Mr. Poskitt's Nightcaps

Chapter 10

If he should happen to be alive (and if he is he must now be a very old man, and have had ample time for reflection about more things than one), Bartholomew Flitcroft will have heard of the comet which is now in our neighbourhood with what are usually described as mingled feelings. It is not quite within my recollection as to when it exactly was that the last comet of any note visited us; if Bartholomew exists, and has preserved his memory, he has better cause to know than most men. At least, that may be so or may not be so, because no one can ever tell how anything is going to turn out. When that particular comet had come and gone Bartholomew was a sorely disappointed man; whether he really had reason to be, no one will ever know.

As regards Bartholomew's status in the world, he was a smallish farmer at Orchardcrofta middle-aged, raw-boned, hatchet-faced man, whose greatest difficulty in life was to make up his mind about anything. If an idea about sowing spring wheat or planting potatoes came into his head as he walked about his land, he would stand stock still wherever he was and scratch his ear and think and consider until his mind was in a state of chaos. He had always been like that, and, being a bachelor, he got worse as he got older. He would never do anything unless he had what he called studied it from every side, and once when one of his stacks got on fire he was so long in deciding as to which of the two neighbouring towns he would send to for the fire-engines that the stack was burned, and three others with it.

So far as was known to any one acquainted with him, Bartholomew never turned his attention to the subject of marriage until he was well over forty years of age. Whether it then occurred to him because his housekeeper married the butler at the Hall nobody ever could say with any certainty, but it is certain that he then began to look about for a wife. Naturally he exercised his characteristic caution in doing so, and he also hit upon a somewhat original plan. He kept his eyes open whenever he went to church or market, and, it being a fine spring and summer when the idea of matrimony came to him, he began to ride of a Sunday evening to the churches and chapels in neighbouring villages with a view to looking over the likely ladies. That was how he at last decided to marry Widow Collinson, of Ulceby.

Now, Widow Collinson was a pleasant-faced, well-preserved woman of some forty summers, whose first husband, Jabez Collinson, had had a very nice business as corn miller at Ulceby, and had consequently left her comfortably provided for. When he died she kept the business on, and it was said that she was already improving it and doing better than Jabez had done. Such a woman, of course, was soon run after, and all the more so because she had no encumbrances, as they call children in that part of the country; there were at least half-a-dozen men making sheep's eyes at her before Bartholomew came upon the scene. Whatever it was that made her take some sort of liking to Bartholomew nobody could understand, but the fact is that she didat any rate, Bartholomew began riding over to Ulceby at least three times a week, and it was well known that the widow always gave him a hot supper, because the neighbours smelt the cooking. One night she cooked him a couple of ducks, with stuffing of sage and onions, and, of course, everybody knew then that they were contemplating matrimonial prospects. And those who were acquainted with Bartholomew's prevalent characteristic were somewhat surprised that he had made up his mind so quickly.

It was always considered in Orchardcroft that if it had not been for Mr. Pond, the schoolmaster, the marriage of Mrs. Collinson and Mr. Flitcroft would have been duly solemnized that very year. Bartholomew might have caused some delay at the post, but it was plain that he meant business if he once got off. And it was certainly the school-master who made him do what he did. He and Mr. Pond were near neighbours, and they had been in the habit of smoking their pipes in one or the other's house for many years. They would have a drop of something comforting, and sit over the fire, and Mr. Pond used to tell Bartholomew the news, because Bartholomew never read anything except the market reports and Old Moore's Almanack. And one night when they were thus keeping each other company and Bartholomew was thinking of Mrs. Collinson and her mill, Mr. Pond remarked, with a shake of the head

"This is very serious news about this comet, Mr. Flitcroft."

"What news?" asked Bartholomew.

"Why about this comet that's hastening towards us," replied Mr. Pond.

"What's a comet?" inquired Bartholomew.

"A comet," said Mr. Pond, in the tones he used when he was teaching the children, "a comet is a heavenly body of fire which rushes round space at a prodigious rate of speed. It's rushing towards us now, sir, at millions and millions of miles a day!"

"How big is it?" asked Bartholomew.

"Much bigger than what our earth is, Mr. Flitcroft," answered the school-master. "Its tail is twenty millions of miles long."

"And you say it's coming here?" continued Bartholomew.

"So the scientific gentlemen are agreed, sir," said Mr. Pond. "Yes, this vast body of fire is rushing upon us as wild beasts rush on their prey. It may be mercifully turned aside and only brush us with its tail; it may crash right upon us, and then"

Mr. Pond finished with an expressive "Ah!" and Bartholomew gaped at him.

"Is it all true?" he asked. "Is it in the newspapers?"

"The newspapers, sir, are just now full of it," replied the school-master. "It's the topic of the hour. Sir Gregory Gribbin, the great astronomer, says that we shall most certainly be crushed by the tail. And if the tail is composed of certain gasesas he thinks it will bewell!"

"What'll happen?" asked Bartholomew.

"We shall all be asphyxiatedsmothered!" answered Mr. Pond, solemnly. "We shall be withered up like chaff by fierce fire."

When Mr. Pond had departed Bartholomew took up the Yorkshire Post, and for the first time ignored the market reports, over which he generally pored for an hour every evening. He read a lot of learned matter about the rapidly approaching comet, and he went to bed with his brain in a whirl. Next morning he ignored the market reports again, and let his coffee get cold while he read more about the comet.

It so chanced that Bartholomew was unable to visit Ulceby for several days after that, owing to sickness breaking out amongst his cattle, and when he next went the widow noticed that he looked much worried and was preoccupied. As the cattle were all right again, she wondered what was the matter, but at first got no satisfactory explanation. Bartholomew seemed unusually thoughtful, and twiddled his thumbs a great deal.

"I say," he said, "II think we'd better put off the idea of being wed until we see what this comet doeseh?"

"What comet?" asked the amazed widow.

"Why, this comet that's approaching," answered Bartholomew. "It's coming like a bullet. I was going to put the banns up both here and at Orchardcroft this week, but I don't see what use it is getting married if we're all going to be burned to ashes in the twinkling of an eye. I'll read you all the latest news about it."

With that Bartholomew, whom Mrs. Collinson was by that time regarding with mingled feelings of apprehension and something closely bordering on contempt, pulled out a quantity of newspaper cuttings which he had carefully snipped out of various journalshis taste for science having suddenly developed. He read out the astronomical terms with sonorous voice.

"It's a very serious thing," he said. "I think we must put matters off. The comet 'll be here soon."

"I suppose you're going to look out for it?" said Mrs. Collinson in a constrained voice.

"Why, me and Mr. Pond, our school-master, has bought a telescope," replied Bartholomew, grandly. "Yes, we propose to make what they call observations."

"I'm sure you couldn't be better employed," remarked Mrs. Collinson.

The next night, and the next, and the next again, and for several nights Mr. Pond and Mr. Flitcroft engaged in astronomical pursuits. Then, Sunday coming, Mr. Flitcroft heard strange news which sent him post-haste to his widow. She met him at her doorcoldly. Mr. Flitcroft gasped out a question.

"Yes," she said, "it is true. Me and Mr. Samuel Green have been cried in church this morning, and I'm going to marry him. So now you know."

"But what shall I do?" cried Bartholomew, scratching his ear.

"Do?" said Mrs. Collinson. "You can do what your precious comet 'll do. Go back where you came from!"