Volume I Part 4 (1/2)
Simpson's politeness to my wife was unbounded. He professed himself charmed to have the honour of making her acquaintance, took her in to luncheon with as much tender care as though she had been a cracked bit of very precious china ware; invited her to partake of everything on the table, shoving the dishes under her chin, and advising her as to what to eat, drink, and avoid. He narrated stories of n.o.ble families with whom he was upon the most intimate terms, and a.s.sured my wife that he was quite startled by her extraordinary likeness to Lady Sarah Macwhirter; which so pleased Mrs S. that later on she informed me that as Blossie was so much better, she thought it would be more polite to give Mr Simpson the blue bedroom.
I found this ardent sportsman very much inclined to dally in my lady's boudoir, in preference to taking the field, and I encouraged this proclivity, in the hope of escaping the shooting altogether, and thus save the credit of my so-called preserves. But here again I was doomed to disappointment. Mrs S., who now began to become rather anxious about the domestic arrangements, politely but firmly reminded him of the object of his visit, and insisted upon our departing for the happy hunting-grounds at once. And at length, when very reluctantly he rose from the table, he helped himself to a stiff gla.s.s of brandy-and-water, in order, as he stated, to ”steady his hand.”
I must confess that I was rather startled when he announced his intention of shooting in his ulster. The idea of dragging this long-tailed appendage across ditches and over bogs appeared _outre_, especially as the pockets bulged very considerably, as though they were loaded with woollen wraps; but I was silent in the presence of one who had sought his quarry in the jungle, and shoved my old-fas.h.i.+oned idea back into the fusty lumber-room of my thoughts. Billy Doyle awaited us with the dogs at the stable gate. These faithful animals no sooner perceived me than they set up an unlimited howling of delight; but instead of bounding forward to meet me, as was their wont, they suddenly stopped, as if struck by an invisible hand, and commenced to set at Simpson.
This extraordinary conduct of these dogs--there are no better dogs in Ireland--incensed Billy to fever heat.
”Arrah, what the puck are yez settin' at? Are yez mad or dhrunk? Whoop!
gelang ow a that, Feltram! Hus.h.!.+ away wud ye, Birdlime!”
”Take them away; take them away!” cried Simpson, very excitedly. ”I don't want them; I never shoot with dogs. Remove them, my man.”
Billy caught Feltram, but Birdlime eluded his grasp; and having released Feltram and captured Birdlime, the former remained at a dead set, whilst the latter struggled with his captor, as though the lives of both depended on the issue.
”May the divvle admire me,” panted Billy, ”but this bangs Banagher. Is there a herrin' stirrin', or anything for to set the dogs this way?--it bates me intirely.”
I naturally turned to my guest, who looked as puzzled as I did myself.
”I have it!” he cried; ”it's the blood of the sperm-whale that's causing this.”
”Arrah, how the blazes cud the blood av all the whales in Ireland make thim shupayriour animals set as if the birds were foreninst them?”
demanded Billy, his arms akimbo.
”I will explain,” said Simpson. ”Last autumn I was up whaling off the coast of Greenland. We struck a fine fish; and after playing him for three-and-twenty hours, we got him aboard. Just as we were taking the harpoon out, he made one despairing effort and spurted blood; a few drops fell upon this coat, just here,” pointing to the inside portion of his right-hand cuff, ”and I pledge you my veracity no dog can withstand it. They invariably point; and I a.s.sure you, Smithe, you could get up a drag hunt by simply walking across country in this identical coat, built by John Henry Smalpage.”
This startling and sensational explanation satisfied me. Not so my _factotum_, who gave vent in an undertone to such exclamations as ”_Naboclis.h.!.+ Wirra, wirra!_ What does he take us for? Whales, begorra!”
The riddance of the dogs was a grand _coup_ for me. In the event of having no sport the failure could be easily accounted for, and I should come off with flying colours.
”I make it a point” observed Simpson, ”to shoot as little with dogs as possible. I like to set my own game, shoot it, and bag it; nor do I care to be followed by troublesome and often impertinent self-opinionated game-keepers” (Billy was at this moment engaged in incarcerating Feltram and Birdlime). ”These fellows are always spoilt, and never know their position.”
I was nettled at this.
”If you refer to----”
”My dear Smithe, I allude to my friend Lord Mulligatawny's fellows, got up in Lincoln green and impossible gaiters, who insist upon loading for you, and all that sort of thing. You know Mulligatawny, of course?”
I rather apologised for not having the honour.
”Then you shall, Smithe. I'll bring you together when you come to town.
Leave that to me; a nice little party: Mulligatawny, Sir Percy Whiffler, Colonel Owlfinch of the 1st Life Guards--they're at Beggar's Bush now, I suppose--Belgum, yourself, and myself.”
This was very considerate and flattering; and I heartily hoped that by some fluke or other we might be enabled to make a bag.
When we arrived upon the shooting-ground, I observed that it was time to load; and calling up Billy Doyle with the guns, I proceeded to carry my precept into practice. My weapon was an old-fas.h.i.+oned muzzle-loader, one of Truelock & Harris's; and as I went through the process of loading, I could see that Mr Simpson was regarding my movements with a careful and critical eye.
”I know that you swells despise this sort of thing,” I remarked; ”but I have dropped a good many birds with this gun at pretty long ranges, and have wiped the eyes of many a breech-loading party.”
”I--I like that sort of gun,” said Simpson. ”I'd be glad if you'd take this,” presenting his, with both barrels covering me.