The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1875-06-02
RICHMOND.
MR.. RAPID.

said Jack Rapid to Sam the hostler,
who had taught him how to clean .
horse, and put him in a carriage,
when Jack was a dirty little urchin,
i,icking up a few stray coppers in the
race week, and at the fair time, and
in those days when the Angel was
full Of company and farmers carts
nearly klled the inn yard. y ou here
YET, in this dull e.d place 2? .s
The hostler at first did not recog
nizc his pupil Jack How should he?
Whit resemblance was there between
4 lanky and ragged little lad and the
heavy swell who now accosted him ?
Old Sam took q careful inventory of
ali his fine clothes, and probably cast
up the sum total of their value, ere he
replied:
"Yes. m here. that is certain; but
who you are | can I make out. for the
lie OF me-. You are not unlike Tom
Henses, who went away six or seven
years ago. but they do say he was
drowned. poor fellow. But lie was
stouter than you. You re never he.
come back with pockets iull of gold
from the Gold Coast, are you p
Tom Henson? No, I'm Jack
Rlpid. now John Dashwood RAPID,
Esquire, of Flyaway Hall. Don't you
remember ne many years ago, when l
used to come and help you on busy
days p
"You Jack Rapid?" said the host
Ter, taking a step backward to con-
slider the speaker from new point OF
view. Why, how can it he that lit
tie
Stay, Sam said Mr. Rapid. II
know what you are gong to say, and
/ had rather say it for you. How can
it be that that little dirty boy has be-
come such gentleman
We'll. said Sam. Il don't want to
be rude; but when | remember what
you were, [ do wonder how you have
mounted upward. Whv. your horses
are worth eighty guineas apiece
continued Sam, with an admiring
glance at the animals.
Yes, Sam, times have changed
thank my stars for that. Do you
know l went at last to London, and
got good place at grand west-end
hotel, as a waiter in billiard room;
but that would never have put me
where l am. had [ got guinea where
| got a threepenny bit. No; an. old
screw of relation, named Wood,
died two years back, and left me his
savings, because he was my godfather,
and / was named John after him.
And now [ live at Flyaway Hall, and
drive, you see, good cattle, and spend
my money like gentleman. and show
my gratitude to old Wood by calling
myself Dasl,wood. Clever contriv
ance. that! don't you think SO? And,
Sam, I'm willing to he gentleman to
you, if you'll come and be my head
groom"
..Flyaway Hall I" echoed Sam.
why. you don mean to say you live
at Flyaway Hall?'
Yes. do, Sam, indeed; and why
should l not?
Well" answered Sam, Il don't
know why, if you've got plenty of
money; but, bless mel Flyaway Hall
must take mint of cash for coal, if
one is to go by the chimneys. And
it has ruined two or three since | first
heard of it. There was Lord Cakes
well do [ remember going to his sale.
A great auctioneer from London was
talking and hammering for three or
four days. and the wine and cigars
fetched enough 20 stock farm; yet
my lord only paid his creditors six
and on the pound"
Mr.. Rapid seemed rather discon
certed by these remarks. 1t was not
pleasant to think OF poor Lord Oakes
fouudering in the deep waters of
shame and ruin; but Mr.. Ripid
laughed the thought away, and giving
his white beaver j4unty toss, he took
out a cigar and begin to smoke.
We'll. but, Sam, continued Mr..
Rapid. will you leave this moldy old
inn and live with me? For auld lang
syne we II take cup o Kindness yet,
and say, Good wages aud light work.
By the look Of things you must be
doing seedy business here. My pair
seem to be the only horses you We had
in the stable to day. Come, now. out
with the secret! How many Dags
have bitten your corn since last We'd
nesday-a week ago? Why, said
Mr. Rapid, laughing at his own con-
ceit, you've got your hands in your
trowsers pockets, as if they were at
home there, and had nothing else to
do Y And Mr.. Rapid Uttered away
at his own wit
Never mind, said Sam, somewhat
huffe,l at the insolent allusion to the
lO1 tuuCc VI lhC ola AAnSCIs
but pulling his hands out of his pock-
cts at the same time: Never mind,
sir, we are doing we'll enough for my
contentment, and / must decline with
thanks your well-mea offer to find
me easy work and good pay at Fly
away Hall
well. every man to his taster' ex-
claimed Mr. Rapid; But remember,
Of ra4,yco1 vr hroh
rather affronting, / must say Flyaway
Hall will be always open to you.
When you have got to your last shil-
ling, I'll be your friend for the sake
of old times [ can always do with
an extra hand, and think of increas-
ing my stud. One knows, you see. so
many good fellows, and one likes to
see their happy faces about one, and
[ have to mount them all. and the
have the best horses and are in at the
death"
'Ah,'' said Sam. turning away his
face and speaking low. they won t be
in at your death, depend upon it. =
MY DEATH? What do you mean p
asked Mr.. Rapid, rather sharply.
II mean. sir, your ruin, which. if
all you cay Is true, is not very far dis
tant. Your friends will suck you dry,
like the oranges you used to be so
fond of when you could get them, and
then they will leave you. Flyaway
Hall will want Mr.. Hammer again,
probably in a year or two, and if /
leave the old inn on the moor, another
will step into my shoes. and when l
want them again, l shall have to ask