_Louisa._ Pray, dear mother----

_Farm._ She will. (_Calls behind the scenes._) Here, waiter! hostler!

driver! what's your name? drive the chaise up here to the door, smart, close. Lean on my arm, madam, and we'll have you in and home in a whiff.

(_Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, Farmer, Landlord, and Waiter._)

_Landlady_ (_sola_). What a noise and a rout this farmer man makes! and my husband, with his great broad face, bowing, as great a nincomp.o.o.p as t'other. The folks are all bewitched with the old woman, I verily believe. (_Aloud._) A good morning to you, ladies.

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

_A field near Eton College;--several boys crossing backwards and forwards in the background. In front,_ TALBOT, WHEELER, LORD JOHN _and_ BURSAL.

_Talbot._ Fair play, Wheeler! Have at 'em, my boy! There they stand, fair game! There's Bursal there, with his _dead_ forty-five votes at command; and Lord John with his--how many live friends?

_Lord John_ (_coolly_). Sir, I have fifty-six friends, I believe.

_Talb._ Fifty-six friends, his lordship believes--Wheeler inclusive no doubt.

_Lord J._ That's as hereafter may be.

_Wheeler._ Hereafter! Oh, fie, my _lud_! You know your own Wheeler has, from the first minute he ever saw you, been your fast friend.

_Talb._ Your fast friend from the first minute he ever saw you, my lord!

That's well hit, Wheeler; stick to that; stick fast. Fifty-six friends, Wheeler _in_clusive, hey, my lord! hey, my _lud_!

_Lord J._ Talbot _ex_clusive, I find, contrary to my expectations.

_Talb._ Ay, contrary to your expectations, you find that Talbot is not a dog that will lick the dust: but then there's enough of the true spaniel breed to be had for whistling for; hey, Wheeler?

_Bursal_ (_aside to Wheeler_). A pretty electioneerer. So much the better for you, Wheeler. Why, unless he bought a vote, he'd never win one, if he talked from this to the day of judgment.

_Wheeler_ (_aside to Bursal_). And as he has no money to buy votes--he!

he! he!--we are safe enough.

_Talb._ That's well done, Wheeler; fight the by-battle there with Bursal, now you are sure of the main with Lord John.

_Lord J._ Sure! I never made Mr. Wheeler any promise yet.

_Wheel._ Oh, I ask no promise from his lordship; we are upon honour: I trust entirely to his lordship's good nature and generosity, and to his regard for his own family; I having the honour, though distantly, to be related.

_Lord J._ Related! How, Wheeler?

_Wheel._ Connected, I mean, which is next door, as I may say, to being related. Related slipped out by mistake; I beg pardon, my Lord John.

_Lord J._ Related!--a strange mistake, Wheeler.

_Talb._ Overshot yourself, Wheeler; overshot yourself, by all that's awkward. And yet, till now, I always took you for '_a dead-shot at a yellow-hammer_.'[9]

[9] Young n.o.blemen at Oxford wear yellow tufts at the tops of their caps. Hence their flatterers are said to be dead-shots at yellow-hammers.

_Wheel._ (_taking Bursal by the arm_). Bursal, a word with you. (_Aside to Bursal._) What a lump of family pride that Lord John is.

_Talb._ Keep out of my hearing, Wheeler, lest I should spoil sport. But never fear: you'll please Bursal sooner than I shall. I can't, for the soul of me, bring myself to say that Bursal's not purse-proud, and you can. Give you joy.

_Burs._ A choice electioneerer!--ha! ha! ha!

_Wheel._ (_faintly_). He! he! he!--a choice electioneerer, as you say.

(_Exeunt Wheeler and Bursal; manent Lord J. and Talbot._)

_Lord J._ There was a time, Talbot----

_Talb._ There was a time, my lord--to save trouble and a long explanation--there was a time when you liked Talbots better than spaniels; you understand me?

_Lord J._ I have found it very difficult to understand you of late, Mr.

Talbot.

_Talb._ Yes, because you have used other people's understandings instead of your own. Be yourself, my lord. See with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears, and then you'll find me still, what I've been these seven years; not your under-strapper, your hanger-on, your flatterer, but your friend! If you choose to have me for a friend, here's my hand. I am your friend, and you'll not find a better.

_Lord J._ (_giving his hand_). You are a strange fellow, Talbot; I thought I never could have forgiven you for what you said last night.

_Talb._ What? for I don't keep a register of my sayings. Oh, it was something about gaming--Wheeler was flattering your taste for it, and he put me into a pa.s.sion--I forget what I said. But, whatever it was, I'm sure it was well meant, and I believe it was well said.

_Lord J._ But you laugh at me sometimes to my face.

_Talb._ Would you rather I should laugh at you behind your back?

_Lord J._ But of all things in the world I hate to be laughed at. Listen to me, and don't fumble in your pockets while I'm talking to you.

_Talb._ I'm fumbling for--oh, here it is. Now, Lord John, I once did laugh at you behind your back, and what's droll enough, it was _at_ your back I laughed. Here's a caricature I drew of you--I really am sorry I did it; but 'tis best to show it to you myself.

_Lord J._ (_aside_). It is all I can do to forgive this. (_After a pause, he tears the paper._) I have heard of this caricature before; but I did not expect, Talbot, that you would come and show it to me yourself, Talbot, so handsomely, especially at such a time as this.

Wheeler might well say you are a bad electioneerer.

_Talb._ Oh, hang it! I forgot my election, and your fifty-six friends.

_Enter_ RORY O'RYAN.

_Rory_ (_claps Talbot on the back_). Fifty-six friends, have you, Talbot? Say seven--fifty-seven, I mean; for I'll lay you a wager, you've forgot me; and that's a shame for you, too; for out of the whole posse-comitatus entirely now, you have not a stauncher friend than poor little Rory O'Ryan. And a good right he has to befriend you; for you stood by him when many who ought to have known better were hunting him down for a wild Irishman. Now that same wild Irishman has as much grat.i.tude in him as any tame Englishman of them all. But don't let's be talking s_i_ntim_i_nt; for, for my share I'd not give a bogberry a bushel for s_i_ntim_i_nt, when I could get anything better.

_Lord J._ And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be?

_Rory._ Phoo! don't be playing the innocent, now. Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my l_a_rd) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it? (_Turns to Talbot._) But what are ye standing idling here for? Sure, there's Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canva.s.sing out yonder at a terrible fine rate. And haven't I been huzzaing for you there till I'm hoa.r.s.e? So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice--(_sucks an orange_). I am a _thoroughgoing_ friend, at any rate.