CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH PENDENNIS APPEARS AS A VERY YOUNG MAN INDEED.
Arthur was about sixteen years old, we have said, when he began toreign; in person (for I see that the artist who is to illustrate thisbook, and who makes sad work of the likeness, will never be able to takemy friend off), he had what his friends would call a dumpy, but hismamma styled a neat little figure. His hair was of a healthy browncolor, which looks like gold in the sunshine, his face was round, rosy,freckled, and good-humored, his whiskers (when those facial ornamentsfor which he sighed so ardently were awarded to him by nature) weredecidedly of a reddish hue; in fact, without being a beauty, he had sucha frank, good-natured, kind face, and laughed so merrily at you out ofhis honest blue eyes, that no wonder Mrs. Pendennis thought him thepride of the whole county. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen herose from five feet six to five feet eight inches in height, at whichaltitude he paused. But his mother wondered at it. He was three inchestaller than his father. Was it possible that any man could grow to bethree inches taller than Mr. Pendennis?
You may be certain he never went back to school; the discipline of theestablishment did not suit him, and he liked being at home much better.The question of his return was debated, and his uncle was for hisgoing back. The doctor wrote his opinion that it was most importantfor Arthur's success in after-life that he should know a Greek playthoroughly, but Pen adroitly managed to hint to his mother what adangerous place Greyfriars was, and what sad wild fellows some of thechaps there were, and the timid soul, taking alarm at once, accededto his desire to stay at home.
Then Pen's uncle offered to use his influence with His Royal Highnessthe commander-in-chief, who was pleased to be very kind to him, andproposed to get Pen a commission in the Foot Guards. Pen's heart leapedat this: he had been to hear the band at St. James's play on a Sunday,when he went out to his uncle. He had seen Tom Ricketts, of the fourthform, who used to wear a jacket and trowsers so ludicrously tight, thatthe elder boys could not forbear using him in the quality of a butt or"cockshy"--he had seen this very Ricketts arrayed in crimson and gold,with an immense bear-skin cap on his head, staggering under the colorsof the regiment. Tom had recognized him, and gave him a patronizing nod.Tom, a little wretch whom he had cut over the back with a hockey-sticklast quarter--and there he was in the center of the square, rallyinground the flag of his country, surrounded by bayonets, cross-belts,and scarlet, the band blowing trumpets and banging cymbals--talkingfamiliarly to immense warriors with tufts to their chins and Waterloomedals. What would not Pen have given to wear such epaulettes and entersuch a service?
But Helen Pendennis, when this point was proposed to her by her son, puton a face full of terror and alarm. She said "she did not quarrel withothers who thought differently, but that in her opinion a Christian hadno right to make the army a profession. Mr. Pendennis never, never wouldhave permitted his son to be a soldier. Finally, she should be veryunhappy if he thought of it." Now, Pen would have as soon cut off hisnose and ears as deliberately, and of aforethought malice, made hismother unhappy; and, as he was of such a generous disposition that hewould give away any thing to any one, he instantly made a present of hisvisionary red coat and epaulettes and his ardor for military glory tohis mother.
She thought him the noblest creature in the world. But Major Pendennis,when the offer of the commission was acknowledged and refused, wroteback a curt and somewhat angry letter to the widow, and thought hisnephew was rather a spooney.
He was contented, however, when he saw the boy's performances outhunting at Christmas, when the major came down as usual to Fairoaks.Pen had a very good mare, and rode her with uncommon pluck and grace.He took his fences with great coolness, and yet with judgment, andwithout bravado. He wrote to the chaps at school about his top-boots,and his feats across country. He began to think seriously of a scarletcoat: and his mother must own that she thought it would become himremarkably well; though, of course, she passed hours of anguish duringhis absence, and daily expected to see him brought home on a shutter.
With these amusements, in rather too great plenty, it must not beassumed that Pen neglected his studies altogether. He had a naturaltaste for reading every possible kind of book which did not fall intohis school-course. It was only when they forced his head into the watersof knowledge that he refused to drink. He devoured all the books athome, from Inchbald's Theater to White's Farriery; he ransacked theneighboring book-cases. He found at Clavering an old cargo of Frenchnovels, which he read with all his might; and he would sit for hoursperched upon the topmost bar of Doctor Portman's library steps, witha folio on his knees, whether it were Hackluyt's Travels, Hobbes'sLeviathan, Augustini Opera, or Chaucer's Poems. He and the vicar werevery good friends, and from his reverence, Pen learned that honesttaste for port wine which distinguished him through life. And as forthat dear, good woman, Mrs. Portman, who was not in the least jealous,though her doctor avowed himself in love with Mrs. Pendennis, whom hepronounced to be by far the finest lady in the county--all her griefwas, as she looked up fondly at Pen perched on the book-ladder, that herdaughter Minny was too old for him--as indeed she was; Miss Mira Portmanbeing at that period only two years younger than Pen's mother, andweighing as much as Pen and Mrs. Pendennis together.
Are these details insipid? Look back, good friend, at your own youth,and ask how was that? I like to think of a well-nurtured boy, brave andgentle, warm-hearted and loving, and looking the world in the face withkind, honest eyes. What bright colors it wore then, and how you enjoyedit! A man has not many years of such time. He does not know them whilethey are with him. It is only when they are passed long away that heremembers how dear and happy they were.
In order to keep Mr. Pen from indulging in that idleness of whichhis friend the doctor of the Cistercians had prophesied such awfulconsequences, Mr. Smirke, Dr. Portman's curate, was engaged at a liberalsalary, to walk or ride over from Clavering, and pass several hoursdaily with the young gentleman. Smirke was a man perfectly faultless ata tea-table, wore a curl on his fair forehead, and tied his neck-clothwith a melancholy grace. He was a decent scholar and mathematician, andtaught Pen as much as the lad was ever disposed to learn, which was notmuch. For Pen had soon taken the measure of his tutor, who, when he cameriding into the court-yard at Fairoaks on his pony, turned out his toesso absurdly, and left such a gap between his knees and the saddle, thatit was impossible for any lad endowed with a sense of humor to respectsuch an equestrian. He nearly killed Smirke with terror by putting himon his mare, and taking him a ride over a common, where the countyfox-hounds (then hunted by that stanch old sportsman, Mr. Hardhead, ofDumplingbeare) happened to meet. Mr. Smirke, on Pen's mare, Rebecca (shewas named after Pen's favorite heroine, the daughter of Isaac of York),astounded the hounds as much as he disgusted the huntsman, laming oneof the former by persisting in riding among the pack, and receiving aspeech from the latter, more remarkable for energy of language, than anyoration he had ever heard since he left the bargemen on the banks ofIsis.
Smirke confided to his pupil his poems both Latin and English; andpresented to Mrs. Pendennis a volume of the latter, printed at Clapham,his native place. The two read the ancient poets together, and rattledthrough them at a pleasant rate, very different from that steadygrubbing pace with which the Cistercians used to go over the classicground, scenting out each word as they went, and digging up every rootin the way. Pen never liked to halt, but made his tutor construe when hewas at fault, and thus galloped through the Iliad and the Odyssey, thetragic play-writers, and the charming wicked Aristophanes (whom he vowedto be the greatest poet of all). But he went at such a pace that, thoughhe certainly galloped through a considerable extent of the ancientcountry, he clean forgot it in after-life, and had only such a vagueremembrance of his early classic course as a man has in the House ofCommons, let us say, who still keeps up two or three quotations; or areviewer who, just for decency's sake, hints at a little Greek. Ourpeople are the most prosaic in the world, but the most fai
thful; andwith curious reverence we keep up and transmit, from generation togeneration, the superstition of what we call the education of agentleman.
Besides the ancient poets you may be sure Pen read the English withgreat gusto. Smirke sighed and shook his head sadly both about Byron andMoore. But Pen was a sworn fire-worshiper and a Corsair; he had them byheart, and used to take little Laura into the window, and say--"Zuleika,I am not thy brother," in tones so tragic that they caused the solemnlittle maid to open her great eyes still wider. She sat until the properhour for retirement, sewing at Mrs. Pendennis's knee, and listening toPen reading out to her of nights, without comprehending one word of whathe read.
He read Shakspeare to his mother (which she said she liked, but didn't),and Byron, and Pope, and his favorite Lalla Rookh, which pleasedher indifferently. But as for Bishop Heber, and Mrs. Hemans aboveall, this lady used to melt right away, and be absorbed into herpocket-handkerchief, when Pen read those authors to her in his kind,boyish voice. The "Christian Year" was a book which appeared about thattime. The son and the mother whispered it to each other with awe: faint,very faint, and seldom in after-life Pendennis heard that solemn churchmusic: but he always loved the remembrance of it, and of the times whenit struck on his heart, and he walked over the fields full of hope andvoid of doubt, as the church bells rang on Sunday morning.
It was at this period of his existence, that Pen broke out in the poets'corner of the County Chronicle, with some verses with which he wasperfectly well satisfied. His are the verses signed "NEP.," addressed"To a Tear;" "On the Anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo;" "To MadameCaradori singing at the Assize Meetings;" "On Saint Bartholomew's Day"(a tremendous denunciation of Popery, and a solemn warning to the peopleof England to rally against emancipating the Roman Catholics), &c.,&c.--all which masterpieces Mrs. Pendennis no doubt keeps to this day,along with his first socks, the first cutting of his hair, his bottle,and other interesting relics of his infancy. He used to gallop Rebeccaover the neighboring Dumpling Downs, or into the county town, which, ifyou please, we shall call Chatteries, spouting his own poems, and filledwith quite a Byronic afflatus, as he thought.
His genius at this time was of a decidedly gloomy cast. He brought hismother a tragedy, in which, though he killed sixteen people before thesecond act, it made her laugh so, that he thrust his masterpiece intothe fire in a pet. He projected an epic poem in blank verse, "Cortez,or the Conqueror of Mexico, and the Inca's Daughter." He wrote part of"Seneca, or the Fatal Bath," and "Ariadne in Naxos;" classical pieces,with choruses and strophes and antistrophes, which sadly puzzled poorMrs. Pendennis; and began a "History of the Jesuits," in which helashed that order with tremendous severity, and warned his Protestantfellow-countrymen of their machinations. His loyalty did his mother'sheart good to witness. He was a stanch, unflinching Church-and-King manin those days; and at the election, when Sir Giles Beanfield stood onthe Blue interest, against Lord Trehawk, Lord Eyrie's son, a Whig anda friend of Popery, Arthur Pendennis, with an immense bow for himself,which his mother made, and with a blue ribbon for Rebecca, rodealongside of the Reverend Doctor Portman, on his gray mare Dowdy, andat the head of the Clavering voters, whom the doctor brought up toplump for the Protestant champion.
On that day Pen made his first speech at the Blue Hotel; and also, itappears, for the first time in his life, took a little more wine thanwas good for him. Mercy! what a scene it was at Fairoaks, when he rodeback at ever so much o'clock at night. What moving about of lanterns inthe court-yard and stables, though the moon was shining out; what agathering of servants, as Pen came home, clattering over the bridge andup the stable-yard, with half-a-score of the Clavering voters yellingafter him the Blue song of the election.
He wanted them all to come in and have some wine--some very goodMadeira--some capital Madeira--John, go and get some Madeira--and thereis no knowing what the farmers would have done, had not Madam Pendennismade her appearance in a white wrapper, with a candle, and scared thosezealous Blues so by the sight of her pale, handsome face, that theytouched their hats, and rode off.
Besides these amusements and occupations in which Mr. Pen indulged,there was one which forms the main business and pleasure of youth, ifthe poets tell us aright, whom Pen was always studying; and this youngfellow's heart was so ardent, and his imagination so eager, that it isnot to be expected he should long escape the passion to which we allude,and which, ladies, you have rightly guessed to be that of Love. Pensighed for it first in secret, and, like the love-sick swain in Ovid,opened his breast, and said--"Aura, veni." What generous youth is therethat has not courted some such windy mistress in his time?
Yes, Pen began to feel the necessity of a first love--of a consumingpassion--of an object on which he could concentrate all those vague,floating fancies under which he sweetly suffered--of a young lady towhom he could really make verses, and whom he could set up and adore, inplace of those unsubstantial Ianthes and Zuleikas to whom he addressedthe outpourings of his gushing muse. He read his favorite poems overand over again, he called upon Alma Venus, the delight of gods and men,he translated Anacreon's odes, and picked out passages suitable tohis complaint from Waller, Dryden, Prior, and the like. Smirke and hewere never weary, in their interviews, of discoursing about love. Thefaithless tutor entertained him with sentimental conversations in placeof lectures on algebra and Greek; for Smirke was in love too. Who couldhelp it, being in daily intercourse with such a woman? Smirke was madlyin love (as far as such a mild flame as Mr. Smirke's may be calledmadness) with Mrs. Pendennis. That honest lady, sitting down belowstairs, teaching little Laura to play the piano, or devising flannelpetticoats for the poor round about her, or otherwise busied with thecalm routine of her modest and spotless Christian life, was littleaware what storms were brewing in two bosoms up-stairs in the study--inPen's, as he sat in his shooting jacket, with his elbows on the greenstudy-table, and his hands clutching his curly brown hair, Homer underhis nose--and in worthy Mr. Smirke's, with whom he was reading. Herethey would talk about Helen and Andromache. "Andromache's like mymother," Pen used to avouch; "but I say, Smirke, by Jove I'd cut offmy nose to see Helen:" and he would spout certain favorite lines whichthe reader will find in their proper place in the third book. He drewportraits of her--they are extant still--with straight noses andenormous eyes, and "Arthur Pendennis delineavit et pinxit" gallantlywritten underneath.
As for Mr. Smirke he naturally preferred Andromache. And in consequencehe was uncommonly kind to Pen. He gave him his Elzevir Horace, of whichthe boy was fond, and his little Greek Testament which his own mammaat Clapham had purchased and presented to him. He bought him a silverpencil case; and in the matter of learning let him do just as much oras little as ever he pleased. He always seemed to be on the point ofunbosoming himself to Pen: nay, he confessed to the latter that hehad a--an attachment, an ardently cherished attachment, about whichPendennis longed to hear, and said, "Tell us, old chap, is she handsome?has she got blue eyes or black?" But Doctor Portman's curate, heaving agentle sigh, cast up his eyes to the ceiling, and begged Pen, faintly,to change the conversation. Poor Smirke! He invited Pen to dine athis lodgings over Madame Fribsby's, the milliner's, in Clavering, andonce when it was raining, and Mrs. Pendennis, who had driven in herpony-chaise into Clavering with respect to some arrangements, aboutleaving off mourning probably, was prevailed upon to enter the curate'sapartments, he sent out for poundcakes instantly. The sofa on which shesate became sacred to him from that day: and he kept flowers in theglass which she drank from ever after.
As Mrs. Pendennis was never tired of hearing the praises of her son,we may be certain that this rogue of a tutor neglected no opportunityof conversing with her upon that subject. It might be a little tediousto him to hear the stories about Pen's generosity, about his braveryin fighting the big naughty boy, about his fun and jokes, about hisprodigious skill in Latin, music, riding, &c.--but what price would henot pay to be in her company? and the widow, after these conversations,thought Mr. Smirke a very pleas
ing and well-informed man. As for her sonshe had not settled in her mind, whether he was to be Senior Wranglerand Archbishop of Canterbury, or Double First Class at Oxford, and LordChancellor. That all England did not possess his peer, was a fact aboutwhich there was, in her mind, no manner of question.
A simple person of inexpensive habits, she began forthwith to save,and, perhaps, to be a little parsimonious, in favor of her boy. Therewere no entertainments, of course, at Fairoaks, during the year ofher weeds. Nor, indeed, did the doctor's silver dish-covers, of whichhe was so proud, and which were flourished all over with the arms ofthe Pendennises, and surmounted with their crest, come out of theplate-chests again for long, long years. The household was diminished,and its expenses curtailed. There was a very blank anchorite repastwhen Pen dined from home: and he himself headed the remonstrance fromthe kitchen regarding the deteriorated quality of the Fairoaks beer.She was becoming miserly for Pen. Indeed, who ever accused women ofbeing just? They are always sacrificing themselves or somebody forsomebody else's sake.
There happened to be no young woman in the small circle of friends whowere in the widow's intimacy whom Pendennis could by any possibilitygratify by endowing her with the inestimable treasure of a heart whichhe was longing to give away. Some young fellows in this predicamentbestow their young affections upon Dolly, the dairy-maid, or cast theeyes of tenderness upon Molly, the blacksmith's daughter. Pen thoughta Pendennis much too grand a personage to stoop so low. He was toohigh-minded for a vulgar intrigue, and, at the idea of an intrigue or aseduction, had he ever entertained it, his heart would have revolted asfrom the notion of any act of baseness or dishonor. Miss Minny Portmanwas too old, too large, and too fond of reading "Rollin's AncientHistory." The Miss Boardbacks, Admiral Boardback's daughters (of St.Vincent's, or fourth of June House, as it was called), disgusted Penwith the London airs which they brought into the country, fromGloucester Place, where they passed the season, and looked down uponPen as a chit. Captain Glanders's (H. P., 50th Dragoon Guards) threegirls were in brown-holland pinafores as yet, with the ends of theirhair-plaits tied up in dirty pink ribbon. Not having acquired the art ofdancing, the youth avoided such chances as he might have had of meetingwith the fair sex at the Chatteries' Assemblies; in fine, he was notin love, because there was nobody at hand to fell in love with. And theyoung monkey used to ride out, day after day, in quest of Dulcinea, andpeep into the pony-chaises and gentlefolks' carriages, as they drovealong the broad turnpike roads, with a heart heating within him,and a secret tremor and hope that _she_ might be in that yellowpost-chaise coming swinging up the hill, or one of those three girlsin beaver bonnets in the back seat of the double gig, which the fatold gentleman in black was driving, at four miles an hour. Thepost-chaise contained a snuffy old dowager of seventy, with a maid,her contemporary. The three girls in the beaver bonnets were nohandsomer than the turnips that skirted the roadside. Do as he might,and ride where he would, the fairy princess that he was to rescue andwin, had not yet appeared to honest Pen.
Upon these points he did not discourse to his mother. He had a worldof his own. What generous, ardent, imaginative soul has not a secretpleasure-place in which it disports? Let no clumsy prying or dullmeddling of ours try to disturb it in our children. Actaeon was a brutefor wanting to push in where Diana was bathing. Leave him occasionallyalone, my good madame, if you have a poet for a child. Even youradmirable advice may be a bore sometimes. You are faultless; but itdoes not follow that every body in your family is to think exactly likeyourself. Yonder little child may have thoughts too deep even for yourgreat mind, and fancies so coy and timid that they will not bare themselves when your ladyship sits by.
Helen Pendennis by the force of sheer love divined a great number ofher son's secrets. But she kept these things in her heart (if we may sospeak), and did not speak of them. Besides, she had made up her mindthat he was to marry little Laura, who would be eighteen when Pen wassix-and-twenty: and had finished his college career, and had made hisgrand tour, and was settled either in London, astonishing all themetropolis by his learning and eloquence at the bar, or, better still,in a sweet country parsonage surrounded with hollyhocks and roses, closeto a delightful romantic ivy-covered church, from the pulpit of whichPen would utter the most beautiful sermons ever preached.
* * * * *
While these natural sentiments were waging war and trouble in honestPen's bosom, it chanced one day that he rode into Chatteries, for thepurpose of carrying to the County Chronicle a tremendous and thrillingpoem for the next week's paper; and putting up his horse according tocustom, at the stables of the George Hotel there, he fell in with an oldacquaintance. A grand black tandem, with scarlet wheels came rattlinginto the inn yard, as Pen stood there in converse with the hostler aboutRebecca; and the voice of the driver called out, "Hallo, Pendennis, isthat you?" in a loud, patronizing manner. Pen had some difficulty inrecognizing under the broad-brimmed hat and the vast great coats andneckcloths, with which the new comer was habited, the person and figureof his quondam schoolfellow, Mr. Foker.
A year's absence had made no small difference in that gentleman. A youthwho had been deservedly whipped a few months previously, and who spenthis pocket-money on tarts and hardbake, now appeared before Pen in oneof those costumes to which the public consent, that I take to be quiteas influential in this respect as "Johnson's Dictionary," has awardedthe title of "Swell." He had a bull-dog between his legs, and in hisscarlet shawl neckcloth was a pin representing another bull-dog in gold:he wore a fur waistcoat laced over with gold chains; a green cut-awaycoat with basket-buttons, and a white upper-coat ornamented withcheese-plate buttons, on each of which was engraved some stirringincident of the road or the chase; all which ornaments set off thisyoung fellow's figure to such advantage, that you would hesitate to saywhich character in life he most resembled, and whether he was a boxer_en goguette_, or a coachman in his gala suit.
"Left that place for good, Pendennis?" Mr. Foker said, descending fromhis landau, and giving Pendennis a finger.
"Yes, this year or more," Pen said.
"Beastly old hole," Mr. Foker remarked. "Hate it. Hate the doctor: hateTowzer, the second master; hate every body there. Not a fit place for agentleman."
"Not at all," said Pen with an air of the utmost consequence.
"By gad, sir, I sometimes dream, now, that the doctor's walking intome," Foker continued (and Pen smiled as he thought that he himself hadlikewise fearful dreams of this nature). "When I think of the dietthere, by gad, sir, I wonder how I stood it. Mangy mutton, brutal beef,pudding on Thursdays and Sundays, and that fit to poison you. Just lookat my leader--did you ever see a prettier animal? Drove over fromBaymouth. Came the nine mile in two-and-forty minutes. Not bad going,sir."
"Are you stopping at Baymouth, Foker?" Pendennis asked.
"I'm coaching there," said the other, with a nod.
"_What?_" asked Pen, and in a tone of such wonder, that Foker burst outlaughing, and said, "He was blowed if he didn't think Pen was such aflat as not to know what coaching meant."
"I'm come down with a coach from Oxford. A tutor, don't you see, oldboy? He's coaching me, and some other men, for the little go. Me andSpavin have the drag between us. And I thought I'd just tool over, andgo to the play. Did you ever see Rowkins do the hornpipe?" and Mr. Fokerbegan to perform some steps of that popular dance in the inn yard,looking round for the sympathy of his groom and the stable men.
Pen thought he would like to go to the play too: and could ride homeafterward, as there was a moonlight. So he accepted Foker's invitationto dinner, and the young men entered the inn together, where Mr. Fokerstopped at the bar, and called upon Miss Rincer, the landlady's fairdaughter, who presided there, to give him a glass of "his mixture."
Pen and his family had been known at the George ever since they cameinto the country; and Mr. Pendennis's carriages and horses always put upthere when he paid a visit to the county town. The landlady dropped theheir of Fairoaks a r
espectful courtesy, and complimented him upon hisgrowth and manly appearance, and asked news of the family at Fairoaks,and of Doctor Portman and the Clavering people, to all of which questionsthe young gentleman answered with much affability. But he spoke to Mr.and Mrs. Rincer with that sort of good nature with which a young princeaddresses his father's subjects; never dreaming that those "bonnes gens"were his equals in life.
Mr. Foker's behavior was quite different. He inquired for Rincer and thecold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked Miss Rincer when shewould be ready to marry him, and paid his compliments to Miss Brett,the other young lady in the bar, all in a minute of time, and with aliveliness and facetiousness which set all these ladies in a giggle; andhe gave a cluck, expressive of great satisfaction as he tossed off hismixture which Miss Rincer prepared and handed to him.
"Have a drop," said he to Pen, "it's recommended to me by the faculty asa what-do-you-call-'em--a stomatic, old boy. Give the young one a glass,R, and score it up to yours truly."
Poor Pen took a glass, and every body laughed at the face which hemade as he put it down.--Gin, bitters, and some other cordial, was thecompound with which Mr. Foker was so delighted as to call it by the nameof Foker's own. As Pen choked, sputtered, and made faces, the other tookoccasion to remark to Mr. Rincer that the young fellow was green, verygreen, but that he would soon form him; and then they proceeded to orderdinner--which Mr. Foker determined should consist of turtle and venison;cautioning the landlady to be very particular about icing the wine.
Then Messrs. Foker and Pen strolled down the High-street together--theformer having a cigar in his mouth, which he had drawn out of a casealmost as big as a portmanteau. He went in to replenish it at Mr.Lewis's, and talked to that gentleman for a while, sitting down on thecounter; he then looked in at the fruiterer's, to see the pretty girlthere, to whom he paid compliments similar to those before addressed tothe bar at the George; then they passed the County Chronicle office, forwhich Pen had his packet ready, in the shape of "Lines to Thyrza," butpoor Pen did not like to put the letter into the editor's box whilewalking in company with such a fine gentleman as Mr. Foker. They metheavy dragoons of the regiment always quartered at Chatteries; andstopped and talked about the Baymouth balls, and what a pretty girl wasMiss Brown, and what a dem fine woman Mrs. Jones was. It was in vainthat Pen recalled to his own mind what a stupid ass Foker used to beat school--how he could scarcely read, how he was not cleanly in hisperson, and notorious for his blunders and dullness. Mr. Foker was nomore like a gentleman now than in his school days; and yet Pen felta secret pride in strutting down High-street with a young fellow whoowned tandems, talked to officers, and ordered turtle and champagne fordinner. He listened, and with respect too, to Mr. Foker's accounts ofwhat the men did at the University of which Mr. F. was an ornament, andencountered a long series of stories about boat-racing, bumping, Collegegrass-plats, and milk-punch--and began to wish to go up himself toCollege to a place where there were such manly pleasures and enjoyments.Farmer Gurnett, who lives close by Fairoaks, riding by at this minuteand touching his hat to Pen, the latter stopped him, and sent a messageto his mother to say that he had met with an old schoolfellow, andshould dine in Chatteries.
The two young gentlemen continued their walk, and were passing roundthe Cathedral Yard, where they could hear the music of the afternoonservice (a music which always exceedingly impressed and affected Pen),but whither Mr. Foker came for the purpose of inspecting the nurserymaids who frequent the Elms Walk there, and who are uncommonly prettyat Chatteries, and here they strolled until with a final burst of musicthe small congregation was played out.
Old Doctor Portman was one of the few who came from the venerable gate.Spying Pen, he came and shook him by the hand, and eyed with wonderPen's friend, from whose mouth and cigar clouds of fragrance issued,which curled round the doctor's honest face and shovel hat.
"An old schoolfellow of mine, Mr. Foker," said Pen. The doctor said"H'm": and scowled at the cigar. He did not mind a pipe in his study,but the cigar was an abomination to the worthy gentleman.
"I came up on Bishop's business," the doctor said. "We'll ride home,Arthur, if you like?"
"I--I'm engaged to my friend here," Pen answered.
"You had better come home with me," said the doctor.
"His mother knows he's out, sir," Mr. Foker remarked; "don't she,Pendennis?"
"But that does not prove that he had not better come home with me," thedoctor growled, and he walked off with great dignity.
"Old boy don't like the weed, I suppose," Foker said. "Ha! who'shere?--here's the general, and Bingley, the manager. How do, Cos? Howdo, Bingley?"
"How does my worthy and gallant young Foker?" said the gentlemanaddressed as the general; and who wore a shabby military cape witha mangy collar, and a hat cocked very much over one eye.
"Trust you are very well, my very dear sir," said the other gentleman,"and that the Theater Royal will have the honor of your patronageto-night. We perform 'The Stranger,' in which your humble servantwill--"
"Can't stand you in tights and Hessians, Bingley," young Mr. Foker said.On which the general, with the Irish accent, said, "But I think ye'lllike Miss Fotheringay, in Mrs. Haller, or me name's not Jack Costigan."
Pen looked at these individuals with the greatest interest. He had neverseen an actor before; and he saw Dr. Portman's red face looking over thedoctor's shoulder, as he retreated from the Cathedral Yard, evidentlyquite dissatisfied with the acquaintances into whose hands Pen hadfallen.
Perhaps it would have been much better for him had he taken the parson'sadvice and company home. But which of us knows his fate?