Then the Countess rose and smiled upon Mr. Bumpkin, and said she hoped he wouldn’t mind; her sister was of such a playful disposition.
The playful one here just touched Mr. Bumpkin under the chin with her forefinger, and again said he was a “_perfect duck_!”
“What be the manin’ o’ this?” said he. “I be off; come on, sir. This be quite enough for I.”
“Don’t go like that,” said Lady Flora. “Oh, dear, dear, what a cruel man!”
“Not a glass of wine,” said the Countess.
“Not one, Mr. Bumpkin!” urged Lady Flora.
Mr. Bumpkin had risen, and was angry: he was startled at his name being known: he looked to Horatio, hoping some explanation might come; but the pale youth had his back to him, and was preparing to leave the Hall. There were many curious eyes looking at them, and there was much laughter. Mr. Bumpkin’s appearance would alone have been sufficient to cause this: but his mind was to be farther enlightened as to the meaning of this extraordinary scene; and it happened in this wise. As he was proceeding between the rows of people, followed closely by those illustrious members of the aristocracy, the Countess and Lady Flora; while the waiters grinned and the people laughed, his eye caught sight of an object away over the front seat, which formed a right angle with the one he had been occupying; it was an object unattractive in itself but which, under the circumstances, fixed and riveted his attention; that object was Snooks, in the corner of the third row, with his sawpit mouth on the broadest grin.
Who shall describe the feelings of joy which animated the breast of Mr. Bumpkin when at last, with the suddenness of lightning, Mr. Prigg’s clerk flashed into his little parlour the intelligence, “Case in paper; be at Court by ten o’clock; Bail Court.” Such was the telegram which Mr. Bumpkin got his landlady to read on that pleasant evening towards the end of July. The far-seeing Prigg was right. It would come on about the end of July. That is what he had predicted. But it would not have been safe for Mr. Bumpkin to be away from town for a single day. It might have been in the paper at any moment; and here it was, just as he was beginning to get tired of “Camden Town and the whole thing.”