The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side
inn of pretty ancient date, with a sign, representing
three Sandboys increasing their jollity with as many
jugs of ale and bags of gold, creaking and swinging
on its post on the opposite side of the road.
As the travellers had observed that day many indications
of their drawing nearer and nearer to the race town,
such as gipsy camps, carts laden with gambling booths
and their appurtenances, itinerant showmen of various
kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, all
wending their way in the same direction, Mr Codlin
was fearful of finding the accommodations forestalled;
this fear increasing as he diminished the distance
between himself and the hostelry, he quickened his
pace, and notwithstanding the burden he had to carry,
maintained a round trot until he reached the threshold.
Here he had the gratification of finding that his
fears were without foundation, for the landlord was
leaning against the door-post looking lazily at the
rain, which had by this time begun to descend heavily,
and no tinkling of cracked bell, nor boisterous shout,
nor noisy chorus, gave note of company within.
‘All alone?’ said Mr Codlin,
putting down his burden and wiping his forehead.
‘All alone as yet,’ rejoined
the landlord, glancing at the sky, ’but we shall
have more company to-night I expect. Here one
of you boys, carry that show into the barn.
Make haste in out of the wet, Tom; when it came on
to rain I told ’em to make the fire up, and there’s
a glorious blaze in the kitchen, I can tell you.’
Mr Codlin followed with a willing
mind, and soon found that the landlord had not commended
his preparations without good reason. A mighty
fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring up the wide
chimney with a cheerful sound, which a large iron
cauldron, bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent
its pleasant aid to swell. There was a deep
red ruddy blush upon the room, and when the landlord
stirred the fire, sending the flames skipping and
leaping up when he took off the lid of
the iron pot and there rushed out a savoury smell,
while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich,
and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in
a delicious mist above their heads when
he did this, Mr Codlin’s heart was touched.
He sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled.
Mr Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner,
eyeing the landlord as with a roguish look he held
the cover in his hand, and, feigning that his doing
so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered
the delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his
guest. The glow of the fire was upon the landlord’s
bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, and upon his
watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon
his round fat figure. Mr Codlin drew his sleeve
across his lips, and said in a murmuring voice, ‘What
is it?’
‘It’s a stew of tripe,’
said the landlord smacking his lips, ’and cow-heel,’
smacking them again, ‘and bacon,’ smacking
them once more, ‘and steak,’ smacking
them for the fourth time, ’and peas, cauliflowers,
new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together
in one delicious gravy.’ Having come to
the climax, he smacked his lips a great many times,
and taking a long hearty sniff of the fragrance that
was hovering about, put on the cover again with the
air of one whose toils on earth were over.
‘At what time will it be ready?’ asked
Mr Codlin faintly.
‘It’ll be done to a turn,’
said the landlord looking up to the clock and
the very clock had a colour in its fat white face,
and looked a clock for jolly Sandboys to consult ’it’ll
be done to a turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven.’
‘Then,’ said Mr Codlin,
’fetch me a pint of warm ale, and don’t
let nobody bring into the room even so much as a biscuit
till the time arrives.’
Nodding his approval of this decisive
and manly course of procedure, the landlord retired
to draw the beer, and presently returning with it,
applied himself to warm the same in a small tin vessel
shaped funnel-wise, for the convenience of sticking
it far down in the fire and getting at the bright
places. This was soon done, and he handed it
over to Mr Codlin with that creamy froth upon the surface
which is one of the happy circumstances attendant
on mulled malt.
Greatly softened by this soothing
beverage, Mr Codlin now bethought him of his companions,
and acquainted mine host of the Sandboys that their
arrival might be shortly looked for. The rain
was rattling against the windows and pouring down
in torrents, and such was Mr Codlin’s extreme
amiability of mind, that he more than once expressed
his earnest hope that they would not be so foolish
as to get wet.
At length they arrived, drenched with
the rain and presenting a most miserable appearance,
notwithstanding that Short had sheltered the child
as well as he could under the skirts of his own coat,
and they were nearly breathless from the haste they
had made. But their steps were no sooner heard
upon the road than the landlord, who had been at the
outer door anxiously watching for their coming, rushed
into the kitchen and took the cover off. The
effect was electrical. They all came in with
smiling faces though the wet was dripping from their
clothes upon the floor, and Short’s first remark
was, ’What a delicious smell!’
It is not very difficult to forget
rain and mud by the side of a cheerful fire, and in
a bright room. They were furnished with slippers
and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles
afforded, and ensconcing themselves, as Mr Codlin
had already done, in the warm chimney-corner, soon
forgot their late troubles or only remembered them
as enhancing the delights of the present time.
Overpowered by the warmth and comfort and the fatigue
they had undergone, Nelly and the old man had not
long taken their seats here, when they fell asleep.
‘Who are they?’ whispered
the landlord. Short shook his head, and wished
he knew himself. ‘Don’t you know?’
asked the host, turning to Mr Codlin. ‘Not
I,’ he replied. ‘They’re no
good, I suppose.’
‘They’re no harm,’
said Short. ’Depend upon that. I
tell you what it’s plain that the
old man an’t in his right mind ’
‘If you haven’t got anything
newer than that to say,’ growled Mr Codlin,
glancing at the clock, ’you’d better let
us fix our minds upon the supper, and not disturb
us.’
‘Here me out, won’t you?’
retorted his friend. ’It’s very plain
to me, besides, that they’re not used to this
way of life. Don’t tell me that that handsome
child has been in the habit of prowling about as she’s
done these last two or three days. I know better.’
‘Well, who does tell you
she has?’ growled Mr Codlin, again glancing at
the clock and from it to the cauldron, ’can’t
you think of anything more suitable to present circumstances
than saying things and then contradicting ’em?’
‘I wish somebody would give
you your supper,’ returned Short, ’for
there’ll be no peace till you’ve got it.
Have you seen how anxious the old man is to get on always
wanting to be furder away furder away.
Have you seen that?’
‘Ah! what then?’ muttered Thomas Codlin.
‘This, then,’ said Short.
’He has given his friends the slip. Mind
what I say he has given his friends the
slip, and persuaded this delicate young creetur all
along of her fondness for him to be his guide and
travelling companion where to, he knows
no more than the man in the moon. Now I’m
not a going to stand that.’
‘You’re not a going
to stand that!’ cried Mr Codlin, glancing at
the clock again and pulling his hair with both hands
in a kind of frenzy, but whether occasioned by his
companion’s observation or the tardy pace of
Time, it was difficult to determine. ‘Here’s
a world to live in!’
‘I,’ repeated Short emphatically
and slowly, ’am not a-going to stand it.
I am not a-going to see this fair young child a falling
into bad hands, and getting among people that she’s
no more fit for, than they are to get among angels
as their ordinary chums. Therefore when they
dewelope an intention of parting company from us, I
shall take measures for detaining of ’em, and
restoring ’em to their friends, who I dare say
have had their disconsolation pasted up on every wall
in London by this time.’
‘Short,’ said Mr Codlin,
who with his head upon his hands, and his elbows on
his knees, had been shaking himself impatiently from
side to side up to this point and occasionally stamping
on the ground, but who now looked up with eager eyes;
’it’s possible that there may be uncommon
good sense in what you’ve said. If there
is, and there should be a reward, Short, remember
that we’re partners in everything!’
His companion had only time to nod
a brief assent to this position, for the child awoke
at the instant. They had drawn close together
during the previous whispering, and now hastily separated
and were rather awkwardly endeavouring to exchange
some casual remarks in their usual tone, when strange
footsteps were heard without, and fresh company entered.
These were no other than four very
dismal dogs, who came pattering in one after the other,
headed by an old bandy dog of particularly mournful
aspect, who, stopping when the last of his followers
had got as far as the door, erected himself upon his
hind legs and looked round at his companions, who
immediately stood upon their hind legs, in a grave
and melancholy row. Nor was this the only remarkable
circumstance about these dogs, for each of them wore
a kind of little coat of some gaudy colour trimmed
with tarnished spangles, and one of them had a cap
upon his head, tied very carefully under his chin,
which had fallen down upon his nose and completely
obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy coats
were all wet through and discoloured with rain, and
that the wearers were splashed and dirty, and some
idea may be formed of the unusual appearance of these
new visitors to the Jolly Sandboys.
Neither Short nor the landlord nor
Thomas Codlin, however, was in the least surprised,
merely remarking that these were Jerry’s dogs
and that Jerry could not be far behind. So there
the dogs stood, patiently winking and gaping and looking
extremely hard at the boiling pot, until Jerry himself
appeared, when they all dropped down at once and walked
about the room in their natural manner. This
posture it must be confessed did not much improve
their appearance, as their own personal tails and
their coat tails both capital things in
their way did not agree together.
Jerry, the manager of these dancing
dogs, was a tall black-whiskered man in a velveteen
coat, who seemed well known to the landlord and his
guests and accosted them with great cordiality.
Disencumbering himself of a barrel organ which he
placed upon a chair, and retaining in his hand a small
whip wherewith to awe his company of comedians, he
came up to the fire to dry himself, and entered into
conversation.
‘Your people don’t usually
travel in character, do they?’ said Short, pointing
to the dresses of the dogs. ’It must come
expensive if they do?’
‘No,’ replied Jerry, ’no,
it’s not the custom with us. But we’ve
been playing a little on the road to-day, and we come
out with a new wardrobe at the races, so I didn’t
think it worth while to stop to undress. Down,
Pedro!’
This was addressed to the dog with
the cap on, who being a new member of the company,
and not quite certain of his duty, kept his unobscured
eye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually starting
upon his hind legs when there was no occasion, and
falling down again.
‘I’ve got a animal here,’
said Jerry, putting his hand into the capacious pocket
of his coat, and diving into one corner as if he were
feeling for a small orange or an apple or some such
article, ’a animal here, wot I think you know
something of, Short.’
‘Ah!’ cried Short, ‘let’s
have a look at him.’
‘Here he is,’ said Jerry,
producing a little terrier from his pocket. ‘He
was once a Toby of yours, warn’t he!’
In some versions of the great drama
of Punch there is a small dog a modern
innovation supposed to be the private property
of that gentleman, whose name is always Toby.
This Toby has been stolen in youth from another gentleman,
and fraudulently sold to the confiding hero, who having
no guile himself has no suspicion that it lurks in
others; but Toby, entertaining a grateful recollection
of his old master, and scorning to attach himself
to any new patrons, not only refuses to smoke a pipe
at the bidding of Punch, but to mark his old fidelity
more strongly, seizes him by the nose and wrings the
same with violence, at which instance of canine attachment
the spectators are deeply affected. This was
the character which the little terrier in question
had once sustained; if there had been any doubt upon
the subject he would speedily have resolved it by
his conduct; for not only did he, on seeing Short,
give the strongest tokens of recognition, but catching
sight of the flat box he barked so furiously at the
pasteboard nose which he knew was inside, that his
master was obliged to gather him up and put him into
his pocket again, to the great relief of the whole
company.
The landlord now busied himself in
laying the cloth, in which process Mr Codlin obligingly
assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork in
the most convenient place and establishing himself
behind them. When everything was ready, the landlord
took off the cover for the last time, and then indeed
there burst forth such a goodly promise of supper,
that if he had offered to put it on again or had hinted
at postponement, he would certainly have been sacrificed
on his own hearth.
However, he did nothing of the kind,
but instead thereof assisted a stout servant girl
in turning the contents of the cauldron into a large
tureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against
various hot splashes which fell upon their noses,
watched with terrible eagerness. At length the
dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of ale having
been previously set round, little Nell ventured to
say grace, and supper began.
At this juncture the poor dogs were
standing on their hind legs quite surprisingly; the
child, having pity on them, was about to cast some
morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself,
hungry though she was, when their master interposed.
’No, my dear, no, not an atom
from anybody’s hand but mine if you please.
That dog,’ said Jerry, pointing out the old
leader of the troop, and speaking in a terrible voice,
’lost a halfpenny to-day. He goes without
his supper.’
The unfortunate creature dropped upon
his fore-legs directly, wagged his tail, and looked
imploringly at his master.
‘You must be more careful, Sir,’
said Jerry, walking coolly to the chair where he had
placed the organ, and setting the stop. ’Come
here. Now, Sir, you play away at that, while
we have supper, and leave off if you dare.’
The dog immediately began to grind
most mournful music. His master having shown
him the whip resumed his seat and called up the others,
who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright
as a file of soldiers.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said
Jerry, looking at them attentively. ’The
dog whose name’s called, eats. The dogs
whose names an’t called, keep quiet. Carlo!’
The lucky individual whose name was
called, snapped up the morsel thrown towards him,
but none of the others moved a muscle. In this
manner they were fed at the discretion of their master.
Meanwhile the dog in disgrace ground hard at the
organ, sometimes in quick time, sometimes in slow,
but never leaving off for an instant. When the
knives and forks rattled very much, or any of his fellows
got an unusually large piece of fat, he accompanied
the music with a short howl, but he immediately checked
it on his master looking round, and applied himself
with increased diligence to the Old Hundredth.