JACK BRAG.

VOL. II.

LONDON: PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

JACK BRAG.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

“SAYINGS AND DOINGS,”—“MAXWELL,” &c.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1837.

[Pg 1]

JACK BRAG.

CHAPTER I.

Having given the reader a brief and succinct account of the prosperous progress of Mr. Brown, and deposited him in safety with his mother and sister, it now becomes necessary to give a glance at our hero Jack, and the measures he adopted under the peculiar and embarrassing circumstance of being accepted by two very charming women in the course of one afternoon.

For a few moments after the arrival of the second note—that from Blanche—the little man was greatly puzzled how to act. That the answers to his declarations were jokes he had not the slightest suspicion, and therefore his difficulty arose from the necessity of at once making up his mind. Unlike Gay’s hero, [Pg 2]he felt that he must say “a word” to both his captives: in fact, he was forced on the instant to decide, yea or nay—widow or maid. This was really a puzzler even for Jack, who scratched his hair half out of curl before he had got near a conclusion. At length he determined to postpone the éclaircissement until the evening, and in the mean time to throw himself in the way of Sir Charles Lydiard, in order, if he could, to extract from him his opinion of the widow’s merits, and ascertain, if possible, the extent of his anger and vengeance if Jack should make her his choice.

For this purpose Jack began what he called his tour of the Clubs—but, in truth, that of their doors—for Jack had not as yet achieved the right of crossing the threshold of any one of them. Nevertheless, he was not an unfrequent occupant of their halls, into which, by asking after some man whom he knew to be out of town, or who did not belong to that particular society, he made his way; and having performed that evolution once or twice, without, or, as he considered, with, perfect success, he at length encountered [Pg 3]Sir Charles, and immediately joined him in his walk towards Grosvenor Street.

In one of those amusing and instructive works upon natural history, in which we find recorded the traits of character peculiar to different animals, there is an account of a goose which had formed so strong an attachment to a Newfoundland dog belonging to the same master, that she never was easy out of his society. Neptune was conscious of this kindly feeling, and reciprocated it to a certain extent; and whenever they were together in the yard, he feeding, and goosey looking affectionately on, or vice versâ, it was all very well; but when Neptune took the air in the street of the village or by the road-side, or went to refresh himself in a neighbouring pond, goosey would accompany him. Then it was too, that, after enduring the waddle and quack of his admiring companion for a certain period of time, Neptune invariably, as soon as he saw any dogs of condition or puppies of quality coming, put himself into a long trot, and dart round a corner or over a gate, in order to exhibit his dislike of the connexion. [Pg 4]Sir Charles Lydiard felt very much like dog

Neptune, when goosey Brag joined him: however, as it was impossible, without rudeness perfectly inconsistent with Sir Charles’s character and disposition, to shake him off, he endured the commencement of a conversation, which in the end excited the best feelings of his nature, and awakened in his heart the tenderest sympathy for a much-injured friend.

As the reader will hereafter be referred to this important dialogue, he shall not be troubled with a repetition of it, here: that it was important may easily be imagined from the fact, that when Sir Charles reached the door of his hotel he invited Brag to come in, and that they remained in conversation in his drawing-room for more than an hour.

The impression left upon Jack’s mind by what he had heard from his “friend” Sir Charles was, that the loss of the widow would neither cause the breaking of the baronet’s heart nor of his own head; and he was, as the reader may imagine, proportionably elated and elevated, and more particularly confirmed in his [Pg 5]original intentions respecting his choice of that lady.

Jack felt as if he were treading on air as he paced down Bond Street to call on some other friend, in order to make a new confidence, no doubt; however, the Fates decided otherwise, for, in turning the corner of Hanover Square, whom should he stumble upon, but Rushton!—a meeting which, as he had magnanimously determined to leave him in the quiet possession of the elegant Blanche, rather pleased him than not. Rushton, whose “affection” for Jack was, if possible, stronger than that of Sir Charles Lydiard, made a desperate attempt to get away from him, not only because upon a general principle he wished to avoid him, but because the impression on his mind was, that ridiculous as the idea might at first appear, he actually was the creature for whom Blanche had withdrawn her affections from him, and that if they had much conversation, his temper would get the better of the prudence he meant to adopt until his suspicions were confirmed, and that he might resort to the expedient of kicking [Pg 6]Jack somewhat prematurely. The rencontre was, however, inevitable.

“On your way to the ladies, I presume,” said Rushton.

“No,” said Jack, “not till the evening; I suppose we shall meet.”

“Perhaps not,” said Rushton, to whom Jack’s air and manner appeared peculiarly pert and vulgar,—and he passed on. Jack turned and kept up with him.

“Strange creatures, the females!” said Jack, perking up his head and smirking.

“They are, indeed!” said Rushton, as the thought of Blanche’s affection for the burr which was sticking to him, flashed across his mind.

“’Gad, Rushton,” said Jack—(Rushton shuddered at the familiarity)—“wonders will never cease!—you are a happy man, with such a creature as Blanche Englefield your own.”

“That’s a sore subject,” said Rushton, “and we had better not touch it. I know you are an admirable joker,—but jokes, especially practical ones, not unfrequently turn out ill.”

[Pg 7]

“I know what you are up to,” said Jack:—“down upon you in half no time, smack, smooth, and no mistake.”

“I dare say you may comprehend my meaning,” said Rushton; “but I repeat, that if you do, my present feelings are not to be trifled with; and if you do not, this is neither the time nor place to enlighten you.”

“Don’t put yourself in a passion,” said Jack; “you never were more mistaken in your life.”

“Upon what point?” said Rushton.

“About Blanche,” replied Brag.

“Really, sir,” said Rushton, “you are treading upon very delicate ground. You have entrapped me into a conversation which it was my particular wish and desire to avoid in the present state of affairs; but you have now led me to a point at which I cannot stop. You have alluded to a young lady in the most familiar manner, who, in my opinion, has been exceedingly civil to you, and I really do consider, under the circumstances in which I am [Pg 8]placed, I ought to know exactly the character of your intimacy with her.”

“I shouldn’t wonder!” said Jack: “it only shows how the longest heads may be puzzled. You’ll find out all how and about it, before to-morrow—eh!—are you awake?”

“Awake!—I am,” said Rushton, “yet I seem to be dreaming. Do you then admit that your acquaintance with Miss Englefield, whom you so unceremoniously call Blanche, is so near its favourable termination?”

“My dear Mr. Rushton,” said Brag, “you are safe—at least, as far as I am concerned: there are more horses in the stable than one—eh!—are you awake now? No? I’ll put you out of your pain then—I hate to be cruel;—never am, even to dumb animals, except when I want ’em to stir their stumps a bit. No, no: if anybody in the house has cause for jealousy, it isn’t you. Will that do for you—eh?”

“What!” said Rushton, “am I to understand that Mrs. Dallington——”

“Mum!” said Brag, bursting to proclaim [Pg 9]his wonderful success—“dumb as a Dutchman:—the widow’s the winner, fifty to one.”

“You are joking!” said Rushton.

“Not I,” said Jack:—“thing settled, snug—smack smooth, and no mistake. I know you don’t half like Sir Charles. I’ll settle his affair: I speak, of course, in confidence—but so it is:—the thing is what the French call a finny affair.”

“Surely, this never can be!” said Rushton. “What! after all the declarations I have heard her make—all her regrets that his coldness of manner so much damped her natural affection for him: after——”

“Lord bless your heart!” said Brag, “there’s no accounting for females—weathercocks—eh!”

“I cannot comprehend it,” said Rushton: “even had—”

“Do you believe it?” said Brag.

“You say it, Mr. Brag,” said Rushton;—“it must be so.”

“I’ll do more,” said Jack: “we are both [Pg 10]in the same boat, and shall be near connexions.”

“Yes,” said Rushton, in a tone not expressive of the feelings which the anticipation really excited, “so we shall;—well?”

“Well then,” said Jack, “you must keep the secret:—when a female is concerned, a man ought to be as still as a dead horse. I’ll show you her own note,—in course, not a word to anybody.”

Saying which, he took out his pocket-book, and selected with more than ordinary care the widow’s favourable billet. Rushton would have seized it, such was his anxiety to convince himself of the truth of his companion’s statement, but Jack would not part with it. Rushton saw it was her writing, and read enough to satisfy himself not only that it was a genuine document, but actually the identical letter which he had seen her despatch in the presence of Sir Charles Lydiard and himself—a fact which, however much it might relieve him from all apprehension of Brag’s further interference with his proceedings, was in an [Pg 11]instant coupled in his mind with the circumstance of Blanche having upon the same occasion also sent off a hateful three-cornered note to somebody else. How subtle are the workings of a jealous mind!—one evil overcome, up starts another: one doubt is removed only to make room for its instant successor.

“You see what she says,” said Brag. “What d’ye think of Sir Charles now—eh?—he hasn’t been awake! That, I think, is a finisher for him. I shouldn’t have shown you this, but I know—I am sure, you thought I was beating about after Blanche—and fancied that she—eh?”

“I fancy nothing now,” said Rushton—“Blanche is all faith and truth!”—(“Umph!” said Brag, dying, but not daring, to show her up too.)—“But Mrs. Dallington,” continued he—“well! I have often told Lydiard that he was taking it too easy, and too calmly, and all the return I got was his reproach for being too hasty and too exigeant in my demands upon the reason and consistency of women in general. I knew what would happen.”

[Pg 12]

“Was that since I became acquainted with her?” said Brag.

“Long before,” said Rushton: “and as for Blanche,” continued he, still ‘harping’ upon the letter, “mild and amiable as she is, I dare say even she deceives me sometimes.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jack, looking excessively cunning.

“You are a comforter to a doubting man,” said Rushton.

“Well, good-bye!” said Jack. “In course, you’ll take no notice of what I have said. I think we had better have the double marriage the same day—eh! Mrs. Dallington Brag will sound well. I think I shall startle Lord Tom:—so, mum! as I say:—keep my counsel, and it will all come off smack smooth, right up, straight down, and no mistake!”

Saying which, Brag quitted his wondering companion at the top of Harley Street, to which this dialogue had extended their walk; and darted across the New road to a livery stable, where two or three of his horses, which did not belong to him, were standing at livery.

[Pg 13]

Rushton’s feelings were considerably excited by the disclosure which his companion had made. His indignation was roused by the assurance and vanity of the coxcomb, ready to sacrifice the character of a woman who had owned her affection for him, to the gratification of boasting of her good opinion; while his sympathy was seriously awakened for Sir Charles Lydiard. That he had been, as he had long suspected, made the dupe of a heartless woman, was now a fact incontrovertibly established; and Rushton considered it his duty to Sir Charles, for whom, however uncongenial their characters and opposed their dispositions might be, he could not fail to entertain a high respect and esteem, to make him acquainted with what he had heard from Brag,—or rather, which was most convincing, that which he had seen in his possession, in order that he might spare himself the needless mortification of receiving a formal dismissal from the widow, as well as to rescue him from a further continuance of a system of hypocrisy and deception, for which, although it was impossible

[Pg 14]not to admit it, it was most difficult reasonably to account.

Naturally enough, these considerations upon Sir Charles Lydiard’s affair led to some reflections upon his own. Blanche, the gentle and the mild, was the sister of the woman who had conducted herself with such heartless levity and indelicate duplicity—not only her sister, but her constant associate—her confidante, no doubt. The last pert toss of Brag’s empty head had its weight in these calculations: it was most unquestionably to be inferred that there was no great difference between the conduct or character of the two sisters. But what was a hint or innuendo from such a person? Nothing!—unless backed up and corroborated by testimony so convincing as that which he had afforded of the widow’s levity and fickleness.

Rushton’s thoughts, however, still rested on Sir Charles Lydiard. A little more reflection upon the matter strengthened him in his first intention, of imparting all he knew to the worthy baronet—an intention which he more particularly [Pg 15]determined to put in practice, inasmuch as a communication between them might elicit something beneficial to both.

Accordingly Rushton proceeded to the hotel at which Sir Charles was living, and found him at home and alone. When he entered the room where he was sitting, he was sensibly struck by an unusual embarrassment in his manner, and a kind of affectionate air in his reception of him. Rushton felt assured that he knew the worst. They sat down; but the difficulty which Rushton naturally experienced in opening the subject uppermost in his mind, was increased by the evident agitation of the baronet. A few commonplace observations, and questions about riding, or walking, or dining, were soon exhausted. At length Rushton asked his friend if he should be at Mrs. Dallington’s during the day or evening.

“I think I shall go there in the evening,” said Sir Charles, and his voice faltered:—a pause ensued.

“Have you heard from either of the ladies this morning?” asked Rushton.

[Pg 16]

“No,” replied Lydiard, looking earnestly at his friend—“have you?”

“Not I,” said Rushton—and then came another pause. “What extraordinary creatures women are!”

“They are indeed, Rushton,” said Sir Charles. “Pray, have you happened to meet that most odious of persons, Mr. Brag, in the course of your walk or ride to-day?”

“I have,” said Rushton, in a tone much more serious than the subject seemed to require, at the same time fixing his eyes steadily upon the unhappy victim before him.

“He is extremely popular with the women,” said Sir Charles, “which strikes me as one of the strongest proofs of the impossibility of comprehending the nature of their minds and tastes.”

“It does seem curious,” said Rushton, “that anything so vain and so vulgar should have the power to induce women of sense, education, rank, and character, to forfeit all claims to respect and esteem by favouring his pretensions.”

[Pg 17]

“Pray, Rushton, did the fellow make any communication to you?” asked Sir Charles.

“Upon what subject?” said Rushton.

“A very tender and important one,” replied the baronet: “indeed, if you had not called, I should have endeavoured to find you before dinner, to have spoken to you upon it.”

“Why, he certainly did say something,” said Rushton,—“and that something was very important.”

“Did he show you a letter?” said Sir Charles.

“He did,” replied Rushton.

“Well, then, we can speak without further disguise,” said Sir Charles;—“were you not thunder-stricken?”

“It merely confirmed me in my often repeated opinion,—that we know nothing of women,” said Rushton.

“You have often told me you thought there was something of the sort going on between them,” said Sir Charles; “but I take matters so much more coolly than you do, that, I confess, it appeared to me little else than the common [Pg 18]badinage in which a pretty woman dearly loves to engage.”

“Ah! Sir Charles,” said Rushton, “it is that very coolness of which you boast that has done all the mischief.”

“I don’t exactly see that,” said Sir Charles. “You will find that I shall bring my young widow into perfect subjection, more especially after this adventure of the chattering Brag.”

“After!” said Rushton—“why, my dear Sir Charles, what on earth do you mean? That after the exposure of falsehood and flightiness, delusion and deception, which this fellow has had the good fortune to excite, and has now the vanity to exhibit in the public streets, you would marry Mrs. Dallington, if you could?”

“My dear friend, why not?” said the baronet. “I may, and do, feel deeply for all the results which you enumerate, and agree with you in your surprise that such results should have occurred: it seems perfectly miraculous!—but, however much I may sympathize with [Pg 19]you, there can be no reason why I should give up Mrs. Dallington.”

“Did you read the letter Brag received?” said Rushton.

“I did,” replied Sir Charles, “twice over—and, I assure you, was exceedingly shocked and amazed.”

“My dear Sir Charles,” exclaimed Rushton, “are you made of ice?—‘exceedingly shocked!’ is that a phrase consistent with the discovery of such a proof of infidelity as this?”

“What can I say more, Rushton!” said Sir Charles. “You must feel the blow most severely, especially with your vivid imagination and excessive sensibility; but for me, I have only to thank my stars that my fair widow is still my own.”

“Your own!” cried Rushton:—“what! after she has accepted Brag!”

“She accept Brag!” said the baronet, opening his eyes rather wider than usual—“no, no—that would be rather too much of a joke!”

“Why, she has accepted him!” said Rushton, dashing his hand on the table.

[Pg 20]

“In your circumstances, Frank,” said Sir Charles, “one would not venture to suspect a joke:—but, whatever may have been the indiscretions of the meek and modest Miss Englefield, Mrs. Dallington has, I flatter myself, too much good sense to be betrayed into any such absurdity.”

“Why, you told me you had seen the letter,” said Rushton.

“So I have,” replied Sir Charles, “but most assuredly no letter of her’s.”

“Whose then?” exclaimed Frank.

“Why,” said Sir Charles, “Blanche’s letter.”

“Letter to whom?” cried Rushton, starting from his chair.

“To her accepted lover, Brag,” replied the baronet.

“Her lover!” cried, or rather screamed, the infuriate Rushton. “My dear friend, what do you mean?—what does it all mean?”