University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
MR. JINKS AT HOME.

The young man sat down at his desk, and began to write. But
this occupation did not seem to amuse him, and, in a few moments,
he threw away the pen he was writing with, and demanded
another from Mr. Roundjacket.

That gentleman complied, and made him a new one.

Verty wrote for five minutes with the new one; and then split
it deplorably. Mr. Roundjacket heard the noise, and protested
against such carelessness.

“Oh,” sighed Verty, “this writing is a terrible thing to-day;
I want a holiday.”

“There's no holiday in law, sir.”

“Never?”

“No, never.”

“It's a very slavish thing, then,” Verty said.

“You are not far wrong there, young man,” replied his companion;
“but it also has its delights.”

“I have never seen any.”

“You are a savage.”

“I believe I am.”

“Your character is like your costume—barbarous.”

“Yes—Indian,” said Verty; “but I just thought, Mr. Roundjacket,
of my new suit. To-day was to be the time for getting
it”

“Very true,” said the clerk, laying down his pen, “and as
everything is best done in order, we will go at once.”

Roundjacket opened Mr. Rushton's door, and informed him
where he was going, and for what purpose—a piece of information
which was received with a growl, and various muttered
ejaculations.

Verty had already put on his fur hat.

“The fact is,” said Roundjacket, as they issued forth into the
street of the town, followed by Longears, “the old fellow, yonder,
is getting dreadfully bearish.”

“Is he, sir?”

“Yes; and every year it inereases.”

“I like him, though.”

“You are right, young man—a noble-hearted man is Rushton;
but unfortunate, sir,—unfortunate.”

And Mr. Roundjacket shook his head.

“How?”

“That's his secret—not mine,” was the reserved reply.

“Well, I won't ask it, then,” Verty said; “I never care to
know anything—there's the tailor's, aint it?”

“Yes, that is the shop of the knight of the shears,” replied the
clerk, with elegant paraphrase; “come, let us get on.”

They soon reached the tailor's, which was not far from the
office, on the same street; and Mr. O'Brallaghan came forward,
scissors in hand, and smiling, like a great ogre, who was going to
snip off people's heads, and eat them for his breakfast—only to
satisfy his hunger, not from any malevolent feeling toward them.
Mr. O'Brallaghan, as his name intimated, was from the Emerald
Isle—was six feet high—had a carotty head, an enormous grinning
mouth, and talked with the national accent. Indeed, so
marked was this accent, that, after mature consideration, we
have determined not to report any of this gentleman's remarks—
naturally distrustful as we are of our ability to represent the tone
in which they were uttered, with any degree of accuracy. We
shall not see him frequently, however, and may omit his observations
without much impropriety.

Mr. O'Brallaghan surveyed Verty's lythe and well-knit figure,
clad in its rude forest costume, with patronizing favor. But
when Roundjacket informed him, with hauteur, that “his friend,
Mr. Verty,” would give him an order for three suits:—one plain,
one handsome, one very rich—the great O'Brallaghan became
supple and polite; and evidently regarded Mr. Verty as some
young lord, in disguise.

He requested the young man to walk into the inner room,
where his artist would take his measure; and this Verty did at
once.

Imagine his surprise at finding himself in the presence of—
Mr. Jinks!

Mr. Jinks, no longer clad in elegant and martial costume, redolent
equally of the ball-room and the battle-field—no longer
moving majestically onward with wide-stretched legs, against
which his warlike sword made dreadful music—no longer decorated
with rosettes, and ruffles, and embroidery; but seated on
the counter, in an old dressing-gown, with slipper'd feet and lacklustre
eyes, driving his rapid needle through the cloth with savage
and intrepid spirit.

Verty did not recognize him immediately; and Mr. Jinks did
not observe the new comers either.

An exclamation from the young man, however, attracted his
attention, and he started up.

“Mr. O'Brallaghan!” cried the knight of the needle, if we
may so far plagiarize upon Roundjacket's paraphrase—“Mr.
O'Brallaghan! this is contrary to our contract, sir. It was understood,
sir, that I should be private, sir,—and I am invaded
here by a route of people, sir, in violation of that understanding,
sir!”

The emphasis with which Mr. Jinks uttered the various “sirs,”
in this address, was terrible. O'Brallaghan was evidently daunted
by them.

“You know I am a great artist in the cutting line, sir,” said

Mr. Jinks, with dignity; “and that nobody can do your fine
work but me, sir. You know I have the right to mature my
conceptions in private, sir,—and that circumstances of another
description render this privacy desirable, sir! And yet, sir, you
intrude upon me, sir,—you intrude! How do you do, young
man?—I recognize you,” added Mr. Jinks, slightly calmed by
his victory over O'Brallaghan, who only muttered his sentiments
in original Gaelic, and bore the storm without further reply.

“I will, for once, break my rule,” said Mr. Jinks, magnanimously,
“and do for this gentleman, who is my friend, what I
will do for no other. Henceforth, sir, recollect that I have rights;”
and Mr. Jinks frowned; then he added to Verty, “Young man,
have the goodness to stand upon that bench.”

O'Brallaghan and Roundjacket retreated to the outer room,
where they were, soon after, joined by Verty, who was laughing.

“Well,” muttered the young man, “I will not tell anybody
that Mr. Jinks sews, if he don't want it to be known—especially
Miss Sallianna. I reckon he is right—women don't like to see
men do anything better than them, as Mr. Jinks says.”

And Verty began to admire a plum-colored coat which was
lying on the counter.

“I like this,” he said.

O'Brallaghan grew eloquent on the plum-colored coat—asserting
that it was a portion of a suit made for one of his most
elegant customers, but not sent for. He could, however, dispose
of it to Mr. Verty, if he wished to have it—there was time to
make another for the aforesaid elegant customer.

Verty tried the coat on, and O'Brallaghan declared, enthusiastically,
that it fitted him “bewchously.”

Mr. Roundjacket informed Verty that it would be better to get
the suit, if it fitted, inasmuch as O'Brallaghan would probably
take double the time he promised to make his proper suit in—an
observation which O'Brallaghan repelled with indignation; and
so the consequence was, that a quarter of an hour afterwards

Roundjacket and Verty issued forth—the appearance of the latter
having undergone a remarkable change.

Certainly no one would have recognized Verty at the first
glance. He was clad in a complete cavalier's suit—embroidered
coat-ruffles and long flapped waistcoat — with knee-breeches,
stockings of the same material, and glossy shoes with high red
heels, and fluttering rosettes; a cocked hat surmounted his
curling hair, and altogether Verty resembled a courtier, and
walked like a boy on stilts.

Roundjacket laughed in his sleeve at his companion's contortions,
and on their way back stopped at the barber and surgeon's.
This professional gentleman clipped Verty's profuse curls,
gathered them together carefully behind, and tied them with a
handsome bow of scarlet ribbon. Then he powdered the boy's
fine glossy hair, and held a mirror before him.

“Oh! I'm a great deal better looking now,” said Verty; “the
fact is, Mr. Roundjacket, my hair was too long.”

To this Mr. Roundjacket assented, and they returned, laughing,
to the office.

Verty looked over his shoulder, and admired himself with all
the innocence of a child or a savage. One thing only was disagreeable
to him—the high heels which Mr. O'Brallaghan had
supplied him with. Accustomed to his moccasins, the heels were
not to be endured; and Verty kicked both of them off against
the stone steps with great composure. Having accomplished this
feat, he re-entered.

“I'm easier now,” he said.

“About what?”

“The heels.”

Mr. Roundjacket looked down.

“I could'nt walk on 'em, and knocked 'em off,” Verty said.

Mr. Roundjacket uttered a suppressed chuckle then stopping
suddenly, observed with dignity:—

“Young man, that was very wrong in you. Mr. Rushton has

made you a present of that costume, and you should not injure
it; he will be displeased, sir.”

“I will be nothing of the sort,” said a growling voice; and
turning round, the clerk found himself opposite to Mr. Rushton,
who was looking at Verty with a grim smile.

“Kick away just as you please, my young savage,” said that
gentleman, “and don't mind this stuff from Roundjacket, who
don't know civilized from Indian character. Do just as you
choose.”

“May I?” said Verty.

“Am I to repeat everything?”

“Well, sir, I choose to have a holiday this morning.”

“Hum!”

“You said I might do as I wanted to, and I want to go and
take a ride.”

“Well, go then—much of a lawyer you'll ever make.”

Verty laughed, and turning towards Longears, called him.
But Longears hesitated—looking with the most profound astonishment
at his master.

“He don't know me!” said the young man, laughing; “I don't
think he'll hunt if I wear these, sir.”

But Mr. Rushton had retired, and Verty only heard a door
slam.

He rose.

“I'm going to see Redbud, Mr. Roundjacket,” he said, “and I
think she'll like my dress—good-bye.”

Roundjacket only replied by flourishing his ruler.

Verty put on his cocked hat, admired himself for an instant
in the mirror over the fire-place, and went out humming his
eternal Indian song. Five minutes afterwards he was on his
way to see Redbud, followed dubiously by Longears, who evidently
had not made up his mind on the subject of his master's identity.

In order to explain the reception which Verty met with, it
will be necessary to precede him.