Ten Thousand a-Year Volume I Part 26

"No, thank you, sir, I really feel No curiosity."

t.i.tmouse, however, swallowed with equal facility Mr. Tag-rag's hard port and his soft blarney; but _all_ fools have large swallows. When, at length, Tag-rag with exquisite skill and delicacy alluded to the painfully evident embarra.s.sment of his "poor Tabby," and said he had "all of a sudden found out what had been so long the matter with her,"

[ay, even this went down,] and hemmed, and winked his eye, and drained his gla.s.s, t.i.tmouse began to get fl.u.s.tered, blushed, and hoped Mr.

Tag-rag would soon "join the ladies." They did so, Tag-rag stopping behind for a few moments to lock up the wine and the remains of the fruit, not wis.h.i.+ng to subject the servant-boy to temptation by the rare opportunity afforded by fruit left on the table. Miss Tag-rag presided over the tea-things. There were m.u.f.fins, and crumpets, and reeking-hot b.u.t.tered toast; and hospitable Mrs. Tag-rag would hear of no denial, "things had been _got_, and must be _eat_," she thought within herself; so poor t.i.tmouse, after a most desperate resistance, was obliged to swallow a round of toast, half a m.u.f.fin, an entire crumpet, and four cups of hot tea; after which _they_ felt that _he_ must feel comfortable; but he, alas, in fact, experienced a very painful degree of turgidity, and a miserable conviction that he should be able neither to eat nor drink anything more for the remainder of the week!

After the tea-things had been removed, Tag-rag, directing t.i.tmouse's attention to the piano, which was open, (with some music on it, ready to be played from,) asked him whether he liked music. t.i.tmouse, with great eagerness, hoped Miss T. would give them some music; and she, after holding out a long and vigorous siege, at length asked her papa what it should be.

"_The Battle of Prague_," said her papa.

"_Before Jehovah's awful throne_, my dear!" hastily and anxiously interposed her mamma.

"The Battle," sternly repeated her papa.

"It's Sunday night, Mr. T.," meekly rejoined his wife.

"Which will you have, Mr. t.i.tmouse?" inquired Tag-rag, with _The Battle of Prague_ written in every feature of his face. t.i.tmouse almost burst into a state of perspiration.

"A little of both, sir, if you please."

"Well," replied Tag-rag, slightly relaxing, "that will do. Split the difference--eh? Come, Tab, down with you. t.i.tmouse, will you turn over the music for my little girl?"

t.i.tmouse rose, and having sheepishly taken his station beside Miss Tag-rag, the performances commenced with _Before Jehovah's awful throne_! But mercy upon us! at what a rate she rattled over that "pious air!" If its respectable composer (whoever he may be) had been present, he must have gone into a fit; but there was no help for it--the heart of the lovely performer was in _The Battle of Prague_, to which she presently did most ample justice. So much were her feelings engaged in that sublime composition, that the bursting of one of the strings--tw.a.n.g! in the middle of the "_cannonading_" did not at all disturb her; and, as soon as she had finished the exquisite "finale,"

t.i.tmouse was in such a tumult of excitement, from a variety of causes, that he could have shed tears. Though he had never once turned over at the right place, Miss Tag-rag thanked him for his services with a smile of infinite sweetness. t.i.tmouse vowed he had never heard such splendid music--begged for more: and away went Miss Tag-rag, hurried away by her excitement. Rondo after rondo, march after march, she rattled over for at least half an hour upon those hideous jingling keys; at the end of which old Tag-rag suddenly kissed her with pa.s.sionate fondness. Though Mrs. Tag-rag was horrified at the impiety of all this, she kept a very anxious eye on the young couple, and interchanged with her husband, every now and then, very significant looks. Shortly after nine, spirits, wine, and hot and cold water, were brought in. At the sight of them t.i.tmouse looked alarmed--for he knew that he must take something more, though he would have freely given five s.h.i.+llings to be excused--for he felt as if he could not hold another drop! But it was in vain.

_w.i.l.l.y-nilly_, a gla.s.s of gin and water stood soon before him; he protested he could not touch it unless Miss Tag-rag would "take something"--whereupon, with a blush, she "thought she _would_" take a wine-gla.s.sful of sherry and water. This was provided her. Then Tag-rag mixed a tumbler of port-wine negus for Mrs. Tag-rag, and a great gla.s.s of mahogany-colored brandy and water for himself; and then he looked round the elegant little apartment, and felt perfectly happy. As t.i.tmouse advanced with his gin and water, his spirits got higher and higher, and his tongue more fluent. He once or twice dropped the "Mr."

when addressing Tag-rag; several times smiled, and once even winked at the embarra.s.sed Miss Tag-rag. Mr. Tag-rag saw it, and could not control himself--for he had got to the end of his first gla.s.s of brandy and water, and (a most unusual procedure with _him_) mixed himself a second quite _as_ strong as the former.

"Tab! ah, Tab! what _has_ been the matter with you all these months?"

said he, chucking her under the chin--and then he winked his eye at her and then at t.i.tmouse.

"Papa!" exclaimed Miss Tag-rag, looking down, and blus.h.i.+ng up to her very temples.

"Ah, t.i.tmouse--t.i.tmouse--give me your hand," said Tag-rag; "you'll forget us all when you're a great man--but we shall always remember you!"

"You're very good--very!" said t.i.tmouse, cordially returning the pressure of Tag-rag's hand. At that instant it suddenly occurred to him to adopt the suggestion of Mr. Gammon. Tag-rag was going on very fast, indeed, about the disinterested nature of his feelings towards t.i.tmouse; towards whom, he said, he had always felt just as he did at that moment--'twas in vain to deny it.

"I'm sure your conduct shows it, sir," commenced t.i.tmouse, feeling a shudder like that with which a timid bather approaches the margin of the cold stream. "I could have taken my oath, sir, that when you had heard what has happened, you would have refused to let me come into your house!"----

"Ah, ha!--that's _rather_ an odd idea, too!" said Tag-rag, with good-humored jocularity. "If I felt a true friends.h.i.+p for you as plain t.i.tmouse, it's so likely I should have _cut_ you just when--ahem! My dear sir! It was _I_ that thought _you_ wouldn't have come into _my_ house! A likely thing, indeed!"

t.i.tmouse was puzzled. His perceptions, never very quick or clear, were now undoubtedly somewhat obfuscated with what he had been drinking. In short, he did not understand that Tag-rag had not understood _him_; and felt rather baffled.

"What surprising ups and downs there are in life, Mr. t.i.tmouse!" said Mrs. Tag-rag, respectfully--"they're all sent from above, you may depend upon it, to _try_ us! No one knows how they'd behave, if as how (in a manner) they were turned upside down."

"I--I hope, mem, I haven't done anything to show that _I_"----

"Oh! my dear t.i.tmouse," anxiously interrupted Tag-rag, inwardly cursing his wife, who, finding she always went wrong in her husband's eyes whenever she spoke a word, determined for the future to stick to her negus--"The fact is, there's a Mr. Horror here that's for sending all decent people to----. He's filled my wife there with all sorts of---- nay, if she isn't bursting with cant--so never mind her! _You_ done anything wrong! I _will_ say this for you--you always was a pattern of modesty and propriety--your hand, my dear t.i.tmouse!"

"Well--I'm a happy man again," resumed t.i.tmouse, resolved now to go on with his adventure. "And when did they tell you of it, sir?"

"Oh, a few days ago--a week ago," replied Tag-rag, trying to recollect.

"Why--why--sir--a'n't you mistaken?" inquired t.i.tmouse, with a depressed, but at the same time a surprised air. "It only happened this morning, after you left"----

"Eh?--eh?--ah, ha!--What _do_ you mean, Mr. t.i.tmouse?" interrupted Tag-rag, with a faint attempt at a smile. Mrs. Tag-rag and Miss Tag-rag also turned exceedingly startled faces towards t.i.tmouse, who felt as if a house were going to fall down on him.

"Why, sir," he began to cry, (an attempt which was greatly aided by the maudlin condition to which drink had reduced him,) "till to-day, I thought I was heir to ten thousand a-year, and it seems I'm not; it's all a mistake of those cursed people at Saffron Hill!"

Tag-rag's face changed visibly, and showed the desperate shock he had just sustained. His inward agony was forcing out on his slanting forehead a dew of perspiration.

"What--a--capital--joke--Mr.--t.i.tmouse--ah, ha!"--he gasped, hastily pa.s.sing his handkerchief over his forehead. t.i.tmouse, though greatly alarmed, stood to his gun pretty steadily.

"I--I wish it was a joke! It's been no joke to _me_, sir. There's another t.i.ttlebat t.i.tmouse, it seems, in Sh.o.r.editch, that's the right"----

"Who told you this, sir? Pho, I don't--I can't believe it," said Tag-rag, in a voice tremulous between suppressed rage and fear.

"Too true, though, 'pon my life! It _is_, so help me----!" in the most earnest and solemn manner.

"How dare you swear before ladies, sir? You're insulting them, sir!"

cried Tag-rag, trembling with rage. "And in _my_ presence, too, sir?

You're not a gentleman!" He suddenly dropped his voice, and in a trembling and almost beseeching manner, asked t.i.tmouse whether he was really joking or serious.

"Never more serious in my life, sir; and enough to make me so, sir!"

replied t.i.tmouse, in a lamentable manner.

"You really mean, then, to tell me it's all a mistake, then--and that you're no more than what you always were?" inquired Tag-rag, with a desperate attempt to speak calmly.

"Oh yes, sir! Yes!" cried t.i.tmouse, mournfully; "and if you'll only be so kind as to let me serve you as I used--I'll serve you faithfully! You know it was no fault of _mine_, sir! They _would_ tell me it was so!"

'Tis impossible to conceive a more disgusting expression than the repulsive features of Tag-rag wore at that moment, while he gazed in ominous and agitated silence at t.i.tmouse. His lips quivered, and he seemed incapable of speaking.

"Oh, ma, I do feel _so_ ill!" faintly exclaimed Miss Tag-rag, turning deadly pale. t.i.tmouse was on the verge of dropping on his knees and confessing the trick, greatly agitated at the effect unexpectedly produced on Miss Tag-rag; when Tag-rag's heavy hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder, and he whispered in a fierce undertone--"You're an impostor, sir!" which arrested t.i.tmouse, and made something like a MAN of him. He was a fearful fool, but he did not want for mere _pluck_; and now it was roused. Mrs. Tag-rag exclaimed, "Oh, you _shocking_ scamp!"

as she pa.s.sed t.i.tmouse, with much agitation, and led her daughter out of the room.

"Then an impostor, sir, a'n't fit company for _you_, of course, sir!"

said t.i.tmouse, rising, and trembling with mingled apprehension and anger.

"Pay me my five-pound note!" almost shouted Tag-rag, furiously tightening the grasp by which he held t.i.tmouse's collar.

"Well, sir, and I will, if you'll only take your hand off! Hollo, sir--What the de---- Leave go, sir! Hands off! Are you going to murder me? I'll pay you, and done with you, sir," stammered t.i.tmouse:--when a faint scream was heard, plainly from Miss Tag-rag, overhead, and in hysterics. Then the seething caldron boiled over. "You _infernal_ scoundrel!" exclaimed Tag-rag, almost choked with fury; and suddenly seizing t.i.tmouse by the collar, scarce giving him time, in pa.s.sing, to get hold of his hat and stick, he urged him along through the pa.s.sage, down the gravel walk, threw open the gate, thrust him furiously through it, and sent after him such a blast of execration, as was almost strong enough to drive him a hundred yards down the road! t.i.tmouse did not fully recover his breath or his senses for a long while afterwards. When he did, the first thing he experienced, was a dreadful disposition towards sickness; but gradually overcoming it, he felt an inclination to fall down on his knees in the open road, and wors.h.i.+p the sagacious and admirable GAMMON, who had so exactly predicted what had come to pa.s.s!

And now, Mr. t.i.tmouse, for some little time I have done with you.

Away!--give room to your betters. But don't think that I have yet "rifled _all_ your sweetness," or am _yet_ about to "fling you like a noisome weed away."

CHAPTER VII.