PAGE 12
The Fatal Boots
by
Thirdly, he happened to want a pair of shoes mended at this particular period, and as he was measured by the disgusting old High-Dutch cobbler, he told him his old friend Stubbs was going to be married.
“And to whom?” said old Stiffelkind. “To a voman wit geld, I vill take my oath.”
“Yes,” says Bunting, “a country girl–a Miss Magdalen Carotty or Crotty, at a place called Sloffemsquiggle.”
“SHLOFFEMSCHWIEGEL!” bursts out the dreadful bootmaker. “Mein Gott, mein Gott! das geht nicht! I tell you, sare, it is no go. Miss Crotty is my niece. I vill go down myself. I vill never let her marry dat goot-for-nothing schwindler and tief.” SUCH was the language that the scoundrel ventured to use regarding me!
JUNE.–MARROWBONES AND CLEAVERS.
Was there ever such confounded ill-luck? My whole life has been a tissue of ill-luck: although I have labored perhaps harder than any man to make a fortune, something always tumbled it down. In love and in war I was not like others. In my marriages, I had an eye to the main chance; and you see how some unlucky blow would come and throw them over. In the army I was just as prudent, and just as unfortunate. What with judicious betting, and horse-swapping, good-luck at billiards, and economy, I do believe I put by my pay every year,–and that is what few can say who have but an allowance of a hundred a year.
I’ll tell you how it was. I used to be very kind to the young men; I chose their horses for them, and their wine: and showed them how to play billiards, or ecarte, of long mornings, when there was nothing better to do. I didn’t cheat: I’d rather die than cheat;–but if fellows WILL play, I wasn’t the man to say no–why should I? There was one young chap in our regiment of whom I really think I cleared 300L. a year.
His name was Dobble. He was a tailor’s son, and wanted to be a gentleman. A poor weak young creature; easy to be made tipsy; easy to be cheated; and easy to be frightened. It was a blessing for him that I found him; for if anybody else had, they would have plucked him of every shilling.
Ensign Dobble and I were sworn friends. I rode his horses for him, and chose his champagne, and did everything, in fact, that a superior mind does for an inferior,–when the inferior has got the money. We were inseparables,–hunting everywhere in couples. We even managed to fall in love with two sisters, as young soldiers will do, you know; for the dogs fall in love, with every change of quarters.
Well, once, in the year 1793 (it was just when the French had chopped poor Louis’s head off), Dobble and I, gay young chaps as ever wore sword by side, had cast our eyes upon two young ladies by the name of Brisket, daughters of a butcher in the town where we were quartered. The dear girls fell in love with us, of course. And many a pleasant walk in the country, many a treat to a tea-garden, many a smart ribbon and brooch used Dobble and I (for his father allowed him 600L., and our purses were in common) present to these young ladies. One day, fancy our pleasure at receiving a note couched thus:–
“DEER CAPTING STUBBS AND DOBBLE–Miss Briskets presents their compliments, and as it is probble that our papa will be till twelve at the corprayshun dinner, we request the pleasure of their company to tea.”
Didn’t we go! Punctually at six we were in the little back-parlor; we quaffed more Bohea, and made more love, than half a dozen ordinary men could. At nine, a little punch-bowl succeeded to the little teapot; and, bless the girls! a nice fresh steak was frizzling on the gridiron for our supper. Butchers were butchers then, and their parlor was their kitchen too; at least old Brisket’s was–one door leading into the shop, and one into the yard, on the other side of which was the slaughter-house.