Rachel Ray

she said terrible things she said them with a conviction that they would not have any terrible effect. Tappitt would only take them for what they were worth, and would measure them by the standard which his old experience had taught him to adopt. When a man has been long consuming red pepper, it takes much red pepper to stimulate his palate. Had Mrs. Tappitt merely advised her husband, in proper conjugal phraseology, to relinquish his trade and to retire to Torquay, her advice, she knew, would have had no weight. She was eager on the subject, feeling convinced that this plan of retirement was for the good of the family generally, and therefore she had advocated it with energy. There may be those who think that a wife goes too far in threatening a husband with a commission of lunacy, and frightening him with a prospect of various fatal diseases; but the dose must be adapted to the constitution, and the palate that is accustomed to large quantities of red pepper must have quantities larger than usual whenever some special culinary effect is to be achieved. On the present occasion Mrs. Tappitt went on talking to the girls of their father in language that was quite eulogistic. No threat against the absent brewer passed her mouth⁠—or theirs. But they all understood each other, and were agreed that everything was to be done to induce papa to accept Mr. Rowan’s offer.

“Then,” said Cherry, “he’ll marry Rachel Ray, and she’ll be mistress of the brewery house.”

“Never!” said Mrs. Tappitt, very solemnly. “Never! He’ll never be such a fool as that.”

“Never!” said Augusta. “Never!”

In the meantime the meeting went on at the Dragon. I can’t say that Mr. Tappitt was on this occasion called upon to preside over the petition. He was simply invited to take the chair at a meeting of a dozen men at Baslehurst who were brought together by Mr. Sharpit in order that they might be induced by him to recommend Mr. Hart to employ him, Mr. Sharpit, in getting up the petition in question; and in order that there might be some sufficient temptation to these twelve men to gather themselves together, the dinner at the Dragon was added to the meeting. Mr. Tappitt took the chair in the big, uncarpeted, fusty room upstairs, in which masonic meetings were held once a month, and in which the farmers of the neighbourhood dined once a week, on market days. He took the chair and some seven or eight of his townsmen clustered round him. The others had sent word that they would manage to come in time for the dinner. Mr. Sharpit, before he put the brewer in his place of authority, prompted him as to what he was to do, and in the course of a quarter of an hour two resolutions, already prepared by Mr. Sharpit, had been passed unanimously. Mr. Hart was to be told by the assembled people of Baslehurst that he would certainly be seated by a scrutiny, and he was to be advised to commence his proceedings at once. These resolutions were duly committed to paper by one of Mr. Sharpit’s clerks, and Mr. Tappitt, before he sat down to dinner, signed a letter to Mr. Hart on behalf of the electors of Baslehurst. When the work of the meeting was completed it still wanted half an hour to dinner, during which the nine electors of Baslehurst sauntered about the yard of the inn, looked into the stables, talked to the landlady at the bar, indulged themselves with gin and bitters, and found the time very heavy on their hands. They were nine decent-looking, middle-aged men, dressed in black not of the newest, in swallow-tailed coats and black trousers, with chimney-pot hats, and red faces; and as they pottered about the premises of the Dragon they seemed to be very little at their ease.

“What’s up, Jim?” said one of the postboys to the ostler.

“Sharpit’s got ’em all here to get some more money out of that ere Jew gent;⁠—that’s about the ticket,” said the ostler.

“He’s a clever un,” said the postboy.

At last the dinner was ready; and the total number of the party having now completed itself, the liberal electors of Baslehurst prepared to enjoy themselves. No bargain had been made on the subject, but it was understood by them all that they would not be asked to pay for their dinner. Sharpit would see to that. He would probably know how to put it into his little bill; and if he failed in that the risk was his own.

But while the body of the liberal electors was peeping into the stables and drinking gin and bitters, Mr. Sharpit and Mr. Tappitt were engaged in a private conference.

“If you come to me,” said Sharpit, “of course I must take it up. The etiquette of the profession don’t allow me to decline.”

“But why should you wish to decline?” said Tappitt, not altogether pleased by Mr. Sharpit’s manner.

“Oh, by no means; no. It’s just the sort of work I like;⁠—not much to be made by it, but there’s injury to be redressed and justice to be done. Only you see poor Honyman hasn’t got much of a practice left to him, and I don’t want to take his bread out of his mouth.”

“But I’m not to be ruined because of that!”

“As I said before, if you bring the business to me I must take it up. I can’t help myself, if I would. And if I do take it up I’ll see you through it. Everybody who knows me knows that of me.”

“I suppose I shall find you at home about ten tomorrow?”

“Yes; I’ll be in my office at ten;⁠—only you should think it well over, you know, Mr. Tappitt. I’ve nothing to say against Mr. Honyman⁠—not a word. You’ll remember that, if you please, if there should be anything about it afterwards. Ah! you’re wanted for the chair, Mr. Tappitt. I’ll come and