The Humourous Story of Farmer Bumpkin's Lawsuit Part 39

Then his head went into the pail with a dash, as if that was part of the swearing-in process. As it came out he was conscious of a twofold sensation, which it may not be out of place to describe: the sensation produced by the water, which was refres.h.i.+ng in the highest degree, and the sensation produced by what is called wind, which was also deliciously refres.h.i.+ng; and it was in this wise. Borne along upon the current of air which pa.s.sed through the kitchen, there was the most odoriferous savour of fried bacon that the most luxurious appet.i.te could enjoy. It was so beautifully and voluptuously fragrant that Joe actually stopped while in the act of soaping his face that he might enjoy it. No one, I think, will deny that it must have been an agreeable odour that kept a man waiting with his eyes fall of soap for half a minute.

"That beant amiss," thought Joe; "I wonder whether it be for I."

The problem was soon solved, for as he entered the kitchen with a face as bright and ruddy almost as the sun when he comes up through a mist, he saw the table was laid out for five, and all the other recruits had already a.s.sembled. There was not one who did not look well up to his resolution, and I must say a better looking lot of recruits were never seen: they were tall, well made, healthy, good-looking fellows.

Now Mrs. Oldtimes was busy at the kitchen fire; the frying-pan was doing its best to show what could be done for Her Majesty's recruits. He was hissing bravely, and seemed every now and then to give a louder and heartier welcome to the company. As Joe came in I believe it fairly gave a shout of enthusiasm, a kind of hooray. In addition to the rashers that were frying, there was a large dish heaped up in front of the fire, so that it was quite clear there would be no lack, however hungry the company might be.

Then they sat down and every one was helped. Mrs. Oldtimes was a woman of the world; let me also state she had a deep insight into human nature.

She knew the feelings of her guests at this supreme moment, and how cheaply they could be bought off at their present state of soldiering.

She was also aware that courage, fort.i.tude, firmness, and the higher qualities of the soul depend so much upon a contented stomach, that she gave every one of her guests some nice gravy from the pan.

It was a treat to see them eat. The Boardman was terrific, so was Jack.

Harry seemed to have a little more on his mind than the others, but this did not interfere with his appet.i.te; it simply affected his manner of appeasing it. He seemed to be in love, for his manner was somewhat reserved. At length the Sergeant came in, looking so cheerful and radiant that one could hardly see him and not wish to be a soldier. Then his cheery "Well, lads; good morning, lads," was so home-like that you almost fancied soldiering consisted in sitting by a blazing kitchen fire on a frosty morning and eating fried bacon. What a spirit his presence infused into the company! He detected at a glance the down-heartedness of Harry, and began a story about his own enlistment years ago, when the chances for a young man of education were nothing to what they are now.

The story seemed exactly to fit the circ.u.mstances of the case and cheered Harry up wonderfully. Breakfast was nearly finished when the Sergeant, after filling his pipe, said:

"Comrades, what do you say; shall I wait till you've quite finished?"

"No, no, Sergeant; no, no," said all.

Oh! the fragrance of that pipe! And the multiplied fragrance of all the pipes! Then came smiling Miss Prettyface to see if their ribbons were all right; and the longing look of all the recruits was quite an affecting sight; and the genial motherly good-natured best wishes of Mrs.

Oldtimes were very welcome. All these things were pleasant, and proved Mrs. Oldtimes' philosophy to be correct-if you want to develop the higher virtues in a man, feed him.

Then came the word of command in the tone of an invitation to a pleasure party: "Now, lads, what do you say?" And off went Harry, upright as if he had been drilled; off went Bill, trying to shake off the deal boards in which he had been sandwiched for a year and a half; off went Bob as though he had found an agreeable occupation at last; off went Devilmecare as though the war was only just the other side of the road; off went Jack as though it mattered nothing to him whether it was the Army or the Church; and, just as Mr. b.u.mpkin looked out of the parlour window, off went his "head witness," swaggering along in imitation of the Sergeant, with the colours streaming from his hat as though any honest employment was better than hanging about London for a case to "come on."

CHAPTER XXVII.

A letter from home.

"I wonder," said Mrs. Oldtimes, "who this letter be for; it have been 'ere now nigh upon a week, and I'm tired o' seein' it."

Miss Prettyface took the letter in her hand and began, as best she could, for the twentieth time to endeavour to decipher the address. It was very much blotted and besmeared, and presented a very remarkable specimen of caligraphy. The most legible word on it seemed "Gouse."

"There's n.o.body here of that name," said the young lady. "Do you know anybody, Mr. b.u.mpkin, of the name of Gouse?"

"Devil a bit," said he, taking the letter in his hands, and turning it over as if it had been a skittle-ball.

"The postman said it belonged here," said Mrs. Oldtimes, "but I can't make un out."

"I can't read the postmark," said Miss Prettyface.

Mr. b.u.mpkin put on a large pair of gla.s.ses and examined the envelope with great care.

"I think you've got un upside down," said Mrs. Oldtimes.

"Ah! so ur be," replied the farmer, turning it over several times.

"Why," he continued, "here be a _b_-and a _u_, beant it? See if that beant a _u_, Miss, your eyes be better un mine; they be younger."

"O yes, that's a _u_," said Miss Prettyface, "and an _m_."

"And that spell _b.u.m_."

"But stop," said Miss Prettyface, "here's a _p_."

"That's _b.u.mp_," said Mrs. Oldtimes; "we shall get at something presently."

"Why," exclaimed b.u.mpkin, "I be danged if I doant think it be my old 'ooman's writin': but I beant sure. That be the way ur twists the tail of ur _y_'s and _g_'s, I'll swear; and lookee 'ere, beant this _k i n_?"

"I think it is," said the maid.

"Ah, then, thee med be sure that be b.u.mpkin, and the letter be for I."

"Yes," said the young lady, "and that other word which looks more like Grouse is meant for Goose, the sign of the house."

"Sure be un," exclaimed Mr. b.u.mpkin, "and Nancy ha put b.u.mpkin and Goose all in one line, when ur ought to ha made two lines ov un. Now look at that, that letter might ha been partickler."

"So it may be as it is," said Mrs. Oldtimes; "it's from Mrs. b.u.mpkin, no doubt. Aren't you going to open it?"

"I think I wool," said b.u.mpkin, turning the letter round and round, and over and over, as though there was some special private entrance which could only be discovered by the closest search. At length Mrs. Oldtimes'

curiosity was gratified, for he found a way in, and drew out the many folded letter of the most difficult penmans.h.i.+p that ever was subjected to mortal gaze. It was not that the writing was illegible, but that the spelling was so extraordinary, and the terms of expression so varied.

Had I to interpret this letter without the aid of a dream I should have a long and difficult task before me. But it is the privilege of dreamers to see things clearly and in a moment: to live a lifetime in a few seconds, and to traverse oceans in the s.p.a.ce of a single respiration.

So, in the present instance, that which took Mr. b.u.mpkin, with the help of Mrs. Oldtimes and the occasional a.s.sistance of Lucy an hour to decipher, flashed before me in a single second. I ought perhaps to translate it into a more civilized language, but that would be impossible without spoiling the effect and disturbing the continuity of character which is so essential in a work made up of various actors. Mr. b.u.mpkin himself in his ordinary costume would be no more out of place in my Lord Mayor's state carriage than Mrs. b.u.mpkin wielding the Queen's English in its statelier and more fas.h.i.+onable adornment. So I give it as it was written. It began in a bold but irregular hand, and clearly indicated a certain agitation of mind not altogether in keeping with the even temperament of the writer's daily life.

"Deer Tom" (the letter began), "I ope thee be well for it be a long time agoo since thee left ere I cant mak un out wot be all this bother about a pig but Tom thee'll be glad to ear as I be doin weel the lamin be over and we got semteen as pooty lams as ever thee clapped eyes on The weet be lookin well and so be the barly an wuts thee'll be glad Tom to ear wot good luck I been avin wi sellin Mister Prigg have the kolt for twenty pun a pun more an the Squoire ofered Sam broked er in and ur do look well in Mrs. Prigg faten I met un the tother day Mr. Prigg wur drivin un an he tooked off his at jist th' sam as if I'd been a lady Missis Prigg din't see me as her edd wur turned th' tother way I be glad to tell ee we sold the wuts ten quorter these was bort by Mister Prigg and so wur the stror ten load as clane and brite as ever thee seed Mr. Prigg be a rale good custumer an a nice man I wish there was moore like im it ud be the makin o' th' Parish we shal ave a nice lot o monie to dror from un at Miklemes he be the best customer we ever ad an I toold th' Squoire wen ur corled about the wuts as Mister Prigg ad orfered ten s.h.i.+llin a quorter for un more un ee Ur dint seem to like un an rod away but we dooant o un anythink Tom so I dont mind we must sell ware we ken mak moast monie I spose Sampson be stronger an grander than ever it's my belief an I thinks we shal do well wi un this Spring tell t' Joe not to stop out o' nites or keep bad k.u.mpany and to read evere nite wat the Wicker told un the fust sarm an do thee read un Tom for its my bleef ur cant 'urt thee nuther."

"Humph!" said b.u.mpkin, "fust sarms indade. I got a lot o' time for sarms, an' as for thic Joe-lor, lor, Nancy, whatever will thee say, I wonder, when thee knows he's gone for a soger-a sarm beant much good to un now; he be done for."

And then Mr. b.u.mpkin went and looked out of the window, and thought over all the good news of Mrs. b.u.mpkin's letter, and mentally calculated that even up to this time Mr. Prigg's account would come to enough to pay the year's rent.

Going to law seemed truly a most advantageous business. Here he had got two s.h.i.+llings a quarter more for the oats than the Squire had offered, and a pound more for the colt. Prigg was a famous customer, and no doubt would buy the hay. And, strange to say, just as Mr. b.u.mpkin thought this, he happened to turn over the last page of the letter, and there he saw what was really a Postscript.

"Halloo!" says he, "my dear, here be moore on't; lookee 'ere."

"So there is," answered Lucy; "let's have a look." And thus she read:-

"The klover cut out well it made six lode the little rik an four pun nineteen The Squoire ony offered four pun ten so in corse I let Mister Prigg ave un."

"Well done, Nancy, thee be famous. Now, thic big rik'll fetch moore'n thic."

Such cheering intelligence put Mr. b.u.mpkin in good heart in spite of his witness's desertion. Joe was a good deal, but he wasn't money, and if he liked to go for a soger, he must go; but, in Mr. b.u.mpkin's judgment, he would very soon be tired of it, and wish himself back at his fireside.

"Now, you must write to Mrs. b.u.mpkin," said Lucy.

"Thee'll write for I, my dear; won't thee?"

"If you like," said Lucy. And so, after dinner, when she had changed her dress, she proceeded to write an epistle for Mrs. b.u.mpkin's edification.