CHAPTER LIX

AN EQUITABLE ARRANGEMENT

IT is a remarkable fact that we never met any one yet who liked to be laughed at, and though the gathering gloom of a wintry day was fast shrouding the passenger from observation, our friend Mr. Bunting on leaving Captain Cavendish Chichester’s stables, bolted out at the other end of the Mews, in order to avoid the invidious gaze of the aprons by the way that he came. The exit end gained, a short street to the right led him back to the cheerful regions of Rochester Square, on the reverse side to that on which he before entered. Day was now about done, oil and gas were usurping the place of the mist-obscured sun, and careful servants were shutting the shutters, while the me-a-u of the milkmaid, and call of the crumpet-man began to awaken the areas.

It is a good thing for a mind-perplexed man to get away from the scene of contention, and Rochester Square formed a healthy and agreeable contrast to the fetid smells of Sligo Mews.

Mr. Bunting was now enabled to take a calm and dispassionate view of the matter. Here was an offer that seemed almost like a god-send to aid his endeavours with his incomparable charmer. True, the groom was not very good, but the horses were magnificent, and looking at such animals made him more sensible of the imperfections of his own. He thought he oughtn’t to miss such a chance, and yet he didn’t exactly see how he could manage it. Four horses would be of no use to him with his mild style of riding, besides which he wouldn’t like to go about with a man with one eye. The slang cry of “There you go with your eye out!” occurred to his recollection. He would like to dispense with Crankey if he could. The question was, how to manage it. At length a thought struck him. If I could get Captain Cavendish Chichester to exchange horses for a time, it might answer both our purposes; I should get my riding, and he would get his horses kept in wind, and condition, and the eatage of the one could be set off against the eatage of the other. “Dash it! if I don’t think that will do,” said he, delighted at his cleverness, and liking the proposition the more he thought of it. He took a rapid turn round the entire Square, and having conned the point well, decided it would do; at all events that he would make the proposal. “And why not at once?” asked he. “Why not, indeed?” was the answer he gave himself. That point settled, he right-about-faced, and again made for the little street by which he had re-entered the Square, and was speedily back in the gloom of Sligo Mews. Faint glow-wormlike candles flickered here and there, varied by an occasional stable-lantern, or the red fire of the itinerant pie or roast-chestnut man. Having taken his bearings pretty accurately, our friend came upon 51 A, just as Peter, having seen the four o’clock stable-ceremonies performed, was retiring for the evening.

“Hillo!” exclaimed Bunting, as the key turned in the lock, and the retrograding groom nearly trod on his toes—“Hillo!” repeated he, “is that you?”

“It’s me,” replied Peter, turning the lantern upon Bunting, to be sure of his man. “Oh, Mr. Banting, I see,” continued he, for people generally mangle a name if they can.

“The same,” replied Mr. Bunting, pocketing the injury. “It has just occurred to me,” continued he, “that the Captain and I could make an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial.”

“Well, Sir,” said Peter, wondering what it was.

“You see I have a couple of very neat horses, but not quite the perfect hunters I should like to take into the country I’m going to, where there are bullfinches that require big horses to take in their stride, and also a good deal of water-jumping, so that altogether I want to be rather extra well done by, and it occurred to me that it might suit Captain Chichester if we were just to change horses for the time, and let the servants remain as they are—you taking my horses, and my groom taking yours, by which means you could remain quietly with your family in London.”

Now mark the amiable benevolence that attends these London horse-dealing transactions! A groom in the country would have looked as black as thunder, and growled, “No, I’m blowed if I do anything of the sort—I’ll not part company with my ’osses not for no man!” but Peter Crankey came quite pleasantly into the thing, and only seemed anxious about the merits of the animals he was to have in exchange. He was quite “’greeable, only he wouldn’t like to look arter no rubbisin’ cat-legged beggars that would do him no credit, but if the ’osses were as Mr. Bunting described, and the reverence Mr. Bunting had given was good, he didn’t see why the ’rangement shouldn’t be made.”

Well done! thought Mr. Bunting, chuckling at his own acuteness, and thinking what a swell he would be on Owen Ashford.

It was then arranged that Peter Crankey should visit Mr. Bunting’s stable in Haycock Mews, May Fair, on the morrow, and if matters were approved of, that the exchange should take place the day after. And Mr. Bunting went away extremely well pleased with his bargain, and chuckling at the idea of having disappointed Mr. Percival Dobbin.