10. CHAPTER X.
“OLD GOUTY.”
The party of young people are laughing and talking with
immense assiduity, when a door in the hall is heard to open,
a species of growl resounds, and Helen and Bonnybel say, at
the same moment, “There's papa!”
The young men rise, and at the same moment old Colonel
Vane appears at the door, and cries in a cheery voice,
“Good morrow, Tom, and welcome, Captain Harry!
When did you turn up, and where from?”
“Tom came with me from town, uncle,” says Mr. St. John,
shaking the fat hand, “how is your health?”
“So so—so so! I think the devil's in this foot, Harry!
I might sit for the portrait of Old Gouty!”
And the rubicund old gentleman laughed and grimaced.
There was much truth in his declaration. Never did gout
attack a more suitable subject. Colonel Vane was an old
fellow of about sixty, with a portly person, one foot wrapped
in bandages, while the other was encased in a neat buckled
shoe, and silk stocking, and his costume indicated one well
to do in the world, and fond of his ease. His powdered
hair was gathered in a queue behind, his ruffles were huge
and spotless, and the gold-headed cane which he carried
had evidently found its way to Virginia from the shop of a
London maker. With this cane he half supported himself,
though he seemed greatly to prefer the soft shoulders of
Misses Helen and Bonnybel, who hastened to his side.
Had Addison seen the old fellow thus smiling and making
wry faces at the enemy in his foot, the worthy colonel would
have been immortalized in a number of the Spectator, and
it is more than probable that Hogarth, or one of the later
humorists of the town, would have drawn him in the character
of an East Indian director limping forth to his coach, after
a dinner at the Lord Mayor's, irascible with the gout,
and still growling at the insolence of the American rebels,
who had tossed the Company's tea overboard in the harbor
of Boston.
“Youth's a fine thing!” said the jolly old colonel, smiling
at the party, “and I enjoyed my own. There! there!
my dear—softly!”
And the colonel commenced moving toward the chariot.
“I am going to the county court,” he said, “that is if
this cursed gout will let me! My old enemy, boys,” added
the worthy; “and like a scolding wife, has ever the last
word! 'T is enough to make a man swear; but I won't. I
must get on and see to that road to the river; the girls will
take care of you—there! there! easy, my dear!”
And the colonel stepped upon the portico, still supported
by the girls.
“Come here you old rascal!” he cried to Cato; “give me
your arm!”
Old Cato, in a measured and deliberate way, abandoned
the horses, and approached his master. The colonel, however,
desired that Cato should rush rapidly toward him, and
the deliberate pace of the old negro caused him to flourish
his cane and swear.
Cato did not hasten his steps, however. He seemed to
think that he as well as his master had rights, and moreover,
was convinced from long experience that the cane would
not descend upon his shoulders. The event proved his good
sense—he preserved his personal dignity and lost nothing.
“Look at the old dog!” said the colonel; “he presumes
upon my good nature and takes his time. Come, you abandoned
old wretch! There! take care of the foot! easy!”
And leaning upon Cato, the old gentleman reached the
chariot, and was comfortably deposited within upon the
soft cushions. The young girls bade him good-bye, with a
kiss; and old Cato having received an intimation from the
colonel that he would thrash him on his return, if he drove
faster than a slow walk, the chariot rolled away over the
smooth gravel at a brisk trot, and was soon out of sight.
It had scarcely disappeared behind the foliage, when half
a dozen ladies and gentlemen on horseback appeared at the
outer gate, and mounted the hill at full gallop. They dismounted
before the house in the midst of a joyful clatter,
and a shower of kisses, and Miss Bonnybel seemed ready to
dance with delight at the anticipation of a frolic.
