he had money to burn.
I didn't mind him much, myself; he went out of his way to be pleasant to me, and once I had satisfied myself that his enthusiasm for Elspeth wasn't likely to go the length, I tolerated him. She was ready to flirt with anything in breeches - and more than flirt, I suspected, but there were horny captains I was far leerier of than the Don. That bastard Watney, for one, and the lecherous snob Ranelagh, and I fancy young Conyngham was itching after her, too. But Solomon had no name as a rake; didn't even keep a mistress, apparently, and did no damage round Windmill Street or any of my haunts, leastways. Another odd thing: he didn't touch liquor, in any form.
Oddest of all, though, was the way that my father-in-law took to him. From time to time during that winter old Morrison came south from his lair in Paisley to inflict himself on us and carp about expense, and it was during one of these visits that we had Solomon to dine. Morrison took one look at the fashionable cut of his coat and Newgate knockers,*(*Side-whiskers*) sniffed, and muttered about 'anither scented gommeril wi' mair money than sense', but before that dinner was through Solomon had him eating out of his palm.
Old Morrison had started off on one of his usual happy harangues about the state of the nation, so that for the first course we had cockaleekie soup, halibut with oyster sauce, and the income tax, removed with minced chicken patties, lamb cutlets, and the Mines Act, followed by a second course of venison in burgundy, fricassee of beef, and the Chartists, with grape ices, bilberry tart, and Ireland for dessert. Then the ladies (Elspeth and my father's mistress, Judy, whom Elspeth had a great fancy for, God knows why) withdrew, and over the port we had the miners' strike and the General Ruin of the Country.
Fine stuff, all of it, and my guv'nor went to sleep in his chair while Morrison held forth on the iniquity of those scoundrelly colliers who objected to having their infants dragging tubs naked through the seams for a mere fifteen hours a day.
'It's the infernal Royal Commission,' cries he. 'Makin' mischief- aye, an' it'll spread, mark me. If bairns below the age o' ten year is no' tae work underground, how long will it be afore they're prohibitin' their employment in factories, will ye tell me? Damn that whippersnapper Ashley! `Eddicate them,' says he, the eejit! I'd eddicate them, would I no'! An' then there's the Factory Act - that'll be the next thing.'
'The amendment can't pass for another two years,' says Solomon quietly, and Morrison glowered at him.
'How d'ye ken that?'
'It's obvious, surely. We have the Mines Act, which is all the country can digest for the moment. But the shorter hours will come - probably within two years, certainly within three. Mr Horne's report will see to that.'
His easy certainty impressed Morrison, who wasn't used to being lectured on business; however, the mention of Horne's name set him off again - I gathered this worthy was to publish a paper on child employment, which would inevitably lead to bankruptcies all round for deserving employers like my father-in-law, with free beer and holidays for the paupers, a workers' rebellion, and invasion by the French.
'Not quite so much, perhaps,' smiles Solomon. 'But his report will raise a storm, that's certain. I've seen some of it.'
'Ye've seen it?' cries Morrison. 'But it's no' oot till the New Year!' He glowered a moment. 'Ye're gey far ben,*(* In the know, well-informed). sir.' He took an anxious gulp of port. 'Does it - was there … that is, did ye chance tae see any mention o' Paisley, maybe?'
Solomon couldn't be certain, but said there was some shocking stuff in the report - infants tied up and lashed unmercifully by overseers, flogged naked through the streets when they were late; in one factory they'd even had their ears nailed down for bad work.
'It's a lie!' bawls Morrison, knocking over his glass. 'A damned lie! Never a bairn in oor shop had hand laid on it! Ma Goad - prayers at seeven, an' a cup o' milk an' a piece tae their dinner - oot o' ma ain pocket! Even a yard o' yarn, whiles, as a gift, an' me near demented wi' pilferin'—'
Solomon soothed him by saying he was sure Morrison's factories were paradise on earth, but added gravely that between the Horne report' and slack trade generally, he couldn't see many good pickings for manufacturers for some years to come. Overseas investment, that was the thing; why, there were millions a year to be made out of the Orient, by men who knew their business (as he did), and while Morrison sniffed a bit, and called it prospectus talk, you could see he was interested despite himself. He began to ask questions, and argue, and Solomon had every answer pat; I found it a dead bore, and left them prosing away, with my guv'nor snoring and belching at the table head - the most sensible noises I'd heard all night. But later, old Morrison was heard to remark that yon young Solomon had a heid on his shoothers, richt enough, a kenspeckle lad - no' like some that sauntered and drank awa' their time, an' sponged off their betters, etc.
One result of all this was that Don Solomon Haslam was a more frequent visitor than ever, dividing his time between Elspeth and her sire, which was perverse variety, if you like. He was forever talking Far East trade with Morrison, urging him to get into it - he even suggested that the old bastard should take a trip to see for himself, which I'd have seconded, nem. con. I wondered if perhaps Solomon was some swell magsman trying to diddle the old rascal of a few thou.; some hopes, if he was. Anyway, they got along like a matched pair, and since Morrison was at this time expanding his enterprises, and Haslam was well-connected in the City, I dare say my dear relative found the acquaintance useful.
So winter and spring went by, and then in June I had two letters. One was from my Uncle Bindley at the Horse Guards, to say that negotiations were under way to procure me a lieutenancy in the Household Cavalry; this great honour, he was careful to point out, was due to my Afghan heroics, not to my social desirability, which in his opinion was negligible - he was from the Paget side of our family, you see, and affected to despise us common Flashmans, which showed he had more sense than manners. I was quite flown by this news, and almost equally elated by the other letter, which was from Alfred Mynn, reminding me of his invitation to play in his casual side at Canterbury. I'd been having a few games for the Montpeliers at the old Beehive field, and was in form, so I accepted straight off. It wasn't just for the cricket, though: I had three good reasons for wanting to be out of Town just then. First, I had just encompassed Lola Montez's ruin on the London stage,' and had reason to believe that the mad bitch was looking for me with a pistol - she was game for anything, you know, including murder; secondly, a female acrobat whom I'd been tupping was pretending that she was in foal, and demanding compensation with tears and menaces; and thirdly, I recalled that Mrs Lade, the Duke's little piece, was to be in Canterbury for the Cricket Week.
So you can see a change of scene was just what old Flashy needed; if I'd known the change I was going to get I'd have paid off the acrobat, let Mrs Lade go hang, and allowed Montez one clear shot at me running - and thought myself lucky. But we can't see into the future, thank God.
I'd intended to go down to Canterbury on my own, but a week or so beforehand I happened to mention my visit to Haslam, in Elspeth's presence, and right away he said famous, just the thing; he was keen as mustard on cricket himself, and he'd take a house there for the week: we must be his guests, he would get together a party, and we'd make a capital holiday of it. He was like that; expense was no object with him, and in a moment he had Elspeth clapping her hands with promises of picnic and dances and all sorts of junketings.
'Oh, Don, how delightful!' cries she. 'Why, it will be the jolliest thing, and Canterbury is the most select place, I believe - yes, there is a regiment there - but, oh, what shall I have to wear? One needs a very different style out of London, you see, especially if many of our lunches are to be al fresco, and some of the evening parties are sure to be out of doors - oh, but what about poor, dear Papa?'
I should have added that another reason for my leaving London was to get away from old Morrison, who was still infesting our premises. In fact, he'd been taken ill in May - not fatally, unfortunately. He claimed it was overwork, but I knew it was the report of the child employment commission which, as Don Solomon had predicted, had caused a shocking uproar when it came out, for it proved that our factories were rather worse than the Siberian salt mines. Names hadn't been named, but questions were being asked in the Commons, and Morrison was terrified that at any moment he'd be exposed for the slave-driving swine he was. So the little villain had taken to his bed, more or less, with an attack of the nervous guilts, and spent his time damning the commissioners, snarling at the servants, and snuffing candles to save money.
Of course Haslam said he must come with us; the change of air would do him good; myself, I thought a change from air was what the old pest required, but there was nothing I could do about it, and since my first game for Mynn's crew was on a Monday afternoon, it was arranged that the party should travel down the day before. I managed to steer clear of that ordeal, pleading business - in fact, young Conyngham had bespoken a room at the Magpie for a hanging on the Monday morning, but I didn't let on to Elspeth about that. Don Solomon convoyed the
