Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 360: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. obtained it from my chamber, I proceeded to the coffee-room to make some inquiry of the waiter as to the starting-place of amy conveyance which would take me to Delmar Manor: But while I was questioning the waiter, I was suddenly struck by a familiar voice coming from the other ex- tremity of the room; and even if the tones of that voice itself were not thus familiar, the style of lan- guage would have proved in a moment recog- nisable. “ Tt’s just that, my dear friend. I prefer a Seotch lunch to an English one. You remember the Widow Glenbucket, when you used to dine with me in the Grass-Market let me see—it must have been the Grass-Market—it couldn’t have been = “You are getting absent, Dominie. other glass of this ale—which, if not exactly true Preston Pans beer, is nevertheless as decidedly Scotch as the snuffin my mull :’—and these words were spoken with a broad Caledonian accent which T will not attempt to convey by any description of my own. I hastened to the end of the coffee-room; and there, at a table in one of the boxes, sat Dominie Clackmannan on one side, and a most extraordinary- looking being opposite to him—with a copious repast between them. It was barely noon: but it was decidedly a luncheon worthy of the table of the Chief of Inch Methglin himself. The Dominie looked as gravely stolid as ever, and not a single day older. His friend was aman of about fifty,—short, stout, round, and podgy—with a head just like a ball—very small features and twinkling grayeyes. He was completely bald on the crown; and a circlet of bushy gray hair passed from one ear round the back of that strangely-shaped head to the other ear. His whiskers were also gray. His face was as red as if he had been steeped for the last forty years in port wine; and his bald erown, though scrupulously clean, shone as if with a gloss: or in other words, it looked as if if had been well washed with yellow soap, and rubbed dry with a hard towel. He was the most good-natured jovial-looking little man I had ever seen in my life—and evidently one who had no small attachment for good cheer of every descrip- tion. He had just set down a large tumbler as I first caught a glimpse of him; and as he wiped the froth of the ale from his lips, he smacked them with an expression of ineffable delight. But his dress remains to be described. It was all of one colour—coat, waisteoat; and trousers;—and that colour was not exactly gray, but a light kind of pepper and salt, with a large proportion of the latter. His neckcloth was gray; and his stock- ings—for he wore somewhat clumsy low shoes— were gray likewise. His hat, which was on the seat near him, was a grayish felt; and gray silk gloves lay over the brim. The very handkerchief with which he wiped his lips, was of a similar colour. In short it appeared to be his deliberate study to clothe himself as much as possible in garments antl articles of a corresponding hue. “ Mr. Clackmannan,” I said, “I recognised your voice—pardon me for introducing myself to your notice oh “It’s just that,” said the Dominie, clutching my hand in a good-natured way, but staring upon me with stolid bewilderment. “I do recollect Take an- |. 347 that we have met before. Sandie Macwheeble’s Fr ** Nonsense, Dominic!” cried his friend, with a hilarious laugh. ‘ Poor Sandie has been in his grave for the last fifteen years—and this young gentleman can’t be much above twenty: so unless you saw him as a little child ae “Tt’s just that,” said the Dominie: then turn- ing to me, he exclaimed, “ Ah, I recollect you now! But how is your uncle the Baillie? and how is Mrs. Owlhead? and all the little Owlheads? To be sure, this is the Baillie’s nephew! I remember when you and your worthy uncle came to dine with me at the Widow Glenbucket’s—the widow was taken ill let me seeP Ill was it no, it must have been drunk——” ** Nonsense, Dominie !”’ exclaimed his friend, who had just bolted half of a mutton chop, while Mr. Clackmannan was thus endeavouring to elucidate something from his confused reminiscences, “The Widow Glenbucket never got drunk !” “ It’s just that,” said the Dominie: “to be sure —she did only get boozy. But now that I be- think me, I would write to the widow and apologize —only that she is dead. By the bye, what was that you were saying to the widow one day when I came in and found your mouth very close to her ear I think it must have been her ear—it might have been her lips However, I shall recollect presently. Won’t you sit down, Mr. Owlhead ?” “ However flattering, my dear sir,” I answered, “it might be to my feelings to claim relationship with the Owlheads of Glasgow, I can assure you it is not my name. You don’t recollect me. Lam Joseph Wilmot.” “Tt’s just that!” cried the Dominie, a light now suddenly breaking in upon him. “T re- member, I wrote to my friend the Laird of Tinto- squashdale, and told him how you helped Emme- line Vennachar to run away with Duncansby the lawyer no, if wasn’t Duncansby if must have been Sir Alexander Carrondale: but I shall recollect presently. Sit down and take a glass with us: you are quite welcome. And now I bethink me, you are looking different from what you were when last I saw you. To be sure!— you have put off your livery = “ Livery?” ejaculated his friend: “nonsense ! This young gentleman never wore livery, I can tell. Come, sir—sit down and make yourself at home. Waiter, more ale! Dominie, you have omitted to introduce us.” It must have been at “It’s just that,’ observed Mr. Clackmannan. “This is my young friend I forget his name again it must be Joseph Wilmot. Mr. Wilmot, my friend” and here the Dominie, looking across the table, breathed the previously often- heard and renowned nomenclature—* Mr. Salt- coats |” Ah! I-ought to have known at once that this was none other than the veritable Saltcoats in propria persond. His dress should have told me. Who but a man bearing such a name, could have worn such a costume ? I had however always had a suspicion that the Dominie’s numerous catalogue of friends, whose names he was so in- cessantly lugging into his half-finished anecdotes, were mere phantoms of his own imagination: but now at last I had positive proof that there was at Glyoo S (CO) AA