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Hollowdell Grange: Holiday Hours in a Country Home, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 20. Mr Jones's Mishap |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. MR JONES'S MISHAP About eleven o'clock the next morning, Mr Inglis was sitting in his study, writing; Mrs Inglis was working at the open window, and occasionally watching the boys, who were amusing themselves upon the lawn, when all at once a knock came at the study-door. "Come in," said Mr Inglis, and in came Mary, trying to look very serious, but evidently struggling with a laugh which would keep crinkling up the corners of her mouth, although she kept smoothing them out with her apron. "Well, Mary?" said her mistress. "If you p-p-please 'M," said Mary, who then stopped short, for something seemed to have got in her throat. "Mary!" exclaimed Mrs Inglis, severely. Poor Mary looked as serious directly, as if she were going to lose her situation, and making an effort she began again. "If you please, 'M, here's Mr-- Oh! dear; oh!--hoo--hoo--guggle-- guggle--gug--gug--gug; choke--choke; cough--cough," went Mary, burying her face in her apron, and completely losing her breath, and turning almost black in the face with, her efforts to stifle her laughter. "Oh! dear; oh! dear," she said, trying to run out of the room, but Mrs Inglis stopped her, and insisted upon knowing what was the cause of her mirth. "Oh, 'M, please, 'M, here's Mr Jones come, and wants to see Master; and oh, 'M, please, 'M--he--he--he--he--he--he's in such a mess. Oh! dear; oh! dear; what shall I do!" "Do," said Mrs Inglis, at last, quite angrily. "Why, go and ask Mr Jones to step in here; or no, tell him to step into the drawing-room." "Oh, please, 'M, don't," said Mary, serious in a moment. "Please, 'M, don't; he ain't fit, and he'll come off black over everything he comes a-nigh." "Well, send him here, then," said Mrs Inglis; and away went Mary back into the hall, and directly after she ushered in Mr Jones, who presented such an appearance that both Mr and Mrs Inglis at once excused poor Mary's laughter, for they had hard work to restrain their own mirth. Mr Jones was a retired exciseman, and of the description of man known as dapper; he was a little, fat, chubby fellow, who dressed very smartly, always wearing white trousers in the summer, and a buff waistcoat, made so as to show as much shirt-front and as little waistcoat as possible. He was a man who always used to labour under, the idea that he looked very fierce, and, to make himself look fiercer, he used to brush his hair all up into a pyramid over the barren place on the top of his head, so that the hair used to form a regular pomatumed spike. But he did not look at all fierce, for his fat round face, dull eyes, and tenchy mouth would not let him; but he used to speak very loudly, and thump his Malacca cane down on the ground, and strut and look as important as many more people do who have not brains enough to teach them their insignificance as parts of creation, or how very little value they are in the world, which could go on just as well without them. Now, Mr Jones did not like Mr Inglis; he used to say that Mr Inglis was pompous, and purse-proud, and vain; and, what was more, Mr Inglis had given the little man dreadful offence in buying the two-acre field where the potato piece was that used to be so trampled down. But I have been keeping Mr Jones waiting, for I said, a little way back, that Mary ushered him into the study, and Mr and Mrs Inglis could hardly keep from laughing; for a droll appearance did Mr Jones present as he strutted into the room, with his hat on, but seeing Mrs Inglis there, he took it off, and made a most pompous bow. But he did not look in bowing trim, his face, buff waistcoat, and shirt, presenting a currant-dumpling appearance rather ludicrous to gaze upon, for they were specked and spotted all over; while his white duck trousers, far above his knees, were dyed of a pitchy black hue, and covered with abominably smelling black mud. "Now, sir," said Mr Jones; "pray, sir, what have you to say to this, sir?" "Nothing at all, Mr Jones," said Mr Inglis quietly. "But may I inquire why I am favoured with this visit?" "Favoured, sir? Visit, sir? What the ten thousand furies do you mean, sir? Look at my trousers, sir. Do you see them, sir?" "Of course I see them," said Mr Inglis, "and I am sorry to see that you have met with so unfortunate an accident; but pray what has it to do with me?" "To do with you, sir?" shrieked Mr Jones; "why, you laid traps for me, sir; snares and pitfalls, sir; but I'll be recompensed, sir, if there's law in England, sir. I won't stand it, sir. I'll--I'll--I'll--I'll-- Confound it, sir; you shall hear from my solicitor, sir." And then the little man bounced out of the study, banging the door after him; thumped his stick down on the marble floor of the hall at every step, and strode out of the house, and along the gravel-walk, almost beside himself with passion; for he felt convinced that Mr Inglis had been the cause of his mishap. But Mr Inglis was as innocent as his companion, who replied to his interrogative gaze with a look of astonishment so ludicrous that they both laughed long and heartily. At last Mr Inglis said--"It must be some trick those boys have played. I must find it out, or we shall be having no end of unpleasantness about it." And the Squire leaned back in his chair, and laughed till the tears stood in his eyes. But all this while Mr Jones was fuming worse than ever, for he had passed old Sam, Philip, Harry and Fred, standing at the gate of the stable-yard, and no sooner did they catch sight of the strange figure advancing towards them, than they rushed off laughing at such a boisterous rate that Mr Jones felt as though he could have strangled them all. And now it is only fair that the reader should know how it was that Mr Jones had got into such a pickle, for he certainly was in a very nasty mess indeed. Mr Jones, as I said before, had been very much annoyed because Squire Inglis purchased the little corner field; so, from a petty feeling of spite, he always made a point of walking across the corner, kicking down the bank, and treading heavily upon the young quickset plants. Now, of course the example set by such a big little man as Mr Jones, would be sure to find followers; and this was the case here, for many of the boys of the village used to slip across as well. But on the evening previous to what has been above related, old Sam took his tools down with him, and had soon dug out a hole about three feet deep just in the centre of the field, and right in the middle of the track; he then borrowed an old tin pail from a cottage near, and filled the hole full of black mud from a filthy drain ditch, which ran along the backs of some of the cottages in the village street, the smell from which was so bad that Fred and his cousins kept their distance while the hole was being filled. When the pit was about full, Sam carefully sprinkled it over with the earth he had dug out, till it looked like the surrounding surface, when he levelled the place all round, and made it all so much alike that, to the ineffable delight of the boys, he could hardly tell where the pitfall was exactly, and put one of his own feet in above the ankle. Harry fairly danced with delight, but, seeing that the old man was turning cross, he helped to cover the place again, and then they left the pail at the cottage, and walked back to the Grange. As for the people living close at hand, they were so much accustomed to seeing old Sam working in the field that they took no notice of what he was doing; so there the trap lay, all ready baited for the first man. Now, it so happened that no one crossed the corner that night, as Sam could readily see when he went down directly after breakfast next morning, for all was just as he left it the night before; but Sam had not gone many yards on his way back, when whom should he meet but Mr Jones, looking very clean and dapper, and most terribly important. He scorned to take any notice of old Sam, but strode on his way till he came to the potato piece, when he deliberately crossed the little dry ditch, trod down the tiny hedge, and then sticking his nose up in the air, as much as to say, "I'll teach old Inglis to stop up old tracks," he stamped along more pompously than ever, while Sam stopped by a turn in the road and watched him with eyes that seemed fascinated, so eagerly did they follow the old excise officer. "Stamp--stamp," went the pompous little man; and "brog--brog," went his stick in the soft earth. "He'll miss it," said Sam to himself, for Mr Jones had apparently reached the centre of the field, and turned round to look about him, walking backwards. "Dear, dear," said Sam, "if he only would--" "Plosh!" went Mr Jones right in backwards; and "spatter" went the foul mud all over his face and shirt-front, and then the poor little man tried to scramble out, but slipped in again, making himself worse than ever; but his next effort was more successful; and when Sam saw him standing amongst the potatoes looking all piebald, his heart was joyful within him, as he hurried home to tell the boys the success of their plot. Mr Inglis very soon learned from the boys what was the cause of Mr Jones's visit, and for the moment he felt rather disposed to be cross; but on looking at the laughing eyes before him, and the mirthful countenance of Mrs Inglis, he was obliged to join in the merriment himself; for as Philip very sagely remarked,--"You know, papa, he had no business there." As for Mr Jones, he was nearly red-hot with fury when he reached home, for he had been laughed at by more than one person on his way; so when the door was opened, and his pet dog--a disagreeable terrier--came smelling about his legs, his master kicked him savagely, upon which the dog retorted by sticking his teeth into his assailant's leg, and then running off howling as loudly as he could. Mr Jones then set to work and washed himself, a process of which he stood greatly in need; and by the time he had made himself dapper again, he felt cooler and more comfortable; and he also began to wish he had not told Mr Inglis that he should hear from his solicitor. But he _had_ told him to, and therefore he felt that he must go to his solicitor at once, or he would very soon have made up his mind to say no more about it. So off Mr Jones trotted to his lawyer; that is to say, his pony trotted, carrying Mr Jones in the little chaise, in which was a carefully tied-up bundle containing the blackened and damaged suit of clothes, which looked worse than ever by the time he reached the town, for the trousers had communicated a vast amount of their filth to the waistcoat and shirt-front, not forgetting to administer their odour at the same time. When Mr Jones arrived at the lawyer's he found him at home, and was soon closeted with him in his mouldy room, all amongst the dust, papers, parchments, and tin boxes; and then and there Mr Jones told his tale, and finished by drawing out the black garments, for there was very little white to be seen on the trousers. "But you did not tell me where the pitfall was made," said Mr De Vellum, the solicitor. "Made, sir?" said Mr Jones excitedly; "why, in that corner piece of land, where the road makes the sharp turn, on the other side of the village." "What, where the finger-post stands at the corner?" "To be sure," said Mr Jones; "the very place." "Well, but," said Mr De Vellum, "that's the piece Mr Inglis bought at the sale last year, when I bid for you." "Just so," said Mr Jones; "I was walking across it, as I have done hundreds of times before." "Ah!" said Mr De Vellum, "but it has been enclosed, and you know, my dear sir, you were trespassing. Let me order in a glass of wine," he continued, for Mr Jones had luckily come for advice to a sensible man; "let me order in a glass of wine, and then I'll give you my advice." The wine was brought in, and then Mr Jones received his advice, which cost him six shillings and eightpence, but would have been cheap at a guinea, for the advice was to go home and take no more notice of the matter. Mr Jones was quite cool when he heard the solicitor's opinion; and it was so much in agreement with his own, that he immediately shook hands, said "good-day," and made the best of his way home. _ |
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