Chapter 3

_The Bar of the_ “_Windmill Inn_” _at Salt Hill_.

MR. _and_ MRS. NEWINGTON, _the Landlord and Landlady_.

_Landlady_. ’Tis an unpossibility, Mr. Newington; and that’s enough. Say no more about it; ’tis an unpossibility in the natur of things. (_She ranges jellies_, _etc._, _in the Bar_.) And pray, do you take your great old fashioned tankard, Mr. Newington, from among my jellies and confectioneries.

_Landlord_ (_takes his tankard and drinks_). Anything for a quiet life. If it is an impossibility, I’ve no more to say; only, for the soul of me, I can’t see the great unpossibility, wife.

_Landlady_. Wife, indeed!—wife!—wife! wife every minute.

_Landlord_. Heyday! Why, what a plague would you have me call you? The other day you quarrelled with me for calling you Mrs. Landlady.

_Landlady_. To be sure I did, and very proper in me I should. I’ve turned off three waiters and five chambermaids already, for screaming after me _Mrs. Landlady_! _Mrs. Landlady_! But ’tis all your ill manners.

_Landlord_. Ill manners! Why, if I may be so bold, if you are not Mrs. Landlady, in the name of wonder what are you?

_Landlady_. Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington.

_Landlord_ (_drinks_). Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington drinks your health; for I suppose I must not be landlord any more in my own house (_shrugs_).

_Landlady_. Oh, as to that, I have no objections nor impediments to your being called _Landlord_. You look it, and become it very proper.

_Landlord_. Why, yes, indeed, thank my tankard, I do look it, and become it, and am nowise ashamed of it; but everyone to their mind, as you, wife, don’t fancy the being called Mrs. Landlady.

_Landlady_. To be sure I don’t. Why, when folks hear the old fashioned cry of Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! who do they expect, think you, to see, but an overgrown, fat, featherbed of a woman, coming waddling along with her thumbs sticking on each side of her apron, o’ this fashion? Now, to see me coming, nobody would take me to be a landlady.

_Landlord_. Very true, indeed, wife—Mrs. Newington, I mean—I ask pardon; but now to go on with what we were saying about the unpossibility of letting that old lady, and the civil-spoken young lady there above, have them there rooms for another day.

_Landlady_. Now, Mr. Newington, let me hear no more about that old gentlewoman, and that civil-spoken young lady. Fair words cost nothing; and I’ve a notion that’s the cause they are so plenty with the young lady. Neither o’ them, I take it, by what they’ve ordered since their coming into the house, are such grand folk, that one need be so _petticular_ about them.

_Landlord_. Why, they came only in a chaise and pair, to be sure; I can’t deny that.

_Landlady_. But, bless my stars! what signifies talking? Don’t you know, as well as I do, Mr. Newington, that to-morrow is Eton Montem, and that if we had twenty times as many rooms and as many more to the back of them, it would not be one too many for all the company we’ve a right to expect, and those the highest quality of the land? Nay, what do I talk of to-morrow? isn’t my Lady Piercefield and suite expected? and, moreover, Mr. and Miss Bursal’s to be here, and will call for as much in an hour as your civil-spoken young lady in a twelvemonth, I reckon. So, Mr. Newington, if you don’t think proper to go up and inform the ladies above, that the Dolphin rooms are not for them, I must _speak_ myself, though ’tis a thing I never do when I can help it.

_Landlord_ (_aside_). She not like to speak! (_Aloud_.) My dear, you can speak a power better than I can; so take it all upon yourself, if you please; for, old-fashioned as I and my tankard here be, I can’t make a speech that borders on the uncivil order, to a lady like, for the life and lungs of me. So, in the name of goodness, do you go up, Mrs. Newington.

_Landlady_. And so I will, Mr. Newington. Help ye! Civilities and rarities are out o’ season for them that can’t pay for them in this world; and very proper.

[_Exit Landlady_.]

_Landlord_. And very proper! Ha! who comes yonder? The Eton chap who wheedled me into lending him my best hunter last year, and was the ruination of him; but that must be paid for, wheedle or no wheedle; and, for the matter of wheedling, I’d stake this here Mr. Wheeler, that is making up to me, do you see, against e’er a boy, or hobbledehoy, in all Eton, London, or Christendom, let the other be who he will.

_Enter_ WHEELER.

_Wheeler_. A fine day, Mr. Newington.

_Landlord_. A fine day, Mr. Wheeler.

_Wheel._ And I hope, for _your_ sake, we may have as fine a day for the Montem to-morrow. It will be a pretty penny in your pocket! Why, all the world will be here; and (looking round at the jellies, etc.) so much the better for them; for here are good things enough, and enough for them. And here’s the best thing of all, the good old tankard still; not empty, I hope.

_Landlord_. Not empty, I hope. Here’s to you, Mr. Wheeler.

_Wheel._ Mr. Wheeler!—_Captain_ Wheeler, if you please.

_Landlord_. _You_, Captain Wheeler! Why, I thought in former times it was always the oldest scholar at Eton that was Captain at the Montems; and didn’t Mr. Talbot come afore you?

_Wheel._ Not at all; we came on the same day. Some say I came first; some say Talbot. So the choice of which of us is to be captain is to be put to the vote amongst the lads—most votes carry it; and I have most votes, I fancy; so I shall be captain, to-morrow, and a pretty deal of _salt_ {139} I reckon I shall pocket. Why, the collection at the last Montem, they say, came to a plump thousand! No bad thing for a young fellow to set out with for Oxford or Cambridge—hey?

_Landlord_. And no bad thing, before he sets out for Cambridge or Oxford, ’twould be for a young gentleman to pay his debts.

_Wheel._ Debts! Oh, time enough for that. I’ve a little account with you in horses, I know; but that’s between you and me, you know—mum.

_Landlord_. Mum me no mums, Mr. Wheeler. Between you and me, my best hunter has been ruinationed; and I can’t afford to be mum. So you’ll take no offence if I speak; and as you’ll set off to-morrow, as soon as the Montem’s over, you’ll be pleased to settle with me some way or other to-day, as we’ve no other time.

_Wheel._ No time so proper, certainly. Where’s the little account?—I have money sent me for my Montem dress, and I can squeeze that much out of it. I came home from Eton on purpose to settle with you. But as to the hunter, you must call upon Talbot—do you understand? to pay for him; for though Talbot and I had him the same day, ’twas Talbot did for him, and Talbot must pay. I spoke to him about it, and charged him to remember you; for I never forget to speak a good word for my friends.

_Landlord_. So I perceive.

_Wheel._ I’ll make bold just to give you my opinion of these jellies whilst you are getting my account, Mr. Newington.

(_He swallows down a jelly or two_—_Landlord is going_.)

_Enter_ TALBOT.

_Talbot_. Hallo, Landlord! where are making off so fast? Here, your jellies are all going as fast as yourself.

_Wheel._ (_aside_). Talbot!—I wish I was a hundred miles off.

_Landlord_. You are heartily welcome, Mr. Talbot. A good morning to you, sir; I’m glad to see you—very glad to see you, Mr. Talbot.

_Talb._ Then shake hands, my honest landlord.

(_Talbot_, _in shaking hands with him_, _puts a purse into the landlord’s hands_.)

_Landlord_. What’s here? Guineas?

_Talb._ The hunter, you know; since Wheeler won’t pay, I must—that’s all. Good morning.

_Wheel._ (_aside_). What a fool!

(_Landlord_, _as Talbot is going_, _catches hold of his coat_.)

_Landlord_. Hold, Mr. Talbot, this won’t do!

_Talb._ Won’t it? Well, then, my watch must go.

_Landlord_. Nay, nay! but you are in such a hurry to pay—you won’t hear a man. Half this is enough for your share o’ the mischief, in all conscience. Mr. Wheeler, there, had the horse on the same day.

_Wheel._ But Bursal’s my witness—

_Talb._ Oh, say no more about witnesses; a man’s conscience is always his best witness, or his worst. Landlord, take your money, and no more words.

_Wheel._ This is very genteel of you, Talbot. I always thought you would do the genteel thing as I knew you to be so generous and considerate.

_Talb._ Don’t waste your fine speeches, Wheeler, I advise you, this election time. Keep them for Bursal or Lord John, or some of those who like them. They won’t go down with me. Good morning to you. I give you notice, I’m going back to Eton as fast as I can gallop; and who knows what plain speaking may do with the Eton lads? I may be captain yet, Wheeler. Have a care! Is my horse ready there?

_Landlord_. Mr. Talbot’s horse, there! Mr. Talbot’s horse, I say.

_Talbot sings_.

“He carries weight—he rides a race— ’Tis for a thousand pound!”

(_Exit Talbot_.)

_Wheel._ And, dear me! I shall be left behind. A horse for me, pray; a horse for Mr. Wheeler!

(_Exit Wheeler_.)

_Landlord_ (_calls very loud_). Mr. Talbot’s horse! Hang the hostler! I’ll saddle him myself.

(_Exit Landlord_.)