Spratt Senior with deep though silent intensity, instead of doating on him as he had fondly imagined they did.
When Jack Spratt had become famous through the Phayre Sockque-darrenère, Spratt Senior suddenly viewed picture-painting in quite a new light, and became as proud of his always beloved grandson, as he had hitherto been ashamed of him; and he took to visiting at the Jack Spratts' regularly on Wednesday afternoons, Mrs. Spratt's day "at home"; but his visits were more unwelcome to that lady than ever.
At first the rank and fashion he met there awed him into silence and discreet behaviour; he had never seen a live lord before, for Swelldom does not usually buy its drawers and socks in St. Mary Axe.
And when he held his tongue and did not play the fool, he was rather ornamental than otherwise, being of truly venerable aspect, and scrupulously neat about his person.
But as soon as he discovered how easy and unconventional really good Society can be, how familiarly the glittering Swells would treat Mrs. Spratt, and how unceremoniously they would bear themselves towards that great genius, her husband (for they had forgotten by this time that he was a great genius, and looked upon him as a fool, or something worse), the irrepressible old humorist recovered his wonted assurance, and became once more the life and soul of the party.
It must be owned that his behaviour was very trying, and betrayed a great deficiency in social tact.
For instance he would, unasked, insist on favouring the company with long-forgotten comic songs (which had lost all point for the present generation), and imitations of the actors of a hundred years ago; and the less Mrs. Spratt and her guests would laugh, the more he would laugh himself, and the more he would persevere in trying to merit their applause by further efforts in the same line.
Then he would chaff the page who brought in the tea, and inquire of him if Sally the Cook were as good-looking as ever, and still reciprocated his fond affection.
Or else he would hand his business cards to Viscounts and Guardsmen, and ask fine Ladies where they bought their hose, and volunteer to serve them with a superior article at Civil Service prices, to be delivered at their own doors, carriage paid, and so forth.
At last a day came when he went just a little too far.
The Duke of Pentonville was at Mrs. Spratt's, alone; for so stupendous were his Grace's rank and fashion, so advanced his age, and so respected his character, that it was thought good form for Viscounts and Guardsmen and such like humble swells to make themselves scarce when he came—nor did they presume to knock at Mrs. Spratt's door when the Pentonville liveries were seen to be waiting outside.
Jack's Grandfather, who was quite wanting in this particular kind of delicacy, knocked at Mrs. Spratt's door without the slightest diffidence, and entered the house, and walked straight into the drawing-room after the fashion of Liston, in Paul Pry, exclaiming, "I hope I don't intrude!"
The Duke stared at him with cold surprise, and immediately rose to take his leave. As he stooped, with old-fashioned courtesy, to kiss Mrs. Spratt's lily-white hand (into which he had just forced a costly trinket), the tail-pockets of his well-fitting green cut-away coat were seen to gape, and Mr. Spratt Senior took the opportunity of dropping into each of those ducal receptacles a printed circular, which stated that, owing to the sudden break-up of a well-known West-End Firm, Spratt & Co. had been able to effect extensive purchases in underclothing at an extraordinary advantage, which enabled them to supply the Nobility, Gentry, and Public generally with first-rate articles at an unprecedented low rate—a handsome discount allowed for cash.
Jack Spratt appeared on the scene as soon as he heard his Grandfather's voice, but it was too late to interfere; and the unconscious Duke, though much huffed at the untimely interruption, left the room with all the stately ease and high-bred self-control of a great
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