Читать книгу Too Clever by Half - Lang John - Страница 8

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"GEORGE," said Sam, to Harroway, "I have completely altered my mind. It is possible that my brothers may refuse to pay my debts; and her governor may make some beebaws and pothooks about a "settlement," which, you know, I could not make, so I have determined to abandon the suit. Poor girl, she'll be, no doubt, a good deal cut up and disappointed; but it will be all for the best in the end, I think."

"Perhaps it will, Sam."

"I should very much like to be married; but, in my circumstances, an heiress or a dowager is absolutely indispensable. As Anne likes hunting, too, it would be unreasonable to ask her to forego it. What do you say?"

"I quite agree with you, Sam."

"I suspect an old lady would suit me best, George. One that would call me Captain Freeport—allow me a sort of stipendiary cash credit—go out alone in her carriage, and leave me to do just as I pleased. This assize ball is coming off shortly, and I'll look out there. Meanwhile, I'll make love to the colonel's niece, for the sake of amusement. She's a very fine looking girl, George."

"She's all that, Sam," quoth Harroway, who was rather pleased that he might now make love to Anne Newsham without clashing with his friend Freeport.

The colonel's niece, Miss Winnerly, was not the style of girl that Freeport admired: she was so very timid, meek, and retiring. It was an effort to make her speak up loud enough to be heard. She played very well, and she sang sweetly, when she could be prevailed upon to take courage, and favour the company. She never had the slightest objection to a quadrille; but if any one asked her to waltz, she said "I'd rather not," in a tone which almost implied she was offended—if not shocked—at the bare idea of such a thing.

Sam Freeport was certainly a very weak mortal in matters connected with the heart. He used to say of himself that he was all heart; and from the way he used to go on, the saying might be easily believed. He had been to the colonel's house every morning for eight days running; for after Anne Newsham's refusal he never ventured near the family, and to live without ladies' society was more than he felt equal to. There was a cold and distant manner in Miss Winnerly, for which Sam Freeport could not account; but still he persevered in his attentions—the sole object in view being to arouse an affection for him.

The colonel and his wife both thought this would be a very good match. The former poured into Sam's ear the advantage of a married life—the comfort, the happiness, the everything, while the latter sung the praises of the generous Sam to the young lady for whom they designed him.

Easily caught and easily led, Sam Freeport was worked up to propose; and he did so in such a warm and impressive manner that the young lady accepted him with seeming gladness. Everything was arranged speedily; for Sam had nothing to settle, and his intended spouse was not an heiress. Nor was there anything on either side to be given up; at least, the parties never asked each other questions on this head.

The wedding-day was near at hand—the bridal robes had come home—Sam had bought the ring at Barber's, besides a small but tasty collection of jewellery for his bride elect. The colonel had ordered a sumptuous breakfast—the corps was to give them a ball on their return from Thorp-Arch. But lo! one fine morning, the very day before the wedding-day, Miss Winnerly was not to be found. They searched the house, they looked down the well, they opened a large oak chest which the colonel kept his books and papers in; but, alas! Miss Winnerly was nowhere to be found!

Sam said, "I'm blowed if I can account for this!"

The colonel evidently suspected something, but didn't like to speak his mind. George Harroway had been let into the secret by Blew, who didn't dare mention it to his master; nevertheless, George held his tongue, and left them to their own imaginings.

Sam thought the best way to show his grief would be to keep his bed, and pretend to live on gruel, sago, and arrowroot.

The second evening after Miss Winnerly's mysterious disappearance, the colonel called on Sam, and said,

"My dear Freeport, I have at last discovered the truth. I can well understand your disappointment, but you must cheer up, and make the best of it. We shall always look upon you as our nephew, and our house will, as usual, always be yours. It is a very fearful business, very fearful!"

"What, has she drowned herself?" said Sam.

"No," replied the colonel. "Worse than that."

"Good Heavens! what can have happened?" said Sam. "Put me out of my misery by telling me the worst. Has she cut her throat?"

"I wish she had," sighed the colonel.

"You'll drive me mad," said Sam, "if you keep me any longer in suspense."

"The fact is, Freeport," said the colonel—"the fact is that she has eloped with the bandmaster to Gretna Green!"

Sam Freeport groaned heavily—pulled the counterpane over his head—and laughed hysterically!

The colonel said "Bear it like a man."

"Bear it!" said Sam, exposing his head; "what a lucky thing, to be sure!"

"What do you mean?" inquired the astounded colonel.

"Why, they might have gone off afterwards. Consider what an awful business that would have been!"

The bandmaster, it would seem, had taught Miss Winnerly, to play on the piano.

The assize ball came on, and Sam sallied forth in search of an heiress or a dowager. The first person he met, on entering the room, was Anne Newsham, on the arm of Harroway, who could not resist telling Anne the story just narrated. Anne extended her hand to Freeport, and Sam shook it warmly.

"May I condole with you?" said she.

"Condole? No!" replied Sam. "But you may congratulate me on having escaped, within the last fortnight, poison and something worse."

The band struck up, and Harroway and Anne took their places.

"Brilliant assembly!" remarked Freeport to a youth whom he had not seen before.

"Very," replied the youth.

"Great many people here whom I have never seen."

"Yes—very many people, like myself, are visitors in York."

"Oh, that accounts for it. Who is that lady with the tiara of diamonds and emeralds?"

"That's Mrs. Missevery."

"Fine looking old girl! Where does she come from?"

"She comes from a place called 'The Cliffs,' about six miles from this."

"Where's her husband?"

"That I can't say—he's dead!"

"What was he?"

"He was the owner of large ironworks, to the westward."

That was quite sufficient to make Freeport keen for her acquaintance. He walked up to a sleepy looking steward, who seemed to take no interest in his office, and borrowing his favour, Sam pinned it, conspicuously, on the breast of his coat. He then sought a young ensign, and insisted on his being led up to the old lady and introduced.

"Ask her to dance," said Sam. "She's sure to refuse you, and then you can walk away as soon as you like."

The willing youth, Mr. Wilson, obeyed his superior officer, and was duly presented to Mrs. Missevery as Lord Arthur Bloomfield. He could scarcely keep from laughing in her face when he said, "May I have the pleasure of dancing the next quadrille with you?"

The old lady bowed, thanked him, but declined.

Ere five minutes had elapsed, Captain Freeport and Mrs. Missevery were in close and animated conversation. Sam found out whom she liked in the room—and praised them. He also discovered whom she disliked—and pulled them to pieces.

"Do dance one quadrille with me?" said Sam.

"I have not danced for years."

"That's the greater reason you should dance now."

The lady smiled and wavered, and Freeport offered his arm, and carried her along with him.

Mrs. Missevery was plain, stout, and vulgar; but good natured.

The attentions of young men, especially if they were chatty, and good-looking people, like Freeport, pleased her, and she was somewhat vain that an officer who could know nothing about her wealth should prefer her society to that of younger and better-looking members of her sex.

"Do you know the Newshams?" asked Mrs. Missevery.

"Slightly—yes."

"Do you think the girls good looking?"

"Why I can hardly say."

"For my part, I cannot see what people have to admire in them."

"Oh! there's nothing whatever to admire in them, if you mean that."

"Not the slightest pretensions to beauty."

"Not the slightest; on the contrary, I should say they were plain."

"So I say. But you will get very few people to agree with you."

"Never mind. I'll back our taste against that or those who hold a contrary opinion. Wouldn't you?"

"Certainly I should. But they ride very well."

"So do my stable boys," said Sam, satirically.

This delighted Mrs. Missevery, who was a butt of Anne Newsham's.

"That's rather a pretty girl," said she, looking towards a very beautiful young creature of about eighteen or nineteen.

"Decidedly," replied Sam. "But, do you know, I dislike girls? They talk such nonsense. They are so insipid—and, as my cousin, Lord Byron, used to say,

"'The nursery lisps out in all they utter,

And then they always smell of bread and butter!'"

"Oh no. Till they pass thirty, they have not a single companionable charm: at least, in my opinion they have not."

Mrs. Missevery thought Sam one of the most sensible men she had ever seen in a red coat; and though she had never given much of her attention to Lord Byron's works, she was glad to have made the acquaintance of his cousin.

"Would you like any particular set of quadrilles?" asked Sam, who always had charge of the band, a circumstance which made the bandmaster's proceedings the more absurd and ridiculous.

"No thank you. I like a slower, quieter music. You have a very nice band."

"So do I like slow music. Yes, the band is a very good one—thanks to myself, for I have taken great pains with it. In a few minutes you shall hear a very beautiful piece composed by our own bandmaster, as the air to those beautiful lines of Sir Walter Scott—

"'Why weep ye by the tide, Ladye?'"

"Excuse me for one moment."

Sam walked into the room where the band was playing. "Wilkins," said Sam, to the man who played the clarionet, "what are you going to give us next?"

"A waltz, sir."

"Then, instead of playing a waltz, play 'Jock o' Hazeldean.' Mark that! And if Mr. Harroway, or any body else, tells you to stop, say you are acting under Captain Freeport's orders. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Sam joined Mrs. Missevery, and awaited the air with much anxiety and inward laughter.

Harroway, with Anne Newsham, passed the door of the music room. He made a motion of the hand as a signal for the band to strike up.

"What on earth is this?" said Anne Newsham, who was expecting something very different to the demi-doleful strain that struck upon the ear of the assembly.

"The band's certainly drunk!" exclaimed George Harroway. "Sit here, Miss Newsham, for a moment, and I will see what they are about."

Harroway walked into the other room, where he found them sober enough; but to his surprise he beheld the French horn, the bassoon, and the first fife, convulsed with laughter, for the men saw the fun.

"What do you mean by this, Wilkins?" said Harroway. "Do you call this a waltz?"

"No, sir. It's by order of the captain," said the man rapidly, and then he applied himself to his instrument, and made it speak,

"And she went o'er the waters wide

Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean."

The bandmaster's name was Hazeldean.

The thought flashed across George's mind, and he could not help joining in laughter with the French horn, who tried, but without success, to vie with the clarionet in giving effect to Captain Freeport's whim. The poor man was overcome with merriment.

"This must be for Captain Freeport's consolation," said Anne, when her partner came back to her.

"He ordered it to be played, it seems," said George. "It is just like him."

"Really, he is the oddest man I ever saw," said Anne. "Where is he?"

"Yonder—mark the action of his hand. See how he is talking to that old lady in the false hair."

"I declare he has got hold of that old hag, Mrs. Missevery! Such a monster! The most disgusting creature in existence! The greatest enemy I have in the world! Perhaps the only one! I feel jealous. I do indeed!"

"Don't say that," said George Harroway, rather nettled by the remark. "If you are jealous of her, I shall be jealous of him."

"What stuff!" was Anne's reply. "My sister Jessie, who is a very knowing hand, says you are all only birds of passage, and it just suits your book to make yourselves agreeable for the time being; and after what I have seen, I am inclined to believe her. Captain Freeport, you know, said all sorts of pretty things to me, only the other day, and look at him now. Look—look! He is certainly going to kiss her. Look at him. Look! And see how the old hag is coquetting. What a funny, foolish world it is, to be sure."

George sighed, as he looked at the artificial flowers which were tacked at the top of Anne Newsham's white muslin dress.

"Why do you sigh?" she asked. "You'll make me yawn."

The smitten subaltern made a bold reply, which pleased the girl, although she distrusted him. She admired his large languishing eyes, as much as his courage and skill in the field.

"The hounds meet the day after to-morrow," she observed, "and if your feelings don't go with this delightful thaw, talk to me then."

"That is understood," said Harroway, emphatically. "Now, then, we'll have a waltz in earnest. There they go. Come along."