Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/617

604 “One fool makes many, and so, no doubt, does one goose.”

Accompanied by a smile the words would have seemed impudent; but spoken as a plain fact, and with a grave face, it set old Tom blinking like a small boy ten minutes after the whip.

“Now,” she pursued, speaking to him as to an old child, “look here. This is how you manage. Knead down in the middle of the bed. Then jump into the hollow. Lie there, and you needn’t wake till morning.”

Old Tom came to the side of the bed. He had prepared himself for a wretched night, an uproar, and eternal complaints against the house, its inhabitants, and its foundations; but a woman stood there who as much as told him that digging his fist into the flock and jumping into the hole—into that hole under his eyes—was all that was wanted! that he had been making a noise for nothing, and because he had not the wit to hit on a simple contrivance! Then, too, his favourite and semi-consolatory jest about the geese—this woman had put a stop to that! He inspected the hollow cynically. A man might instruct old Tom on a point or two: old Tom was not going to admit that a woman could.

“Oh, very well; thank you, ma’am; that’s your idea. I’ll try it. Good night.”

“Good night,” returned Mrs. Mel. “Don’t forget to jump into the middle.”

“Head foremost, ma’am?”

“As you weigh,” said Mrs. Mel, and old Tom crumpled his lips, silenced if not beaten. Beaten, one might almost say, for nothing more was heard of him that night.

He presented himself to Mrs. Mel after breakfast next morning.

“Slept well, ma’am.”

“Oh! then you did as I directed you,” said Mrs. Mel.

“Those chops, too, very good. I got through ’em.”

“Eating, like scratching, only wants a beginning,” said Mrs. Mel.

“Ha! you’ve got your word, then, as well as everybody else. Where’s your Dandy this morning, ma’am?”

“Locked up. You ought to be ashamed to give that poor beast liquor. He won’t get fresh air to dayto-day [sic].”

“Ha! May I ask you where you’re going to-day, ma’am?”

“I am going to Beckley.”

“So am I, ma’am. What d’ye say, if we join company. Care for insinuations?”

“I want a conveyance of some sort,” returned Mrs. Mel.

“Object to a donkey, ma’am?”

“Not if he’s strong and will go.”

“Good,” said old Tom; and while he spoke a donkey-cart stopped in front of the Dolphin, and a well-dressed man touched his hat.

“Get out of that damned bad habit, will you?” growled old Tom. “What do ye mean by wearing out the brim o’ your hat in that way? Help this woman in.”

Mrs. Mel helped herself to a part of the seat.

“We are too much for the donkey,” she said.

“Ha, that’s right. What I have, ma’am, is good. I can’t pretend to horses, but my donkey’s the best. Are you going to cry about him?”

“No. When he’s tired I shall either walk or harness you,” said Mrs. Mel.

This was spoken half-way down the High Street of Fallowfield. Old Tom looked full in her face, and bawled out:

“Deuce take it! Are you a woman?”

“I have borne three girls and one boy,” said Mrs. Mel.

“What sort of a husband?”

“He is dead.”

“Ha! that’s an opening, but ’tain’t an answer. I’m off to Beckley on a marriage business. I’m the son of a cobbler, so I go in a donkey-cart. No damned pretences for me. I’m going to marry off a young tailor to a gal he’s been playing the lord to. If she cares for him she’ll take him: if not, they’re all the luckier, both of ’em.”

“What’s the tailor’s name?” said Mrs. Mel.

“You are a woman,” returned old Tom. “Now, come, ma’am, don’t you feel ashamed of being in a donkey-cart?”

“I’m ashamed of men, sometimes,” said Mrs. Mel; “never of animals.”

’Shamed o’ me, perhaps.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Ha! well! I’m a man with no pretences. Do you like ’em? How have you brought up your three girls and one boy? No pretences—eh?”

Mrs. Mel did not answer, and old Tom jogged the reins and chuckled, and asked his donkey if he wanted to be a racer.

“Should you take me for a gentleman, ma’am?”

“I dare say you are, sir, at heart. Not from your manner of speech.”

“I mean appearances, ma’am.”

“I judge by the disposition.”

“You do, ma’am? Then, deuce take it, if you are a woman, you’re” Old Tom had no time to conclude.

A great noise of wheels, and a horn blown, caused them both to turn their heads, and they beheld a curricle descending upon them vehemently, and a fashionably attired young gentleman straining with all his might at the reins. The next instant they were rolling on the bank, About twenty yards ahead the curricle was halted, and turned about to see the extent of the mischief done.

“Pardon a thousand times, my worthy couple,” cried the sonorous Mr. Raikes. “What we have seen we swear not to divulge. Franco and Fred—your pledge!”

“We swear!” exclaimed this couple.

But suddenly the cheeks of Mr. John Raikes flushed. He alighted from the box, and rushing up to old Tom, was shouting, “My bene—”

“Do you want my toe on your plate,” old Tom stopped him with.

The mysterious words completely changed the aspect of Mr. John Raikes. He bowed obsequiously and made his friend Franco step down and assist in the task of re-establishing the donkey, who fortunately had received no damage.