56. CHAPTER LVI.
TAKES VERTY TO MR. ROUNDJACKET.
As Mr. Jinks went along, thus absorbed in his dreams of vengeance,
he chanced to raise his head; which movement made him
aware of the fact that a gentleman with whom he was well acquainted
rode in the same direction with himself—that is to say,
toward Bousch's tavern.
This was Verty, who, absorbed as completely by his own
thoughts as was Mr. Jinks, did not see that gentleman until Cloud
very nearly walked over the diminutive Fodder.
Mr. Jinks laid his hand on his sword, and frowned; for it
was one of the maxims of this great militaire, that one is never
more apt to escape an attack than when he appears to hold himself
in readiness, and seems prepared for either event.
Verty did not consider himself bound, however, to engage in a
combat at the moment; and so with grave politeness, bowed
and passed on his way.
They arrived at the tavern nearly at the same moment.
Ralph was sitting on the porch, inhaling the fresh October
air, gazing at the bright waves of the little stream which sparkled
by, beneath the willows; and at times varying these amusements
by endeavoring to smoke from a pipe which had gone out. He
looked the picture of indolent enjoyment.
Within a few feet of him sat the ruddy, full-faced landlord, as
idle as himself.
At sight of Mr. Jinks and Verty, Ralph rose with a smile, and
came toward them.
“Ah! my dear Jinks,” he said, after bowing to Verty familiarly,
“how did you get out of that scrape? I regret that business
of a private and important nature forced me to leave you,
and go round the corner. How did it result?”
“Triumphantly, sir!” said Mr. Jinks, dismounting, and, with
great dignity, entrusting Fodder to a stable-boy, lounging near;
“that hound, O'Brallaghan, knew his place, sir, and did not presume
to complain—”
“Of Fodder?”
“Of anything, sir.”
“The fact is, it would have been ridiculous. What had he to
complain of, I should like to be informed. So he retreated?”
“He did, sir,” said Mr. Jinks, with dignity, “amid the hisses
of the assembled crowd.”
“Just as I suspected; it would take a bold fellow to force
such a Don Quixote and Dapple, as yourself and Fodder!”
“Yes; although I regretted,” said Mr. Jinks, with great dignity,
“the accident which occurred when we set out, I rejoice at
having had an occasion to inform that Irish conspirator and St.
Michael-hater, that I held him in opprobrious contempt.”
And Mr. Jinks glanced at the landlord.
“He was making the breeches for St. Michael, whom he is to
represent,” said Mr. Jinks, “day after to-morrow; and I have
not done with him—the Irish villain!”
Mr. Jinks looked again, significantly, at the host.
That gentleman had not lost a word of the conversation, and
his sleepy eyes now opened. He beckoned to Mr. Jinks. A
smile illumined the countenance of the worthy—the landlord
was a German;—the plot against Irish O'Brallaghan was gaining
strength.
The landlord rose, and, with a significant look, entered the
house, followed by Mr. Jinks, who turned his head, as he disappeared,
to cast a triumphant look upon Ralph.
No sooner had he passed from sight, than Ralph turned to
Verty, who had sat quietly upon Cloud, during this colloquy,
and burst into laughter.
“That is the greatest character I have ever known, Verty,”
he said; “and I have been amusing myself with him all the
morning.”
Verty was thinking, and without paying much attention to
Ralph, smiled, and said:
“Anan?—yes—”
“I believe you are dreaming.”
“Oh, no—only thinking,” said Verty, smiling; “I can't get
out of the habit, and I really don't think I heard you. But I
can't stop. Here's a note Redbud asked me to give you—for
Fanny. She said you might be going up to old Scowley's—”
“Might be! I rather think I am! Ah, Miss Redbud, you
are a mischievous one. But why take the trouble to say that
of the divine sex? They're all dangerous, scheming and
satirical.”
“Anan?” said Verty, smiling, as he tossed Ralph the note.
“Don't mind me,” said Ralph; “I was just talking, as usual,
at random, and slandering the sex. But what are you sitting
there for, my dear Verty? Get down and come in. I'm dying
of weariness.”
Verty shook his head.
“I must go and see Mr. Roundjacket,” he said.
“What! is he sick?”
“Yes.”
“Much?”
Verty smiled.
“I think not,” he said; “but I don't know—I havn't much
time; good-bye.”
And touching Cloud with the spur, Verty went on. Ralph
looked after him for a moment, twirled the note in his fingers,
read the superscription.—“To Miss Fanny Temple,”—and then,
laughing carelessly, lounged into the house, intent on making a
third in the councils of those great captains, Mr. Jinks and the
landlord.
We shall accompany Verty, who rode on quietly, and soon
issued from the town—that is to say, the more bustling portion
of it; for Winchester, at that time, consisted of but two streets,
and even these were mere roads, as they approached the suburbs.
Roundjacket's house was a handsome little cottage, embowered
in trees, on the far western outskirts of the town. Here the
poet lived in bachelor freedom, and with a degree of comfort
which might have induced any other man to be satisfied with his
condition. We know, from his own assertion, that Roundjacket
was not;—he had an excellent little house, a beautiful garden,
every comfort which an ample “estate” could bring him, but
he had no wife. That was the one thing needful.
Verty dismounted, and admiring the beautiful sward, the well
tended flowers, and the graceful appendages of the mansion—
from the bronze knocker, with Minerva's head upon it, to the
slight and comfortable wicker smoking-chairs upon the porch—
opened the little gate, and knocked.
An old negro woman, who superintended, with the assistance
of her equally aged husband, this bachelor paradise, appeared at
the door; and hearing Verty's request of audience, was going to
prefer it to Mr. Roundjacket.
This was rendered unnecessary, however, by the gentleman
himself. He called from the comfortable sitting-room to Verty,
and the visitor entered.
