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MEN’S WIVES
“Honour bright,” says the tailor. “Look!” and in an instant
he drew from his pocket one of those slips of parchment which
gentlemen of his profession carry, and putting Eglantine into
the proper position, began to take the preliminary observations. He felt Eglantine’s heart thump with happiness as his
measure passed over that soft part of the perfumer’s person.
Then pulling down the window-blind, and looking that
the door was locked, and blushing still more deeply than ever,
the tailor seated himself in an arm-chair towards which Mr.
Eglantine beckoned him, and, taking off his black wig, exposed his head to the great perruquier’s gaze. Mr. Eglantine
looked at it, measured it, manipulated it, sat for three minutes
with his head in his hand and his elbow on his knee, gazing at
the tailor’s cranium with all his might, walked round it twice
or thrice, and then said, “It’s enough, Mr. Woolsey. Consider
the job as done. And now, sir,” said he, with a greatly relieved
air – “and now, Woolsey, let us ‘ave a glass of curacoa to celebrate this hauspicious meeting.”
The tailor, however, stiffl y replied that he never drank in
a morning, and left the room without offering to shake Mr.
Eglantine by the hand: for he despised that gentleman very
heartily, and himself, too, for coming to any compromise
with him, and for so far demeaning himself as to make a coat
for a barber.
Looking from his chambers on the other side of the street,
that inevitable Mr. Walker saw the tailor issuing from the perfumer’s shop, and was at no loss to guess that something extraordinary must be in progress when two such bitter enemies
met together.
CHAPTER III
WHAT CAME OF MR WALKER’S
DISCOVERY OF THE
“BOOTJACK”
It is very easy to state how the Captain came to take up
that proud position at the “Bootjack” which we have seen him
occupy on the evening when the sound of the fatal “Brava!” so
astonished Mr. Eglantine.
The mere entry into the establishment was, of course, not
diffi cult. Any person by simply uttering the words “A pint of
beer,” was free of the “Bootjack;” and it was some such watchword that Howard Walker employed when he made his fi rst
appearance. He requested to be shown into a parlour, where
he might repose himself for a while, and was ushered into that
very sanctum where the “Kidney Club” met. Then he stated
that the beer was the best he had ever tasted, except in Bavaria,
and in some parts of Spain, he added; and professing to be extremely “peckish,” requested to know if there were any cold
meat in the house whereof he could make a dinner.
“I don’t usually dine at this hour, landlord,” said he,
fl inging down a half-sovereign for payment of the beer; “but
your parlour looks so comfortable, and the Windsor chairs
52
MEN’S WIVES
are so snug, that I’m sure I could not dine better at the fi rst
club in London.”
“ONE of the fi rst clubs in London is held in this very room,”
said Mr. Crump, very well pleased; “and attended by some of
the best gents in town, too. We call it the ‘Kidney Club’.”
“Why, bless my soul! it is the very club my friend Eglantine has so often talked to me about, and attended by some of
the tip-top tradesmen of the metropolis!”
“There’s better men here than Mr. Eglantine,” replied Mr.
Crump, “though he’s a good man – I don’t say he’s not a good
man – but there’s better. Mr. Clinker, sir; Mr. Woolsey, of
the house of Linsey, Woolsey and Co –”
“The great army-clothiers!” cried Walker; “the fi rst house in
town!” and so continued, with exceeding urbanity, holding
conversation with Mr. Crump, until the honest landlord retired delighted, and told Mrs. Crump in the bar that there was
a tip-top swell in the “Kidney” parlour, who was a-going to
have his dinner there.
Fortune favoured the brave Captain in every way. It was
just Mr. Crump’s own dinner-hour; and on Mrs. Crump stepping into the parlour to ask the guest whether he would
like a slice of the joint to which the family were about to sit
down, fancy that lady’s start of astonishment at recognising
Mr. Eglantine’s facetious friend of the day before. The Captain at once demanded permission to partake of the joint at
the family table; the lady could not with any great reason deny
this request; the Captain was inducted into the bar; and Miss
Crump, who always came down late for dinner, was even more
astonished than her mamma, on beholding the occupier of
53
WILLIAM THACKERAY
the fourth place at the table. Had she expected to see the fascinating stranger so soon again? I think she had. Her big eyes
said as much, as, furtively looking up at Mr. Walker’s face, they
caught his looks; and then bouncing down again towards her
plate, pretended to be very busy in looking at the boiled beef
and carrots there displayed. She blushed far redder than those
carrots, but her shining ringlets hid her confusion together
with her lovely face.
Sweet Morgiana! the billiard-ball eyes had a tremendous effect on the Captain. They fell plump, as it were, into the pocket of his heart; and he gallantly proposed to treat the company to a bottle of champagne, which was accepted without
much diffi culty.
Mr. Crump, under pretence of going to the cellar (where
he said he had some cases of the fi nest champagne in Europe),
called Dick, the boy, to him, and despatched him with all
speed to a wine merchant’s, where a couple of bottles of the liquor were procured.
“Bring up two bottles, Mr. C.,” Captain Walker gallantly
said when Crump made his move, as it were, to the cellar
and it may be imagined after the two bottles were drunk (of
which Mrs. Crump took at least nine glasses to her share), how
happy, merry, and confi dential the whole party had become.
Crump told his story of the “Bootjack,” and whose boot it had
drawn; the former Miss Delancy expatiated on her past theatrical life, and the pictures hanging round the room. Miss
was equally communicative; and, in short, the Captain had
all the secrets of the little family in his possession ere sunset.
He knew that Miss cared little for either of her suitors, about
54
MEN’S WIVES
whom mamma and papa had a little quarrel. He heard Mrs.
Crump talk of Morgiana’s property, and fell more in love with
her than ever. Then came tea, the luscious crumpet, the quiet
game at cribbage, and the song – the song which poor Eglantine heard, and which caused Woolsey’s rage and his despair.
At the close of the evening the tailor was in a greater rage,
and the perfumer in greater despair than ever. He had made
his little present of eau-de-Cologne. “Oh fi e!” says the Captain,
with a horse-laugh, “it SMELLS OF THE SHOP!” He taunted the tailor about his wig, and the honest fellow had only
an oath to give by way of repartee. He told his stories about his
club and his lordly friends. What chance had either against
the all-accomplished Howard Walker?
Old Crump, with a good innate sense of right and wrong,
hated the man; Mrs. Crump did not feel quite at her ease regarding him; but Morgiana thought him the most delightful
person the world ever produced.
Eglantine’s usual morning costume was a blue satin neckcloth embroidered with butterfl ies and ornamented with
a brandy-ball brooch, a light shawl waistcoat, and a rhubarbcoloured coat of the sort which, I believe, are called Taglionis,
and which have no waist-buttons, and made a pretence, as it
were, to have no waists, but are in reality adopted by the fat in
order to give them a waist. Nothing easier for an obese man
than to have a waist; he has but to pinch his middle part a little, and the very fat on either side pushed violently forward
MAKES a waist, as it were, and our worthy perfumer’s fi gure
was that of a bolster cut almost in two with a string.
55
WILLIAM THACKERAY
Walker presently saw him at his shop-door grinning in this
costume, twiddling his ringlets with his dumpy greasy fi ngers,
glittering with oil and rings, and looking so exceedingly contented and happy that the estate-agent felt assured some very
satisfactory conspiracy had been planned between the tailor
and him. How was Mr. Walker to learn what the scheme was?
Alas! the poor fellow’s vanity and delight were such, that he
could not keep silent as to the cause of his satisfaction; and
rather than not mention it at all, in the fulness of his heart he
would have told his secret to Mr. Mossrose himself.
“When I get my coat,” thought the Bond Street Alnaschar,
“I’ll hire of Snaffl e that easy-going cream-coloured ‘oss that
he bought from Astley’s, and I’ll canter through the Park, and
WON’T I pass through Little Bunker’s Buildings, that’s all? I’ll
wear my grey trousers with the velvet stripe down the side, and
get my spurs lacquered up, and a French polish to my boot; and
if I don’t DO for the Captain, and the tailor too, my name’s not
Archibald. And I know what I’ll do: I’ll hire the small clarence,
and invite the Crumps to dinner at the ‘Gar and Starter’” (this
was his facetious way of calling the “Star and Garter”), “and I’ll
ride by them all the way to Richmond. It’s rather a long ride,
but with Snaffl e’s soft saddle I can do it pretty easy, I dare say.”
And so the honest fellow built castles upon castles in the air;
and the last most beautiful vision of all was Miss Crump “in
white satting, with a horange fl ower in her ‘air,” putting him in
possession of “her lovely ‘and before the haltar of St. George’s,
‘Anover Square.” As for Woolsey, Eglantine determined that
he should have the best wig his art could produce; for he had
not the least fear of his rival.
56
MEN’S WIVES
These points then being arranged to the poor fellow’s satisfaction, what does he do but send out for half a quire of pink
note-paper, and in a fi lagree envelope despatch a note of invitation to the ladies at the “Bootjack”: –
“BOWER OF BLOOM, BOND STREET:
“Thursday.
“MR. ARCHIBALD EGLANTINE presents his compliments to Mrs. and Miss Crump, and requests the HONOUR
AND PLEASURE of their company at the ‘Star and Garter’ at
Richmond to an early dinner on Sunday next.
“IF AGREEABLE, Mr. Eglantine’s carriage will be at your
door at three o’clock, and I propose to accompany them on
horseback, if agreeable likewise.”
This note was sealed with yellow wax, and sent to its destination; and of course Mr. Eglantine went himself for the answer in the evening: and of course he told the ladies to look out
for a certain new coat he was going to sport on Sunday; and of
course Mr. Walker happens to call the next day with spare
tickets for Mrs. Crump and her daughter, when the whole
secret was laid bare to him – how the ladies were going to
Richmond on Sunday in Mr. Snaffl e’s clarence, and how Mr.
Eglantine was to ride by their side.
Mr. Walker did not keep horses of his own; his magnifi cent
friends at the “Regent” had plenty in their stables, and some of
these were at livery at the establishment of the Captain’s old
“college” companion, Mr. Snaffl e. It was easy, therefore, for
the Captain to renew his acquaintance with that individual.
So, hanging on the arm of my Lord Vauxhall, Captain Walker
next day made his appearance at Snaffl e’s livery-stables, and
57
WILLIAM THACKERAY
looked at the various horses there for sale or at bait, and soon
managed, by putting some facetious questions to Mr. Snaffl e
regarding the “Kidney Club,” etc. to place himself on a friendly footing with that gentleman, and to learn from him what
horse Mr. Eglantine was to ride on Sunday.
The monster Walker had fully determined in his mind
that Eglantine should FALL off that horse in the course of his
Sunday’s ride.
“That sing’lar hanimal,” said Mr. Snaffl e, pointing to
the old horse, “is the celebrated Hemperor that was the wonder of Hastley’s some years back, and was parted with by Mr.
Ducrow honly because his feelin’s wouldn’t allow him to keep
him no longer after the death of the fi rst Mrs. D., who invariably rode him. I bought him, thinking that p’raps ladies and
Cockney bucks might like to ride him (for his haction is wonderful, and he canters like a harm-chair); but he’s not safe on
any day except Sundays.”
“And why’s that?” asked Captain Walker. “Why is he safer on Sundays than other days?”
“BECAUSE THERE’S NO MUSIC in the streets on Sundays. The fi rst gent that rode him found himself dancing
a quadrille in Hupper Brook Street to an ‘urdy-gurdy that was
playing ‘Cherry Ripe,’ such is the natur of the hanimal. And
if you reklect the play of the ‘Battle of Hoysterlitz,’ in which
Mrs. D. hacted ‘the female hussar,’ you may remember how she
and the horse died in the third act to the toon of ‘God preserve the Emperor,’ from which this horse took his name. Only
play that toon to him, and he rears hisself up, beats the hair in
time with his forelegs, and then sinks gently to the ground as
58
MEN’S WIVES
though he were carried off by a cannon-ball. He served a lady
hopposite Hapsley ‘Ouse so one day, and since then I’ve never let him out to a friend except on Sunday, when, in course,
there’s no danger. Heglantine IS a friend of mine, and of course
I wouldn’t put the poor fellow on a hanimal I couldn’t trust.”
After a little more conversation, my lord and his friend
quitted Mr. Snaffl e’s, and as they walked away towards the “Regent,” his Lordship might be heard shrieking with laughter,
crying, “Capital, by jingo! exthlent! Dwive down in the dwag!
Take Lungly. Worth a thousand pound, by Jove!” and similar
ejaculations, indicative of exceeding delight.
On Saturday morning, at ten o’clock to a moment, Mr.
Woolsey called at Mr. Eglantine’s with a yellow handkerchief
under his arm. It contained the best and handsomest bodycoat that ever gentleman put on. It fi tted Eglantine to a nicety – it did not pinch him in the least, and yet it was of so exquisite a cut that the perfumer found, as he gazed delighted in
the glass, that he looked like a manly portly high-bred gentleman – a lieutenant-colonel in the army, at the very least.
“You’re a full man, Eglantine,” said the tailor, delighted,
too, with his own work; “but that can’t be helped. You look
more like Hercules than Falstaff now, sir, and if a coat can
make a gentleman, a gentleman you are. Let me recommend
you to sink the blue cravat, and take the stripes off your trousers. Dress quiet, sir; draw it mild. Plain waistcoat, dark trousers, black neckcloth, black hat, and if there’s a better-dressed
man in Europe to-morrow, I’m a Dutchman.”
59
WILLIAM THACKERAY
“Thank you, Woolsey – thank you, my dear sir,” said
the charmed perfumer. “And now I’ll just trouble you to
try on this here.”
The wig had been made with equal skill; it was not in
the fl orid style which Mr. Eglantine loved in his own person,
but, as the perfumer said, a simple straightforward head of
hair. “It seems as if it had grown there all your life, Mr. Woolsey; nobody would tell that it was not your nat’ral colour”
(Mr. Woolsey blushed) – “it makes you look ten year younger; and as for that scarecrow yonder, you’ll never, I think,
want to wear that again.”
Woolsey looked in the glass, and was delighted too.
The two rivals shook hands and straightway became friends,
and in the overfl owing of his heart the perfumer mentioned to
the tailor the party which he had arranged for the next day,
and offered him a seat in the carriage and at the dinner at
the “Star and Garter.” “Would you like to ride?” said Eglantine, with rather a consequential air. “Snaffl e will mount you,
and we can go one on each side of the ladies, if you like.”
But Woolsey humbly said he was not a riding man, and
gladly consented to take a place in the clarence carriage, provided he was allowed to bear half the expenses of the entertainment. This proposal was agreed to by Mr. Eglantine, and
the two gentlemen parted to meet once more at the “Kidneys”
that night, when everybody was edifi ed by the friendly tone
adopted between them.
Mr. Snaffl e, at the club meeting, made the very same proposal to Mr. Woolsey that the perfumer had made; and stated
that as Eglantine was going to ride Hemperor, Woolsey, at
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