Stories with a Vengeance — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

THE STORY OF JACK THE PAINTER. “Jumbo,” said the Lady Philocoma, “did you steal this gentleman’s money ?” “Iss, Missy,” replied the reputed protégé of Parson Clay. “Who told you to steal it, sir P” ‘‘ You did, Missy.” “That’s perfectly correct,” the Lady Philocoma observed, quite coolly. “For once in a way theimp has spoken the truth. Well, Jumbo,” she continued, “ you must give the gentleman back his purse, and then you can bring lunch; it’s half-past two in the morning.” Jack pricked up his ears when he heard the hour mentioned. “You see,” the Lady Decamisada ex- plained, “that we always breakfast at ten at night. Usually we nnch at two a.m., but, in consequence of your stupidity, we’re a httle late to-day.” “‘ And then, you know,” the Lady Nicotina went on, “‘ we dine at eight and sup at noon, shortly after which hour we usually retire to rest. We’re quite simple people down here. Ah, here comes the lunch. Now you can leave off counting your sovereigns, and join us. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, counting your money in the presence of ladies !” And Jack really.was ashamed of himself, only he couldn’t help it. For the life of him, he was unable to refrain from over and over again emptying into his left palm the little canvas bag which Jumbo had restored to him and counting the shining pieces one by one. It was a capital cold lunch, comprising, as Jack was fond of remembering in after days, a pate de foie gras, an aspic of quails, and a lobster salad. There was some ad- mirable Pommery and Greno, sec, and some unapproachable “ rain-water” madeira as a “ whitewash,” with coffee and liqueurs to follow; and Jack was permitted to smoke the famous briar-wood pipe; and the con- versation grew very animated; and all was going as merry as a marriage-hell, when ® * * The railway-porter bawled out, “ Guild- ford !” | “ET beg your pardon,” said Jack the Painter, as, suddenly waking from a sound sleep, he put his head out of the window of a second-class compartment of a train on the South-Western Railway, “did you say Guildford ?” ‘‘Of course I did,” quoth the porter. “What else should I say? Guildford it is; and look alive, please sir, or you'll find yourself on the way to Waterloo.” Jack stepped from the carriage in a very #* * *% # Google 19 dazed and hazy condition. The porters and newsboys, and the clerk at’ Messrs. W. H. Smith and Sons’ bookstall, could not help staring with'some curiosity at the tall gentleman who for some two or three minutes after the train had started London- wards continued to feel and pat ‘his pocket, and examine himself from head to foot. ' “ Money right,” he muttered to himself, “ knapsack right, briar-wood. pipe right. Everything right, in short, except John Fuseli Halstead, who, to the best of his knowledge and belief, is going straight off his chump.” And he strode away from the platform. “Ticket, please,” cried the collector at the barrier. Jack was immersed in puzzled cogitation ; and mechanically he dipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket, handed his ticket to the collector, and walked onward. It was not until a good half-hour afterwards, when, having procured his valise, and returning from the station, was waiting on the plat- form for the up train to Waterloo, that it occurred to him to think what a fool he had been not tp glance at his former ticket before handing it over. | “I wonder where I came from,” he mused: “ Queen’s Corkleggatt, Old Bonesby, or Davy Jones’s Locker. The Locker, I think. It must beat the bottom of the Devil’s Punchbowl, and inhabited by the Three Graces, or the Three Fates, one of whom has a moustache, another of whom smokes, while the third is, to all appearance, inno- cent of the possession of an innermost garment.” In due time Jack the Painter reached London, and hailing a hansom, was driven to Upper Charlotte Street, where he was received with open arms by Mrs. Copal and ‘Patty; but when he triumphantly in- formed the mother and daughter that he had been throughout his jaunt thoroughly economical (for him), and that he had brought back more than forty pounds in gold, Patty, to his astonishment, instead of congratulating him, burst into a passion of tears. | “Qh, I am so sorry, so sorry!” she sobbed. “I thought you would squander your money as you always used to do, and that you would come back at the end of a week, penniless. And I told a fib, and deceived "Ma, and borrowed ten pounds of you on the sly, that I might give you back your own moncy, and save you from borrowing from Mr. Maddix; and now you're come back as rich as a Jew, and Pll never, never forgive you. I mean myself.” | CY, JOO S CO)