Part 26 (1/2)
”Well, and what is this mighty fault?” asked the stranger, smiling.
”Why inteed to goodness and mercy,” replied Twm, ”it was a fault that do spoil him-it was a fault that-”
”But what is the fault?” asked the Brecons.h.i.+re magistrate impatiently: ”give it a name, man.”
”Why inteed to goodness,” replied the scrupulous horse-dealer, ”I will tell you like an honest christian man, without more worts about it; I will make my sacrament and bible oaths”-”I don't ask your oath,” cried Powell, almost out of humour, ”merely tell me in word, what ails the horse?”
”Inteed and upon my soul and conscience to boot, I can't say what do ail him.” ”You can't?” cried Powell in an angry tone, and looking as surprised and wrath as might be expected from a proud Breconian; ”Confound me if I do,” replied Twm, ”but I will tell you why he was no good to master; it wa.s.s thiss-Master iss a parson, a gentleman parson, not a poor curate, one mister Inco Evans, rector of Tregaron, and the white hairs do come off the grey horse here, and stick upon his best black coat and preeches; and that was his fault.”
This was a curious reason for disposing of so good-a-looking animal as that Twm held by the bridle, and one that did not deter Powell from buying him without further parley, and paying for him there and then. He disappeared with his prize, wondering at the stupid dolt from whom his purchase had been made.
Twm retired now to a small public-house, where having asked for a bed-room, he contrived, after making a total change in his garb, to slip out again unperceived, not wis.h.i.+ng, for various reasons, to appear before his mistress _in propria personae_. He now wore a grey sober suit, s.h.i.+ning black buckles, stockings of the wool of a black sheep, and a knitted Welsh wig, of the same, that fitted him like a skullcap, and concealed every lock of his hair. Thus arrayed, he presented the appearance of a grave puritanical farmer, from the remote district of Cardigans.h.i.+re.
After gazing awhile at the motley crowd that const.i.tutes a fair, in a Welsh country town, he noticed a well-known crone, who had the reputation of being exceedingly covetous. Lean, yellow, and decrepid, her ferret-eyes glanced eagerly about for a customer, as she held beneath her arm a large roil of stout striped flannel. Twm, un.o.bserved, took his stand behind her, and dexterously st.i.tching her bale to his coat, he, with a sudden jerk, transferred it from the old woman's grasp to his own.
Her wonder and dismay was unutterable.
Elbowed and tossed about by the bustling crowd who were pa.s.sing to and fro, she knew not who to vent her spleen upon; but, in utter despair, set up a tremendous howl, as a requiem for her beloved departed. Instead of seeking the a.s.sistance of a light pair of heels, Twm scarcely moved a yard, but drew from his pocket a little black tobacco-pipe, and puffed a cloud with admirable coolness, while his right arm lovingly embraced the bale of flannel.
Roused by the old beldame's outrageous expressions of grief and fury, he asked in a very pathetic tone, the cause of her sorrow, which she related with many curses, sobs, and furious exclamations. Shocked at her impiety, and want of resignation, Twm took upon him to rebuke her, and edified her much, by a discourse on the virtue of patience; a.s.suring her she ought to thank heaven that she was not a neglected being. In conclusion, he remarked, that fairs and markets in these degenerate days were so sadly infested with rogues and vagabonds, that an honest person was completely encompa.s.sed by dangers.
”Now for my part,” continued he, ”I never enter such places without previously sewing my goods to my clothes, which you ought also to have done, in this manner.”-showing at the same time, the roll beneath his arm, which he thought the old crone's eyes had glanced on, with something like a light of suspicion, that instantly vanished, on this notable display and explanation.
Our hero's appet.i.te only grew by what it fed upon, and the taste of fun he had as yet been able to s.n.a.t.c.h only made him wish for more. He did not wait long for an opportunity; it was his habit to be so; he either met ”opportunity” half-way or entirely created his chance, making circ.u.mstances, in a measure, contribute to his especial purposes.
Casting a sharp glance around, he saw making towards him, a man of the cadaverous aspect, one who was an entire stranger to substantial creature comforts, or, if not, one who ”shamed his pasture” considerably.
On closer scrutiny, Twm saw it was his old friend Moses, whose hungry stomach had kept him hopelessly poor. Moses advanced and tried to bargain for a few yards of his flannel; but on reckoning his money found he could not come up to the price, as he said he had to buy a three legged iron pot, in addition to a winter petticoat for his wife: ”and,”
observed the man of tatters, with a grin of miserable mirth, ”it will be better for her to go without flannel than our whole family to want a porridge pot.”
Twm liked Moses, but not his logic; which implied a want of courtesy and due deference to his better half, whose indisputable right to warm petticoats claimed precedence to all the pots, pans, and every earthly consideration.
”Here take this bale, take it all, for I have lost my yard and scissors, and pay me when you grow rich;-confound your thanks! away with you, bestow it safe, then return here; perhaps I may get thee an iron pot at as cheap a rate as the flannel.”
Moses did not want twice bidding to induce him to avail himself of his good fortune, but entering into the spirit of the scene at once, appeared to understand our hero's joking propensities, although he had no suspicion that it was the veritable Twm himself. Off Moses ran with his enormous present, and immediately returned; when our hero accompanied him to the shop of an old curmudgeon of an ironmonger, whose face, hardly distinguishable behind his habitual screen of snuff and spectacles, seemed of the same material as his own hardware.
The man of rags was quite in luck, and as instructed, followed his benefactor into the shop in silence. Twm examined the culinary ware, with all the caution of an old farm-wife, asking the prices of various articles, and turned up the whites of his eyes in the most approved puritanic fas.h.i.+on, expressive of astonishment at such excessive charges.
Old hammerhead repelled the insinuation, and swore that cheaper or better pots were never seen in the kitchen of a king. ”Then you must mean the king of the beggars,” quoth Twm, ”for you have nothing here but damaged ware.”
”Damaged devil! what do you mean?” roared the enraged ironmonger. ”I mean,” replied Twm Shon Catty, with provoking equanimity, ”that there is scarcely a pot here without a hole in it; now this which I hold in my hand for instance, has one.” ”Where! where!” asked the fiery old shop keeper, holding it up between his eyes and the light: ”if there is a hole in this pot, I'll eat it: where is the hole that you speak of?” ”Here!”
bawls the inexorable hoaxer, pulling it over his ears, and holding it there, while Moses took the wink from his patron, and walked off with a most choice article, which he had selected from the whole lot.
Here was a predicament for a respectable old tradesman! Our hero fairly held his sides with laughter as the old curmudgeon sprawled about, vainly endeavouring to free himself from the pot, in which his terrible shouts for help were entirely lost. Having tied his hands behind his back, Twm left him howling and sweating beneath his huge extinguisher, and made as he took his departure, this consolatory speech-”Had there not been a hole in it how could that large stupid k.n.o.b of yours have entered such a helmet?”
Twm left the enraged ironmonger to get out of his dilemma as best he could, having very little sympathy with him in his distress. When once more in the street, he found that the people were all moving in one direction, and Twm discovered shortly that there was some unusual attraction at the Town Hall. As the a.s.semblage increased, the way, like a choaked mill-dam, became more and more impeded, until the whole restless ma.s.s was consolidated, and stood still perforce.
Our hero had forced his way till near the entrance of the hall, where he ventured to ask what cause had drawn together such a crowd; but he got no immediate answer, as many came there, like himself, drawn by the powerful influence of curiosity.
At length he heard his own name buzzed about; one said that Twm Shon Catty whose humorous tricks were the themes of every tongue, was discovered to be a great thief: and that he who had fought against highwaymen, had at last become one himself, and committed all the robberies which had taken place in that country for years past. One said that he could never be taken; and a third contradicted that a.s.sertion, declaring that he was then fettered in the hall, and waiting to be conveyed to Carmarthen gaol. One a.s.signed him to the gallows as his due, while another tenderly replied that hanging was too good for him.
Opposing the sentiments and opinions of all these, more than one declared that the hemp was neither spun nor grown that would hang Twm; and pity it should, as he was a friend of the poor, and an enemy to none but the stupid, the cruel, and the oppressive.