The Humors of Falconbridge Part 17

"Ha, tell 'im to clear out!" John having predestinated the "young man,"

he gave an apoplectic snort, relapsed into his lethargy, and the servant whirled down into the rotunda, and informed the "young man" what the gentleman desired.

"He did, eh?" says the young man, who looked as if he might be a clerk in an importing house. The young man left, in something of a high dudgeon.

"What'r yer at now?" roared John Thomas, a second time, roused by the servant's rat-tat-too.

"It's a gentleman wants to see yez's, zur."

"Tell him to go to the d--!" and John snored again.

"Is John in?" asks the gentleman, as the servant returns.

"Mister _Thomas_ did yez mane, zur?"

"No, yes, it is (looking at his tablets) same thing, I suppose; Thomas Johns," says the gentleman.

"I belave it's right, zur," says the servant.

"Well, what did he say?"

"Faith, I think he's not in a good humor, betwane us, zur; he says yez may go to the divil!"

"Did he? Well, that's polite, any how--invite a gentleman to dine with him, and then meet him with such language as that. The infernal 'blue nose,' I'll pull it, I'll tweak it until he'll roar like a calf!" and off went "the gentleman," hot as No. 6.

"I belave he's not in, zur," says the same servant, answering another inquiry for John Thomas, or Thomas Johns, the carriage driver was not certain which.

"Oh, ho!" says the servant, "it's a ride ould John's going fur to take till himself, and didn't want any callers." Reaching John's door, he began his tattoo.

"Be hang'd to ye, what'r ye at now?" growls John, partly up and dressed.

"The carriage is here, zur."

"What carriage is that?" growls John, continuing his toilet.

"I don't know, zur; I'll go down and sae the _number_, if ye plaze."

"Thunder and tommy! What do I care for the number? Go tell the carriage----"

"To go to the divil, zur?" says the servant, in antic.i.p.ation of the command.

"No, you bog-trotter, go tell the carriage to wait."

The servant went down, and John continued his toilet, muttering--

"Ah, some of their _haccommodations_, I expect; these American landlords, as they style 'em in these infernal wild woods 'ere, do manage to give a body tolerable sort of haccommodations; ha, but they'll take care to look hout for the dollars. I don't know, tho', these fellers 'ere appear tolerably clever; want me to ride hout, I suppose, and see some of their Yankee lions. Haw! haw! _Lions!_ I wonder what they'd say hif they saw Lun'un, and looked at St. Paul's once!"

Getting through his toilet--and it takes an Englishman as long to fix his stiff cravat and that _stiffer_ and stauncher s.h.i.+rt-collar, and rub his hat, than a Frenchman to rig out _tout ensemble_, to say nothing of the gallons of water and dozens of towels he uses up in the operation--John found the carriage waiting; he asked no questions, but jumped in.

"Isn't there some others beside yourself going out, sir?" says the driver, supposing he had the right man, or one of them.

"No; drive off--where are you going to drive me?"

"Mount Auburn, sir, the carriage was ordered for."

"Humph! Some of the _battle-grounds_, I suppose," John grunts to himself, falls into a fit of English doggedness, and the coach drives off.

Thomas Johns made little or no noise or confusion in the house, consequently he was not known to the servants, and very little known to the clerks. John Thomas was another person--he was all fuss and feathers. He kept his bell ringing, and the servants rus.h.i.+ng for towels and water, water and towels, boots and beer, beer and boots, the English papers, maps of America, &c., without cessation. He was John Thomas and Thomas Johns, one and indivisible.

John got his ride, and returned to the hotel sulkier than ever; and by the time he got unrobed of his pea-jackets and huge shawls about his burly neck, he was telegraphed by a servant to come down; there was a gentleman below on business with him. John foreswore business, but the gentleman must see him, and up he came for that purpose. His unmistakable _mug_ told he was "an officer."

"I've a bill against you, sir, $368,20. Must be paid immediately!" said the presenter, peremptorily.

John was thunderstruck.

"Me, and be hanged to ye!" says John, getting his breath.

"Yes, sir, for goods packed at Smith & Brown's, for Nova Scotia. The bill was to be paid this morning, as you agreed, but you told the clerk to go to the d--l! Won't do, that sort of work, here. Pay the bill, or you must go with me!"

John, when he found himself in custody, swore it was some infernal Yankee scheme to gouge him, and he started for the clerk's office, below, to have some explanation. As John and the officer reached the rotunda, a gentleman steps up behind John, and gives his nose a first-rate _lug_. They clinched, the bystanders and servants interposed, and John and his a.s.sailant were parted, and by this time the nose puller discovered he had the wrong man by the nose!

"Is your name Thomas Johns?" says the nose puller.

"Blast you, no!"

"Who pays this bill for the carriage, if your name ain't Johns?" says a man with a bill for the carriage hire.

"I allers heard as ow you Yan-gees were inquisitive, and sharp after the dollars, and I'm 'anged if you ain't awful. My name's John Thomas, from Lun'un, bound back again in the next steamer. Now who's got any thing against _me_?"

Thomas Johns came in at this climax, an explanation ensued, John was relieved of his embarra.s.sment, and all were finally satisfied, except John Thomas, who, venting a few bottles of his spleen on every body and all things--Americans especially--took to his bed and beer, and snorted for a week.

The Yankee in a Boarding School.

"Well, squire, as I wer' tellin' on ye, when I went around pedlin'

notions, I met many queer folks; some on 'em so darn'd preoud and sa.s.sy, they wouldn't let a feller look at 'em; a-n-d 'd shut their doors and gates, _bang_ into a feller's face, jest as ef a Yankee pedler was a pizen sarpint! Then there waa-s t'other kind o' human critters, so pesky poor, or 'nation stingy, they'd pinch a fourpence till it'd squeal like a stuck pig. Ye-e-s, I do _swow_, I've met some critters so dog-ratted mean, that ef you had sot a steel trap onder their beds, a-n-d baited it with three cents, yeou'd a cotch ther con-feoun-ded souls afore mornin'!"

"Ma.s.sy sakes!" responded the squire.

"Fact! by ginger!" echoed the ex-pedler.

"Well, go on, Ab," said the squire, giving his pipe another 'charge,'

and lighting up for the yarn Absalom Slamm had promised the gals, soon as the quilt was out and refreshments were handed around.

"Go on, Ab--let's hear abeout that sc.r.a.pe yeou had with the school marm and her gals."