Evan Harrington. Complete. George Meredith
glimpse of fun, at the same time; and he would have been passed over, had not the chairman said: ‘Take a seat, sir; make yourself comfortable.’
‘Before I have that pleasure,’ replied Evan, ‘I—’
‘I see where ‘tis,’ burst out the old boy who had previously superinduced a diversion: ‘he’s going to ax if he can’t have a bed!’
A roar of laughter, and ‘Don’t you remember this day last year?’ followed the cunning guess. For awhile explication was impossible; and Evan coloured, and smiled, and waited for them.
‘I was going to ask—’
‘Said so!’ shouted the old boy, gleefully.
‘—one of the gentlemen who has engaged a bed-room to do me the extreme favour to step aside with me, and allow me a moment’s speech with him.’
Long faces were drawn, and odd stares were directed toward him, in reply.
‘I see where ‘tis’; the old boy thumped his knee. ‘Ain’t it now? Speak up, sir! There’s a lady in the case?’
‘I may tell you thus much,’ answered Evan, ‘that it is an unfortunate young woman, very ill, who needs rest and quiet.’
‘Didn’t I say so?’ shouted the old boy.
But this time, though his jolly red jowl turned all round to demand a confirmation, it was not generally considered that he had divined so correctly. Between a lady and an unfortunate young woman, there seemed to be a strong distinction, in the minds of the company.
The chairman was the most affected by the communication. His bushy eyebrows frowned at Evan, and he began tugging at the brass buttons of his coat, like one preparing to arm for a conflict.
‘Speak out, sir, if you please,’ he said. ‘Above board—no asides—no taking advantages. You want me to give up my bed-room for the use of your young woman, sir?’
Evan replied quietly: ‘She is a stranger to me; and if you could see her, sir, and know her situation, I think she would move your pity.’
‘I don’t doubt it, sir—I don’t doubt it,’ returned the chairman. ‘They all move our pity. That’s how they get over us. She has diddled you, and she would diddle me, and diddle us all-diddle the devil, I dare say, when her time comes. I don’t doubt it, sir.’
To confront a vehement old gentleman, sitting as president in an assembly of satellites, requires command of countenance, and Evan was not browbeaten: he held him, and the whole room, from where he stood, under a serene and serious eye, for his feelings were too deeply stirred on behalf of the girl to let him think of himself. That question of hers, ‘What are you going to do with me?’ implying such helplessness and trust, was still sharp on his nerves.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I humbly beg your pardon for disturbing you as I do.’
But with a sudden idea that a general address on behalf of a particular demand must necessarily fail, he let his eyes rest on one there, whose face was neither stupid nor repellent, and who, though he did not look up, had an attentive, thoughtful cast about the mouth.
‘May I entreat a word apart with you, sir?’
Evan was not mistaken in the index he had perused. The gentleman seemed to feel that he was selected from the company, and slightly raising his head, carelessly replied: ‘My bed is entirely at your disposal,’ resuming his contemplative pose.
On the point of thanking him, Evan advanced a step, when up started the irascible chairman.
‘I don’t permit it! I won’t allow it!’ And before Evan could ask his reasons, he had rung the bell, muttering: ‘They follow us to our inns, now, the baggages! They must harry us at our inns! We can’t have peace and quiet at our inns!—’
In a state of combustion, he cried out to the waiter:
‘Here, Mark, this gentleman has brought in a dirty wench: pack her up to my bed-room, and lock her in lock her in, and bring down the key.’
Agreeably deceived in the old gentleman’s intentions, Evan could not refrain from joining the murmured hilarity created by the conclusion of his order. The latter glared at him, and added: ‘Now, sir, you’ve done your worst. Sit down, and be merry.’
Replying that he had a friend outside, and would not fail to accept the invitation, Evan retired. He was met by the hostess with the reproachful declaration on her lips, that she was a widow woman, wise in appearances, and that he had brought into her house that night work she did not expect, or bargain for. Rather (since I must speak truth of my gentleman) to silence her on the subject, and save his ears, than to propitiate her favour towards the girl, Evan drew out his constitutionally lean purse, and dropped it in her hand, praying her to put every expense incurred to his charge. She exclaimed:
‘If Dr. Pillie has his full sleep this night, I shall be astonished’; and Evan hastily led Jack into the passage to impart to him, that the extent of his resources was reduced to the smallest of sums in shillings.
‘I can beat my friend at that reckoning,’ said Mr. Raikes; and they entered the room.
Eyes were on him. This had ever the effect of causing him to swell to monstrous proportions in the histrionic line. Asking the waiter carelessly for some light supper dish, he suggested the various French, with ‘not that?’ and the affable naming of another. ‘Nor that? Dear me, we shall have to sup on chops, I believe!’
Evan saw the chairman scrutinizing Raikes, much as he himself might have done, and he said: ‘Bread and cheese for me.’
Raikes exclaimed: ‘Really? Well, my lord, you lead, and your taste is mine!’
A second waiter scudded past, and stopped before the chairman to say: ‘If you please, sir, the gentlemen upstairs send their compliments, and will be happy to accept.’
‘Ha!’ was the answer. ‘Thought better of it, have they! Lay for three more, then. Five more, I guess.’ He glanced at the pair of intruders.
Among a portion of the guests there had been a return to common talk, and one had observed that he could not get that ‘Good Evening,’ and ‘Good Night,’ out of his head which had caused a friend to explain the meaning of these terms of salutation to him: while another, of a philosophic turn, pursued the theme: ‘You see, when we meets, we makes a night of it. So, when we parts, it’s Good Night—natural! ain’t it?’ A proposition assented to, and considerably dilated on; but whether he was laughing at that, or what had aroused the fit, the chairman did not say.
Gentle chuckles had succeeded his laughter by the time the bread and cheese appeared.
In the rear of the provision came three young gentlemen, of whom the foremost lumped in, singing to one behind him, ‘And you shall have little Rosey!’
They were clad in cricketing costume, and exhibited the health and manners of youthful Englishmen of station. Frolicsome young bulls bursting on an assemblage of sheep, they might be compared to. The chairman welcomed them a trifle snubbingly. The colour mounted to the cheeks of Mr. Raikes as he made incision in the cheese, under their eyes, knitting his brows fearfully, as if at hard work.
The chairman entreated Evan to desist from the cheese; and, pulling out his watch, thundered: ‘Time!’
The company generally jumped on their legs; and, in the midst of a hum of talk and laughter, he informed Evan and Jack, that he invited them cordially to a supper up-stairs, and would be pleased if they would partake of it, and in a great rage if they would not.
Raikes was for condescending to accept.
Evan sprang up and cried: ‘Gladly, sir,’ and gladly would he have cast his cockney schoolmate to the winds, in the presence of these young cricketers; for he had a prognostication.
The door was open, and the company of jolly yeomen, tradesmen, farmers, and the like, had become intent on observing all the ceremonies of precedence: not one would broaden his back on the other; and there was bowing, and scraping, and grimacing, till Farmer Broadmead was hailed aloud, and