Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch - The Astonishing History of Troy Town

S >> Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch >> The Astonishing History of Troy Town

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

"What I complains of in this 'ere fash'nubble life," said Peter
slowly, "es this--'tes too various--by a sight, too various."

"Arter eatin' next door to nuthin' all day, so's we mou'tn' be
behindhand in tacklin' the vittles!"

There was an interval of painful stupor.

"Paul!"

"Peter!"

"I'm reckonin' up what my hunger's wuth at this moment. I dunno as
I'd take twenty pund for 't."

Inside the house Mr. Fogo had sunk into an armchair, and was
regarding the ceiling with thoughtful attention. He was aroused by
steps in the hall, and Tamsin re-entered the room, followed by Caleb
with the soup-tureen.

"Hulloa! where's the Twins?"

"Eh?"

"Es this a round game, or a conjurin' trick?"

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Fogo turned a dull gaze upon him. Caleb set
down the tureen with a crash, and rushing up shook his master gently,
but firmly, by the collar.

"Where--be--they--Twins?"

"Oh! The Twins? They have gone--gone some five minutes. I saw them
out. It's all--Bless my soul, how extraordinary, to be sure!"

Caleb did not wait for the end of the sentence, but darting out,
discovered the brothers in the porch, and haled them back.

"I beg your pardon most heartily," said Mr. Fogo, as they appeared;
"the fact is--"

"There's no call, sir. I reckon us'll get the grip o't wi' time an'
practice; on'y bein' new to the ropes, so to spake--"

Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin. She broke into a merry laugh.

It snapped the spell. The Twins, who had been waiting on each other
for a lead with the first spoonful of soup, set down their spoons and
joined in, at first decorously, then with uproar.

"Talk 'bout fun!" gasped Peter at length, with tears in his eyes,
"Bill Stickles at the Market Ord'nary can't match et--an' he's
reckoned a tip-topper for fun. An' this es fash'n! Well, I never
did. Ho, ho, ho!"

From this moment the success of the dinner was assured. All talked,
and talked with freedom. The brothers threw off their restraint, and
were their natural and well-mannered selves. It is true that Peter
would pause now and again to slap his thigh and renew his mirth; it
is true also that he continued to wear his white gloves throughout
the meal. But he pocketed them when Caleb removed the cloth, and the
company fell into more easy postures.

It was late that evening when the Twins consulted their watches and
rose to go, and as yet nothing had been said on the subject nearest
to Mr. Fogo's heart. He motioned them back to their seats.

"There is still one more question that I must ask you," he said,
rising and stepping to Tamsin's side. "You guess what it is?"

"I mou't," admitted Peter slowly.

"I ask you, then, if Tamsin has your leave to make me happy.
Knowing what it costs you--"

"No cost, sir, where our little maid's happiness es consarned.
Tamsin knaws that, but 't 'as been the harder to talk wi' her as us
shud ha' wished, an' that there's no denyin'. Us knawed all along
she'd be leavin' us some day, an' oft'n Paul an' me have a-made up
each other's mind to 't. I misdoubts, sir--I misdoubts sorely--
seein' 'tes _you_ her heart es set to marry--meanin' no offence, sir.
But as _'tes_ set--Tamsin, girl, we'll be goin', I reckon.
I'm thinkin' I've a-parted wi' enough o' my heart's blud for wan
night."

He moved towards the door, but came back again to shake hands, with a
word of self-reproach for his lack of courtesy. Then, with a
tenderness almost motherly on his mahogany face--

"Be gentle wi' her," he said. "She's quick to larn--an' takes cold
aisy, which, ef seen to early, a little nitre will a'most al'ays
pervent. Come 'long, Tamsin."

CHAPTER XXV.

WHICH ENDS THE STORY OF TROY.

The wedding took place in less than two months after Mr. Fogo's
dinner-party. A longer interval would have proved, I believe, fatal
to both Peter and Paul, who wore themselves thin over small
anxieties, from the trousseau to the cake.

Three days before the wedding, for instance, they rowed down to Kit's
House and awoke Caleb at 4.30 a.m. by throwing gravel against his
window.

"Oh, 'tes you," said Caleb, as he thrust open the lattice; "what's
amiss now?"

"We have been considerin' which of us two es to gi'e Tamsin away."

"Toss up."

"We _have_ tossed up--scores o' times."

"Well?"

"The results," said Peter gravely, "es versified."

"What?"

"Otherwise, various. The results es various--inclinin' to Paul."

"Well, let Paul do it."

"Peter es oulder," objected Paul.

"By dree minnits--which don't fairly count," put in Peter.

"Peter," observed Caleb, "looks th' oulder--by full dree minnits."

"Paul went to school afore me," said Peter, "by two days--along o'
measles."

"Look 'ere," decided Caleb, "let Paul gi'e her away, an' you, bein'
the better spokesman, can propose th' health o' the bride an'
bridegroom."

This satisfied them, and so it was arranged at the wedding. I am not
going to describe the ceremony--at which I had the privilege of
holding my friend's hat--beyond saying that woman, as is usual on
these occasions, was a success, and man a dismal failure. There was
one exception. When little Susie Clemow, who at Mr. Fogo's express
desire was one of the bridesmaids, identified the bridegroom with the
strange gentleman who had frightened her in the lane, and burst into
loud screams in the middle of the service, I could not sufficiently
admire the readiness with which Peter Dearlove produced a packet of
brandy-balls from his tail-pocket to comfort her, or the prescience
which led him to bring such confectionery to a wedding.

At the breakfast, too, which, owing to the dimensions of the
Dearloves' cottage, was perforce select, Peter again shone.
In proposing the health of Mr. and Mrs. Fogo, he said--

"On an occasion like the present et becomes us not to repine.
These things es sent us for our good" (here he looked doubtfully at
the cake), "an' wan man's meat es t'other's p'ison, which I hopes"
(severely) "you knawed wi'out my tellin' 'ee; an' I shudn' wonder ef
Paul an' me was to draw lots wan o' these fine days as to which o' us
shud take the pledge--I means, the plunge--an' go an' scarify hissel'
'pon the high menial altar."

Immense excitement at this point prevailed among certain elderly
spinsters present.

"That was a joke," explained the speaker, with a sudden and stony
solemnity, "an' I hopes 'twill be tuk in the sperrit in which 'twas
meant. An' wi' that I gi'es Tamsin's health an' that o' P. Fogo,
Esquire, to whom she has been this day made man an' wife; an' bless
them an' their dear offspring!"

At this point he was sitting down when Paul leant across and
whispered in his ear.

"You are right, Paul," said the orator--"or offsprings. Bless their
dear offspring _or_ offsprings--as the case may be."

And with this he resumed his seat amid frantic applause.

The Twins alone escorted the bride and bridegroom to the
railway-station; and with the accident that there befell, the
chronicle of Mr. Fogo's adventures may for the present close.
While the brothers saw Tamsin to her carriage, and with their white
waistcoats and gigantic favours planted awe in the breast of the
travelling public, the bridegroom dived into the Booking Office to
take the tickets for London; for Mr. and Mrs. Fogo were to spend some
days in the Metropolis before crossing the Channel.

Now it so happened that in the Booking Office there hung a gorgeous
advertisement of one of the principal Steamship Companies,
representing a painted ship, the S.S. _Popocatepetl_, upon a painted
ocean, with a deckload of passengers in all varieties of national and
fancy costume. Mr. Fogo, as his eye rested on this company, halted
and looked more closely.

"That Highlander," he said, "is out of drawing."

Purse in hand, he paused before the advertisement and slowly yielded
to its spell. His eyes grew fixed and glassy: tickets, train, and
waiting bride had passed out of his mind. Mr. Fogo's fit was upon
him.

Meanwhile the Twins, unconscious of the flight of time, and untutored
in the ways of locomotives, were loading their sister with parting
advice.

"This 'ere," remarked Peter, pulling a bulky parcel from his pocket,
"contains a variety o' useful articles for travellin', which I've
a-reckoned up durin' the past week an' meant to hand 'ee at the las'
moment. There's a wax candle an' a box o' lucifers for the tunnels,
an' a roll o' diach'lum plaister in case o' injury, an' 'Foxe's Book
o' Martyrs,' ef you shud tire o' lookin' out at the windey, an'
Thorley's-Food-for-Cattle Almanack for the las' thirteen year all
done up separate, an' addressed to 'Mr. P. Dearlove, juxty Troy.'
'Bout this last, I wants Mr. Fogo to post wan at ivery stashun where
you stops, so's we may knaw you've got there safe."

"I see," broke in Paul, who had been spelling through the notices
with which the carriage was adorned, "there's a fine not exceedin'
saxty shillin' ef you communicates wi' the guard wi'out reason, an'
wuss ef you cuts the cush'ns or damages the compartment. You'd bes'
call Mr. Fogo's 'tention to that."

"An' warn 'un not to get out while the train's i' motion; but you was
al'ays thoughtful, Tamsin. God bless thee, little maid! Et makes my
head swim o' whiles to think 'pon the times I've a-danced 'ee 'pon my
knee, an' now you'm a married woman!"

"God bless you both, my dear brothers!"

"Amazin'," said Paul; "I see the Cumpenny won't hold itsel' liable
for--"

There was a slamming of doors, a shriek of the whistle, and the train
began to move away. At the same moment Mr. Fogo darted out of the
Booking Office, and came tearing up the platform.

"Where's my wife?" he cried. "Which carriage--?"

It was too late. The carriage was already beyond the platform, and
the train had gathered speed. But presence of mind belongs not to
experience only. At the end of the train was hitched an empty
clay-truck, bound on a return journey to Five Lanes Junction.
Quick as thought the Twins, as Mr. Fogo rushed up to them, caught him
by the coat collar and seat of his trousers, and with one timely
heave sent him flying into this. When he staggered to his feet--
hatless, without spectacles, and besmeared with clay from head to
foot--the train was fifty yards beyond the station. And so, staring
back mournfully at the little group upon the platform, he vanished
from their sight.

"That," said Peter, turning slowly to his brother, "was nibby-gibby."

"Tamsin mou't ha' communicated wi' the guard," responded Paul, "on'y
that, wi'out sufficient reason, wud ha' been not exceedin' saxty
shillin'. Do 'ee think 'twud ha' been held sufficient reason?"

"I dunno. I reckon they mou't ha' made et two-pund-ten, all things
conseddered," said his brother thoughtfully, "but there's no
knawin'."

It is always hateful to say good-bye to friends, and here, with his
leave, the reader shall be left to guess on the later fortunes of
Tamsin and Mr. Fogo, the Twins and Caleb. It may be, if he care, and
the Fates so order it, he shall some day follow them through new
adventures; but it will be far from Troy Town. And for the present
they shall fare as his imagination pleases.

Of Tamsin, however, who is thus left with her good or sorry fortune
before her, something shall be hinted. Public opinion at Troy
condemned her marriage. As Miss Limpenny neatly asked, "If we were
all to marry beneath us, pray where should we stop?" "We should go
on," replied the Admiral, "_ad libitum_." I am inclined to think he
meant "_ad infinitum_;" but the argument is quite as cogent as it
stands.

And yet, since they returned to Kit's House, which they did after an
absence of three years, Mr. and Mrs. Fogo have been called upon by
the _Cumeelfo_. Some months ago the Admiral button-holed me in the
street.

"I say, who are all those people staying with--with your friends? I
mean, the strangers I saw in Church yesterday--a very creditable lot,
upon my word."

"I am glad you approve of them," I answered gravely. "The lady with
the spectacles is Miss Gamma Girton, the Novelist of Agnosticism; the
tall man in black, Thomas Daniel, the critic--"

"Oh, literary people."

"Quite. Then there is Sir Inchcape Bell, the great Engineer; and
Lady Judy Twitchett--her husband (the young man with the bald head)
sits for Horkey-boro', you know, and will be in the Cabinet with the
next--"

But the Admiral was already hurrying down the street. That very
afternoon he took his family up to Kit's House, to call; and has been
calling at short intervals ever since.

The Goodwyn-Sandys, unless we are sharper than the police, we shall
never see again. So close was the pursuit, however, that they were
forced to leave the portmanteau in the cloak-room at Paddington
Station, where it was discovered and opened. It contained a highly
curious clock-work toy, and enough dynamite to raze St. Paul's to the
ground. Even without exploding, it converted three statesmen to Home
Rule.

Mr. Moggridge's resignation of his post in the Customs was received
without expressed regret. He has since married Sophia Buzza, and
edits a Conservative paper in Wales. I see that another volume of
his verse is in the press. It is to be called "Throbs: and other
Trifles," and will include the epithalamium written by him for his
own nuptials, as well as his "Farewell to Troy!"--a composition which
Mrs. Buzza said she defied "you to read without feeling as if geese
were walking over your grave."

Sam Buzza has gone to College.

And what of Troy Town? By degrees the old phrases, old catch-words,
and old opinions have come to reign again. Troy's unchanged
loveliness too, the daily round full of experiences familiar as old
friends, the dear monotony of sight and sound in the little port--all
have made for healing and oblivion. If you question us on a certain
three months in our life, the chances are you will get no answer.
We have agreed to forget, you see; and so we are beginning to
persuade ourselves, almost, that those months have never been.

Almost. But, as a fact, Mrs. Buzza had been right. "It will never
be the same again-never!" Something we have lost, and I think that
something is Troy. For strangers have come amongst us, and have
formed a society of their own. The Town is grown out of our
knowledge. They have built, and are building, mansions of stucco,
and a hotel of hideous brick; a fifth-rate race-meeting threatens the
antique regatta; and before all this the savour of Trojan life is
departing. Ilion is down, and by no assault of war.

And yet--

The evening before last I passed up the road in front of No. I, Alma
Villas. The air was warm, and through the half-opened window a voice
stole out--

"In the Great Exhibition of 1851, my dear, Her Majesty the Queen,
while partaking of luncheon--"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16