"If I'd a' heard him tak' her name into his dirty mouth, his teeth should a' gone after it!" said Tonson.
"Lord! he didn't say any harm—only silly like—and t' other seemed now and then not to like his going on so. The little one said Miss were a lovely gal, or something like that—and hoped they'd become by-and-by better friends—ah, ha!"
"What! wi' that chap?" said Pumpkin—and he looked as if he were meditating putting the little sexton up the chimney, for the mere naming of such a thing.
"I reckon they're fro' London, and brought toon tricks wi' 'em—for I never heard o' such goings on as theirs down here afore," said Tonson.
"One of 'em—him that axed me all the questions, and wrote i' t' book, seemed a sharp enough chap in his way; but I can't say much for the little one," said Higgs. "Lud, I couldn't hardly look in his face for laughing, he seemed such a fool!—He had a riding-whip wi' a silver head, and stood smacking his legs (you should ha' seen how tight his clothes was on his legs—I warrant you, Tim Timpkins never see'd such a thing, I'll be sworn) all the while, as if a' liked to hear the sound of it."
"If I'd a' been beside him," said Hazel, "I'd a' saved him that trouble—only I'd a' laid it into another part of him!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" they laughed—and presently passed on to other matters.
"Hath the squire been doing much lately in Parliament?" inquired the sexton, of Dickons.
"Why, yes—he's trying hard to get that new road made from Harkley bridge to Hilton."
"Ah, that would save a good four mile, if a' could manage it!" said one of the farmers.
"I hear the Papists are trying to get the upper hand again—which the Lud forbid!" said the sexton, after another pause.
"The squire hath lately made a speech in that matter, that hath finished them," said Dickons, in a grave and authoritative tone.
"What would they be after?" inquired the landlord of Dickons, of whom, in common with all present, he thought great things. "They say they wants nothing but what's their own, and liberty, and that like"–
"If thou wert a shepherd, Master Higgs," replied Dickons, "and wert to be asked by ten or a dozen wolves to let them in among thy flock of sheep, they saying how quiet and kind they would be to 'em—would'st let 'em in, or keep 'em out?—eh?"
"Ay, ay—that be it—'tis as true as gospel!" said the clerk.
"So you a'n't to have that old sycamore down, after all, Master Dickons?" inquired Tonson, after a pause in the conversation.
"No; Miss hath carried the day against the squire and Mr. Waters; and there stands the old tree, and it hath to be looked to better than ever it were afore!"
"Why hath Miss taken such a fancy to it? 'Tis an old crazy thing!"
"If thou hadst been there when she did beg, as I may say, its life," replied Dickons, with a little energy—"and hadst seen her, and heard her voice, that be as smooth as cream, thou would'st never have forgotten it, I can tell thee!"
"There isn't a more beautiful lady i' t' county, I reckon, than the squire's sister?" inquired the sexton.
"No, nor in all England: if there be, I'll lay down twenty pounds!"
"And where's to be found a young lady that do go about i' t' village like she?—She were wi' Phœbe Williams t'other night, all through the snow, and i' t' dark."
"If I'd only laid hands on that chap!" interrupted the young farmer, her rescuer.
"I wonder she do not choose some one to be married to, up in London," said the landlord.
"She'll be having some delicate high quality chap, I reckon, one o' these fine days," said Hazel.
"She will be a dainty dish, truly, for whomever God gives her to," quoth Dickons.
"Ay, she will," said more than one, in an earnest tone.
"Now, to my mind," said Tonson, "saving your presence, Master Dickons, I know not but young Madam be more to my taste; she be in a manner somewhat fuller—plumper-like, and her skin be so white, and her hair as black as a raven's."
"There's not another two such women to be found in the whole world," said Dickons, authoritatively. Here Hector suddenly rose up, and went to the door, where he stood snuffing in an inquisitive manner.
"Now, what do that dog hear, I wonder?" quoth Pumpkin, curiously, stooping forward.
"Blind Bess," replied Tonson, winking his eye, and laughing. Presently there was a sharp rapping at the door; which the landlord opened, and let in one of the servants from the Hall, his clothes white with snow, his face nearly as white, with manifest agitation.
"Why, man, what's the matter?" inquired Dickons, startled by the man's appearance. "Art frightened at anything?"
"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" he commenced.
"What is it, man? Art drunk?—or mad?—or frightened? Take a drop o' drink," said Tonson. But the man refused it.
"Oh, Lord!—There's woful work at the Hall!"
"What's the matter?" cried all at once, rising and standing round the new-comer.
"If thou be'st drunk, John," said Dickons, sternly, "there's a way of sobering thee—mind that."
"Oh, Master Dickons, I don't know what's come to me, for grief and fright! The squire, they do say, and all of us, are to be turned out o' Yatton!"
"What!" exclaimed all in a breath.
"There's some one else lays claim to it. We must all go! Oh, Lud! oh, Lud!" No one spoke for a while; and consternation was written on every face.
"Sit thee down here, John," said Dickons at length, "and let us hear what thou hast to say—or thou wilt have us all be going up in a body to the Hall."
Having forced on him part of a glass of ale, he began,—"There hath been plainly mischief brewing, somewhere, this many days, as I could tell by the troubled face o' t' squire; but he kept it to himself. Lawyer Parkinson and another have been latterly coming in chaises from London; and last night the squire got a letter that seems to have finished all. Such trouble there were last night wi' t' squire, and young Madam and Miss! And to-day the parson came, and were a long while alone with old Madam, who hath since had a stroke, or a fit, or something of that like, (the doctors have been there all day from Grilston,) and likewise young Madam hath taken to her bed, and is ill. Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! Such work there be going on!"
"And what of the squire and Miss?" inquired some one, after all had maintained a long silence.
"Oh, 't would break your heart to see them," said the man, dolefully: "they be both pale as death: he so dreadful sorrowful, but quiet, like, and she now and then wringing her hands, and both of them going from the bedroom of old Madam to young Madam's. Nay, an' there had been half a dozen deaths i' t' house, it could not be worse. Neither the squire or Miss hath touched food the whole day!"
There was, in truth, not a dry eye in the room, nor one whose voice did not seem somewhat obstructed with his emotions.
"Who told thee all this about the squire's losing the estate?" inquired Dickons, with mingled trepidation and sternness.
"We heard of it but an hour or so agone. Mr. Parkinson (it seems by the squire's orders) told Mr. Waters, and he told it to us; saying as how it was useless to keep such a thing secret, and that we might as well all know the occasion of so much trouble."
"Who's to ha' it then, instead of the squire?" at length inquired Tonson, in a voice half choked with rage and grief.
"Lord only knows at present. But whoever 'tis, there isn't one of us sarvents but will go with the squire and his—if it be even to prison, that I can tell ye!"
"I'm Squire Aubrey's gamekeeper," quoth Tonson, his eye kindling as his countenance darkened, "and no one's else! It shall go hard if any one else here hath a game"—
"But if there's law in the land, sure the justice must be wi' t' squire—he and his family have had it so long?" said one of the farmers.
"I'll tell you what, masters," said Pumpkin, mysteriously, "I shall be somewhat better pleased when Jonas here hath got that old creature Bess safe underground!"
"Blind Bess?" exclaimed Tonson, with a very serious, not to say disturbed, countenance. "I wonder—sure! sure! that ould witch can have had no hand in all this– eh?"–
"Poor old soul, not she! There be no such things as witches now-a-days," exclaimed Jonas. "Not she, I warrant me! She hath been ever befriended by the squire's family. She do it!"
"The sooner we get that old woman underground, for all that, the better, say I!" quoth Tonson, significantly.
"The parson hath a choice sermon on 'The Flying away of Riches,'" said Higgs, in a quaint, sad manner; "'tis to be hoped that he'll preach from it next Sunday!"–
Soon after this, the little party dispersed, each oppressed with greater grief and amazement than he had ever known before. Bad news flies swiftly—and that which had just come from the Hall, within a very few hours of its having been told at the Aubrey Arms, had spread grief and consternation among high and low for many miles round Yatton.
CHAPTER X
Would you have believed it? Notwithstanding all that had happened between Titmouse and Tag-rag, they positively got reconciled to one another—a triumphant result of the astute policy of Mr. Gammon. As soon as he had heard Titmouse's infuriated account of his ignominious expulsion from Satin Lodge, he burst into a fit of hearty but gentle laughter, which at length subsided into an inward chuckle which lasted the rest of the day; and was occasioned, first, by gratification at the impression which his own sagacity had evidently produced upon the powerful mind of Titmouse; secondly, by an exquisite appreciation of the mingled meanness and stupidity of Tag-rag. I do not mean it to be understood, that Titmouse had given Mr. Gammon such a terse and clear account of the matter as I imagine myself to have given to the reader; but still he told quite enough to put Mr. Gammon in full possession of the true state of the case. Good: but then—instantly reflected Gammon—what are we now to do with Titmouse?—where was that troublesome little ape to be caged, till it suited the purposes of his proprietors (as Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap might surely be called, for they had caught him, however they might fail to tame him) to let him loose upon society, to amuse and astonish it by his antics?—That was the question occupying the thoughts of Mr. Gammon, while his calm, clear, gray eye was fixed upon Titmouse, apparently very attentive to what he was saying. That gentleman had first told the story of his wrongs to Snap, who instantly, rubbing his hands, suggested an indictment at the Clerkenwell sessions—an idea which infinitely delighted Titmouse, but was somewhat sternly "pooh-poohed!" by Mr. Gammon as soon as he heard of it,—Snap thereat shrugging his shoulders with a disconcerted air, but a bitter sneer upon his sharp, hard face. Like many men of little but active minds, early drilled to particular and petty callings, Snap was equal to the mechanical conduct of business—the mere working of the machinery—but, as the phrase is, could never see an inch beyond his nose. Every little conjuncture of circumstances which admitted of litigation, at once suggested its expediency, without reference to other considerations, or connection with, or subordination to, any general purpose or plan of action. A creature of small impulses, he had no idea of foregoing a momentary advantage to secure an ulterior object of importance—which, in fact, he could not keep for a moment before his thoughts, so as to have any influence on his movements. What a different man, now, was Gammon!
To speak after the manner of physiologists, several of my characters—Titmouse, Tag-rag, (with his amiable wife and daughter,) Huckaback, Snap, and old Quirk himself—may be looked on as reptiles of a low order in the scale of being, whose simple structures almost one dash of the knife would suffice to lay thoroughly open. Gammon, however, I look upon as of a much higher order; possessing a far more complicated structure, adapted to the discharge of superior functions; and who, consequently, requireth a more careful dissection. But let it not be supposed that I have yet done with any of my characters.
Gammon saw that Tag-rag, under proper management, might be made very useful. He was a moneyed man; a selfish man; and, after his sort, an ambitious man. He had an only child, a daughter, and if Titmouse and he could only be by any means once more brought together, and a firm friendship cemented between them, Gammon saw several very profitable uses to which such an intimacy might be turned, in the happening of any of several contemplated contingencies. In the event, for instance, of larger outlays of money being required than suited the convenience of the firm—could not Tag-rag be easily brought to accommodate his future son-in-law of £10,000 a-year? Suppose that, after all, their case should break down and all their pains, exertions, and expenditure be utterly thrown away! Now, if Tag-rag could be quietly brought, some fine day, to the point of either making an actual advance, or becoming security for Titmouse—ah! that would do– that would do, said both Quirk and Gammon. But then Titmouse was a very unsafe instrument—an incalculable fool, and might commit himself too far!
"You forget, Gammon," said old Mr. Quirk, "I don't fear this girl of Tag-rag's—because only let Titmouse see—hem," he suddenly paused, and looked a little confused.
"To be sure—I see," replied Gammon, quietly, and the thing passed off. "If either Miss Quirk or Miss Tag-rag becomes Mrs. Titmouse," thought he, "I am not the man I take myself for."
A few days after Titmouse's expulsion from Satin Lodge, without his having ever gone near Tag-rag's premises in Oxford Street, or in short, seen or heard anything about him, or any one connected with him, Titmouse removed to small but very respectable lodgings in the neighborhood of Hatton Garden, provided for him by Mr. Quirk. Mrs. Squallop was quite affected while she took leave of Titmouse, who gave her son a penny to take his two boxes down-stairs to the hackney-coach drawn up opposite to the entrance of Closet Court.
"I've always felt like a mother towards you, sir, in my humble way," said Mrs. Squallop, in a very respectful manner, and courtesying profoundly.
"A—I've not got any—a—change by me, my good woman," said Titmouse, with a fine air, as he drew on his white kid glove.
"Lord, Mr. Titmouse!" said the woman, almost bursting into tears, "I wasn't asking for money, neither for me nor mine—only one can't help, as it were, feeling at parting with an old lodger, you know, sir"—
"Ah—ya—as—and all that! Well, my good woman, good-day, good-day!" quoth Titmouse, with an air of languid indifference.
"Good-by, sir—God bless you, sir, now you're going to be a rich man!—Excuse me, sir."—And she seized his hand and shook it.
"You're a—devilish—impudent—woman—'pon my soul!" exclaimed Titmouse, his features filled with amazement at the presumption of which she had been guilty; and he strode down the stairs with an air of offended dignity.
"Well—I never!—That for you, you little brute," exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, snapping her fingers as soon as she had heard his last step on the stairs—"Kind or cruel, it's all one to you!—You're a nasty jackanapes, only fit to stand in a tailor's window to show his clothes—and I'll be sworn you'll come to no good in the end, please God! Let you be rich as you may, you'll always be the fool you always was!"
Had the good woman been familiar with the Night Thoughts of Dr. Young, she might have expressed herself somewhat tersely in a line of his—
"Pygmies are pygmies still, though perched on Alps."
And, by the way, who can read the next line—
"And pyramids are pyramids in vales,"
without thinking for a moment, with a kind of proud sympathy, of certain other characters in this history? Well! but let us pass on.
The day after that on which Mr. Gammon had had a long interview with Titmouse, at the new lodgings of the latter,—when, after a very skilful effort, he had succeeded in reconciling Titmouse to a renewal of his acquaintance with Tag-rag, upon that gentleman's making a complete and abject apology for his late monstrous conduct,—Mr. Gammon wended his way towards Oxford Street, and soon introduced himself once more to Mr. Tag-rag, who was standing leaning against one of the counters in his shop in a musing position, with a pen behind his ear, and his hands in his breeches' pockets. Ten days had elapsed since he had expelled the little impostor Titmouse from Satin Lodge, and during that interval he had neither seen nor heard anything whatever of him. On now catching the first glimpse of Mr. Gammon, he started from his musing posture, not a little disconcerted, and agitation overspread his coarse deeply-pitted face with a tallowy hue. What was in the wind? Mr. Gammon coming to him, so long after what had occurred! Mr. Gammon who, having found out his error, had discarded Titmouse! Tag-rag had a mortal dread of Gammon, who seemed to him to glide like a dangerous snake into the shop, so quietly, and so deadly! There was something so calm and imperturbable in his demeanor, so blandly crafty, so ominously gentle and soft in the tone of his voice, so penetrating in his eye, and he could throw such an infernal smile over his features! Tag-rag might be likened to the animal, suddenly shuddering as he perceives the glistening folds of the rattlesnake noiselessly moving towards, or around him, in the long grass. One glimpse of his blasting beauty of hue, and—Horror! all is over.
If the splendid bubble of Titmouse's fortune had burst in the manner which he had represented, why Gammon here now? thought Tag-rag. It was with, in truth, a very poor show of contempt and defiance, that, in answer to the bland salutation of Gammon, Tag-rag led the way down the shop into the little room which had been the scene of such an extraordinary communication concerning Titmouse on a former occasion.
Gammon commenced, in a mild tone, with a very startling representation of the criminal liability which Tag-rag had incurred by his wanton outrage upon Mr. Titmouse; his own guest, in violation of all the laws of hospitality. Tag-rag furiously alleged the imposition which had been practised on him by Titmouse; but seemed quite collapsed when Gammon assured him that that circumstance would not afford him the slightest justification. Having satisfied Tag-rag that he was entirely at the mercy of Titmouse, who might subject him to both fine and imprisonment, Mr. Gammon proceeded to open his eyes to their widest stare of amazement, by assuring him that Titmouse had been hoaxing him, and that he was really in the dazzling position in which he had been first represented by Gammon to Tag-rag; that every week brought him nearer to the full and uncontrolled enjoyment of an estate in Yorkshire, worth £10,000 a-year at the very lowest; that it was becoming an object of increasing anxiety to them (Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap) to keep him out of the hands of money-lenders, who, as usual in such cases, had already scented out their victim, and so forth. Tag-rag turned very white, and felt sick at heart in the midst of all his wonder. Oh, and his daughter had lost the golden prize! and through his misconduct! He could have sunk into the cellar!—Mr. Gammon declared that he could not account for the singular conduct of Mr. Titmouse on the melancholy occasion in question, except by referring it to the excellent wines which he had too freely partaken of at Satin Lodge, added (said Gammon, with an exquisite expression of features which perfectly fascinated Tag-rag) to a "certain tenderer influence" which had fairly laid prostrate the faculties of the young and enthusiastic Titmouse; that there could be no doubt of his real motive in the conduct alluded to, namely, a desire to test the sincerity and disinterestedness of a "certain person's" attachment before he let all his fond and passionate feelings go out towards her—[At this point the perspiration burst from every pore in the devoted body of Tag-rag]—and that no one could deplore the unexpected issue of his little experiment so much as now did Titmouse.
Tag-rag really, for a moment, scarcely knew where he was, who was with him, nor whether he stood on his head or his heels, so delightful and entirely unexpected was the issue of Mr. Gammon's visit. As soon as his faculties had somewhat recovered themselves from their temporary confusion, almost breathless, he assured Gammon that no event in the whole course of his life had occasioned him such poignant regret as his treatment of Titmouse on the occasion in question; that he had undoubtedly followed unwittingly (he was ashamed to own) the example of Titmouse, and drank far more than his usual quantity of wine; besides which he had undoubtedly noticed, as had Mrs. T., the state of things between Mr. Titmouse and his daughter—talking of whom, by the way, he could assure Mr. Gammon that both Mrs. and Miss T. had been ill ever since that unfortunate evening, and had never ceased to condemn his—Tag-rag's—monstrous conduct on that occasion. As for Miss T., she was growing thinner and thinner every day, and he thought he must send her to the country for a short time: in fact—poor girl!—she was plainly pining away!
To all this Mr. Gammon listened with a calm, delightful, sympathizing look, which quite transported Tag-rag, and satisfied him that Mr. Gammon implicitly believed every word that was being said to him. But when he proceeded to assure Tag-rag that this visit of his had been undertaken at the earnest instance of Mr. Titmouse himself, (who, by the way, had removed to lodgings which would do for the present, so as they were only near to their office, for the purpose of frequent communication on matters of business between him and their firm,) who had urged Mr. Gammon to tender the olive branch, in the devout hope that it might be accepted—Tag-rag's excitement knew scarce any bounds; and he could almost have started into the shop, and given orders to his shopmen to shut up shop half an hour earlier for the rest of the week! Mr. Gammon wrote down Titmouse's direction, and handing it to Mr. Tag-rag, assured him that a call from him would be gratefully received by Mr. Titmouse. "There's no accounting for these things, Mr. Tag-rag—is there?" said Mr. Gammon, with an arch smile, as he prepared to depart—Tag-rag squeezing his hands with painful energy as Gammon bade him adieu, declaring that "he should not be himself for the rest of the day" and bowing the aforesaid Mr. Gammon down the shop with as profound an obsequiousness as if he had been the Lord High Chancellor, or even the Lord Mayor. As soon as Gammon had got fairly into the street, and to a safe distance, he burst into little gentle paroxysms of laughter, every now and then, which lasted him till he had regained his office in Saffron Hill.
The motive so boldly and skilfully suggested by Gammon to Tag-rag, as that impelling Titmouse to seek a reconciliation with him, was greedily credited by Tag-rag. 'Tis certainly very easy for a man to believe what he wishes to be true. Was it very improbable that Tag-rag, loving only one object on earth, (next to money, which indeed he really did love with the best and holiest energies of his nature,) namely, his daughter; and believing her to be possessed of qualities calculated to excite every one's love—should believe that she had inspired Titmouse with the passion of which he had just been hearing—a passion which was consuming him—which could not be quenched by even the gross outrage which– but faugh! that Tag-rag shuddered to think of. He clapped his hat on his head, and started off to Titmouse's lodgings, and fortunately caught that gentleman just as he was going out to dine at a neighboring tavern. If Tag-rag had been a keen observer, he could hardly have failed to discover aversion towards himself written in every feature and gesture of Titmouse; and also the difficulty which he experienced in concealing his feelings. But his eagerness overbore everything; and took Titmouse quite by storm. Before Tag-rag had done with him, he had obliterated every trace of resentment in his little friend's bosom. Thoroughly as Gammon thought he had armed Titmouse against the encounter—indeed, at all points—'twas of no avail. Tag-rag poured such a monstrous quantity of flummery down the gaping mouth and insatiate throat of the little animal, as at length produced its desired effect. Few can resist flattery, however coarsely administered; but as for Titmouse, he felt the delicious fluid softly insinuating itself into every crevice of his little nature, for which it seemed, indeed, to have a peculiar affinity; 'twas a balm, 'twas an opiate soothing his wounded pride, lubricating all his inner man; nay, flooding it, so as at length to extinguish entirely the very small glimmering spark of discernment which nature had lit in him. "To be forewarned, is to be forearmed," says the proverb; but it was not verified in the present instance. Titmouse would have dined at Satin Lodge on the very next Sunday, in accordance with the pressing invitations of Tag-rag, but that he happened to recollect having engaged himself to dine on that evening with Mr. Quirk, at his residence in Camberwell—Alibi House. As I have already intimated in a previous part of this history, that most respectable old gentleman, Mr. Quirk, with the shrewdness natural to him, and which had been quickened by his great experience, had soon seen through the ill-contrived and worse-concealed designs upon Titmouse of Mr. Tag-rag; and justly considered that the surest method of rendering them abortive would be to familiarize Titmouse with a superior style of things, such as was to be found at Alibi House—and a more lovely and attractive object for his best affections in Miss Quirk—Dora Quirk—the lustre of whose charms and accomplishments there could be no doubt, he thought, would instantly efface the image of that poor, feeble, vulgar creature, Miss Tag-rag; for such old Quirk knew her to be, though he had, in fact, never for a moment set eyes upon her. Mr. Tag-rag looked rather blank at hearing of the grand party there was to be at Alibi House, and that Titmouse was to be introduced to the only daughter of Mr. Quirk, and could not for the life of him abstain from dropping something, vague and indistinct to be sure, about "entrapping unsuspecting innocence," and "interested attentions," and other similar expressions—all of which, however, were lost upon Titmouse. Tapping with an auctioneer's hammer on a block of granite, would make about as much impression upon it as will hint, innuendo, or suggestion, upon a blockhead. So it was with Titmouse. He promised to dine at Satin Lodge on the Sunday after the ensuing one—with which poor Mr. Tag-rag was obliged to depart content; having been unable to get Titmouse up to Clapham on either of the intervening evenings, on which, he told Mr. Tag-rag, he was particularly engaged with an intimate friend—"in fact, one of his solicitors;" and Tag-rag left him after shaking him by the hand with the utmost cordiality and energy. He instantly conceived a lively hatred of old Mr. Quirk and his daughter, who seemed taking so unfair an advantage. What, however, could be done? Many times during his interview did he anxiously turn about in his mind the expediency of proffering to lend or give Titmouse a five-pound note, of which he had one or two in his pocket-book; but no—'twas too much for human nature—he could not bring himself to it; and quitted Titmouse as rich a man as he had entered that gentleman's lodgings.
The "intimate friend" to whom Titmouse alluded as having engaged himself to dinner with him, was, in fact, Mr. Snap; who had early evinced a great partiality for him, and lost no opportunity of contributing to his enjoyment. Snap was a sharp-sighted person, and quickly detected many qualities in Titmouse, kindred to his own. He sincerely commiserated Titmouse's situation, than which, could anything be more lonely and desolate? Was he to sit night after night in the lengthening nights of autumn and winter, with not a soul to speak to, not a book to read, (that was at least interesting or worth reading;) nothing, in short, to occupy his attention? "No," said Snap to himself; "I will do as I would be done by; I will come and draw him out of his dull hole; I will show him life—I will give him an early insight into the habits and practices of the great world, in which he is so soon to cut a leading figure! I will early familiarize him with the gayest and most exciting modes of London life!" The very first taste of this cup of pleasure was exquisitely relished by Titmouse; and he felt a proportionate gratitude to him whose kind hand had first raised it to his lips. Scenes of which he had heretofore only heard and read—after which he had often sighed and yearned, were now opening daily before him, limited as were his means; and he felt perfectly happy. When Snap had finished the day's labors of the office, from which he was generally released about eight or nine o'clock in the evening, he would repair to his lodgings, and decorate himself for the night's display; after which, either he would go to Titmouse, or Titmouse come to him, as might have been previously agreed upon between them; and then,—
"The town was all before them, where to choose!"
Sometimes they would, arm in arm, each with his cigar in his mouth, saunter, for hours together, along the leading streets and thoroughfares, making acute observations and deep reflections upon the ever-moving and motley scenes around them. Most frequently, however, they would repair, at half-price, to the theatres; for Snap had the means of securing almost a constant supply of "orders" from the underlings of the theatres, and also from reporters to the Sunday Flash, (with which Messrs. Quirk and Gammon were connected,) and other newspapers. Ah, 'twas a glorious sight to see these two gentlemen saunter into a vacant box, conscious that the eyes of two-thirds of the house were fixed upon them in admiration, and conducting themselves accordingly—as swells of the first water! One such night counterbalanced, in Titmouse's estimation, a whole year of his previous obscurity and wretchedness! The theatre over, they would repair to some cloudy tavern, full of noise and smoke, and the glare of gaslight—redolent of the fragrant fumes of tobacco, gin, and porter, intermingled with the tempting odors of smoking kidneys, mutton-chops, beefsteaks, oysters, stewed cheese, toasted cheese, Welsh rabbits; where those who are chained to the desk and the counter during the day, revel in the license of the hour, and eat, and drink, and smoke to the highest point either of excitement or stupefaction, and enter into all the slang of the day—of the turf, the ring, the cockpit, the theatres—and shake their sides at comic songs. To enter one of these places when the theatre was over, was a luxury indeed to Titmouse; figged out in his very uttermost best, with satin stock and double breastpins; his glossy hat cocked on one side of his head, his tight blue surtout, with the snowy handkerchief elegantly drooping out of the breast-pocket; straw-colored kid gloves, tight trousers, and shining boots; his ebony silver-headed cane held carelessly under his arm! To walk into the middle of the room with a sort of haughty ease and indifference, or nonchalance; and after deliberately scanning, through his eye-glass, every box, with its occupants, at length drop into a vacant nook, and with a languid air summon the bustling waiter to receive his commands, was ecstasy! The circumstance of his almost always accompanying Snap on these occasions, who was held in great awe by the waiters, to whom his professional celebrity was well known, (for there was scarce an interesting, a dreadful, or a nasty scene at any of the police-offices, in which Snap's name did not figure in the newspapers as "appearing on behalf of the prisoner,") got Titmouse almost an equal share of consideration, and aided the effect produced by his own commanding appearance. As for Snap, whenever he was asked who his companion was, he would whisper in a very significant tone and manner—"Devilish high chap!" From these places they would repair, not unfrequently, to certain other scenes of nightly London life, which, I thank God! the virtuous reader can form no notion of, though they are, strange to say, winked at, if not patronized by the police and magistracy, till the metropolis is choked with them. Thus would Snap and Titmouse pleasantly pass away their time till one, two, three, and often four o'clock in the morning; at which hours they would, with many yawns, skulk homewards through the deserted and silent streets, their clothes redolent of tobacco smoke, their stomachs overcharged, their heads often muddled, swimming, and throbbing with their multifarious potations—having thus spent a "jolly night," and "seen life." 'T was thus that Snap greatly endeared himself to Titmouse, and secretly (for he enjoined upon Titmouse, as the condition of their continuance, strict secrecy on the subject of these nocturnal adventures) stole a march upon his older competitors for the good opinion of Titmouse—Messrs. Quirk, Tag-rag, and even the astute and experienced Gammon himself. Such doings as these required, however, as may easily be believed, some slight augmentations of the allowance made to Titmouse by Messrs. Quirk and Gammon; and it was fortunate that Snap was in a condition, having a few hundreds at his command, to supply the necessities of Titmouse, receiving with a careless air, on the occasion of such advances, small slips of paper by way of acknowledgments; some on stamped paper, others on unstamped paper,—promissory notes, and I. O. U's. Inasmuch, however, as Snap was not always possessed of a stamp on the occasion of a sudden advance, and having asked the opinion of his pleader (a sharp fellow who had been articled at the same time as himself to Messrs. Quirk and Gammon) as to whether an instrument in this form, "I. O. U. so much—with interest," would be available without a stamp, and being informed that it was a very doubtful point, Snap ingeniously met the difficulty by quietly adding to the principal what might become due in respect of interest: e. g. if £5 were lent, the acknowledgment would stand for £15—these little slips of paper being generally signed by Titmouse in moments of extreme exhilaration, when he never thought of scrutinizing anything that his friend Snap would lay before him. For the honor of Snap, I must say that I hardly think he deliberately purposed to perpetuate the fraud which such a transaction appears to amount to; all he wanted was—so he satisfied himself at least—to have it in his power to recover the full amount of principal really advanced, with interest, on one or other of these various securities, and hold the surplus as trustee for Titmouse. If, for instance, any unfortunate difference should hereafter arise between himself and Titmouse, and he should refuse to recognize his pecuniary obligations to Snap, the latter gentleman would be provided with short and easy proofs of his demands against him. 'T was thus, I say, that Snap rendered himself indispensable to Titmouse, whom he bound to him by every tie of gratitude; so that, in short, they became sworn friends.