CHAPTER VII.

THE GOLDTRAP ARMS; OR, TROTTING HIM OUT.

USED as our friend Tom Scott is to the solitude of his own chair, still there was such an utter unhomishness in the solitude of the Goldtrap Arms, that he could not compose himself to his accustomed nap after dinner. He was so vexed with the nice little French dish, and also with a great Yorkshire pudding of an omelette that followed, that he would not listen to his host's advice about a bottle of curious old port, that "Sir Digby greatly commended." He therefore had some hot water and sugar, and took his revenge on the bad sherry by making it into negus before Cake's face; -the most practical reproof that can be given an innkeeper.

The musical cuckoo clock struck seven as the hot water came in, hinting by its provoking monotony what a long weary evening it would be.

Who would keep a cuckoo clock that didn't wish to be driven mad?

This was the slowest, prosiest, most unlike a cuckoo, cuckoo clock that ever was heard. not seem to travel above four miles an hour.

It did

First

it began with a shivering sort of jingle among the works as if they were all loose together, and were in a devil of a hurry to be off; then came a jingling tune, followed by a clap caused by the opening of the wooden shutters, through which the stupid bird emerged on to its board, shouldering its wings, and beginning "Cuckoo!" "Cuckoo!" "Cuckoo!" "Cuckoo!" at intervals of a couple of seconds; so that what with the tune, the noise, the notes, and the striking, the clock was scarcely ever quiet,—a perfect nuisance.

Finding he couldn't sleep, Tom began to exercise himself about the little room. Below the portrait of Mr. Cake hung some book-shelves, containing the usual miscellaneous selection, or rather collection, of an inn library three old copies of "Boyle's Court Guide," "Drysdale's Sermons," many numbers of the "World of Fashion," a monthly magazine of the courts of London and Paris, "Le Cuisinier Royal, ou, l'Art de Faire la Cuisine," "History of New York," "The Courser's Companion," two volumes of the "Gentleman's Magazine," a well-thumbed "Baronetage," and an old "Post Office Directory."

"What dissatisfied mortals men are, to be sure," mused Tom. "Last night, and the night before, I was grumbling and growling (to myself) at the bother of company, and the long-winded stories and hunting eloquence of my noble host, whereas to-night I am fit to cut my throat for want of somebody

to speak to. What creatures of impulse we are, too," continued he, adjusting himself in an uneasy easy chair before the fire, and cocking a foot on each hob. Only last Saturday I fully determined to go over to Snailswell, and make the long-delayed offer to Liddey, instead of which I am first tempted to Dawdle Court, and now, of my own voluntary free will, have come on this wild-goose chase to Sludgington, to be bored with the monotony of a cuckoo clock, and wearied with the hum, pipetapping, and distant jollification of the kitchen guests. Oh, this hunting! this hunting! what a deal it has to answer for. It is odd" (continued he) "what a vast of idleness one can stand at home, and yet how oppressive it is away. At home, I just chuck myself into the easy chair after dinner, and fall into a reverie, a hunting, a draining, or a castle-building speculation, as naturally and easily as possible; whereas here I can neither compose myself to sleep, nor to dream, nor to do anything. If I thought yon repulsive, clotted-looking inkstand had anything but a black bog of ink in it, and a stumped pen, split up to the feather, I'd take a letter-back and concoct an offer to Lydia' (continued he); "but who ever found both a pen and ink in an inn inkstand that would write?" Strange to say, curiosity tempted him to get up and examine this stand, and finding that a veterinary surgeon might pass the pen, and that a few drops of sherry would revive the ink, Tom devoted that

quantity of drink to it, and was presently in possession of very "go-able" materials.

Our fair readers will doubtless now be anxious for the offer produced under such inspiriting circumstances; but, alas! for the mutability of a sportsman's intentions! In sorting his letter-backs, he pulled out the one containing Lord Lazytongs' invitation, which operated like the make-believe pills of the doctors on people who have nothing the matter with them. Finding he had got something to do he forthwith began trying to shirk it, and, resuming his seat before the fire, with one leg up and the other down, returned to the visit at Dawdle Court, recalling the flow of words that proceeded from his noble host's lips, and all the wonderful performances he narrated. Then Tom thought how needless an appendage such a man as Captain Windey hash was to his lordship, who was so well able to run himself out; and at last his thoughts settled into the channel, that at slower or at faster intervals produced the following current of ideas :

"Trot him out," thought Tom; ay, that's a proceeding adapted to bipeds as well as quadrupeds. "Trot him out again, Joe! that's to say, show him off, and see if you can't catch a flat. There is just the same sort of thing among Christians, and whether it is done in the palpable way of the horse exhibitor, or the apparently natural though oftentimes studiously arranged impromptu,

depends altogether on the skill of the one party and the docility of the other."

And here, leaving our friend in his arm-chair for a few minutes, we may say that we "back the observation. "Trotting him out" is a very common recreation; and though it requires the fine and delicate hand of the fly-fisher, yet we frequently see it attempted by the clumsy fist of the mere dredger. In truth, the office of "trotter-out" requires a considerable amount of skill, knowledge, and observation; tact in drawing stealthily on the line of the joke or story, apprising the individual without preparing the party, knowledge of the humour, we might say the caprices, of the "trottee," and observation of the time most appropriate for introducing the subject. What can be worse than a sulky "snub" instead of a "rise," or a still-born joke shattering itself among a cast-iron-faced company? Poor old Matthews used to say that if he came on to the stage and saw his friend L-d-'s imperturbable features, and great silver-rimmed spectacles fixed upon him, it was such a damper that he could hardly raise his spirits to go on with

his "At home."

There are two ways of trotting a man out, just as there are two ways of trotting a horse out. There is the trot to display, and the trot to expose. We don't know that many men object to being trotted out for admiration, provided the case is not too palpable, or the audience one