A light broke upon Mr. Ripple's bewilderment.
"He has discovered some prehistorick relicks. Probably Cinerary Urn, a Lunette or possibly a gold coin of Rome."
In pleasant anticipation, the Beau who was an intimate friend of Mr. Sylvanus Urban, beheld the folded copper-plate illustrating the discovery and the rounded sentences on the opposite page of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ in which the excavations would be carefully recorded by Horace Ripple.
"This must assuage my wrath," he decided by the door of the coffee-room.
To tell the truth, the Beau was on censure bent when he met our hero outside the _Blue Boar_.
Already, that morning, he had alluded to the riotous nocturnal behaviour, the assaults upon the watch, the fusilade of empty bottles, but not being able to descry a single offender, he determined that personal and individual remonstrance would be more efficacious. To the _Blue Boar_ therefore, he went having first exchanged his suit of olive green for one of black sattin unrelieved by silver and terminated by ruffles whose cambrick fell in severe folds and condemnatory lines.
As he stepped from the Great House round the Crescent and along the High Street, he passed in sombre eclipse upon the gaiety of subjects shining with the reflection of his genteel rays.
Presently Mr. Lovely came back still bearing the marks of the potted soil.
"Was it an Urn?"
Mr. Lovely looked surprized.
"A Lachrymatory perhaps? Or a Lunette? Or," Mr. Ripple grew breathless with excitement, "not an Image of AEsculapius?"
"Pray, sir, are you trying to humour a madman? Because on my soul, I don't know what you are driving at."
"So, sir, your late phrenzy was nothing more than the unbridled haste and inconsiderate volition of youthful folly?" sternly demanded the Beau.
"I 'faith, I knocked over one of old Daish's precious pots, and was making haste to remove it from the region of his laments. That's all, and there's my hand on't."
"You will pardon me," replied the Beau drawing back, "I have no objection to shaking a hand stained by honest toil, but I have never shaken a hand sullied by mere zest for uncleanliness."
"As you will, dear Beau," laughed Mr. Lovely.
The Beau was about to point an example to adorn his statement when he was interrupted by the entrance of severe Mrs. Grindle clasping her nose with one hand, and with the other holding at arm's length the offending jacynth by a shred of its roots.
"Mr. Lovely, sir," she began and as our hero pulled forward a chair and the Beau leaned back to listen, she continued, "I have known a cat kitten in one of the maids' beds."
"How very distressing," murmured the Beau letting the firelight play in the diamonds of his rings.
"But never, never," proclaimed Mrs. Grindle swelling like Mr. Handel's _Largo_, "have I known a young gentleman want to turn his bachelor bed into a ploughed field. Mr. Lovely, sir, I'll trouble you to say if this is your planting or did you wish to insinuate that your bed was not made this morning?"
"Mrs. Grindle, madam," replied the accused, "you have heard of beds and you have heard of garden-beds. Mine is a garden-bed. A Parterre impromptu, a Landskip in miniature, a Bucolick of slumber, a dimity Eclogue. In a word--but pray, Mrs. Grindle, my dear Mrs. Grindle, out of regard for me rehabilitate that jacynth without a word to Mr. Daish, and I, out of regard for you, will certainly pay for the washing of the bedspread."
Mr. Lovely smiled so very engagingly and looked so completely innocent of any desire to insinuate anything except Mrs. Grindle's good-nature that the housekeeper gave way, condescended to smile and, as she retired, threw a quick glance in the direction of a mirrour to notice the angle of her snowy cap.
Having reduced Mrs. Grindle to affableness, Mr. Lovely turned his smile towards the Beau. The latter had watched with much satisfaction the progress of his favourite's negociations, thinking to himself that a man who could circumvent such a dragon as the housekeeper would be very well able to keep in order the most self-assertive of Duchesses. He began to relent his indignation and, as Lovely smiled at him, to see in his late impetuousness no more than the natural activity of a jolly young man. Moreover, for a certain reason, he had a genuine affection for the rogue, and was glad to perceive his high spirits.
"I came here this morning in the hope of a serious conversation with some of your friends. Are they--are they in the--er--taproom?"
"They're all gone after maids."
"Tut, tut, I wish I could make it plain that Curtain Wells exists for the continence, not the encouragement of appetites."
"You must blame the sun, dear Beau."
"In view of the many pleasant hours I have spent basking in the warmth, I should not presume to do anything so ungrateful. But I will remark that the Sun in his human guises is not to be considered a beneficial example to young men at a stage in the history of mankind when maidens are no longer able to transform themselves into umbrageous laurels, thus rendering impertinent and inconvenient what at first seemed appropriate and inevitable. I allude, sir, to the legend of Apollo and Madam Daphne. However, my dear Charles--" here the Beau laid three tapered jewelled fingers upon the extremity of Mr. Lovely's left shoulder.
"You overwhelm me, sir, with your condescension. The omission of the surname by Beau Ripple, is the bestowal of a title."
"Very well put, Charles," said the older man contentedly. "'Fore Gad! you do me credit. Snuff, sir?"
Charles (we may follow the lead of Mr. Ripple) was now veritably astonished. Never could he recall such an instance of the Beau's condescension towards a man of his years; and he dipped his fingers into the proffered snuff-box with greater bashfulness than he would have displayed towards the powder-box of Titania.
"However, though the rest of our young gentlemen are--after maids," the Beau stumbled over the crudity of the phrase, "I am happy to see that you are engrossed by the seemlier pastime of horticulture." Was it fancy or did Charles really see his mentor blow a tuft of swansdown from his cuff? "I wish," the latter went on, "to remonstrate with you on the indecorous character of your midnight entertainments. Owls, under providence, are allowed to shriek and hoot after sundown, but there seems no reason for extending to men the privilege accorded by a Divine Creator to owls. In short, Mr. Lovely, there has been the--there has been an atrocious hurly-burly in this house every night of late. Pray do not interrupt me," he added as Charles made a protesting movement. "I have the fullest Data for my general observations."
"Youth, dear Beau, hot-headed, open-handed Youth."
"Yes, yes, I know something of Youth's anatomy from a personal experience of the happy state, but Youth, Mr. Lovely, is a mighty inadequate justification for a circular scar on the forehead of one of our most respected and silver-tongued watchmen--a scar inflicted by the unconsumed but necessary concomitant of a quart of Burgundy."
"It was an accident, sir, young Tom Chalkley of the Foot----"
"I have observed, Mr. Lovely, that if one of these missiles happens to strike the body against which it is aimed the result is invariably an accident whereas if the missile goes wide of the mark it is a d----d poor shot. But it cannot go on, Mr. Lovely. It shall not go on. The residents acting in conjunction with the visitors reserve the right to expel summarily any person who causes publick offence, and I, as their accredited representative, should be in the highest degree culpable if I allowed it to go on. Consequently, my dear Charles, I appeal to you as to one possessed of some influence over the more violent spirits, to do all in your power of persuasion to prevent it from going on."
Now as the successful quart bottle had been thrown by our hero, and as he was usually the chief agent in promoting a disturbance, it is evident that Mr. Ripple secured his unparalleled authority as much by tact as by severity.
"Dear Beau, you shall be obliged," said Charles, "and now pray tell me who wears a white swansdown tippet and lives hard by the Great House."
"I am not accustomed to observe the minor variations in feminine costume," answered Mr. Ripple with some austerity.
"Nay! But a hermit froze to his psalter must have noticed her," protested the younger man.
"The analogy is incomplete."
"I shall be at the Assembly on Monday night."
"You could not be more worthily employed."
"And I shall effect an introduction under your patronage."
"That very much depends."
"On my good behaviour?" asked Charles.
"On the immunity of my watchmen from further assaults."
"Dear Beau, we are all targets of a--" he hesitated, "of a dimpled nudity or an empty bottle. Love and a bottle, there's the world."
"The flesh, I think, sir."
"I 'faith, Satan must have a fine sieve if he can separate the pair."
"I am no theologian."
"Then you'll present me?" persisted Charles.
"You will protect my watchmen?" demanded the Beau.
"On Monday night?" urged Charles.