"How are you, Uncle George!" said I, and removing my shapeless hat, I bowed.
"Ha?" exclaimed his lordship. "You would seem to be acquainted with each other! Pray, George, have the goodness to introduce us."
"My lord, this--this is my nephew, Peregrine--young dog--"
"What, poor Jack"s boy?"
"The same, sir. Peregrine, his lordship, the Earl of Wyvelstoke.
Nephew Peregrine took it into his head to see the world, sir--and this is how he does it!"
"Admirable!" exclaimed his lordship. "Indeed, Mr. Vereker, should you protract your stay in these parts, I shall hope to repeat the pleasure of this afternoon and hear more of your musical concepts. Good-bye t"
ye, George!"
And limping to a light carriage that stood adjacent, the slender, shabby figure climbed in with the aid of the a.s.siduous Atkinson, and drove away.
"Well, upon my soul, Peregrine," exclaimed my uncle, removing his hat to ruffle his brown curls, "a precious pickle you look, b"gad! Where in the world--what under heaven--your breeches, Perry--that unspeakable--if only Julia could see you now. Oh, the dooce!"
Such were his more or less coherent expressions as his astonished gaze took in the various items of my appearance. Then all at once he laughed and down came his great hands upon my shoulders. "B"gad, Perry, I love ye for "em, lad; dooce take me if I don"t!" he exclaimed. "Those breeches now--where did you find "em?"
"Sir, they were bestowed by one Galloping Jerry, a highwayman."
My words produced all the effect I had antic.i.p.ated; the hat fell from his lax grasp and lay unheeded, while my uncle stared at me in speechless surprise. "These garments, sir," I continued, lowering my voice mysteriously, "are merely a disguise, for it seems there was a possibility of my being apprehended as Galloping Jerry"s accomplice.
Allow me to return your hat, sir."
My uncle George clutched it and made a kind of gurgling sound in his throat.
"However," I continued, "I am anxious to exchange these things for others less conspicuously hideous and should esteem it a kindness if you would advance the necessary money for it, for sir, I am penniless."
"Ha--your highwayman cove robbed you, of course!"
"He did, Uncle, but had the extraordinary magnanimity to restore all he"d taken. My money, sir, went in the--the purchase of a gipsy maiden--"
"Hey--gipsy--a woman--d"ye mean--you--"
"A young gipsy girl, Uncle."
"Good G.o.d!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed faintly and, sinking upon the shaft of the empty cart behind him, he fanned himself feebly with his hat.
"Peregrine," said he, shaking grave head at me, "your aunt Julia is right--a wonderful woman! Poetry is your line, after all--books--romances, lad--imagination--"
"You think I am romancing, sir?"
"Aye, though I call it "gammoning.""
"Sir, you affront me!"
"No offence, Perry," said he kindly. "You just can"t help it--comes natural to you--like a gamec.o.c.k fights. What other marvels have you seen?"
"A tinker, Uncle."
"Hum! Anything else?"
"I saw Jessamy Todd fight the big fellow at the "Ring o" Bells" this morning and--"
"What?" cried my uncle, on his feet in a moment. "You saw Jessamy fight? Oh, begad, Perry--why couldn"t you say so before?"
"You believe this, then, sir?"
"I do. Tell me all about it. I"ve heard rumours--they say it was a clean knockout--"
"The big man was indeed rendered quite unconscious, Uncle--"
"And you saw? Out with it, Perry lad!"
"But sir," I enquired, a little disdainfully, "why all this stir about a vulgar brawl?"
"Vulgar brawl, begad--"
"Well, a brutal bout at fisticuffs with a ruffian--"
"Heavens and earth, boy," exclaimed my uncle, in growing indignation, "don"t ye know you were privileged to see one of the very greatest fighters of any time, school or--oh, b"gad--"
"You mean Jessamy Todd, sir?"
"Of course I do. And what"s more--Tom Croxton, The "Thunderbolt"--the man who forced Jessamy to fight--was a plant--"
"Now pray, Uncle George, how may a great, hulking ruffian even faintly resemble any such thing?"
At this my uncle gasped, stared, shook his head, jingled his spurs and finally spoke:
"In Heaven"s name, don"t pretend you"re so infernal green, Perry! The "Thunderbolt" is a fighting man from Lambeth, a tough customer who"s won a fight or so lately and thought he could beat anything on two pins. So we were bringing him down here, hoping to match him with Jessamy, or, failing him, some other good man. But the fool, not knowing Jessamy, get"s himself thrashed, and the whole thing"s a flam."
"Jessamy has given up the game, Uncle."
"I know, but he loves it still. And you saw the fight! Tell me of it--no, wait--the others must hear." So saying, my uncle George hooked his powerful arm in mine and led me whither he would. By devious ways we went, to avoid the crowd; dodging behind empty caravans and waggons, skirting booths and tents until we came on one greater than all the rest, a huge canvas structure into which he brought me forthwith. The place was empty except for some scant few persons grouped about a stage whereon two fellows, naked to the waist, their fists swathed in what I believe are termed "m.u.f.fles", dodged and ducked, feinted or smote each other with great spirit and gusto until one of them, reeling from a flush hit, sat down with sudden violence and remained in this posture to blink and get his breath.
"Dooce--take me--Tom!" exclaimed this individual, in breathless reproach. "Your--infernal mug"s--hard as--iron!"
"Craggy, my lord!" answered the other hoa.r.s.ely. "Cragg by name an"
Craggy by natur", my lord!"
Thither my uncle George led me, his spurs jingling, whereupon the spectators turned to salute him and stare at me, among whom I recognised my uncle Jervas.
"What, George," enquired one, "ha" you found Jessamy?"
"No!" answered my uncle, slapping me on the shoulder. "But the next best thing, Devenham--"
"And a demned queer-looking thing it is, George!" added the rec.u.mbent gentleman, viewing me with a pair of blue eyes, one of which exhibited signs of recent punishment.
"None the less, Jerny," answered uncle George, "it is my nephew.