Amongst the audience who had witnessed the amusing encounter between Mr. Dibble and his wife, was Mr. Shuffleton Gibbs, who looked on with a grave air of quiet enjoyment.
You would hardly have known him from our former description. He was attired in respectable professional style, with just an assumption of swellishness. His face was cleanly shaven, and he wore a low-crowned hat, and a black wig. From a light, fair man, he had made himself up dark. To a stranger he wore the marks of foreign travel; his cheeks were “bronzed with the Eastern sun.”
The disguise was complete, and it certainly made the fellow infinitely better looking than he was in his customary habit, and far more attractive to the “feminine” mind than in either of his former disguises.
He had come down to Severntown partly out of curiosity, partly on speculation, with a personal desire to ferret out poor Dibble’s “little game,” and also to run through Avonworth valley, and take a peep at the neighbourhood of Barton Hall. His recent advertising scheme had supplied him with a little ready cash, and he had augmented this at écarté in a recently-established gambling-house, where he was unknown.
In funds, and anxious to make up a sufficient sum to enable him to set up as a gentleman on the Continent, he had waited upon Mr. Richard Tallant under an assumed name, and that gentleman had denied all knowledge of him to his face. He would have no more dealings with his police-hunted friend, and they had parted in anger, Richard Tallant threatening to hand his former companion over to the police as an impostor, and Mr. Gibbs making a vow as he left the high steps of the fine West End house, to be revenged on “this mushroom upstart.”
Defiance and assumption seemed to be the leading features of Richard Tallant’s policy. He defied everybody, he assumed an air of injured dignity upon the slightest reference to his past career, talked of envy, hatred, and malice, almost wept at his father’s name, and gave splendid illustrations of his wealth in noble public subscriptions. Scarcely a list of public donors to any charity that appeared in the Times without Richard Tallant held a place there. He had even astonished the citizens of Severntown lately by suddenly appearing as a subscriber to various local institutions. His father had rarely done as much as this, though Severntown was the capital of the county in which he resided; and people soon began to say that young Tallant was not such a bad fellow after all.
The actions which he had threatened progressed very slowly. Writs had been issued in several cases; but nothing further seemed to have been done. This, however, speedily closed the mouths of other people who might be inclined to say malicious things about the disgraced director of the Eastern Bank. It is astonishing how people shrink before the threat of an action for libel and slander, and it oftentimes happens that those persons who are most ready to talk of vindicating their characters, and who threaten actions for that purpose, are often all that their traducers have said of them. A public man with a tolerably settled conscience, and assured of his own probity, does not trouble himself much about the cavillers who attack him, unless they attempt to undermine his credit: then if he cannot afford to have his credit undermined, he will blaze out at his libeller, and endeavour to put himself right with the world. If he has money enough to stand the undermining principle, he treats it with contempt.
It was so with Richard Tallant: he was not an honest man, and not so rich as he professed to be; and this made it all the more necessary that he should set up for an injured man and a wealthy one. He convinced many people that he was the latter, and they speedily gave him credit for being the former.
And thus it was that he had refused to sully even his memory with a knowledge of Shuffleton Gibbs, who at once in his own way held his head above the plebeian upstart, and thought of his own “gentle blood.”
“I will show the trumpery humbug, whether a Gibbs—the last of his race—shall be scorned for naught by a mushroom iron-dealer. Shuffleton Gibbs snubbed and threatened with the police!—Gibbs, the greatest swell of all Oxford undergraduates, the pride of the river and the forum, the man who drove the best cattle, and gave the most sumptuous dinners! It is certainly going hard with me now, but it shall go harder with Richard Tallant,” and Gibbs smiled sardonically, as he quietly wended his way homewards, and revolved in his mind the notion of visiting Severntown.
Not only was the ex-swell amongst the audience at the beginning of that evening’s entertainment, in which Mr. and Mrs. Dibble figured so prominently, but he remained afterwards, and took a lively interest in “the mysterious lady” whom he applauded loudly.
She was a lively pleasant looking girl, this showman’s daughter, active of limb and nimble of tongue. There was something in her appearance far beyond the ordinary show girl. Then she was young and full of life and buoyancy. She evidently enjoyed the part she played. The wonder and amazement of the younger portion of her audience, and the undisguised admiration with which some of the elder ones contemplated her round little figure, her painted cheeks, and her well-formed arms, gave her a real pleasure. She was slightly coarse in her manners, as the reader has already seen: added to this she was vain, so the applause of the miscellaneous low-bred audiences before whom she performed was agreeable to her; and on the evening in question she was particularly delighted at the marked way in which the nearest approach to a gentleman she had even seen in the Temple, expressed his approval of her tricks and of her personal appearance.
When Christabel brought out those two packs of cards, and shuffled them, and handed them round, and tossed them about, Gibbs’s weak eyes began to sparkle with unwonted fire.
It was quite delightful to see how clever Christabel was with those bits of pasteboard. The audience might cut them as they pleased, and think of what card they liked, she could always present them with the counterfeit of their thoughts. Shuffle them as they might, in two or three cuts she would bring all the suits together: blindfold her, and she could pick out any card that was mentioned. She did twenty clever things with the cards; not the ordinary showman’s tricks—not simply the innocent jokes which mark the sport in drawing-rooms at Christmas time; but genuine clever unaccountable tricks which elicited from Mr. Jefferson Crawley, otherwise Shuffleton Gibbs, frequent exclamations of “bravo, bravo.”
It was not the mere tricks that enraptured Mr. Crawley either; but the dexterous way in which Christabel manipulated the cards and moved any number of them to that part of the pack where it was necessary to her success they should be. Dealing with ordinary players, and with experienced players too, she could evidently turn up almost any card she pleased.
This was the leading thought that cropped up in the mind of Mr. Crawley. He envied the girl her dexterity, her lithe quick fingers, and then he thought what a fortune she might be to any one who could give her an education worthy of her powers.
When the performance was at an end, he waited until the magician emerged from behind the curtain, whereupon he complimented him upon his powers, and desired to be introduced to his wonderful daughter.
The showman with the aliases, looked inquiringly into the face of the gentleman with the same possessions. Gibbs thought he understood the expression.
“I have an interest in a certain exhibition of some importance, sir,” said Gibbs, drawing himself up to his full height and forcing as much assumption of virtuous circumspection into his bleary eyes as possible, “and I have also a very slight acquaintance with a gentleman to whom you directed one Dibble to write requesting a loan.”
“Your humble servant,” said the showman. “Christabel, when you have dressed—this is our last performance to-night, sir,—when you have dressed, here’s a gent wishes to see you.”
Momus hereupon came out to see the “gent,” making her best bow to Gibbs, who took no notice of the “dawg,” but went on talking to the magician.
“Is it only fifty pounds you require for the proposed extension of this exhibition, haw?” said Gibbs.
“No more and no less,” said the showman, giving Momus a friendly kick in the ribs for persisting in forcing her attentions upon a “gent” who seemed studiously to disregard them.
“Well, I think the matter may be arranged. My friend is a close-fisted fellow. I have—haw—only a very slight acquaintance with him; but being in the neighbourhood, I undertook to call on his account; and, between ourselves, I have stayed here—haw—a little on my own. Is there any likelihood of your clever daughter accepting an engagement in a large concern—a permanent affair in town? You see—haw—I am straightforward with you.”
“Well, it aint a question that, as can be answered in a moment. What would be the figure—and could you do anything for me?” said the showman.
At this juncture a boy entered at the side-door with a note in his hand, which note he presented to Mr. Martin.
“Here, Chris—come, come, what a time you are!” said the showman, disappearing behind the curtain, that the wonderful lady might spell out the contents of the letter. She had been taught to read and write in her early days, and she had not much difficulty in making out that her father’s presence was requested immediately, by Mr. Thomas Dibble, at the Railway Tavern.
“Well, then, I must go,” said the showman. “You’ll be careful with this ’ere swell outside, mind, and make no promises—d’ye hear?”
“Yes, father,” said the girl, who was not just at that time on the best of terms with her parent, and colleague in the mystic art, seeing that he had knocked her down on the previous night, and kicked the supper-things over, because she had contradicted him and expressed a determination not to join in the scheme for introducing the Skeleton into their exhibition.
When she came forth Mr. Martin introduced her to the “gent,” and with a precautionary motion of his finger, he left the pair, in answer to Dibble.
“I am delighted of this—haw—opportunity,” said Gibbs, showing his teeth as of old, and trying to look fascinating, “of congratulating you on your ability.”
“Thank you,” said the showman’s daughter, bluntly; “if you aint making fun.”
She looked quite bright and sparkling; she had made a much more careful evening toilette than usual.
“Making fun!” said Gibbs, taking her hand. “I should be more inclined to make love,” he said; “for you certainly are the prettiest girl I have seen this many a day.”
This was quite up to Christabel’s taste—the most delicious bit of flattery she had ever heard.
“I declare positively you have quite made a fool of me—haw—to-night,” he went on, showing his teeth again. “You are not offended at my saying so?”
“Not I,” said Christabel. “What is there to be offended at?”
There was a charcoal stove in the show, and Gibbs drew the young lady of the mystic cups to a seat beside it, and thereupon told her that he had fallen madly in love with her; that he was a gentleman, though a poor one; that if she felt she could love him in return, he would marry her. But she must keep what he had said to her a secret from her father.
Then he dexterously drew from her an account of her life; the story of Dibble’s joining the exhibition; and, above all, an account of the quarrel with her father; and finally, after a lengthened conversation, he escorted her to the little lodging close by, Momus being left to mind the show, after Christabel had duly locked up the side-door, extinguished the light, and let down the platform.
Gibbs was scrupulously attentive and gallant to the girl, and when he left her she promised to give him an answer next day upon the momentous question of elopement and marriage.
It was a rapid courtship this, but cleverly done; and Gibbs, you see, had had a large experience in this way. Christabel was so much impressed that she went up the dirty creaking stairs, and paraded before about twelve inches of looking-glass, by the light of a tallow candle.
Her father, when he returned home that night, was unusually bumptious in his manner towards Christabel, his daughter, and more than usually tipsy. Dibble had obtained a partial promise from Mrs. Dibble that the showman should not want for fifty pounds, and before that, as we have seen, a “gent” had given him similar hopes. Everything was going well with him, and he was independent of everybody; his daughter, too, felt particularly independent that night, and the result was a wordy warfare about the Skeleton.
Christabel hated the sight of the Skeleton, and what was more, she would leave the exhibition if he entered it.
The showman swore that the Skeleton should come into the exhibition, and what was more, by ——, she should marry the Skeleton if she did not mind what she was saying.
This was the greatest bit of tyranny in words which the showman felt he could threaten, and he seemed to gloat over the idea. Yes, she should marry the death’s head and bones, he said, and he chuckled and laughed and thumped the table, and became quite jocular at the bare notion of such a union.
Christabel, however, flamed up in return, and by degrees the showman became terribly angry, and threatened to turn her out of doors.
The end was that Christabel went up-stairs, locked herself in her bedroom, and began to look out her things for packing off the next day. Meanwhile the showman lay down by the fire, went to sleep, and dreamt he was proprietor of a pair of giants, two skeletons, five boa constrictors, and a wax-work museum: that he wore a tiger-skin coat, and walked about smoking a cigar, whilst a brass band beneath a gorgeous display of pictures performed the Conquering Hero, with real gas shining on their music books, and that all he had to do was to wear the tiger-skin coat, smoke thick cigars, and swear at everybody who did not please him.