Here Kit drove a nail into the wall, very hard—much harder than was necessary—and having done so, faced about again.
“There’s the pony, sir,” said Kit—“Whisker, ma’am (and he knows so well I’m talking about him that he begins to neigh directly, sir)—would he let anybody come near him but me, ma’am? Here’s the garden, sir, and Mr. Abel, ma’am. Would Mr. Abel part with me, sir, or is there anybody that could be fonder of the garden, ma’am? It would break mother’s heart, sir, and even little Jacob would have sense enough to cry his eyes out, ma’am, if he thought that Mr. Abel could wish to part with me so soon, after having told me only the other day, that he hoped we might be together for years to come—”
There is no telling how long Kit might have stood upon the ladder, addressing his master and mistress by turns, and generally turning towards the wrong person, if Barbara had not at that moment come running up to say that a messenger from the office had brought a note, which, with an expression of some surprise at Kit’s oratorical appearance, she put into her master’s hand.
“Oh!” said the old gentleman after reading it, “ask the messenger to walk this way.” Barbara tripping off to do as she was bid, he turned to Kit and said that they would not pursue the subject any further, and that Kit could not be more unwilling to part with them, than they would be to part with Kit; a sentiment which the old lady very generously echoed.
“At the same time, Christopher,” added Mr. Garland, glancing at the note in his hand, “if the gentleman should want to borrow you now and then for an hour or so, or even a day or so, at a time, we must consent to lend you, and you must consent to be lent.—Oh! here is the young gentleman. How do you do, sir?”
This salutation was addressed to Mr. Chuckster, who, with his hat extremely on one side, and his hair a long way beyond it, came swaggering up the walk.
“Hope I see you well, sir,” returned that gentleman. “Hope I see you well, ma’am. Charming box this, sir. Delicious country, to be sure.”
“You want to take Kit back with you, I find?” observed Mr. Garland.
“I’ve got a chariot-cab waiting on purpose,” replied the clerk. “A very spanking grey in that cab, sir, if you’re a judge of horseflesh.”
Declining to inspect the spanking grey, on the plea that he was but poorly acquainted with such matters, and would but imperfectly appreciate his beauties, Mr. Garland invited Mr. Chuckster to partake of a slight repast in the way of lunch, and that gentleman readily consenting, certain cold viands, flanked with ale and wine, were speedily prepared for his refreshment.
At this repast, Mr. Chuckster exerted his utmost abilities to enchant his entertainers, and impress them with a conviction of the mental superiority of those who dwelt in town; with which view he led the discourse to the small scandal of the day, in which he was justly considered by his friends to shine prodigiously. Thus, he was in a condition to relate the exact circumstances of the difference between the Marquis of Mizzler and Lord Bobby, which it appeared originated in a disputed bottle of champagne, and not in a pigeon-pie, as erroneously reported in the newspapers; neither had Lord Bobby said to the Marquis of Mizzler, “Mizzler, one of us two tells a lie, and I’m not the man,” as incorrectly stated by the same authorities; but, “Mizzler, you know where I’m to be found, and, damme, sir, find me if you want me”—which, of course, entirely changed the aspect of this interesting question, and placed it in a very different light. He also acquainted them with the precise amount of the income guaranteed by the Duke of Thigsberry to Violetta Stetta of the Italian Opera, which it appeared was payable quarterly, and not half-yearly, as the public had been given to understand, and which was exclusive, and not inclusive, (as had been monstrously stated,) of jewellery, perfumery, hair-powder for five footmen, and two daily changes of kid-gloves for a page. Having entreated the old lady and gentleman to set their minds at rest upon these absorbing points, for they might rely on his statement being the correct one, Mr. Chuckster entertained them with theatrical chitchat and the court circular; and so wound up a brilliant and fascinating conversation which he had maintained alone, and without any assistance whatever, for upwards of three-quarters of an hour.
“And now that the nag has got his wind again,” said Mr. Chuckster rising in a graceful manner, “I’m afraid I must cut my stick.”
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Garland offered any opposition to his tearing himself away, (feeling, no doubt, that such a man could ill be spared from his proper sphere of action,) and therefore Mr. Chuckster and Kit were shortly afterwards upon their way to town; Kit being perched upon the box of the cabriolet beside the driver, and Mr. Chuckster seated in solitary state inside, with one of his boots sticking out at each of the front windows.
When they reached the Notary’s house, Kit followed into the office, and was desired by Mr. Abel to sit down and wait, for the gentleman who wanted him had gone out, and perhaps might not return for some time. This anticipation was strictly verified, for Kit had had his dinner, and his tea, and had read all the lighter matter in the Law-List, and the Post-Office Directory, and had fallen asleep a great many times, before the gentleman whom he had seen before, came in; which he did at last in a very great hurry.
He was closeted with Mr. Witherden for some little time, and Mr. Abel had
