CHAPTER LVII

THE PROPHET GABRIEL

“That was Gabriel Junks!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, rising from his seat, and rushing to the window.

Sure enough it was Gabriel Junks; and after a short pause, another scream, more shrill and piercing, confirmed Mr. Jorrocks’s surmise. Seizing his hat, he rushed into the garden.

It was a misty sort of morning, and the sun was labouring through the flitting clouds that obscured its brightness. The wind, too, had got into the south, and there was a fresh, growing feeling in the air that spoke of spring and returning vegetation. The peacock again screamed, and sought the shelter of a laurel.

“As sure as my name’s John Jorrocks, there’s goin’ to be rain,” observed our worthy Master, scrutinizing the bird. “As sure as my name’s John Jorrocks, there’s goin’ to be rain,” repeated he. “Pe-pe-pe-pe-pe-pe!” exclaimed he, scraping the crumbs from the bottom of his pockets and throwing them to his prophet.

Gabriel Junks rushed from his retreat, and having picked up the crumbs, stood eyeing Mr. Jorrocks with a head-on-one-side sort of leer, which he at length broke off by another loud scream, and then a rattling spread of his tail. Mr. Jorrocks and the bird were thus standing vis-à-vis when James Pigg made his appearance.

“I’ll lay a guinea ’at to a ’alf-crown gossamer, there’s goin’ to be rain,” said Mr. Jorrocks to his huntsman, pointing to the bird.

“De’il bon me, if ar care,” replied Pigg; “ar hasn’t gettin ne seeds, nor nothin’—may be Deavilboger wad like a sup,” his mind harking back to “canny Newcassel.”

“Well, but don’t ye see, if it rains we can have an ’unt,” said Mr. Jorrocks, astonished at his huntsman’s stupidity.

“Se we can!” exclaimed Pigg, all alive; “dash it! ar niver thought o’ that now—another bye-day—sick a one as the first—ay?”

“Vy no—not exactly,” said Mr. Jorrocks, not relishing an entire repetition; “but s’pose we have another turn at the old customer—go out early, and drag up to the warmint, find him when he’s full—may be a cock, or a hen, or a Gabriel Junks aboard,” looking at the bird still strutting about with his tail spread.

“Sink it, aye!” said Pigg; “let’s gan i’ the morn.”

Mr. Jorrocks.—“If it comes wet we will. We can feed th’ ’ounds at all ewents, and be ready for a start.”

The day continued hazy, but still no rain fell. Junks, however, persisted in his admonitions, and Mr. Jorrocks felt so certain it would rain, that he had Pigg into the parlour in the evening to make arrangements for the morning. Mrs. Jorrocks, Belinda, and Stobbs had gone out to tea, and Mr. Jorrocks was left all alone.

Master and man had an anxious confabulation. Mr. Jorrocks was all for Pinch-me-near, while Pigg recommended Hew-timber Forest.

Of course Jorrocks carried his point.

About nine Betsey brought the supper-tray, and Jorrocks would treat Pigg to a glass of brandy-and-water. One glass led to another, and they had a strong talk about hunting. They drank each other’s healths, then the healths of the hounds.

“I’ll give you old Priestess’ good ’ealth!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, holding up his glass. “Fine old betch, with her tan eye-brows—thinks I never saw a better ’ound—wise as a Christian!” Pigg proposed Manager. Mr. Jorrocks gave Ravager. Pigg gave Lavender, and they drank Mercury, and Affable, and Crowner, and Lousey, and Mountebank, and Milliner—almost all the pack, in short, each in turn being best. A, what a dog one was to find a fox. A, what a dog another was to drive a scent.

The fire began to hiss, and Mr. Jorrocks felt confident his prophecy was about to be fulfilled. “Look out of the winder, James, and see wot’un a night it is,” said he to Pigg, giving the log a stir, to ascertain that the hiss didn’t proceed from any dampness in the wood.

James staggered up, and after a momentary grope about the room—for they were sitting without candles—exclaimed, “Hellish dark, and smells of cheese!”

“Smells o’ cheese!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, looking round in astonishment; “smells o’ cheese!—vy, man, you’ve got your nob i’ the cupboard—this be the vinder,” continued he, rising and opening some shutters painted like the cupboard door in the other corner. Mr. Jorrocks undid the fastening and threw up the sash.

The night was dark—black as pitch—not a star was visible, and a soft warm rain was just beginning to fall.

“Didn’t I tell you so?” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, drawing in his hand, and giving his thigh a hearty slap; “didn’t I tell you so?” repeated he, “I was certain it was a goin’ to rain, that Gabriel Junks was never wrong!—Is better than all your wanes and weathercocks, and Aneroid glasses wot ever were foaled. We’ll drink his ’ealth in a bumper!” So saying, Mr. Jorrocks and Pigg replenished their glasses, and drank to “the health of Gabriel Junks.”

Pigg then would treat his master to a song—a song about ard Squier Lambton and his hunds; so, ejecting his quid and filling a bumper, he chaunted the following, our Master chiming in, and substituting the name of Jorrocks for that of Lambton in the chorus:—

And Jorrocks did drink, and did whoop, and did holloa, and did shout, till he made himself hoarse. His spirits, or the brandy spirits, seemed to have fairly run away with him. At length he began to cool down and think of the morrow.

“Now you and I’ll have an ’unt,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.

“Squier Stobbs ’ll gan te, ar’s warn’d,” observed Pigg.

“Oh, never mind him,” replied Jorrocks with a chuck of the chin, “never mind him; no sayin’ when he may be ’ome—gone fiddlin’ out with the women.”

“He’s aye ticklin’ the lasses’ hocks,” observed Pigg.

“You and I, at all ewents, will have an ’unt, and see if we can’t pivy that tormentin’ old customer. Never was sich a fox in this world. Do believe he’ll be the death o’ me, if I don’t finish him.—Shall never get through summer, for thinkin’ on him. So now we’ll start at six—or call it ’alf-past five, and see if we can’t do the trick afore breakfast. My vig! if we do, wot a blow-out we’ll have—you shall have a gallon of XX, and a werry big-bottled gooseberry-tart for your breakfast.”

“Ar’d rayther have a ham-collop,” replied Pigg, replenishing his mouth with tobacco.

“So you shall,” rejoined Mr. Jorrocks; “and poached heggs into the bargain.”

The other arrangements were soon made—and the brandy being finished, master and man separated for the night.

¹Tune—“Weave a Garland.”