those who had been most intimately acquainted with mr. scadgers of newman street had never known him under any circumstances devote a portion of his valuable time to sacrificing to the graces. he was popularly supposed to sleep in his clothes; and as those garments were seldom entirely free from fluff or "flue," there were probably some grounds for the supposition; but he could not have slept in his big high-boots, though no one had ever seen him without them, save jinks. jinks had more than once seen his master with slippered feet, and trembled; for mr. scadgers' boots were to him what those other ingoldsby-celebrated boots were to the baron ralph de shurland, what his hair was to samson, what his high-heels were to louis quatorze. without his boots, mr. scadgers was quite a different man; he talked of "giving time," of "waiting a day or two," of "holding-off a bit;" this was in his slippers: but when once his boots were on, in speaking of the same debtor he told jinks to "sell him up slick, and clear off all his sticks." he always seemed to wear the same suit of black, and all the washing that he was ever known to indulge in was by smearing himself with the damp corner of a towel, which he kept in the office between the chemist's bottles, one of which held the water; while his toilette was completed by running a pocket-comb through his close-cropped hair, and then smoothing it down with the palms of his hands, whisking his boots with his red-silk pocket-handkerchief, and putting sharp spiky points to his nails by the aid of a vicious-looking buck-handled penknife.
thoroughly accustomed to his patron's appearance, jinks was, then, struck with wonderment on beholding him one morning enter the office in comparatively gorgeous array. through the folds of a white waistcoat there protruded a large shirt-frill, certainly of rather a yellow hue, and not so neat in the plaits as it ought to have been, but for all that an undeniable frill, such as adorned the breasts of the dandies of the last generation; his usual napless greasy hat had been discarded for a very elegant article in white beaver, which had apparently been the property of some other gentleman, and acquired by its present owner in that species of commercial transaction known as a "swop," as it was much too large for mr. scadgers, and obliterated every sign of his hair, while a corner of the red-silk pocket-handkerchief fell out gracefully over the back of his head. in his hand mr. scadgers carried one damp black-beaver glove, and a thick stick like an elongated ruler, with a silver top and a silk tassel. mr. jinks was so overpowered at this apparition that he sat gazing with open mouth at his master, unable to speak a word; he had one comfort, however,--mr. scadgers had his boots on, so that under all this frivolity there lurked an intention of stern business.
mr. scadgers took no notice of his subordinate's astonishment; but placing the glove and the stick on his desk, taking off the white hat, and having a thorough mopping with the red-silk pocket-handkerchief, looked through his letters, and proceeded to indorse them, for jinks to answer, in his usual business way. some of his correspondence amused him, for he smiled and shook his head at the letter in a waggish way, as though the writer were chaffing him; in glancing over another he would lay his finger alongside his nose and mutter, "no, no, my boy! not by no means, no how!" while at others his larger eye would gleam ferociously, the upper corner of his mouth would twist higher than ever, and he would shake his fist at the paper and utter words not pleasant to hear. his mental emotions did not, however, interfere with his business habits: as he finished each letter he wrote the substance of his reply on the back for jinks to copy, drew three or four cheques, which he also handed over to his factotum, and locked away some flimsy documents which had formed the contents of certain of the letters, in his cash-box. some of the letters received by that morning's post had contained bank-notes, and these mr. scadgers examined most scrupulously before putting them away, holding them between his eyes and the light to examine the water-mark, carefully scrutinising the engraving, and finally comparing the numbers, dates, and ciphers, with the list contained in a printed bill pasted against the inside of his desk-lid headed "stolen." over one of the notes, after comparing it with this list, mr. scadgers chuckled vastly.
"90275 lb january 12! there you are correct to a t. i thought they'd turn up about this time. i say, jinks, here's one of the notes as was stolen from robarts's; you recollect? come up from doncaster in renewal-fee from honourable capting maitland. he took it over the leger, no doubt: they always thought at scotland yard that that was the way those notes would get put off; and they was right. send this back to the capting, jinks,--he's gone back to leeds barracks now,--and tell him all about it; we can't have that, you know; might get us into trouble; and if he wants a renewal, he must send another. he won't know where he got it from, bless you! reg'lar careless cove as ever was; he ain't due till friday, and he's sent up to-day in a reg'lar fright. you must step round to moss's and tell 'em to proceed in hetherington's matter. there's a letter there from sir mordaunt, askin' for more time, and promisin' all sorts of things; but i'm sick of him and his blather. tell moss to put the screw on, and he'll pay up fast enough. write a line to young sewell, and tell him he can have 125l., and the rest in madeiry. he's in scotland; you'll find his address in the book,--killy-something; say the wine can be sent to the albany; but i won't do it in any other way. any one been in this morning?"
"only sharp, from parkinson's," said mr. jinks, who was already deep in letter-writing.
"well," said his principal, "what did he want?"
"he came to know if you'd be in another two hundred for mr. beresford," replied jinks, looking up from his work. "he's been hit at doncaster, and wants the money most immediate."
"then he won't get it from me," said mr. scadgers; "i won't have no more of his paper, at no price. he's up to his neck already, is mr. beresford; and that old aunt of his don't mean dying yet, from all i hear."
"there's the bishop," suggested jinks.
"oh, blow the bishop! he might be bled on the square, but he'd turn precious rusty if he thought it was stiff he was paying for. no, no; master beresford's taking lodgings in queer street, i fancy; parkinson holds more of his paper than you think of, and if he wants to go deeper, he must go by himself; i won't be in it."
"all right," said jinks; "i'll put a cross against his name in the books. rittman's boy looked in to see if his father could have two pounds till saturday. i told him to call again this afternoon."
"till saturday," said scadgers with a grin. "you never see such a saturday as that'll be, jinks. poor devil! there's nothing but the carcass left there; and he's worked well too, and brought us plenty of custom, though not of the best sort. let the boy have a sovereign when he comes, jinks, and tell him if his father don't pay, i'll put him in prison; not that he'll mind that one dump. oh, by the way, give me all the paper of young prescott's that you've got by you."
mr. jinks opened a large iron safe let into the wall just behind his stool, and from a drawer therein took out a bundle of tape-tied papers. from this he selected four, and as he handed them over to his principal, said, "here they are; two with pringle, one with compton, and one iou.,--total, one seventy-five. i was going to ask you what you intended to do about them. the young feller was here yesterday wanting to see you, and looking regularly down upon his luck."
"ah," said scadgers, "there's something up about them--what, i don't know; but i'm a-goin' on that business now. i shall be away for an hour or two, jinks."
"you ain't a-goin' to get married, are you, mr. scadgers?" asked the little old man with a look of alarm; "it would never do to bring a female into the concern."
scadgers laughed outright. "married! no, you old fool, not i. can't a man put on a bit of finery"--here be smoothed the yellow shirt-frill with his grimy fingers--"without your supposing there's a woman in the case? however, i'm goin' to call upon a lady, and that's the truth; but all in a matter of business. hand over them bills of prescott's, and don't expect me till you see me."
so saying, mr. scadgers took the bills from jinks and placed them in his fat pocketbook, which he buttoned into the breast-pocket of his frock-coat, gave himself a good mopping with the red-silk pocket-handkerchief before throwing it into the big white hat, and placing that elegant article on his head, took up the one damp glove and the ruler-like stick, and went out.
a consciousness of the shirt-frill, or the hat, or both, pervaded mr. scadgers' mind as he walked through the streets; and gave him an air very different from that which usually characterised his business perambulations. he seemed to feel that he was calling upon the passers-by for observation and notice; and certainly the passers-by seemed to respond to the appeal. ribald boys stuck the red-covered books of domestic household expenditure which they carried into their breasts, and swaggered by with heads erect; others openly expressed their opinion that it was "all dicky" with him; while a more impudent few suggested that he had stolen the "guv'nor's tile," or borrowed his big brother's hat; nor were the suggestions that he was a barber's clerk out for a holiday wanting on the youthful populace. in an ordinary way mr. scadgers was thoroughly proof against the most cutting chaff: the most terrific things had been said about his boots, and he had remained adamant; drunken men had requested permission to light their pipes at his nose, and he had never winced; in allusion to his swivel-eye, boys had asked him to look round the corner and tell them what o'clock it was, without ruffling his temper in the smallest degree. but in the present instance he felt in an abnormal state; he knew that there was ground for the satire which was being poured out upon him, and he fled into the first omnibus for concealment. he rode to the utmost limits of the omnibus-journey, and when he alighted he had still a couple of miles to walk to his destination. he inquired his way and set out manfully. the weather was magnificent; one of those early october days when, though the sun's rays are a little tempered of their burning heat, and the air has a freshness which it has not known for months, the country yet wears a summer aspect. mr. scadgers' way lay along a high-road, on either side of which were fields: now huge yellow patches shorn of their produce, and, while awaiting the ploughshare, looking like the clean-shaved faces of elderly gentlemen; now broken up into rich loam furrows driven through by the puffing snorting engine which has supplanted the patient dobbin, the handle-holding labourer, and whip-cracking boy of our childhood, and against which mr. tennyson's northern farmer inveighed with such bitterness. far away on the horizon lay a broad wooded belt, broken in the centre, where two tall trees, twining their topmost branches together, formed a kind of natural arch, and beyond which one expected--absurdly enough--to find the sea. the road was quiet enough; a few carts, laden with farm-produce or manure, crept lazily along it; now and then a carrier's wagon, drawn by a heavily-trotting horse with bells on his collar, jolted by, or the trap of a town-traveller returning from the home-circuit, driven by an ill-dressed hobbledehoy with the traveller nodding by his side, and the black-leather apron strapped over the back seat, to make the trap look as much like a phaeton as possible, rattled townward. but when in obedience to the directions on a finger-post, mr. scadgers turned out of the high-road up a long winding lane, fringed on either side by high hedges, on which "autumn's fiery finger" had been laid only to increase their beauty a thousand-fold, where not a sound broke the stillness save his own footfall and the occasional chirping of the birds, he seemed for the first time to awake to the beauty of the scene. climbing to the top bar of a gate in the hedge on the top of a little eminence, he seated himself, took off the big hat, mopped himself violently with the red-silk handkerchief, and looked round on the panorama of meadow and woodland, with tiny silver threads of water here and there interspersed, until his heart softened and he had occasion to rub the silver head of the ruler-like stick into his eyes.
"lor' bless me!" he muttered to himself; "it's like yorkshire, and yet prettier than that; softer and quieter like. more than twenty years since i've seen any thing like this. and poor ann! daisy-chains we used to make in fairlow's mead, just like that field there, when we was little children; daisy-chains and buttercups, and--poor ann! and to think what i'm now a-goin' to--lord help us! well, it is a rum world!" with which sage though incoherent reflections mr. scadgers resumed the big hat, dismounted from the gate, and continued his walk.
as he proceeded up the lane, he began to take particular notice of the objects by which he was more immediately surrounded; and on hearing the tramp of hoofs he peered through the hedge, and saw strings of horses, each mounted by its groom, at exercise. at these animals mr. scadgers looked with a by no means uncritical eye, and seemed satisfied, for he muttered, "good cattle and plenty of 'em too; looks like business that. wise head she has; i knew it would turn out all right." when he arrived at the lodge, he stopped in front of the gates and looked scrutinisingly about him, then rang the bell, and stared hard but pleasantly at the buxom woman who stood curtseying with the gate in her hand. inside, mr. scadgers noticed that every thing looked neat and prosperous; he did not content himself with going straight up the carriage-drive, but diverged across the lodge-keeper's garden, and peered into the little farmyard, where the mastiff came out of his kennel to scan the stranger, and where two or three helpers, lounging on the straw-ride, or polishing bits as they leant against the stable-doors, mechanically knuckled their foreheads as he passed by. arriving at the house, mr. scadgers found the front-door open; but a pull at the bell brought a staid, middle-aged woman (kate mellon, for it was the den which mr. scadgers was visiting, never could stand what she called "flaunting hussies," as servants), by whom he was ushered into the pretty little hall, hung with its antlers, its foxes' brushes, and its sporting picture, and into the dining-room. there he was left by himself to await the coming of the owner of the house.
now mr. scadgers, though by no means a nervous or impressible man, seemed on this occasion to have lost his ordinary calm, and to be in a very excitable state. he laid the big hat carefully on the table, refreshed himself with a thorough mop with the red-silk handkerchief, and rubbed his hands through his stubbly black hair; then he walked up and down the room, alternately sucking the silver head of the ruler-like stick, and muttering incoherencies to himself, and ever and anon he would stop short in his perambulations and glance at the door with an air almost of fright. the door at length was opened with a bang, and kate mellon entered the room. the skirt of her dress was looped up, and showed a pair of red-striped stockings and large, though well-shaped, thick balmoral boots; she had a driving-whip in one hand and on the other a strong dogskin gauntlet, stretched and stained. her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and the end of her hair was just escaping from the light knot into which it had been bound. with a short nod to her visitor, at whose personal appearance she gave a glance of astonishment, she began the conversation by asking what his pleasure was.
if mr. scadgers' behaviour had been somewhat peculiar before her entrance, it was now ten times more remarkable. at first he stood stock-still with his mouth open, gazing at her with distended eyes; then he fell to nodding his head violently and rubbing his hands as if thoroughly delighted, and then looked her up and down as though he were mentally appraising each article of dress.
"what's the man up to?" said kate, after undergoing a minute of this inspection; "come, none of this tomfoolery here. what do you want?"
recalled to himself by the sharp tone in which these words were uttered, mr. scadgers fell into his usual state, bowed, and said he had called by appointment.
"by appointment?" said. kate; "oh, ah, i recollect now. you overcharged me for two horses and a dog in the list for last year. i filled up your form-thing fairly enough; why didn't you go by that?"
"two horses and a dog!" repeated mr. scadgers. "there's some mistake, miss; my name's scadgers."
"lord, that is a good 'un!" said kate, dropping the whip and clapping her hands in an ecstasy of laughter. "i thought you were the man about the taxes that i've sent for to come to me, too. so your name's scadgers, is it? i've heard of you, sir; you get your living in a queer way."
"pretty much the same as you and the rest of the world, i believe," said scadgers, pleasantly;--"by the weakness of human natur'!"
"which you take a pretty considerable advantage of, eh?"
"well, i don't know: a gent wants money and he hears i've got it, and he comes to me for it. i don't seek him,--he seeks me; i tell him what he'll have to pay for it, and he agrees. he has the money, and he don't return it; and when he goes through the court and it all comes out, people cry, 'oh, scadgers again! oh, the bloodsucker! here's iniquity!' and all the rest of the gammon. if people wants luxuries, miss, they must pay for 'em, as you know well enough."
this was not said in the least offensively, but in a quiet earnest manner, as though the man had real belief in what he stated, and saw no harm in the calling he was defending. kate, who had a pretty shrewd knowledge of character, saw this at once, and felt more kindly disposed to her new acquaintance than she had at first.
"well," she said, "what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, they say; and it's not my business to preach to you, and you wouldn't heed it it i did. i got you to come here on business. you hold some acceptances of mr. james prescott's?"
"that's true, miss; i've got 'em here in my pocketbook."
"what's the amount?"
"the total, one seventy-five; cab-hire and loss of time, say one seventy-five ten six."
"hand them over, and i'll write you a cheque."
"well," said mr. scadgers, slowly, "we don't generally take cheques in these matters,--it ain't business; they mightn't be paid, you know,--but i don't mind doing it for you."
something in the tone of this last sentence which struck oddly on kate mellon's ear,--a soft tender tone of almost parental affection; a tone which seemed to bring back memory of past days. she looked up hurriedly, but mr. scadgers' swivel-eye was fixed on the wall above her head; and in the rest of his countenance there was no more emotion visible than on the face of a dutch clock. kate mellon took out her desk and wrote the cheque.
"there!" she said, handing it to him,--"there's your money; hand over the bills. all right! now, two things more. one, you'll swear never to let mr. prescott know who paid this money. good! the other, if ever he comes to you for help again--i don't think he will, mind; but if he does--you'll refuse him, and let me know."
"that's what they all say," said mr. scadgers, "if they come again, refuse 'em;' and they do come again, and i don't refuse 'em,--that is if i think they're good for the money,--but i'll swear i'll do it for you."
"i believe you," said kate, simply. "now, have some lunch before you go."
"no, thank you," said scadgers, "no lunch; but i should like a glass of wine to drink your health in."
"you shall have it, and welcome," said she, ringing the bell; "and i'll have one with you, for i was at the dumb-jockey business when you came in, and it rather takes it out of one."
when the wine was brought, kate filled two glasses, and, taking up one, nodded to mr. scadgers. "here's luck," said she, shortly. mr. scadgers took his glass, and said; "the best of luck to you in every thing, and god bless you, my--miss, i mean! and now, i've heard a lot about your stable and place--would you mind my going round them, before i go?"
"mind!" said kate; "i'll take you myself." and they walked into the farm together.
"it was as much as i could do," said mr. scadgers to himself, as, half an hour afterwards, he walked down the lane on his way back to town--"it was as much as i could do to prevent throwing my arms round her neck and telling her all about it. what a pretty creetur' it is; and what spirit! i suppose she's nuts on young prescott, and they'll be gettin' married. lord! that would be a rum start if he ever knew--but he won't know, nor any of 'em; we shall never let on. woman of business too; keeps accounts i noticed, when she opened her desk; and all the place in such order; kept as neat as a drawing-room those stables. well, that's one thing you did right, john scadgers, and one you won't be sorry for some day."
"that's a queer customer," said kate to herself, as she stood in the lane by the lodge-gate, looking after his receding figure. "a very queer customer. what a grip he gave my hand when he said good-by! my fingers ache with it still. and there was no nonsense about him; i could see that in a minute. where have i seen him before? i've some sort of recollection of him; but i can't fit it to any thing particular--he's not in the horse-line, and he's not a swell; so i don't see where i can have come across him. glad he looked in this morning, for i was precious dull: i can't make out what this weight is that's hanging over me for the last few days, just as though something was going to happen. i think another glass of madeira would do me good; but i promised simnel i'd knock that off. i wonder what's come of simnel for the last few days. that old scadgers seemed to know something about this place, noticed the alterations in the five-acre meadow; and when i asked him, said he remembered the place when it was myrtle farm. i must ask simnel about him, he--lord, how depressed and stupid i feel again!" she turned back and fastened the gate after her. one of the gatekeeper's chubby children came running out to meet her, and she caught the little thing up in her arms, and carried it into the lodge. as she was putting it down she heard the tramp of horses' feet, and raising her head, looked through the window. the next instant her cheeks flushed scarlet; she dropped the child into a chair, and rushing to the gate, threw it open, and stood gazing down the road.
yes, it was he! no mistaking his figure, even if she had, not recognised the horse. it was he riding so close to the lady by his side, bending over her and looking down, into her upturned face. so preoccupied that he never even bestowed a glance upon the place so well known to him, so frequently visited in bygone days. and she, who was she? kate could see that she was slim, could see her fair hair gathered in a knot beneath hat,--it must be the woman of whom simnel had spoken. and kate mellon gave a loud groan, and clenched her nails into the palms of her hands, and stood looking after them with quivering lips and a face as pale as death.
just at that moment two grooms came riding round the corner, side by side. the sound of their horses' feet recalled kate to herself. she looked up, and in one of them recognised beresford's man. she collected herself by a great effort, and beckoned to him. the man saw her, touched his hat, and rode up at once, leaving his companion to proceed by himself.
"william," said kate, "who's that lady riding with your master?"
"mrs. schr?der, miss; saxe-coburg square. mr. schr?der drives pair of chestnuts, miss, in mail-pheayton, plain black harness. may have noticed 'em; often in the park, miss."
"ah! no; i think not. schr?der,--saxe-coburg square, you said?"
"yes, miss. beg pardon, miss," added the man, who had himself been formerly in kate's service, and by whom, as by all of his fraternity, she was adored,--"beg pardon, miss; but nothing wrong, is there? you're looking uncommon ill, miss."
"no," said kate, with a ghastly smile. "i'm all right, thank you, william. good-day: ride on!" and william, touching his hat, clapped spurs to his horse, and rode off.
that night the mail-cart was waiting outside the little village post-office and the old woman was just huddling the letters into the bag, when a groom came up at a hand-gallop, and dismounting, gave in a letter, saying,
"just in time, mrs. mallins, i think!"
the old woman peered at him over her spectacles.
"oh, it's you, thomas, is it? well, i'll take a letter from your mistress, though i'm not bound to do it by the reg'lations. you're after time, thomas."
"i know, mrs. mallins; but miss kate said 'twere most particular. and i were to tell you so, and--"
"air you comin' with that bag?" growled the mail-cart driver, putting his head into the shop.
"all right, my man! all right!" said the old lady, handing him the bag. "there it is. thomas, you can tell your lady she was in time."
half an hour afterwards kate mellon's servant looked into the dining-room. there was no light, and she was about to withdraw, when she heard her mistress's voice say, "what is it?"
"oh, nothing, ma'am; only thomas says the letter was in time."
"very well," said kate. then, when the door was shut again, she muttered between her clenched teeth: "it's done now, and can't be undone! now, master charley, look out for yourself!"
