The Story of Antony Grace

I wouldn’t have cared if they could have sat still and talked rationally; but this they did not do, for every now and then they turned to look in each other’s faces, with the same weak, half-imbecile smile, – after which Mary would cast down her eyes and look conscious, while Revitts turned round and smiled at me, finishing off with a nudge in my side.

At times, too, he had spasmodic fits of silent laughter – silent, except that they commenced with a loud chuckle, which he summarily stifled and took into custody by clapping his great hand over his mouth. There were intervals of relief, though; for when, from his coign of vantage, poor Bill saw one of his fraternity on ahead – revealed to him, perhaps, by a ray of sunshine flashing from the shiny top of his hat – for, of course, this was long before the days of helmets – the weak, amiable look was chased off his face by the official mask, and, as a sergeant, though of a different division, Revitts felt himself bound to stare very hard at the police-constable, and frown severely.

At first I thought it was foolish pride on my part, that I was being spoiled by Miss Carr, and that I was extra sensitive about my friends; but I was not long in awakening to the fact that they were the objects of ridicule to all upon the omnibus.

The first thing I noticed was, that the conductor and driver exchanged a wink and a grin, which were repeated several times between Piccadilly and Kensington, to the great amusement of several of the passengers. Then began a little mild chaff, sprinkled by the driver, who started with —

“I say, Joey, when are you going to be married?”

“Married? oh, I dunno. I’ve tried it on sev’ral times, but the parsons is all too busy.”

The innocent fit was on Revitts just then, and he favoured Mary and me with a left and right nudge.

“Do adone, William,” whispered Mrs Sergeant; and he grinned hugely.

“Shall you take a public, Joey, when you do it?” said the driver, leaning back for another shot.

“Lor’, no; it won’t run to a public, old man,” was the reply. “We was thinking of the green and tater line, with a cellar under, and best Wallsend one and six.”

I could feel that this was all meant for the newly wedded couple, and sat with flaming cheeks. “See that there wedding in Pickydilly, last week, Bill?” Revitts pricked up his ears, and was about to speak, but the driver turned half round, and shouted —

“What, where they’d got straw laid down, and the knocker tied up in a white kid glove?”

“No-o-o!” shouted the conductor. “That wasn’t it. I mean clost ter’ Arfmoon Street, when they was just going off.”

“Oh, ah, yes; I remember now.”

“See the old buffer shy the shoe outer the front winder?”

“No-o-o!”

“He did, and it ’it one o’ the post-boys slap in the eye. Old boy had been having too much champagne.”

“Did it though?”

“Yes. I say, Bill.”

“Hal-low!”

“It’s the right card to have champagne on your wedding morning, ain’t it?”

“Ah! some people stands it quite lib’ral like, if they’re nobs; them as ain’t, draws it old and mild.”

I had another nudge from Revitts just then, and sat feeling as if I should like to jump down and run away.

“Drop o’ Smith’s cool out o’ the cellar wouldn’t be amiss, Joey, would it?”

“No, old man. I wish we could fall across a wedding-party.”

A passenger or two were picked up, and we went on in peace for a little while: but the chaffing was commenced again, and kept up to such an extent that I longed for the journey to be at an end.

“’Member Jack Jones?” said the driver.

“Ah! what about him?” said the conductor.

“He went and got married last year.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Who did he marry?”

“That there Mrs Simmons as kep’ the ‘Queen’s Arms’ at Tunnum Green.”

“Ah!”

“Nice job he made of it.”

“Did he?”

“Yes; he thought she was a widder.”

“Well, warn’t she?”

“No; she turned out a big-a-mee; and one day her fust husban’ comes back from ’Stralia, and kicks Jack Jones out, and takes his place; and when Jack ’peals against it, Mrs Simmons says it was all a mistake.”

“That was warm for Jack, wasn’t it?”

“Hot, I say.”

“Well,” said the conductor; “when I makes up my mind again, and the parsons ain’t so busy, I shall have the missus cross-examined.”

“What for, Joey?”

“So as to see as she ain’t a big-a-mee.”

Revitts, who was drinking all this in, looked very serious here, as if the conversation was tending towards official matters. Perhaps it occurred to him that he had not cross-examined Mary before he was married; but he began to smile again soon after, for the conductor took a very battered old copper key-bugle from a basket on the roof, and, after a few preliminary toots, began to rattle off “The Wedding-Day.” The driver shook the reins, the four horses broke into a canter, and as we swept past the green hedgerows and market-gardens, with here and there a pretty villa, I began to enjoy the ride, longing all the same, though, for Revitts and Mary to begin to talk, instead of smiling at each other in such a horribly happy way, and indulging in what was meant for a secret squeeze of the hand, but which was, however, generally seen by half the passengers.

The air coming to an end, and the bugle being duly drained, wiped, and returned to its basket, the driver turned his head again:

“Nice toon that, Joey.”

“Like it?”

“Ah, I was going to say ‘hangcore,’ on’y we’re so clost to Richmond. What was it – ‘Weddin’ Day’?”

“That’s right, old man.”