Now, this gentleman had various endearing appellations among hisintimate friends. By some he was called "a country gentleman ofthe true school," by some "a fine old country gentleman," by some"a sporting gentleman," by some "a thorough-bred Englishman," bysome "a genuine John Bull;" but they all agreed in one respect, andthat was, that it was a pity there were not more like him, and thatbecause there were not, the country was going to rack and ruinevery day. He was in the commission of the peace, and could writehis name almost legibly; but his greatest qualifications were, thathe was more severe with poachers, was a better shot, a harderrider, had better horses, kept better dogs, could eat more solidfood, drink more strong wine, go to bed every night more drunk andget up every morning more sober, than any man in the county. Inknowledge of horseflesh he was almost equal to a farrier, in stablelearning he surpassed his own head groom, and in gluttony not a pig on his estate was a match for him. He had no seat in Parliamenthimself, but he was extremely patriotic, and usually drove hisvoters up to the poll with his own hands. He was warmly attachedto church and state, and never appointed to the living in his giftany but a three-bottle man and a first-rate fox-hunter. Hemistrusted the honesty of all poor people who could read and write,and had a secret jealousy of his own wife (a young lady whom he hadmarried for what his friends called "the good old English reason,"
that her father"s property adjoined his own) for possessing thoseaccomplishments in a greater degree than himself. In short,Barnaby being an idiot, and Grip a creature of mere brute instinct,it would be very hard to say what this gentleman was.
He rode up to the door of a handsome house approached by a greatflight of steps, where a man was waiting to take his horse, and ledthe way into a large hall, which, spacious as it was, was taintedwith the fumes of last night"s stale debauch. Greatcoats, riding-whips, bridles, top-boots, spurs, and such gear, were strewn abouton all sides, and formed, with some huge stags" antlers, and a fewportraits of dogs and horses, its principal embellishments.
Throwing himself into a great chair (in which, by the bye, he oftensnored away the night, when he had been, according to his admirers, a finer country gentleman than usual) he bade the man to tell hismistress to come down: and presently there appeared, a littleflurried, as it seemed, by the unwonted summons, a lady muchyounger than himself, who had the appearance of being in delicatehealth, and not too happy.
"Here! Thou"st no delight in following the hounds as anEnglishwoman should have," said the gentleman. "See to thishere. That"ll please thee perhaps."
The lady smiled, sat down at a little distance from him, andglanced at Barnaby with a look of pity.
"He"s an idiot, the woman says," observed the gentleman, shakinghis head; "I don"t believe it."
"Are you his mother?" asked the lady.
She answered yes.
"What"s the use of asking HER?" said the gentleman, thrusting hishands into his breeches pockets. "She"ll tell thee so, of course.
Most likely he"s hired, at so much a day. There. Get on. Make him do something."
Grip having by this time recovered his urbanity, condescended, atBarnaby"s solicitation, to repeat his various phrases of speech,and to go through the whole of his performances with the utmostsuccess. The corks, and the never say die, afforded the gentlemanso much delight that he demanded the repetition of this part of theentertainment, until Grip got into his basket, and positivelyrefused to say another word, good or bad. The lady too, was muchamused with him; and the closing point of his obstinacy sodelighted her husband that he burst into a roar of laughter, anddemanded his price.
Barnaby looked as though he didn"t understand his meaning.
Probably he did not.
"His price," said the gentleman, rattling the money in his pockets,"what dost want for him? How much?"
"He"s not to be sold," replied Barnaby, shutting up the basket in agreat hurry, and throwing the strap over his shoulder. "Mother,come away."
"Thou seest how much of an idiot he is, book-learner," said thegentleman, looking scornfully at his wife. "He can make a bargain.
What dost want for him, old woman?"
"He is my son"s constant companion," said the widow. "He is not tobe sold, sir, indeed."
"Not to be sold!" cried the gentleman, growing ten times redder,hoarser, and louder than before. "Not to be sold!"
"Indeed no," she answered. "We have never thought of parting withhim, sir, I do assure you."
He was evidently about to make a very passionate retort, when a fewmurmured words from his wife happening to catch his ear, he turnedsharply round, and said, "Eh? What?"
"We can hardly expect them to sell the bird, against their owndesire," she faltered. "If they prefer to keep him--"
"Prefer to keep him!" he echoed. "These people, who go trampingabout the country a-pilfering and vagabondising on all hands,prefer to keep a bird, when a landed proprietor and a justice asks his price! That old woman"s been to school. I know she has.
Don"t tell me no," he roared to the widow, "I say, yes."
Barnaby"s mother pleaded guilty to the accusation, and hoped therewas no harm in it.