Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 161: what you’re looking at

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148 “But perhaps,’ I suggested, as I now in my turn cast a look at the waiter, “the cook thought it better to serve up the pudding in a tureen.” “Well, it certainly has the orthodox odour,” exclaimed Mr. Saltcoats, as the waiter, with all due solemnity, placed the tureen upon the table. The lid was lifted off — Mr. Saltcoats plunged his looks into the tureen—and then sank back in his chair with such an awful groan and such a discomfited expression of countenance, that his habitual jolliness could not have more suddenly changed into downright wretchedness if the great- est calamity had all in a moment been commu- nicated to him. Eventhe Dominie looked aghast ; and so far from recollecting an anecdote of any- thing he had ever said to any person of. his acquaintance, he was reminded of nothing. In respect to myself, I burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter: and no wonder—for it was a dark- looking washy soup which was served up to us, and with which the tureen was filled almost to its very brim. That laughter of mine acted like a spell upon Mr. Saltcoats,—who, suddenly regaining his own jocularity, gave vent to a tremendous peal of merriment, which re-acting upon Mr. Clack- mannan, reminded him of something he had said to the Widow Glenbucket on some occasion when she did something which after all he could not for the life of him recollect. All in a moment a light broke in unto the mind of Mr. Saltcoats; and he remembered that though he had taken so much pains to describe the ingredients with the nicest details to the cook, through the medium of the in- terpreter, he had altogether forgotten to add the im- portant fact that the pudding was to be boiled in a cloth. The consequence was, the cook had poured all his ingredients into the hot water in the saucepan, and had served up this precious mess accordingly. The tureen was sent away: but Mr. Clack- mannan and his friend Saltcoats managed to indemnify themseives for their disappointment, by a tremendous onslaught upon other sweets and dainties that were placed upon the table. The in- cident gave rise to a considerable amount of laughter: the dessert succeeded the course* in which the unfortunate tureen had figured; and the bottle circulated freely under the auspices of the convivial Saltcoats—though Iam afraid that I failed to do as much justice thereto as he could have wished. ‘We were in the midst of the dessert, when we heard a travelling-carriage drive into the court- yard of the hotel; and a few minutes afterwards one of the waiters ushered a portly dame into the coffee-room, requesting her in French to seat her- self by the fire there for a few minutes until apartments were got ready for her reception. She answered him in the broadest Scotch,—to the effect that she did not understand his “lingo,” but that she would wait there according to the recom- mendation her “gude-man” had just given her. She was a lady of about five-and-forty—exceed- ingly stout—with a very red face—and encum- bered with all sorts of cloaks, shawls, and furs. Down she sate before the fire,—depositing herself in the chair with about as much ease and lightness as an elephant could be supposed to exhibit if per- forming a similar feat. But when I averied my eyes trom this portly dame, and happened to i LE i none 3 AR JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. glance at Dominie Clackmannan, I was suddenly struck by his appearance. He was no longer lolling in stupid indolence in his chair, nor gazing stolidly upon vacancy: he was all alive with a keen and visible excitement—and his eyes were riveted upon the portly dame, towards whom he seemed inclined to rush from his seat. “What on earth is the matter with you, Domi- nie P” asked Mr. Saltcoats, who was as much struck by his aspect as I myself was: then turning to me, Saltcoats added, “I’ll be bound he’s thinking of the Widow Glenbucket !” “It’s just that,” exclaimed the Dominie: and springing up from his chair with as much alacrity as if it were an iron seat that had become sud- denly red-hot under him, he rushed down the room in the same singular excitement. The next instant his arms were thrown round the portly dame’s neck—a hearty smack upon her red cheek, bestowed by his lips, resounded throuch the apartment: but, as if raising an equally audible echo, it was immediately followed by an- other sort of smack, which the dame bestowed on the Dominie’s face—and with this trifling differ. ence, that whereas his was given with the lips, hers was inflicted with the palm of her vigorous hand. The Dominie staggered back, confounded : the lady set up a shriek; and at the very same moment an elderly gentleman, as portly as herself, entered the coffee-room. He wore a travelling cap ; and an immense shawl, tied round his neck, came up to his nose. He had on a great coat— and carried under his arm a cloak, a mackintosh, and a woollen comforter, as well as two umbrellas —one silk and the other cotton. But the gar- ments and the umbrellas dropped upon the floor as the sounds of his wife’s voice, expressive of some dire tribulation, met his ears; and the next moment he began to spar away like clock-work at the Dominie. Mr. Saltcoats and I rushed in to interfere ; and while the former was assuring the lady that there was some mistake, I was proffer- ing a similar representation to the Scotch gen- tleman. “Don’t mind him, ma’am,” said Mr. Saltcoats : ‘he’s as harmless as a child ty “But he kissed me, sir!” vociferated the lady. “ Well, ma’am, and I don’t think that could have done you much harm,” responded Saltcoats: ‘for a handsome woman must be accustomed to receive proofs of the admiration she excites.” “Weel, sir—and there’s just something in that,” said the dame, now thinking it necessary to simper : “so my gude-man need not fash himself. But who could the gentleman have ta’en me for?” “It’s just that,” said the Dominie, rubbing his cheek and displaying a most rueful expression of countenance. “ If you ain’t the Widow Glen- bucket, I never saw such a likeness! You may be her ghost and yet, when I think of it, you can’t be—for there never was a ghost that dealt such a box on the ears.” “The truth is, my dear madam,” Mr. Saltcoats hastened to observe, “my old friend is near- sighted, and may be a trifle owlish after his dinner: but in his name I beg most sincerely to apologize.” “Ye need say nae mair aboutit,” interrupted the dame, who was really a good-natured body: “ there’s nae such unco harm done.” CORNICLOO Ss (C@)