jack was rather sorry that the brig--or, as Sluys Von Harridick would have called it, “the prig”--was the leading object of the day, inasmuch as it might lead to a discussion with the young lord as to the paragraph, which had caught his eye, at Deal. However, Jack proceeded to join his lordship, who was leaning over the parapet between two ladies utterly unknown to our hero.

“Ah, Jack!” said Lord Tom, in a tone not quite like that which Jack had been used to--“so, you are come back. ‘The Ferret’ is gone--eh!”

“I know, my lord,” said Jack.

“You are just in time,” said his lordship:--“this must be a most interesting sight for _you_. Why, it could have been no easy work to get aboard that unfortunate craft by a hawser in the gale of the night before last.”

“No,” said Jack, “I never said it was. The rope was as slippery as an eel; and I’m sure, now I look at it, I wonder how the deuce it was done, only when a man makes up his mind, he don’t stick at trifles.” The reader will please to observe that Jack’s tone was somewhat altered--he now put the case hypothetically.

“I suppose,” said Lord Tom, “you mean to enquire after the ladies whom you rescued; rely upon it, they will not be ungrateful.”

“Not I,” said Jack, “I leave all that to fate. I’m satisfied with having done my little all; I never make mountains of molehills.”

“Then,” said Lord Tom, “I positively declare you do yourself the greatest possible injustice, and I will not be so careless a friend as to suffer you to ‘hide your candle under a bushel.’”

“My what!” said Jack in an agony. The shop--the moulds, the sixes and tens, all blazing at once in his mind’s eye.

“By your candle,” said Lord Tom, “I mean your talent and intrepidity. Permit me to present you to the two ladies whom, at the hazard of your life, you preserved--Mrs. and Miss Mervyn--who, I am sure, will be too happy to award you all the gratitude which you deserve.”

The ladies turned round, as if preconcertedly, and--more shame be to them!--burst into an immoderate fit of laughter.

“I don’t understand this,” said Jack, who, on the contrary, understood it perfectly.

“Nor I, sir,” said the elder lady of the two. “That we were miraculously saved--at least from what, at the moment, we thought inevitable destruction, is most true; but it is to this gentleman we owe our preservation,”--(drawing forward a short, stubby, thick-whiskered man, whom Jack in a moment recognised as having seen on the beach,)--“Mr. Brunt.”

“Ha, ha!” said Jack: “that’s the way, ma’am, some men get credit for what other men have done.”

“I recollect you, sir,” said Lieutenant Brunt. “I saw you--stood next you on the beach--and, I dare say, you recollect me. I remember your kindness in offering to hold my cloak when I started upon my hurried voyage, or whatever it might be called.”

“By Jove!” said Lord Tom, calling the attention of his party to a great effort made by the men who had the hawser round the capstan to get the brig off--“she will be saved yet!”

The relief that this change of conversation afforded Jack, was more than compensated by the evident change which he so clearly observed in his friend Lord Tom’s manner; and affecting to be extremely anxious to get a “good look” at the operation in progress, he fidgeted himself away as far as possible from Mrs. and Miss Mervyn and the odious lieutenant, whose exertions it was perfectly true he had witnessed, and, like a simpleton, had appropriated to himself.

What was he to do:--remain, and battle it out; or go to “The Ship,” and wait the result? He felt that he had certainly carried the joke a little too far, but how to retrace his steps he did not exactly see. How on earth could Lord Tom have got acquainted with the two women who were saved, and who, instead of being two beautiful girls ready to eat him up for his gallant exertions in their rescue from a watery grave, were mother and daughter, neither beautiful, nor ever having been so! but then, “Master Shallow owed him a thousand pounds;” that was his stay--his prop--his support--his safeguard and security.

Fortified by this consideration, he remained on the pier, and eventually rejoined the party. The attempt to get the brig off succeeded; she floated, and was soon afterwards towed into the harbour. The ladies and their preserver took their leave of Lord Tom, but without bestowing the slightest notice upon Jack, who cowered beneath the glance of his lordship, who, to his mingled surprise, gratification, and regret, never uttered another syllable upon the subject. Lord Tom walked towards “The Ship;” so did Jack--on a parallel line; but Lord Tom took no more notice of him than if he had been a stock or a stone. They reached the inn door; Lord Tom entered the house; Jack, as usual, followed him,--but Lord Tom made no sign; and the first mark of recognition which he received was, to his utter horror and amazement, from Lord Ilfracombe, who meeting him in the hall declared himself quite delighted at renewing the acquaintance so propitiously begun at “The Duke of Marlborough” near Wigglesford a few weeks before.

Brag was now completely taken aback. The chilling coldness of Lord Tom’s reception in the first instance struck him hard; the contemptuous manner in which the rescued ladies treated him, hit him harder in the second; but he was so extremely vain and silly, that even after all these indications, he was not able to make up his mind whether Lord Ilfracombe were in earnest or jest when he so warmly expressed his gratification at again meeting him.

Still more was he puzzled when his lordship invited him to luncheon,--a part of the plan which he had preconcerted, and which, as his lordship did not then know of the last exposure of Jack’s humbug with regard to saving the lives of the ladies in the brig, he still resolved upon carrying into effect. That affair, however, in conjunction with a letter Lord Tom had received from London, touching the double offer and rejection of Mrs. Dallington and Blanche Englefield, had determined his lordship to eject him in a much less ceremonious manner; but as Lord Ilfracombe knew nothing of this, he insisted upon Jack’s coming up-stairs, under the arrangement into which he had previously entered with his nephew.

Jack, who took the whole thing _de bonne foi_, screwed up his curls and settled his collars as usual, and accompanied the earl to one of the drawing-rooms where luncheon had been put down; (after which the party, excepting Lord Tom, were to start for Canterbury, see its antiquities, and sleep, on their way to London;) and was, by his lordship, ushered into the apartment, in which he found, assembled together, Lady Ilfracombe, Lord and Lady Dawlish, and Lady Fanny Smartly.

Lady Fanny, Jack knew by sight, her ladyship being a pre-eminent equestrian of the equestrian order; but the other ladies he did not recognise, although he concluded that the elder lady was my lord’s wife. The other couple, although they were of the party which picked up the earl at “The Duke of Marlborough,” he did not at the moment recollect.

“Lady Ilfracombe,” said the earl, “let me present Mr. Brag to you--a great friend of Tom’s, who will be here presently--and with whom I passed a remarkably pleasant hour or two on that wet day when you discovered me in my shelter from the rain.”

“Ah!” thought Jack, “then he remembers it all: what will happen next!--perhaps he has forgotten some of it--perhaps, if he has not forgotten, he forgives. What I’m to do, I don’t know--I’m in for it; and so here goes, and no mistake.”

“That _was_ a dreadful wet day, my lord,” said Jack; “I had no idea at the time whom I had the honour of speaking to, but when one is at an inn whatever comes uppermost comes out--and--I--dare say I talked a little too fast.”

“Not a bit,” said the earl. “My great object, besides the pleasure of having your society at luncheon and gratifying Tom, is to undeceive you as to our real characters. We are not the ‘kill-joys and wet-blankets’ you take us for.”--“Come, Lady Ilfracombe, let us sit down; Tom will be here immediately,--we have no time to lose.”

The bell was rung, the servants appeared, the little party were soon seated; but before fork had assailed a chicken’s breast, or knife been flourished over it, Lord Tom himself entered the room evidently excited.

“My lord,” said Lord Tom, addressing himself to the earl, “I feel it my duty to undeceive you, as I am myself undeceived, in the character of a person in this room, who is only protected by being in it, in the character of my uncle’s guest. He has now the assurance to sit down in the presence of Lady Fanny Smartly, with whom he claimed to you a personal intimacy; he has the impudence to sit next Lady Dawlish, my cousin, whose person he ridiculed without being acquainted with it; he libelled you, sir, without ever having seen you; and, in short has exhibited himself in the most contemptible possible character. This, at your lordship’s desire, I would have overlooked, in order to carry on the jest a little further, and have had the satisfaction of marching him out with all the honours of ridicule; but circumstances have come to my knowledge this day which render it my duty to insist upon his instantly quitting this room. How he has the audacity to sit down in the society of ladies whom he has vilified, and of men whom he has aspersed, it is for him to decide; but since I have had the misfortune of associating him in the slightest degree with my family,--which be it observed, I have carefully abstained from doing, whenever it was possible,--I feel it due to them to evince my feelings by desiring, or, if necessary, by ordering him out.”

“My dear Tom!” said Lord Ilfracombe,--and the ladies looked aghast.

“Come, sir!” said Lord Tom;--“I have to apologize, my dear aunt, for this course, but it is the only one;--walk out--with me, if you please, sir.”

“Oh!” said Jack, rising from his seat, “in course; if your lordship goes out too, there can be no difficulty whatsoever--only I don’t understand--I know something which may, perhaps, make a difference.”

“Whatever difference there is between us, sir,” said Lord Tom, “shall be settled immediately.”

“My dear Tom,” said Lady Ilfracombe,--“what do you mean?”

“Nothing to be alarmed about, my dear madam,” said Tom. “I shall be back in five minutes at the farthest.”

Lord Ilfracombe, who had really intended to have a good joke out of the affair, and have regularly presented Jack by degrees to Lady Dawlish, the “winky-eyed, waxy doll of the toy-shop,” and the “monstrous bore” Dawlish, and so on, until he had shamed him laughingly out of his absurd propensity to talk big, was seriously vexed at the manner in which his nephew had lost his temper and taken the matter up; but the truth really was, that the conduct of the man had grown unbearable. The scandal of the affair in London had made him ridiculous beyond measure, and the last event of the preservation of the distressed “females” crowned the whole.

Jack certainly felt extremely awkward in getting up from the table at which he had placed himself so comfortably; but, embarrassing as was the movement, he still chuckled at the thought of having Lord Tom in Dover gaol before sunset: he never travelled without his lordship’s I. O. U.’s carefully deposited in a Russia leather pocket-book; and his lordship, as he felt, might be secure that if _he_ did not ride his lordship’s horses at Paris on the next Sunday, his lordship would not be at Paris to see them run.

When Jack rose, which he found inevitable,--for, spite of Lord Ilfracombe and the compassionate ladies, Tom was inexorable,--he said,

“Well,--I didn’t expect this--I was asked by Lord Ilfracombe to luncheon--I did not force myself here;--and I _do_ think--considering--however--I say nothing;--but in the presence of females--I do not think this altogether proper;--however, ‘might overcomes right’--and I--can only--add--I wish your lordship and the ladies a good morning. It is hard treatment, but I’ll be even with somebody that you may rely upon, and no mistake.”

“Now, Mr. Brag,” said Lord Tom when they left the apartment, “just step into this room, and hear what I have to say.”

“Oh, in course,” said Jack.

“From the time I first made your acquaintance on the course at Epsom, I always treated you like a gentleman,” said Lord Tom; “I introduced you to my friends--you lived with me--I took you to Mrs. Dallington’s--all that story, sir, I have heard. You meet my uncle accidentally--you vilify him to his face, traduce me and the ladies of my family. You render me ridiculous wherever I take you--you insult everybody you come near--and you wind up with telling me a distinct and deliberate falsehood with regard to your exploits in saving two ladies the night before last, whose faces you did not even know when you saw them this morning. All this you do. Now, I only ask you, can you be surprised that I am in the highest degree enraged with you?”

“Not a bit,” said Jack; “I dare say you are very right, and I am very wrong: but you forget, my Lord Tom, one part of the story--I mean the money you have borrowed of me;--if that has slipped _your_ memory, it has not slipped _mine_,--and I will take care that you shall not slip _me_, for, by Job--”

“Don’t make a noise, sir,” said Lord Tom; “give me back my _bons_ or whatever securities you have of mine, and I’ll pay you down every shilling upon that account; and thank you, not only for the accommodation you have afforded me, but for the lesson you have taught me, as to making friendships, which I shall not, I think, easily forget.”

“What! are you going to pay me?” said Jack.

“To the last farthing, sir,” said Lord Tom.

“Why, then,” said Jack, “that’s more than I ever expected. I’ve got your _bons_ and your I. O. U.’s all here in my pocket-book. Stop,--let’s see; there--”

“Take your time,” said Lord Tom; “I don’t want to hurry you.”

“There,” said Jack; “two hundred and twenty--one hundred and ten--one hundred. That’s all.”

“Four hundred and thirty pounds,” said Lord Tom.

“Exactly so,” said Jack; “but I say--I won’t take a cheque.”

“But you _will_ be impertinent,” replied my lord. “Here, sir; here are the four hundred and thirty pounds in bank-notes. Count them, sir; look at them.”

“It’s all right, and no mistake,” said Jack, looking over the paper.

“Here perish all my _bons_!” said Lord Tom, tearing them up, “and, I hope, with them, all my absurdities. To be sure, I am easily deceived.”

“Yes, very; you are what I call, as innocent as a lamb,” said Jack. “Stories _may_ come out. I say nothing.”

“Do you mean to insinuate?” said his lordship.

“I insinuate nothing,” said Jack, “but I wish you a very good day. Boaster and humbug as you call me, I’ve done one thing to-day that would puzzle a philosopher. I’ll be hanged if I haven’t got four hundred and thirty pounds out of an empty pocket! That’s what I call coming it strong. I’ve lost the honour of your lordship’s acquaintance,--that’s a misfortune; but I’ve got my money back, and that’s a capital set-off _per contra_, and no mistake.”

“With this moment, sir, all connexion between us ceases,” said Lord Tom.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Jack; “good morning!”

Lord Tom, who was exceedingly agitated during this burst, returned to the drawing-room, and the reproaches of the ladies for his cruelty towards the little man; and Brag, the moment his lordship had disappeared, leaned over the balusters and cried in a loud and commanding tone--

“Waiter!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Order me a chaise and four to Hythe directly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And”--in a louder tone of voice--“bring me my bill--a bottle of soda-water, and change for a hundred-pound note!”