Vanity Fair - Page 193/573

This news made Dobbin grave, and he thought of our friends at Brighton,

and then he was ashamed of himself that Amelia was always the first

thing in his thoughts (always before anybody--before father and mother,

sisters and duty--always at waking and sleeping indeed, and all day

long); and returning to his hotel, he sent off a brief note to Mr.

Osborne acquainting him with the information which he had received, and

which might tend farther, he hoped, to bring about a reconciliation

with George.

This note, despatched by the same messenger who had carried the

invitation to Chopper on the previous day, alarmed the worthy clerk not

a little. It was inclosed to him, and as he opened the letter he

trembled lest the dinner should be put off on which he was calculating.

His mind was inexpressibly relieved when he found that the envelope was

only a reminder for himself. ("I shall expect you at half-past five,"

Captain Dobbin wrote.) He was very much interested about his employer's

family; but, que voulez-vous? a grand dinner was of more concern to him

than the affairs of any other mortal.

Dobbin was quite justified in repeating the General's information to

any officers of the regiment whom he should see in the course of his

peregrinations; accordingly he imparted it to Ensign Stubble, whom he

met at the agent's, and who--such was his military ardour--went off

instantly to purchase a new sword at the accoutrement-maker's. Here

this young fellow, who, though only seventeen years of age, and about

sixty-five inches high, with a constitution naturally rickety and much

impaired by premature brandy and water, had an undoubted courage and a

lion's heart, poised, tried, bent, and balanced a weapon such as he

thought would do execution amongst Frenchmen. Shouting "Ha, ha!" and

stamping his little feet with tremendous energy, he delivered the point

twice or thrice at Captain Dobbin, who parried the thrust laughingly

with his bamboo walking-stick.

Mr. Stubble, as may be supposed from his size and slenderness, was of

the Light Bobs. Ensign Spooney, on the contrary, was a tall youth, and

belonged to (Captain Dobbin's) the Grenadier Company, and he tried on a

new bearskin cap, under which he looked savage beyond his years. Then

these two lads went off to the Slaughters', and having ordered a famous

dinner, sate down and wrote off letters to the kind anxious parents at

home--letters full of love and heartiness, and pluck and bad spelling.

Ah! there were many anxious hearts beating through England at that

time; and mothers' prayers and tears flowing in many homesteads.

Seeing young Stubble engaged in composition at one of the coffee-room

tables at the Slaughters', and the tears trickling down his nose on to

the paper (for the youngster was thinking of his mamma, and that he

might never see her again), Dobbin, who was going to write off a letter

to George Osborne, relented, and locked up his desk. "Why should I?"

said he. "Let her have this night happy. I'll go and see my parents

early in the morning, and go down to Brighton myself to-morrow."