Chapter VI (2)

“Why,” said Mrs. Salmon, “I don’t know; if the gentleman is _your_ friend, there’s no harm speaking out before him,--and I can’t stop here long. I thought I would surprise you; and I think a bit of a-washing to-morrow in the sea won’t do me no harm. It’s now two-and-thirty--aye, let me see, more than that--five-and-thirty years since I was in a bath of any kind, and I thought if I could manage to see _you_, and tell you all about my wedding, and talk over poor Kitty’s business, and get a bit of a wash, all under one, it would be doing a great deal; and as the whole front of the shop has been new painted, and James has had all those dangling dips, which you didn’t like, taken down--I said to him, ‘Jim,’ says I, ‘now we’ve got this letter from John, what d’ye say of a bit of a holiday till the stink of the paint goes off, and then we can tell him all, how, and about it?’ Don’t you think I was right?”

“Perfectly, ma’am,” said Jack, “perfectly--only I don’t quite comprehend what you are talking about.”

“I say, sir,” said Mrs. Salmon, appealing to the Colonel, who was enjoying the scene, and gathering in, all he could collect, wherewith to amuse his friend Gunnersbury when he should arrive--“isn’t that good? John’s father and I carried on a most excellent business for five-and-twenty years:--I’ve got the shop-cards in my pocket now, with the new name introduced ‘Salmon, successor to Brag:’--and yet he doesn’t comprehend what I am talking about when I tell him about new painting the shop, and dowsing the danglers, as Jim says.”

“My dear mother,” said Jack, “hadn’t you better go to bed? I assure you this travelling--eh?--don’t you think--it has upset you--?”

“Upset! no,” said Mrs. Salmon, “I’m not going to bed at half-past seven o’clock to please the pope--no, nor the lord-mayor neither: I’m going to have a nice bit of sum’mut for supper. Here, John, jump up and open the door--I hear Jim knocking: he has got the grog, or whatever it is.”

Jack, utterly discomfited, did as he was bid.

“Scaldings!” cried Mr. Salmon, his father-in-law--“scaldings!--here it is, Titsy, as hot as hot. Mind your eye, Brag--shut the door: that’s right--clever lad--eh?--twig?”

Things had gone so far at this period of the business, that Jack, seeing it was perfectly impossible longer to blind the colonel to the real state of the case, gave himself up in despair, and felt convinced that the morning must afford him safety in flight. The coolness of Stiffkey during the whole of the proceedings, the unbounded civility with which he treated the old lady, the dignified goodnature with which he permitted Mr. Salmon to tread over his feet, and even scatter the “honey-dew” of the hot mixture, which he had himself prepared and brought into the room, over his shins, killed Jack, who knew by experience the mode in which good-breeding receives the coarsenesses and vulgarities of the world, and saw that the whole fabric of his favour with the colonel, in erecting which he had passed the entire day, was fast crumbling to atoms.

“Shall we have some more wine?” said the colonel to Brag, doing the elegant with as much unaffected grace as if Jack’s mother had been a duchess who had married a fool for the sake of his title.

“As you like, colonel,” said Jack, “only I fear--”

“Fear nothing,” said Stiffkey, “I never was happier; and if I don’t bore you----”

“Oh!” said Jack bowing.

“Not in the least, sir,” said Salmon, “we are too happy to have you stay. I’ve always heard say that it is one of the great advantages of these watering-places getting into genteel company--eh!--twig?”

Jack could have annihilated the shopboy, although he _was_ his father-in-law.

“But, as I was saying, John,” said Mrs. Salmon, “because, as the gentleman tells us, we _may_ speak out before _him_--poor Kitty made a bad mess of it; she was always a wayward girl,--she quite run away from George, at last,--so he writes me,--went and lived with other people,--just as it happened;--all came from drinking, John,” here the old lady mended her draught. “Wasn’t it shocking, sir?”

“Dreadful ma’am!” said Stiffkey, “very dreadful.”

“My dear mother,” said Jack, “don’t trouble the Colonel.”

“The trouble is a pleasure,” said Stiffkey; “some unfortunate creature, who, being in the habit of drinking, I suppose, ran away from her husband: a thing that will happen, ma’am, amongst servants even of the best character.”

“Servants, sir?” cried Mrs. Salmon.

“My dear mother,” said Jack, “never mind.”

“But I _do_ mind, John,” said the lady, who had just arrived at a point of obfuscation, at which the main points under discussion are always forgotten, and the minor incidents shine forth most brilliantly--“why should the gentleman call _my_ daughter Kitty a servant?--she never was a servant! she made a foolish match,--ran away with a serjeant--a reglar common soger,--and then ran away _from_ him,--all ill treatment, sir, and the heat of the climate;--and--” here Mrs. Salmon burst into a flood of tears; whereupon, Jem, in order to enlighten the Colonel, and utterly annihilate Jack, gave him a familiar tap on the shoulder, and said, in a confidential tone, “bolted,--altogether--quite--entirely,--twig?”

The Colonel drew back shrinkingly from the unexpected familiarity, and signified by a distant bow that he was sufficiently aware of the circumstances to which the lady had so feelingly alluded.

“However,” said Mrs. Salmon, recovering, “what’s done can’t be undone; she is now gone to her long home, and it’s of no use raking up old grievances: she had a good education, and made a bad use of it; and what’s more, she was cheated into marrying him; and Nance Brown,--she was at the bottom of it, and yet she has contrived to get up in the world; and so has George himself,--how, I don’t pretend to say.”

“My dear mother,” said Jack, “let us talk of something else; it cannot be very entertaining to the colonel to hear all our grievances.”

“Entertaining!” said Mrs. Salmon, “I’m sure I don’t mean to entertain anybody. When I feels, I speaks; and why shouldn’t I, John?--an’t it natural for a mother to feel?”

“Don’t take on so, Titsy,” said Salmon. “There’s some cold boiled leg of mutton and pickles coming; they are only waiting to get a bit of potato mashed. I didn’t forget to order your early supper,--twig?”

“You are a kind-hearted creetur,” said Mrs. Salmon to her husband, “and that makes one feel neglect from others the more; however, we won’t talk about that. J. S. dear, tell John what alterations we are going to make at home.”

“To be sure,” said Jem. “I say, Brag, you know that big copper on the left-hand of the melting-house? I mean to have that put farther back, and git a door made into the lane, behind the cart-house, so as we can bring the fat in all reg’lar, without coming through the front-shop,--twig?”

“Yes, yes,” said Jack, “a very good arrangement--and no mistake.”

“Then, I mean to clap a sky-light on the top of the back-parlour,” continued Mr. Salmon, “which will make it uncommon lively to what it was. Why, in the old gentleman’s time, when I was a bit of a boy, it used to be as dark and as dismal as the Plenipotentiary on Milbank,--twig?”

“And round it, John,” said Mrs. Salmon, “I mean to have ever so many flower-pots with gerenums, and fooshies, and you can’t think how nice they will look in the summer if the cats don’t knock ’em down in the night.”

“Here’s the mutton, Titsy,” said Jem.

And sure enough, in came the waiter, accompanied by a female assistant with a tray, on which the promised leg appeared, with pickles and other condiments,--a dish of mashed potatoes, and a plate of chopped onions. The maid spread out a second table, and speedily dressed it in a snowy cloth: the waiter handed and arranged the viands; and while doing so, announced that some hot chops were on their way.

“Waiter, why don’t you bring us another bottle of claret?” said Stiffkey, to Jack’s most perfect and entire mortification; who, with all his vanity and self-love, could not shut his eyes to the certainty that his elegant friend Stiffkey was merely prolonging his stay, in order to be amused at his expense; and equally well aware that his mother and the creature whom he was told was his father-in-law, would, in the course of the evening, afford him as much entertainment as he could reasonably expect.

“Now, Titsy,” said Mr. Salmon, “let me put you a chair by the table,--ready ag’in the chops come. I suppose it’s a compliment to ask you to join us?” added the engaging Jem, himself to Colonel Stiffkey and addressing Jack.

“We have just dined,” said Colonel Stiffkey, with the most imperturbable gravity.

The old bride and young bridegroom having drawn close to the board, Jack considered he might contrive to manage a few minutes’ explanatory conversation with the colonel, and therefore drew his chair nearer to him, as if with a view of facilitating, what an Irish gentleman would call,--the circulation of the bottle between the two.

“To be sure,” whispered Jack, whose whole character for smartness and sprightliness, and that sort of slang conversation in which he ordinarily indulged, had been completely destroyed by the appearance of visitors, not only unexpected _then_, but never to be expected in their present relative position--“To be sure, Colonel, there _are_ odd things in the world. Who, when we sat down here, would have expected this curious coincidence. By Job! what folly,--eh? a woman at her time of life to throw herself away upon a fellow of that sort!”

“Very odd,” said Stiffkey, in an equally low tone of voice; “but, at that time of life, these turns will happen. Of what profession is the young man?”

“A candle-maker,” said Jack, whispering directly in the colonel’s ear; having hoisted up one of his little fat hands, trumpet-wise, to prevent the affectionate chop-eaters from hearing the avowal, and hoping, even at this straw-catching minute, to devolve the whole of the responsibility of so disgraceful a business upon his respectable mother, leaving it to be inferred that she had been love-led into a connexion much beneath herself.

“Oh!” said Stiffkey.

“Love levels ranks: lords down to cellars bears,
And bids the candle-maker walk up stairs.”

“Very true,” said Jack, “all right,--and no mistake.”

“I say, John,” said Mr. Salmon, who fortunately had not heard this little colloquy, “just come here: did you ever see closer fat than this cold mutton? I should like to have twenty or thirty ton of it down, ready for melting. I could sport a dash of hog in him, and no fear of spluttering.”

“It’s curious to see,” said Jack, in an under tone to the colonel, “how, when a man sets himself to trade, he turns everything to shop.”

“Very,” said Stiffkey.

And so it is; but it was much more curious to observe the total alteration produced in Jack’s manner and language by the unexpected visitation of his parent, and her hopeful help-mate. It seemed as if he was altogether unstarched; his hair seemed to uncurl itself, and upon his pale cheek, and contracted brow, evidently lay the whole weight of his mortification and dismay.

“Titsy,” said Salmon, “don’t you malt?”

“No, my dear J. S.” replied the lady. “I’m all for something more in the warm line.”

“That’s right;” said Salmon. “Rum and water, hot, I consider,--eh?--twig?”

“Exactly so,” replied Mrs. Salmon. “I can’t think how you two,” turning herself round, and addressing the gentlemen at the other table, “can go on drinking that wishy-washy stuff,--paying, too, so much as you do for it. As I said before, I consider it a dead waste of time,--there’s no goodness, no nourishment in it:--they call riding in a hack cab, taking danger at eight-pence a mile;--but I call claret-drinking getting the stomach-ache at ten shillings a bottle.”

“Little and good is Titsy’s motto,” said Jem.

“Yes, J. S. dear,” said the matron, smiling; “that’s the reason I took _you_.”

“Well said, Titsy,” said Salmon, “she shan’t be a bad un after all.”

That Mr. John Brag was not blessed by nature with any superabundant proportion of feeling, we have had several opportunities of ascertaining; but it is only fair to say, that during this, in every point of view humiliating scene to the pretender, his uneasiness--misery it might almost be called--upon his own personal account, was not equal to that which he felt on account of his mother. That she had made herself, at her time of life, a fool, by marrying her shop-man, or shop-boy rather, was bad enough; but such things--or things as extraordinary and silly--happen, _matrimonially_, every day; and besides, he palliated her absurdity in this affair by the reflection that he himself had first advised her to marry somebody, in order to rescue his name from the trammels of trade, and that he had probably accelerated the consummation of her discredit by his facetious pranks upon Waterloo Bridge, when he himself contrived to expose her infirmities for the amusement of his fashionable friends; but, what _did_ nevertheless pain even _him_, was the sight of his parent--of the being who had given him birth--associated with such a creature as Jem Salmon, and by him and his endearing diminutives and nick-names rendered an object of universal ridicule. To hear this wretched animal calling a woman three times his age and four times his size, Titsy, was really and truly tormenting, separated from any prospective feeling of certainty that the degradation of his once respectable relative would form the subject of Stiffkey’s most animated description of the humours of Eastbourne, to be hereafter given to his expected visitor and surrounding friends.

“I say, John,” said Mrs. Salmon, warming with her refreshment, “John, when you were at home last, you did not think I should get the start of you, however much you advised it. I haven’t heard of your marrying a Lady Sally, or a Lady Susan, with forty or fifty thousand pounds tacked to the title;--I’ve heard of your doings though, in other places.”

“Probably,” said Jack, “one can’t help being talked about.”

“I mean with Mrs. ----, what’s the name? J. S.” said Mrs. Salmon;--“up there, by ----.”

“Dallington, d’ye mean,” said Jem.

“Yes, that’s it,” said the matron; “we heard that story last week--not half a day after it happened.”

“What is that?” said Stiffkey, _sotto voce_ to Brag.

“I’m sure I don’t know what my mother means,” said Jack; nor did he, nor could he comprehend how she came to know the name of the lady.

“Don’t you, Johnny? I do,” said his mother; “so does J. S., don’t _you_? Now, I think I owe you a turn, for playing me off on the bridge, so I’ll have a laugh at your expense--all in fun, now it’s over.”

“My dear mother,” said Jack, “pray don’t talk about that affair.”

“No, not a syllable,” said Mrs. Salmon; “only we know all about your making love to the two sisters at once--don’t we, Jemes?”

“I believe we do too, Titsy,” said Salmon; “two at a time, that’s all, John--eh--twig?”

“What, ma’am?” said Stiffkey, who found he had completely succeeded in making Mrs. Salmon consider him “quite the gentleman;” “did our friend try his ambidextrous fortune with both ladies?”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Salmon, “about whose fortune he tried; all I know he got none--between two stools, Johnny--”

--“I know, my dear mother,” said Jack, “the proverb is by no means new.”

“No,” said the lady, “nor the moral of it neither; the way we come to know of it was through the lady’s housekeeper; they deal with us for coarse stock, stores and rushlights.”

“And ile, Titsy,” said Salmon.

“Yes,” said the lady; “and so Jemes, you see, went round collecting, and so--but you tell the story, J. S., dear.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, sir,” said Jack.

“Pray go on, Mr. Salmon,” said Stiffkey.

“Why, I tell you how it was,” said Salmon; “I was a just stepping round and collecting, as Titsy says,--for we had an unmerciful heavy bill to pay our broker, and I happens to call at Mrs. Dallington’s--so--the family was just gone out o’ town--lets see--when was it, Titsy?--one day late in last week--and so I sees the housekeeper--Mrs. Cropper--I know’d her in her last place--so I tells her about our little account, and she says, says she, looking at the bill, ‘I wonder, now, if your master’s any relation to the little man which my missus sent away a night or two ago, with a flea in his ear.’”

“I must beg,” said Jack,--“I--shall leave the room if this goes on any farther--I don’t want to know the secret history of people of my acquaintance, squeezed out of servants--I don’t want to know about any little man.”

“No, love, _do_ hear,” said Mrs. Salmon; “it only shows how things gits round.”

“So, I says, says I,” continued Salmon, “I can’t judge unless you tell me what sort of a little man he is.--‘Why,’ she says, says she, ‘his name’s Brag--he’s a smartish kind of a chap, with a curly head; and as full of the gab as an egg’s full of meat.’--‘A sporting chap?’ says I.--‘Always a hunting,’ says she.--So then I just rubs up my hair, and puts up my collar, and gives her a bit of a take-off of you, jist after your manner, ‘smack, smooth, right up, straight down, and no mistake.’ Whereupon Mrs. Cropper--she’s an uncommon good-natured old thing--she claps her two hands together and says, says she, ‘By gosh that’s he--that’s the chap as wanted somehow to marry my mistress and her sister too, and got kicked out according_ly_,’--twig?”

“Mr. Salmon,” said Brag, trembling with rage, or something else, and looking as white as a sheet, “the unfortunate connexion which my mother has formed with you, keeps me quiet--if--it was not for that----”

“Don’t agitate yourself,” said Stiffkey, with the most perfect _sang froid_. “Mr. Salmon means no harm, I’m sure.”

“Harm, not he,” said Mrs. Salmon, “he’s only lively, and wants a bit of fun.”

“Fun! the devil, ma’am!” said Jack: “I shall say nothing; but as for staying in this room a minute longer, I will not; nor, ma’am, will I ever set foot in any place in which that person is to be found. I never was consulted in _your_ match--and sure you might run your own race without coming crossing and jostling me on _my_ course. Colonel,” added Jack, “I am quite sure this business must be as disagreeable to you as it is disgusting to me--perhaps you will follow my example. I shall be glad, ma’am, to say a few words to _you_ in the morning--and I wish _you_ a good evening.”

“I am extremely sorry, Mr. Brag,” said the Colonel, “that you are annoyed. It only seems a little playfulness,--it _must_ be all a joke.”

“No joke at all, sir,” said Mrs. Salmon; “it’s all true, only what I say to Jack is, them as throws stones shouldn’t live in glass houses.”

“Well, I’m sure, Titsy,” said Jem. “I’d no notion of this blow up when we came in--I meant to be all pleasant and agreeable.”

“Come, Colonel,” said Jack.

“Good evening, ma’am,” said the Colonel. “I suppose I _must_ go, but I assure you I am particularly sorry to leave such agreeable society.”

“Where’s Jack?” said Mrs. Salmon.

“Gone out, Titsy,” said Jem.

“Like one of his own rushlights, ma’am,” said the Colonel, who immediately followed him, putting his finger to his nose, archly, as he quitted the room.

“Bravo, Colonel,” said Salmon;--“that’s a prime chap, anyhow--eh? Who’d have thought of John’s bristling up in that kind of hedge-hog fashion. I’m sure I only wanted to give the Colonel a little touch of _my_ way of taking off.”

“Yes, my dear J. S.,” said the matron, “and the Colonel seems to have returned the compliment. I’m sorry you offended Jack, for I wanted you to be friends.”

“Then, Titsy, why did you set me on,” said Jem;--“you know’d when once my spirit’s up, I can’t stop it.”

“Why, somehow,” said Mrs. Salmon, “the rum and water was strong.”

“’Twas stiffish--twig?” said Salmon.

“However,” continued the lady, “a fine morning is a good peace-maker, and I dare say we shall all be friends again for the short time we have to stay; besides, to tell _you_ the truth, I never quite believed that Mrs. Cropper’s story.”

“I’d trust her with my life,” said James, “as steady a going cretur, full of fun as she is, as ever trod shoe leather,--takes a tip of two pounds per annum, and is quite satisfied; can’t get off with Mr. Evans, the butler, for twice that. No, no, Titsy, as Jack says, leave me alone to deal with the fair sex.”

“Oh you divil!” said Mrs. Salmon, “ring the bell, J. S., and let us retire for the night; early as it is, I’m tired, and a little vexed into the bargain.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Titsy,” said James. “I dare say it will be all right to-morrow--eh? smack, smooth, and no mistake,--twig?”

“Now, J. S.,” said Mrs. Salmon, “don’t go on doing _that_, that’s a dear--there’s nothing folks is so sore about, as being taken off in that way--don’t do it.--Johnny lives in good company, as you see; it is true he has got a particular way of talking, and all that you said about what he had done, and all about the ladies, and Cropper and all, never stirred him no more than you could stir a fire without a poker; till you come to mimic him--that it was set his blood up. I saw his little eyes winking, winking, and his face get as white as a sheet, and I’m sure I never meant to put him in a passion--only--no--it was that----”

“Are you cross, Titsy?” said Jem.

“Not a bit cross,” said Mrs. Salmon, “only he’s as touchy as touch-wood--so don’t go and aggravate him to-morrow.”

“I promise and wow, Titsy,” said Salmon, “I will _that_ do--only you see, being as I consider now, his superior, what the sogers call commanding officer, I think he might have treated me with a little more respect.”

“Never mind _that_,” said the lady, “ring the bell, and let’s bundle. I’m dead tired--the wind blew so fresh--and I can tell you the top of a coach is not as soft to sit on, as the cushion of my arm-chair, I’m all shaken to pieces.”

J. S. did as he was bid, and the chamber-maid speedily appeared to attend the matronly bride to her chamber, J. S. remaining below as he thought it proper to do, until he was summoned to his roost. This dull interval he occupied by imbibing a refreshing glass of some favourite mixture, and in reflecting upon the unexpected sort of reception he had met with from his son-in-law. However, he had scarcely finished his “tipple,” as he called it, when he was summoned by the attendant sylph, the respected Mrs. Salmon not occupying any very considerable period of time in making her preparations for what she called “tumbling in.”--Jem drained his goblet, and ascended the stairs, and “maid-directed,” found the door of the room which contained his treasure.

By a preconcerted arrangement the waiter had been engaged to go, or send over, to the library, whither _faute de mieux_, the colonel and Jack had retreated from the unbearable fire of Mr. Salmon’s extraordinary liveliness, to let them know when the happy pair were gone to bed, inasmuch as they might return to their temporary domicile, and enjoy a few tranquil moments before _they_ retired to rest. The moment, therefore, that the Salmonean savages had “quitted the ground,” a message was conveyed to the dandy and his friend, informing them that the coast was clear; and this message arrived at the library precisely at the moment when Jack had declined playing any longer billiards, because he knew nothing of the game, and because he preferred _ecarté_.

The word _ecarté_ sounded mellifluously to the colonel’s ear--_he_ could play the game a little; should they go back to the hotel and try a hand or two--first directing his servant to open the windows and “freshen” the room--order broiled bones at twelve, and not play later than two--positively?

Brag, the moment he heard this proposition from the colonel, was convinced that all was right, and “no mistake;” the absurdities of his poor mother, and the grossnesses of his youthful father-in-law had evidently made no impression. The colonel saw the gentleman in _him_, and the very suggestion of broiled bones, ventilated rooms, and _ecarté_ till two, settled the affair. It was all arranged, and Stiff key’s man was to teach the willing hostess of the hotel how to concoct a particular sort of punch, which Sir Stumpey Dubs, a wealthy friend of his master, had invented,--of which composition, averse as the colonel was from strong drink, the weakest ingredient was Jamaica rum, the whole compound forming a sort of beverage which reminded you, in the morning, that you had swallowed it the night before, by a sensation very much like that which would have been occasioned by the dislocation of every limb belonging to your body.

Colonel Stiffkey was the most perfect “gentleman”--not to use the term as Brag would use it, but in its purest and most unquestioned shape. He was not brilliant as a wit, but he played his part as well as his associates in the every-day give-and-take conversation of the best society. The immovable quietude and imperturbable civility which he displayed before the bride and bridegroom, were part of his system. Nobody who did not know his heart of hearts could find out whether he was delighted or distressed by that, which was passing before him. His mind, with regard to Brag, had been for some hours made up; and in all probability the next morning would be the last on which he even would endeavour to recollect his name: but before that morning came, there intervened an evening,--that evening was to be passed, somehow. Mr. Brag preferred _ecarté_; we have seen the preparatory arrangements in consequence of that preference.

Stiffkey and Brag walked back from the library to their sitting-room, whence had been removed, besides the nuisances, which had removed themselves, all the “provender,” upon which they had battened. A card-table had been placed by the colonel’s man, and a small table by the side of it, on which stood two well-sized glasses, out of which they were to imbibe a certain quantity of the West-Indian mumbo-jum, punctiliously prepared according to the recipe of Sir Stumpy.

The room had resumed its former pleasing aspect. Jack found no difference in the manner of his friend, who, in the kindest manner, kept periodically praising England as the only nation perhaps in the world which furnished the brightest ornaments to society from trades and professions--throwing in an agreeable observation now and then, that if such were the facility in other countries, the intellects of the people would prevent their availing themselves of it; and, in short, that what the French sage had said of our population in comparing it with our porter, that the top was all froth, the bottom all dregs, and the middle the “stout and efficient,” was most true. This encouragement, wonderfully aided by the arrival of Stiffkey’s servant with a closely covered jug of the invaluable compound, raised Jack’s spirits so high, that for the moment he threw overboard all the previous occurrences of the evening, and felt satisfied in his own mind that the fact of his mother’s having married injudiciously, could and would have no possible effect upon his future fashionable career.

“Now then,” said the Colonel, “taste _that_: if you don’t like it, I’m mistaken.”

Jack filled a glass and sipped. “Like it!--Gad! who wouldn’t--eh?--goes down like milk, and no mistake.”

The resumption of his pet phrases, the renewed twiggle of his hair, and the revived pull up of his collars, proclaimed “_Johannes redivivus_.”

“Well,” said the Colonel, with a tone of perfect indifference, “shall we have a touch at _ecarté_? The broiled bones will come at twelve.”

“All right, and no mistake,” said Jack.

“What shall we play?” said the Colonel, listlessly shuffling one of the two packs of cards which his servant had put down--“don’t let it be high--five pound points, and ten pound consequences?”

“Anything you like,” said Jack. “I lost twenty pounds to that man at billiards. How he pulled up in his play after the bet!”

“Did he?” said the Colonel--“I didn’t observe. Do try some more of that excellent stuff. We will go to-morrow, if you stay here, to an old friend of mine who lives about five miles from this, and I’ll show you how _he_ drinks it: he’ll be delighted to see you.”

This put Jack upon the top of a pinnacle. Colonel Stiffkey, after all he had seen and heard, proposed the very next day to take him to visit an old friend at his place five miles off! Poor Jack! Colonel Stiffkey had no such friend; neither if he had, would he have taken Jack with him: furthermore, he knew, _that_ which Jack at the moment had himself quite forgotten, that he could not stay out the following day where his mother was: but Stiffkey wanted Jack to play _ecarté_ at his ease--and so he did, knowing no more of the game than a child of ten years old.

The results of the sitting were--broiled bones at half past twelve, more of Sir Stumpy Dubs’s mixture at half past one, and a retreat at half past two o’clock in the morning, at which time Mr. John Brag handed over to Colonel Stiffkey two hundred and fifty pounds of the cash he had received from Lord Tom Towzle two days before; and an I. O. U. for three hundred and forty more, which the gallant colonel, in consideration of the ready money already received, very readily accepted in part payment of a balance of five hundred and ninety pounds, which, under the influence of Sir Stumpy Dubs’s mixture, the curly-headed adept at _ecarté_ had lost to his aristocratic associate.

The friends separated and retired to rest, the colonel’s servant kindly assisting Mr. Brag to his room,--the colonel, who required no assistance, going to his room by himself.

It was not, however, until both these worthies--either of them curiously instructive in his way,--had betaken themselves to their respective beds--that the innate truth of their characters was made manifest. Jack, broken down by the most extraordinary combination of circumstances,--abused, degraded, and exposed by the man whom his mother had by way of an agreeable surprise, brought down to see and present to him, in the hope of conciliating everything, lay desponding, as deeply as he could in his peculiar state, as to the mischief his unhappy parent might have done him by her appearance there; consoling himself, on the other hand, in his blessed ignorance of human nature, with the belief that the colonel was so entirely his friend, that not only what had occurred had made no change in his sentiments, but that not a syllable of the events of the preceding evening would transpire; and absolutely revelling in the idea that the loss of his five hundred and ninety pounds would not only ensure this much-desired secrecy, but cement a long and lasting friendship between them.

The colonel, who, like a skilful practitioner, had carefully abstained from swallowing the draughts which he had prescribed, laid his cool unthrobbing head upon his pillow, perfectly satisfied with having so well executed his ingenuity in the up-turning of kings, and other curious arrangements of the cards; consoling himself with the justice of outwitting so complete a charlatan as his temporary companion of the tallow tribe; and concluding if he never received one farthing’s worth of value for the I. O. U., the worth of which he considered somewhat equivocal, that he had adequately paid himself for the smell of onions and hot rum and water, and the still more oppressive conversation of his friend’s intimate connexions immediately after dinner, by the first receipt of the two hundred and fifty pounds cash in Bank notes.

Such were the thoughts and reflections of Mr. John Brag and his aristocratic friend as they dropped off to their slumber on this memorable night. What visions might have occupied the minds of Mrs. Salmon and her dear J. S. it is not our province even to surmise: they are asleep, and lest the reader should fall into a similar state of quiescence, the chapter ends.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

Transcriber’s Notes

1. Page 33, line 4: miuutes --> minutes (two or three minutes).
2. Page 291, last line: repectable --> respectable (said the respectable
matron).
3. In text file: Italic text represented with surrounding _underscores_.
4. In text file: Small caps represented with ALLCAPS.