"Couldn't get a wink of sleep till daylight, Dob," said he. "Infernal
headache and fever. Got up at nine, and went down to the Hummums for a
bath. I say, Dob, I feel just as I did on the morning I went out with
Rocket at Quebec."
"So do I," William responded. "I was a deuced deal more nervous than
you were that morning. You made a famous breakfast, I remember. Eat
something now."
"You're a good old fellow, Will. I'll drink your health, old boy, and
farewell to--"
"No, no; two glasses are enough," Dobbin interrupted him. "Here, take
away the liqueurs, John. Have some cayenne-pepper with your fowl.
Make haste though, for it is time we were there."
It was about half an hour from twelve when this brief meeting and
colloquy took place between the two captains. A coach, into which
Captain Osborne's servant put his master's desk and dressing-case, had
been in waiting for some time; and into this the two gentlemen hurried
under an umbrella, and the valet mounted on the box, cursing the rain
and the dampness of the coachman who was steaming beside him. "We
shall find a better trap than this at the church-door," says he;
"that's a comfort." And the carriage drove on, taking the road down
Piccadilly, where Apsley House and St. George's Hospital wore red
jackets still; where there were oil-lamps; where Achilles was not yet
born; nor the Pimlico arch raised; nor the hideous equestrian monster
which pervades it and the neighbourhood; and so they drove down by
Brompton to a certain chapel near the Fulham Road there.
A chariot was in waiting with four horses; likewise a coach of the kind
called glass coaches. Only a very few idlers were collected on account
of the dismal rain.
"Hang it!" said George, "I said only a pair."
"My master would have four," said Mr. Joseph Sedley's servant, who was
in waiting; and he and Mr. Osborne's man agreed as they followed George
and William into the church, that it was a "reg'lar shabby turn hout;
and with scarce so much as a breakfast or a wedding faviour."
"Here you are," said our old friend, Jos Sedley, coming forward.
"You're five minutes late, George, my boy. What a day, eh? Demmy, it's
like the commencement of the rainy season in Bengal. But you'll find
my carriage is watertight. Come along, my mother and Emmy are in the
vestry."
Jos Sedley was splendid. He was fatter than ever. His shirt collars
were higher; his face was redder; his shirt-frill flaunted gorgeously
out of his variegated waistcoat. Varnished boots were not invented as
yet; but the Hessians on his beautiful legs shone so, that they must
have been the identical pair in which the gentleman in the old picture
used to shave himself; and on his light green coat there bloomed a fine
wedding favour, like a great white spreading magnolia.