style="font-size:15px;"> “Bless us! ’Tis a trouble and expense them sort o’ things. Now to work, shall we? What do you figure up?”
“And you?”
“Oh, well, I’m not here on reg’lar business. Huntin’ on my own score to-day.”
“Oh, ay! Nice port this.”
“Best the old fellow had in his cellar. I told the executrix I should like the taste of it, and advise thereon.”
The valuers for dilapidations, vulgarly termed dilapidators, were met in the dining-room of the deserted parsonage. Mr. Scantlebray was on one side, Mr. Cargreen on the other. Mr. Scantlebray was on that of the “orphings,” as he termed his clients, and Mr. Cargreen on that of the Rev. Mr. Mules, the recently nominated rector to S. Enodoc.
Mr. Scantlebray was a tall, lean man, with light gray eyes, a red face, and legs and arms that he shook every now and then as though they were encumbrances to his trunk and he was going to shake them off, as a poodle issuing from a bath shakes the water out of his locks. Mr. Cargreen was a bullet-headed man, with a white neckcloth, gray whiskers, a solemn face, and a sort of perpetual “Let-us-pray” expression on his lips and in his eyes – a composing of his interior faculties and abstraction from worldly concerns.
“I am here,” said Mr. Scantlebray, “as adviser and friend – you understand, old man – of the orphings and their haunt.”
“And I,” said Mr. Cargreen, “am ditto to the incoming rector.”
“And what do you get out of this visit!” asked Mr. Scantlebray, who was a frank man.
“Only three guineas as a fee,” said Mr. Cargreen. “And you?”
“Ditto, old man – three guineas. You understand, I am not here as valuer to-day.”
“Nor I – only as adviser.”
“Exactly! Taste this port. ’Taint bad – out of the cellar of the old chap. Told auntie I must have it, to taste and give opinion on.”
“And what are you going to do to-day?”
“I’m going to have one or two little things pulled down, and other little things put to rights.”
“Humph! I’m here to see nothing is pulled down.”
“We won’t quarrel. There’s the conservatory, and the linney in Willa Park.”
“I don’t know,” said Cargreen, shaking his head.
“Now look here, old man,” said Mr. Scantlebray. “You let me tear the linney down, and I’ll let the conservatory stand.”
“The conservatory – ”
“I know; the casement of the best bedroom went through the roof of it. I’ll mend the roof and repaint it. You can try the timber, and find it rotten, and lay on dilapidations enough to cover a new conservatory. Pass the linney; I want to make pickings out of that.”
It may perhaps be well to let the reader understand the exact situation of the two men engaged in sipping port. Directly it was known that a rector had been nominated to S. Enodoc, Mr. Cargreen, a Bodmin valuer, agent, and auctioneer, had written to the happy nominee, Mr. Mules, of Birmingham, inclosing his card in the letter, to state that he was a member of an old-established firm, enjoying the confidence, not to say the esteem of the principal county families in the north of Cornwall, that he was a sincere Churchman, that deploring, as a true son of the Church, the prevalence of Dissent, he felt it his duty to call the attention of the reverend gentleman to certain facts that concerned him, but especially the Church, and facts that he himself, as a devoted son of the Church, on conviction, after mature study of its tenets, felt called upon, in the interest of that Church he so had at heart, to notice. He had heard, said Mr. Cargreen, that the outgoing parties from S. Enodoc were removing, or causing to be removed, or were proposing to remove, certain fixtures in the parsonage, and certain out-buildings, barns, tenements, sheds, and linneys on the glebe and parsonage premises, to the detriment of its value, inasmuch as that such removal would be prejudicial to the letting of the land, and render it impossible for the incoming rector to farm it himself without re-erecting the very buildings now in course of destruction, or which were purposed to be destroyed: to wit, certain out-buildings, barns, cattle-sheds, and linneys, together with other tenements that need not be specified. Mr. Cargreen added that, roughly speaking, the dilapidations of these buildings, if allowed to stand, might be assessed at £300; but that, if pulled down, it would cost the new rector about £700 to re-erect them, and their re-erection would be an imperative necessity. Mr. Cargreen had himself, personally, no interest in the matter; but, as a true son of the Church, etc., etc.
By return of post Mr. Cargreen received an urgent request from the Rev. Mr. Mules to act as his agent, and to act with precipitation in the protection of his interests.
In the meantime Mr. Scantlebray had not been neglectful of other people’s interest. He had written to Miss Dionysia Trevisa to inform her that, though he did not enjoy a present acquaintance, it was the solace and joy of his heart to remember that some years ago, before that infelicitous marriage of Mr. Trevisa, which had led to Miss Dionysia’s leaving the rectory, it had been his happiness to meet her at the house of a mutual acquaintance, Mrs. Scaddon, where he had respectfully, and, at this distance of time, he ventured to add, humbly and hopelessly admired her; that, as he was riding past the rectory he had chanced to observe the condition of dilapidation certain tenements, pig-sties, cattle-sheds, and other out-buildings were in, and that, though it in no way concerned him, yet, for auld lang syne’s sake, and a desire to assist one whom he had always venerated, and, at this distance of time might add, had admired, he ventured to offer a suggestion: to wit, That a number of unnecessary out-buildings should be torn down and utterly effaced before a new rector was nominated, and had appointed a valuer; also that certain obvious repairs should be undertaken and done at once, so as to give to the parsonage the appearance of being in excellent order, and cut away all excuse for piling up dilapidations. Mr. Scantlebray ventured humbly to state that he had had a good deal of experience with those gentlemen who acted as valuers for dilapidations, and with pain he was obliged to add that a more unscrupulous set of men it had never been his bad fortune to come into contact with. He ventured to assert that, were he to tell all he knew, or only half of what he knew, as to their proceedings in valuing for dilapidations, he would make both of Miss Trevisa’s ears tingle.
At once Miss Dionysia entreated Mr. Scantlebray to superintend and carry out with expedition such repairs and such demolitions as he deemed expedient, so as to forestall the other party.
“Chicken!” said Mr. Cargreen. “That’s what I’ve brought for my lunch.”
“And ’am is what I’ve got,” said Mr. Scantlebray. “They’ll go lovely together.” Then, in a loud tone – “Come in!”
The door opened, and a carpenter entered with a piece of deal board in his hand.
“You won’t mind looking out of the winder, Mr. Cargreen?” said Mr. Scantlebray. “Some business that’s partick’ler my own. You’ll find the jessamine – the white jessamine – smells beautiful.”
Mr. Cargreen rose, and went to the dining-room window that was embowered in white jessamine, then in full flower and fragrance.
“What is it, Davy?”
“Well, sir, I ain’t got no dry old board for the floor where it be rotten, nor for the panelling of the
