"Now, what," says Mr. George, "may this be? Is it blank cartridgeor ball? A flash in the pan or a shot?"An open letter is the subject of the trooper's speculations, and itseems to perplex him mightily. He looks at it at arm's length,brings it close to him, holds it in his right hand, holds it in hisleft hand, reads it with his head on this side, with his head onthat side, contracts his eyebrows, elevates them, still cannotsatisfy himself. He smooths it out upon the table with his heavypalm, and thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery, makes ahalt before it every now and then to come upon it with a fresh eye.
Even that won't do. "Is it," Mr. George still muses, "blankcartridge or ball?"Phil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed inthe distance whitening the targets, softly whistling in quick-marchtime and in drum-and-fife manner that he must and will go backagain to the girl he left behind him.
"Phil!" The trooper beckons as he calls him.
Phil approaches in his usual way, sidling off at first as if hewere going anywhere else and then bearing down upon his commanderlike a bayonet-charge. Certain splashes of white show in highrelief upon his dirty face, and he scrapes his one eyebrow with thehandle of the brush.
"Attention, Phil! Listen to this.""Steady, commander, steady.""'Sir. Allow me to remind you (though there is no legal necessityfor my doing so, as you are aware) that the bill at two months'
date drawn on yourself by Mr. Matthew Bagnet, and by you accepted,for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings and ninepence,will become due to-morrow, when you will please be prepared to takeup the same on presentation. Yours, Joshua Smallweed.' What doyou make of that, Phil?""Mischief, guv'ner.""Why?""I think," replies Phil after pensively tracing out a cross-wrinklein his forehead with the brush-handle, "that mischeeviousconsequences is always meant when money's asked for.""Lookye, Phil," says the trooper, sitting on the table. "First andlast, I have paid, I may say, half as much again as this principalin interest and one thing and another."Phil intimates by sidling back a pace or two, with a veryunaccountable wrench of his wry face, that he does not regard thetransaction as being made more promising by this incident.
"And lookye further, Phil," says the trooper, staying his prematureconclusions with a wave of his hand. "There has always been anunderstanding that this bill was to be what they call renewed. Andit has been renewed no end of times. What do you say now?""I say that I think the times is come to a end at last.""You do? Humph! I am much of the same mind myself.""Joshua Smallweed is him that was brought here in a chair?""The same.""Guv'ner," says Phil with exceeding gravity, "he's a leech in hisdispositions, he's a screw and a wice in his actions, a snake inhis twistings, and a lobster in his claws."Having thus expressively uttered his sentiments, Mr. Squod, afterwaiting a little to ascertain if any further remark be expected ofhim, gets back by his usual series of movements to the target hehas in hand and vigorously signifies through his former musicalmedium that he must and he will return to that ideal young lady.
George, having folded the letter, walks in that direction.
"There IS a way, commander," says Phil, looking cunningly at him,"of settling this.""Paying the money, I suppose? I wish I could."Phil shakes his head. "No, guv'ner, no; not so bad as that. ThereIS a way," says Phil with a highly artistic turn of his brush;"what I'm a-doing at present.""Whitewashing."Phil nods.
"A pretty way that would be! Do you know what would become of theBagnets in that case? Do you know they would be ruined to pay offmy old scores? YOU'RE a moral character," says the trooper, eyeinghim in his large way with no small indignation; "upon my life youare, Phil!"Phil, on one knee at the target, is in course of protestingearnestly, though not without many allegorical scoops of his brushand smoothings of the white surface round the rim with his thumb,that he had forgotten the Bagnet responsibility and would not somuch as injure a hair of the head of any member of that worthyfamily when steps are audible in the long passage without, and acheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at home. Phil,with a look at his master, hobbles up, saying, "Here's the guv'ner,Mrs. Bagnet! Here he is!" and the old girl herself, accompanied byMr. Bagnet, appears.
The old girl never appears in walking trim, in any season of theyear, without a grey cloth cloak, coarse and much worn but veryclean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment rendered sointeresting to Mr. Bagnet by having made its way home to Europefrom another quarter of the globe in company with Mrs. Bagnet andan umbrella. The latter faithful appendage is also invariably apart of the old girl's presence out of doors. It is of no colourknown in this life and has a corrugated wooden crook for a handle,with a metallic object let into its prow, or beak, resembling alittle model of a fanlight over a street door or one of the ovalglasses out of a pair of spectacles, which ornamental object hasnot that tenacious capacity of sticking to its post that might bedesired in an article long associated with the British army. Theold girl's umbrella is of a flabby habit of waist and seems to bein need of stays--an appearance that is possibly referable to itshaving served through a series of years at home as a cupboard andon journeys as a carpet bag. She never puts it up, having thegreatest reliance on her well-proved cloak with its capacious hood,but generally uses the instrument as a wand with which to point outjoints of meat or bunches of greens in marketing or to arrest theattention of tradesmen by a friendly poke. Without her market-basket, which is a sort of wicker well with two flapping lids, shenever stirs abroad. Attended by these her trusty companions,therefore, her honest sunburnt face looking cheerily out of a roughstraw bonnet, Mrs. Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright,in George's Shooting Gallery.
"Well, George, old fellow," says she, "and how do YOU do, thissunshiny morning?"Giving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet draws a longbreath after her walk and sits down to enjoy a rest. Having afaculty, matured on the tops of baggage-waggons and in other suchpositions, of resting easily anywhere, she perches on a roughbench, unties her bonnet-strings, pushes back her bonnet, crossesher arms, and looks perfectly comfortable.
Mr. Bagnet in the meantime has shaken hands with his old comradeand with Phil, on whom Mrs. Bagnet likewise bestows a good-humourednod and smile.
"Now, George," said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, "here we are, Lignum andmyself"--she often speaks of her husband by this appellation, onaccount, as it is supposed, of Lignum Vitae having been his oldregimental nickname when they first became acquainted, incompliment to the extreme hardness and toughness of hisphysiognomy--"just looked in, we have, to make it all correct asusual about that security. Give him the new bill to sign, George,and he'll sign it like a man.""I was coming to you this morning," observes the trooperreluctantly.
"Yes, we thought you'd come to us this morning, but we turned outearly and left Woolwich, the best of boys, to mind his sisters andcame to you instead--as you see! For Lignum, he's tied so closenow, and gets so little exercise, that a walk does him good. Butwhat's the matter, George?" asks Mrs. Bagnet, stopping in hercheerful talk. "You don't look yourself.""I am not quite myself," returns the trooper; "I have been a littleput out, Mrs. Bagnet."Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly. "George!" holdingup her forefinger. "Don't tell me there's anything wrong aboutthat security of Lignum's! Don't do it, George, on account of thechildren!"The trooper looks at her with a troubled visage.
"George," says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis andoccasionally bringing down her open hands upon her knees. "If youhave allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignum's,and if you have let him in for it, and if you have put us in dangerof being sold up--and I see sold up in your face, George, as plainas print--you have done a shameful action and have deceived uscruelly. I tell you, cruelly, George. There!"Mr. Bagnet, otherwise as immovable as a pump or a lamp-post, putshis large right hand on the top of his bald head as if to defend itfrom a shower-bath and looks with great uneasiness at Mrs. Bagnet.
"George," says that old girl, "I wonder at you! George, I amashamed of you! George, I couldn't have believed you would havedone it! I always knew you to be a rolling sone that gathered nomoss, but I never thought you would have taken away what littlemoss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon. You knowwhat a hard-working, steady-going chap he is. You know what Quebecand Malta and Woolwich are, and I never did think you would, orcould, have had the heart to serve us so. Oh, George!" Mrs.
Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes on in a very genuinemanner, "How could you do it?"Mrs. Bagnet ceasing, Mr. Bagnet removes his hand from his head asif the shower-bath were over and looks disconsolately at Mr.
George, who has turned quite white and looks distressfully at thegrey cloak and straw bonnet.
"Mat," says the trooper in a subdued voice, addressing him butstill looking at his wife, "I am sorry you take it so much toheart, because I do hope it's not so bad as that comes to. Icertainly have, this morning, received this letter"--which he readsaloud--"but I hope it may be set right yet. As to a rolling stone,why, what you say is true. I AM a rolling stone, and I neverrolled in anybody's way, I fully believe, that I rolled the leastgood to. But it's impossible for an old vagabond comrade to likeyour wife and family better than I like 'em, Mat, and I trustyou'll look upon me as forgivingly as you can. Don't think I'vekept anything from you. I haven't had the letter more than aquarter of an hour.""Old girl," murmurs Mr. Bagnet after a short silence, "will youtell him my opinion?""Oh! Why didn't he marry," Mrs. Bagnet answers, half laughing andhalf crying, "Joe Pouch's widder in North America? Then hewouldn't have got himself into these troubles.""The old girl," says Mr. Baguet, "puts it correct--why didn't you?""Well, she has a better husband by this time, I hope," returns thetrooper. "Anyhow, here I stand, this present day, NOT married toJoe Pouch's widder. What shall I do? You see all I have got aboutme. It's not mine; it's yours. Give the word, and I'll sell offevery morsel. If I could have hoped it would have brought innearly the sum wanted, I'd have sold all long ago. Don't believethat I'll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat. I'd sell myselffirst. I only wish," says the trooper, giving himself adisparaging blow in the chest, "that I knew of any one who'd buysuch a second-hand piece of old stores.""Old girl," murmurs Mr. Bagnet, "give him another bit of my mind.""George," says the old girl, "you are not so much to be blamed, onfull consideration, except for ever taking this business withoutthe means.""And that was like me!" observes the penitent trooper, shaking hishead. "Like me, I know.""Silence! The old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "is correct--in her wayof giving my opinions--hear me out!""That was when you never ought to have asked for the security,George, and when you never ought to have got it, all thingsconsidered. But what's done can't be undone. You are always anhonourable and straightforward fellow, as far as lays in yourpower, though a little flighty. On the other hand, you can't admitbut what it's natural in us to be anxious with such a thing hangingover our heads. So forget and forgive all round, George. Come!
Forget and forgive all round!"Mrs. Bagnet, giving him one of her honest hands and giving herhusband the other, Mr. George gives each of them one of his andholds them while he speaks.
"I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to dischargethis obligation. But whatever I have been able to scrape togetherhas gone every two months in keeping it up. We have lived plainlyenough here, Phil and I. But the gallery don't quite do what wasexpected of it, and it's not--in short, it's not the mint. It waswrong in me to take it? Well, so it was. But I was in a mannerdrawn into that step, and I thought it might steady me, and set meup, and you'll try to overlook my having such expectations, andupon my soul, I am very much obliged to you, and very much ashamedof myself." With these concluding words, Mr. George gives a shaketo each of the hands he holds, and relinquishing them, backs a paceor two in a broad-chested, upright attitude, as if he had made afinal confession and were immediately going to be shot with allmilitary honours.
"George, hear me out!" says Mr. Bagnet, glancing at his wife. "Oldgirl, go on!"Mr. Bagnet, being in this singular manner heard out, has merely toobserve that the letter must be attended to without any delay, thatit is advisable that George and he should immediately wait on Mr.
Smallweed in person, and that the primary object is to save andhold harmless Mr. Bagnet, who had none of the money. Mr. George,entirely assenting, puts on his hat and prepares to march with Mr.
Bagnet to the enemy's camp.
"Don't you mind a woman's hasty word, George," says Mrs. Bagnet,patting him on the shoulder. "I trust my old Lignum to you, and Iam sure you'll bring him through it."The trooper returns that this is kindly said and that he WILL bringLignum through it somehow. Upon which Mrs. Bagnet, with her cloak,basket, and umbrella, goes home, bright-eyed again, to the rest ofher family, and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful errand ofmollifying Mr. Smallweed.
Whether there are two people in England less likely to comesatisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr. Smallweed than Mr.
George and Mr. Matthew Bagnet may be very reasonably questioned.
Also, notwithstanding their martial appearance, broad squareshoulders, and heavy tread, whether there are within the samelimits two more simple and unaccustomed children in all theSmallweedy affairs of life. As they proceed with great gravitythrough the streets towards the region of Mount Pleasant, Mr.
Bagnet, observing his companion to be thoughtful, considers it afriendly part to refer to Mrs. Bagnet's late sally.
"George, you know the old girl--she's as sweet and as mild as milk.
But touch her on the children--or myself--and she's off likegunpowder.""It does her credit, Mat!""George," says Mr. Bagnet, looking straight before him, "the oldgirl--can't do anything--that don't do her credit. More or less.
I never say so. Discipline must he maintained.""She's worth her weight in gold," says the trooper.
"In gold?" says Mr. Bagnet. "I'll tell you what. The old girl'sweight--is twelve stone six. Would I take that weight--in anymetal--for the old girl? No. Why not? Because the old girl'smetal is far more precious---than the preciousest metal. And she'sALL metal!""You are right, Mat!""When she took me--and accepted of the ring--she 'listed under meand the children--heart and head, for life. She's that earnest,"says Mr. Bagnet, "and true to her colours--that, touch us with afinger--and she turns out--and stands to her arms. If the old girlfires wide--once in a way--at the call of duty--look over it,George. For she's loyal!""Why, bless her, Mat," returns the trooper, "I think the higher ofher for it!""You are right!" says Mr. Bagnet with the warmest enthusiasm,though without relaxing the rigidity of a single muscle. "Think ashigh of the old girl--as the rock of Gibraltar--and still you'll bethinking low--of such merits. But I never own to it before her.
Discipline must be maintained."These encomiums bring them to Mount Pleasant and to GrandfatherSmallweed's house. The door is opened by the perennial Judy, who,having surveyed them from top to toe with no particular favour, butindeed with a malignant sneer, leaves them standing there while sheconsults the oracle as to their admission. The oracle may beinferred to give consent from the circumstance of her returningwith the words on her honey lips that they can come in if they wantto it. Thus privileged, they come in and find Mr. Smallweed withhis feet in the drawer of his chair as if it were a paper foot-bathand Mrs. Smallweed obscured with the cushion like a bird that isnot to sing.
"My dear friend," says Grandfather Smallweed with those two leanaffectionate arms of his stretched forth. "How de do? How de do?
Who is our friend, my dear friend?""Why this," returns George, not able to be very conciliatory atfirst, "is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter ofours, you know.""Oh! Mr. Bagnet? Surely!" The old man looks at him under hishand.
