Chapter 8

_The Outside of the Red Cow._

_DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY before the Door._

_Dennis._ I've stretched my neck half a yard longer, looking out after that rapscallion, Dan. Och! and is it yourself I see, at last? There he comes, in a snail's trot, with a basket behind him, like a stage coach.

_Enter DAN, with a Basket at his Back._

Dan, you devil! aren't you a beast of a waiter?

_Dan._ What for?

_Dennis._ To stay out so, the first day of company.

_Dan._ Come, that be a good un! I ha' waited for the company a week, and I defy you to say I ever left the house till they comed.

_Dennis._ Well, and that's true. Pacify me with a good reason, and you'll find me a dutiful master. Arrah, Dan, what's that hump grown out at your back, on the road?

_Dan._ Plenty o' meat and drink. I ha'n't had such a hump o' late, at my stomach. [_Puts the Basket on the Ground._

_Dennis._ And who harnessed you, Dan, with all that kitchen stuff?

_Dan._ He as ware rack'd, and took I wi' un to Penzance, for a companion. He order'd I, as I said things were a little famish'd like, here, to buy this for the young woman, and the old man he ha' brought back wi' un.

_Dennis._ Then you have been gabbling your ill looking stories about my larder, you stone eater!

_Dan._ Larder! I told un you had three live pigs as ware dying.

_Dennis._ Oh fie! Think you, won't any master discharge a man sarvant that shames him? Thank your luck, I can't blush. But is the old fellow, our customer has brought, his intimate friend, he never saw but once, thirty years ago?

_Dan._ Ees; that be old Job Thornberry, the brazier; and, as sure as you stand there, when we got to his shop, they were going to make him a banker.

_Dennis._ A banker! I never saw one made. How do they do it?

_Dan._ Why, the bum baileys do come into his house, and claw away all his goods and furniture.

_Dennis._ By the powers, but that's one way of setting a man going in business!

_Dan._ When we got into the shop, there they were, as grum as thunder.--You ha' seen a bum bailey?

_Dennis._ I'm not curious that way. I might have seen one, once or twice; but I was walking mighty fast, and had no time to look behind me.

_Dan._ My companion--our customer--he went up stairs, and I bided below;--and then they began a knocking about the goods and chapels.--That ware no business o' mine.

_Dennis._ Sure it was not.

_Dan._ Na, for sartin; so I ax'd 'em what they were a doing;--and they told I, wi' a broad grin, taking an invention of the misfortunate man's defects.

_Dennis._ Choke their grinning! The law of the land's a good doctor; but, bad luck to those that gorge upon such a fine physician's poor patients! Sure, we know, now and then, it's mighty wholesome to bleed; but nobody falls in love with the leech.

_Dan._ They comed down stairs--our customer and the brazier; and the head baily he began a bullocking at the old man, in my mind, just as one christian shou'dn't do to another. I had nothing to do wi' that.

_Dennis._ Damn the bit.

_Dan._ No, nothing at all; and so my blood began to rise. He made the poor old man almost fit to cry.

_Dennis._ That wasn't your concern, you know.

_Dan._ Bless you, mun! 'twould ha' look'd busy like, in me, to say a word; so I took up a warming pan, and I bang'd bum bailey, wi' the broad end on't, 'till he fell o' the floor as fat as twopence.

_Dennis._ Oh, hubaboo! lodge in my heart, and I'll never ax you for rent--you're a friend in need. Remember, I've a warmingpan--you know where it hangs, and that's enough.

_Dan._ They had like to ha' warm'd I, finely, I do know. I ware nigh being haul'd to prison; 'cause, as well as I could make out their cant, it do seem I had rescued myself, and broke a statue.

_Dennis._ Och, the Philistines!

_Dan._ But our traveller--I do think he be the devil--he settled all in a jiffy; for he paid the old man's debts, and the bailey's broken head ware chuck'd into the bargain.

_Dennis._ And what did he pay?

_Dan._ Guess now.

_Dennis._ A hundred pounds?

_Dan._ Six thousand, by gum!

_Dennis._ What! on the nail?

_Dan._ Na; on the counter.

_Dennis._ Whew!--six thousand pou----! Oh, by the powers, this man must be the philosopher's stone! Dan----

_Dan._ Hush! here he be.

_Enter PEREGRINE, from the House._

_Per._ [_To DAN._] So, friend, you have brought provision, I perceive.

_Dan._ Ees, sir;--three boil'd fowls, three roast, two chicken pies, and a capon.

_Per._ You have considered abundance, more than variety. And the wine?

_Dan._ A dozen o' capital red port, sir: I ax'd for the newest they had i' the cellar.

_Dennis._ [_To himself._] Six thousand pounds upon a counter!

_Per._ [_To DAN._] Carry the hamper in doors; then return to me instantly. You must accompany me in another excursion.

_Dan._ What, now?

_Per._ Yes; to Sir Simon Rochdale's. You are not tired, my honest fellow?

_Dan._ Na, not a walking wi' you;--but, dang me, when you die, if all the shoemakers shouldn't go into mourning. [_DAN takes the Hamper into the House._

_Dennis._ [_Ruminating._] Six thousand pounds! by St. Patrick, it's a sum!

_Per._ How many miles from here to the Manor house?

_Dennis._ Six thousand!

_Per._ Six thousand!--yards you mean, I suppose, friend.

_Dennis._ Sir!--Eh? Yes, sir, I--I mean yards--all upon a counter!

_Per._ Six thousand yards upon a counter! Mine host, here, seems a little bewildered;--but he has been anxious, I find, for poor Mary, and 'tis national in him to blend eccentricity with kindness. John Bull exhibits a plain, undecorated dish of solid benevolence; but Pat has a gay garnish of whim around his good nature; and if, now and then, 'tis sprinkled in a little confusion, they must have vitiated stomachs, who are not pleased with the embellishment.

_Enter DAN, booted._

_Dan._ Now, sir, you and I'll stump it.

_Per._ Is the way we are to go now, so much worse, that you have cased yourself in those boots?

_Dan._ Quite clean--that's why I put 'em on: I should ha' dirted 'em in t' other job.

_Per._ Set forward, then.

_Dan._ Na, sir, axing your pardon; I be but the guide, and 'tisn't for I to go first.

_Per._ Ha! ha! Then we must march abreast, boy, like lusty soldiers, and I shall be side by side with honesty: 'tis the best way of travelling through life's journey, and why not over a heath? Come, my lad.

_Dan._ Cheek by jowl, by gum! [_Exeunt PEREGRINE and DAN._

_Dennis._ That walking philosopher--perhaps he'll give me a big bag of money. Then, to be sure, I won't lay out some of it to make me easy for life: for I'll settle a separate maintenance upon ould mother Brulgruddery.

_JOB THORNBERRY peeps out of the Door of the Public House._

_Job._ Landlord!

_Dennis._ Coming, your honour.

_Job._ [_Coming forward._] Hush! don't bawl;--Mary has fallen asleep. You have behaved like an emperor to her, she says. Give me your hand, landlord.

_Dennis._ Behaved!--Arrah, now, get away with your blarney. [_Refusing his Hand._

_Job._ Well, let it alone. I'm an old fool, perhaps; but, as you comforted my poor girl in her trouble, I thought a squeeze from her father's hand--as much as to say, "Thank you, for my child."--might not have come amiss to you.

_Dennis._ And is it yourself who are that creature's father?

_Job._ Her mother said so, and I always believed her. You have heard some'at of what has happen'd, I suppose. It's all over our town, I take it, by this time. Scandal is an ugly, trumpeting devil. Let 'em talk;--a man loses little by parting with a herd of neighbours, who are busiest in publishing his family misfortunes; for they are just the sort of cattle who would never stir over the threshold to prevent 'em.

_Dennis._ Troth, and that's true;--and some will only sarve you, because you're convenient to 'em, for the time present; just as my customers come to the Red Cow.

_Job._ I'll come to the Red Cow, hail, rain, or shine, to help the house, as long as you are Landlord. Though I must say that your wife----

_Dennis._ [_Putting his Hand before JOB'S Mouth._] Decency! Remember your own honour, and my feelings. I mustn't hear any thing bad, you know, of Mrs. Brulgruddery; and you'll say nothing good of her, without telling damn'd lies; so be asy.

_Job._ Well, I've done;--but we mustn't be speaking ill of all the world, neither: there are always some sound hearts to be found among the hollow ones. Now he that is just gone over the heath----

_Dennis._ What, the walking philosopher?

_Job._ I don't know any thing of his philosophy; but, if I live these thousand years, I shall never forget his goodness. Then, there's another;--I was thinking, just now, if I had tried him, I might have found a friend in my need, this morning.

_Dennis._ Who is he?

_Job._ A monstrous good young man; and as modest and affable, as if he had been bred up a 'prentice, instead of a gentleman.

_Dennis._ And what's his name?

_Job._ Oh, every body knows him, in this neighbourhood; he lives hard by--Mr. Francis Rochdale, the young 'squire, at the Manor-house.

_Dennis._ Mr. Francis Rochdale!

_Job._ Yes!--he's as condescending! and took quite a friendship for me, and mine. He told me, t'other day, he'd recommend me in trade to all the great families twenty miles round;--and said he'd do, I don't know what all, for my Mary.

_Dennis._ He did!--Well, 'faith, you may'nt know what; but, by my soul, he has kept his word!

_Job._ Kept his word!--What do you mean?

_Dennis._ Harkye--If Scandal is blowing about your little fireside accident, 'twas Mr. Francis Rochdale recommended him to your shop, to buy his brass trumpet.

_Job._ Eh! What? no!--yes--I see it at once!--young Rochdale's a rascal!--Mary! [_Bawling._

_Dennis._ Hush--you'll wake her, you know.

_Job._ I intend it. I'll--a glossy, oily, smooth rascal!--warming me in his favour, like an unwholesome February sun! shining upon my poor cottage, and drawing forth my child,--my tender blossom,--to suffer blight, and mildew!--Mary! I'll go directly to the Manor-house--his father's in the commission.--I may'nt find justice, but I shall find a justice of peace.

_Dennis._ Fie, now! and can't you listen to reason?

_Job._ Reason!----tell me a reason why a father shouldn't be almost mad, when his patron has ruin'd his child.--Damn his protection!--tell me a reason why a man of birth's seducing my daughter doesn't almost double the rascality? yes, double it: for my fine gentleman, at the very time he is laying his plans to make her infamous, would think himself disgraced in making her the honest reparation she might find from one of her equals.

_Dennis._ Arrah, be asy, now, Mr. Thornberry.

_Job._ And, this spark, forsooth, is now canvassing the county!--but, if I don't give him his own at the hustings!--How dare a man set himself up for a guardian of his neighbour's rights, who has robbed his neighbour of his dearest comforts? How dare a seducer come into freeholders' houses, and have the impudence to say, send me up to London as your representative? Mary! [_Calling._

_Dennis._ That's all very true.--But if the voters are under petticoat government, he has a mighty good chance of his election.

_Enter MARY._

_Mary._ Did you call, my dear father?

_Job._ Yes, I did call. [_Passionately._

_Dennis._ Don't you frighten that poor young crature!

_Mary._ Oh, dear! what has happened?--You are angry; very angry. I hope it isn't with me!--if it is, I have no reason to complain.

_Job._ [_Softened, and folding her in his Arms._] My poor, dear child! I forgive you twenty times more, now, than I did before.

_Mary._ Do you, my dear father?

_Job._ Yes; for there's twenty times more excuse for you, when rank and education have helped a scoundrel to dazzle you. Come! [_Taking her Hand._

_Mary._ Come! where?

_Job._ [_Impatiently._] To the Manor-house with me, directly.

_Mary._ To the Manor-house! Oh, my dear father, think of what you are doing! think of me!

_Job._ Of you!--I think of nothing else. I'll see you righted. Don't be terrified, child--damn it, you know I doat on you: but we are all equals in the eye of the law; and rot me, if I won't make a baronet's son shake in his shoes, for betraying a brazier's daughter. Come, love, come! _Exeunt JOB and MARY._

_Dennis._ There'll be a big boderation at the Manor-house! My customers are all gone, that I was to entertain:--nobody's left but my lambkin, who don't entertain me: Sir Simon's butler gives good Madeira:--so, I'm off, after the rest; and the Red Cow and mother Brulgruddery may take care of one another. [_Exit._