“Oh ah! let ’em ring again!”
wasn’t going to sink down to one again in a hurry; and, bother take it! to have to go ill again, may be, or leave my stingy Mr. Edward a second time—“for ever!” perhaps, before I could get him to let me have another. Besides, that great big lazy porpoise of a Mr. Duffy, was always grumbling about having to clean a few trumpery boots and knives, and talking about the families of quality he had lived in—(I never saw such quality!) where he had been accustomed to have a lad under him—so, all things considered, I really couldn’t bring my heart to turn a poor orphan like that monkey of a Wittals into the cold streets, and, accordingly with my usual good nature, made up my mind to keep the pair of them—at least until their liveries were fairly worn out.
Upon my word, at times, I was sorry that I hadn’t taken Edward’s advice, for that Wittals made Duffy no better, and that Duffy only made Wittals much worse. Now, I dare say, the reader will imagine that, with two male servants in the house, and little or nothing for them to do, I might at least have got so much as a simple bell answered; but, oh dear, no! I might pull and pull as though I was up in a filthy belfry pulling my arms off for a leg of mutton and trimmings; and yet, there Mr. Duffy would sit, roasting his fat calves before the fire, as unconcerned as a mute at a street door—with his precious “Oh, ah! let ’em ring again!”—while that idle vagabond of a Mr. Wittals sat stock still, with both his hands stuffed into the pockets of his mulberry pantaloons, as if they were made of cast iron, and grinning away, as though he thought it a capital joke to trifle with my feelings. Then, positively, too, if that Duffy didn’t go and so inoculate that Wittals with his nasty, familiar ways, that, as for getting any respect out of the pair of them, Lord bless you! one might just as well have looked for civility from a cabman after paying him his legal fare. If I happened to meet either of them in the street, not so much as a touch of the hat could they treat me to; and do what I would, I could no more get them to put ‘Mam’ at the end of their sentences when they spoke to me, than if they had been a couple of clerks at a railway station. First, I should have that Wittals speaking of my little angel of a Catherine, as “Kitty,” to my very face, though I had told him, over and over again, that the cherub’s name was Miss Sk—n—st—n, and begged of him not to let me hear him ‘Kitty’ her again, if he wanted to stop in my house; but, as the monkey knew very well that I couldn’t turn him out of it, of course he didn’t care two pins about what I said. Then I should have that great fat Duffy coming strolling into the parlour as slow as an omnibus half full, and asking, “How many we should be to dinner to-day?”—putting me in such a passion with his “We’s” (as if he was one of the family), that I used to say, “We! whom do you mean by we, I should like to know, sir? I and your master will dine at home to-day, and that’s the only we I am acquainted with in this house; though, perhaps, by your we’s, you’d like to sit down to the table with us—and, I’m sure, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you did, for you certainly seem to me always to forget who you are, and what you are, and where you came from.”
But where was the good of wasting one’s breath upon a great fat lazy pig, that was dead to every moral as well as religious tie? Now, I think I have told the reader somewhere in my interesting little work, that one of my principal inducements in getting Edward to consent to my keeping a footman, was the standing it gives one, in this, alas! empty world, to have a fine handsome man-servant in an elegant showy livery to carry your prayer books behind you to church, and to come up to your pew and fetch than again after divine service, (which, thank goodness, I can safely lay my head on my pillow at night, and say, that ever since I have kept house, and had an example to set my servants, I have always made a point of attending—unless, indeed, I have known that one of those beggarly collections was going to take place at the doors.) Well! as I was going to say, upon my word, I had much better have taken no footman to church at all, as that heathen of a Duffy; for as soon as we stood up for the first hymn, and I turned round to observe how his livery looked among the congregated footmen, and whether he was paying a proper attention to his religious duties or not, there I should be certain to see him, directly he caught my eye, take his hat, and putting his handkerchief to his nose, to make believe it was bleeding, sneak down the aisle on tiptoe; and I should never clap eyes on the livery again until church was all over, when I should have him coming back smelling of beer and tobacco, enough to knock the whole congregation down—though where on earth he could have got it from, was more than I and our policeman could ever make out.
Was ever a poor dear married lady so tormented in all her life? That Duffy was bad enough, as the reader can plainly see now; but that Wittals was ten times worse, as the reader shall see presently. Now, par examp (as we say at Bologne-sur-mere,) dear—dear—dear uncle R—msb—tt—m, like a good generous old soul as he is, would go sending up to that cherub of a Kitty of mine, a beautiful little love of a pet lamb, that had the most heavenly fore and hind quarters I think I ever beheld in all my born days; and it was so nice and fat that it quite made my mouth water to look at it—even alive. Still it was so fond and tame, and that darling ducks-o’-diamonds of a Kitty of mine was so pleased with her tiddy-ickle bar-lam as she used to call it—bless her little eyes! (please excuse a fond mother’s feelings, gentle reader,)—that, though I couldn’t look at the animal without thinking of mint sauce, and the animal cost me near upon a shilling a week for bread, and milk, and turnips, yet I thought as dear good uncle R—msb—tt—m had sent it up, and as he was Kitty’s godfather, and had neither chick nor child, and was actually rolling in money (if I might be allowed so strong an expression) I thought, I say, he might be offended, if it came to his ears that we had eaten the darling little pet for dinner, immediately after its arrival in town. So we put a sweet pretty blue sarsnet ribbon round its fat neck, and kept it in the garden by day, and the knife house by night, till really the thing’s bed-chamber “foohed” so, that it was enough to knock you down. The worst of it was, too, that do what we would, we could not keep the little love’s white coat clean in this grubby “metropolis of the world,” though we scoured it well at least once a week in our own foot-bath; for directly after we had washed it, and put it out in the garden again, down would come the smuts so thick, that in less than half-an-hour one would have fancied the natural colour of the poppet’s coat was pepper and salt; and what used to put me in such a passion was, if I went out in the garden of an evening, in my sweet white muslin skirt and black velvet body to fondle the dingy little brute, it would get so affectionate, I declare, and would come rubbing up against my flounces, until they looked as black as a coal heaver’s stockings on a Saturday. But what annoyed me more than all was—bother take the thing!—it would grow so fast, that, though I must have wasted at least a gallon of gin in trying to stop its growth, still it was all of no use, and I only kept making the creature so tipsy, that it would prance about like a mad thing, and half frighten me out of my life. Pet lambs are one thing, but the idea of going and bestowing your affections on a great hulking sheep with horns long enough to poke both your eyes out, was what I had no notion of doing. Plague take that cruel Wittals too! no sooner had he set foot in the house, and seen this new member of the family, than his great delight used to be to catch hold of the poor thing by the two horns, directly they began to grow, one in each hand, and keep pushing the animal backwards and forwards until really he made the beast as savage as a tiger, and taught it to butt so, that upon my word it would run at you with its head down, for all the world like one of those stupid Cornish wrestlers. As for that fat coward of a Duffy, positively he was so afraid of what in his stupid country dialect he called the “wicked mutton,” that I couldn’t for the life of me get the fellow to go near the poor thing; and if Wittals hadn’t been there, it must have stopped out every night, and may be died of rheumatism from sleeping out on the damp grass, instead of in a comfortable warm knife-house. So matters went on, until Kitty’s little pet got to be a great waddling monster of a sheep, and only grew more and more savage from being always tied up to our apple tree, and fatter and fatter from want of exercise, while all the time mutton kept getting higher and higher, from I don’t know what, until at last it seemed to me a shameful sin to go wasting good wholesome turnips, at three bunches for fippence, on such a creature, when one of its legs would eat so beautifully, boiled, with some of those very turnips.
Well! like a thrifty housewife as I am, I had half made up my mind to have one of the great hulking pet’s haunches, with red currant jelly, for dinner the next Sunday, while it was nice and young and tender, when dear mother luckily called in to see me, and I thought I would consult with her on the subject. On going to the window, to show her what prime condition the darling was in, I declare, if the brute hadn’t got away from the apple tree, and wasn’t right in my flower-bed, making a hearty meal off the few double stocks and sweet-williams I had in my garden, and which I prided myself so much upon, and the Simmonds’s were so jealous of. I gave a slight scream, and rang the bell for that dare-devil of a Wittals, knowing that it was no good looking for any assistance from that chicken-hearted stupid of a Duffy. But, of course, Wittals, as is always the case when he’s wanted, had slipped out after some more of that sticky sweet-stuff, which I’m continually obliged to be taking away from him, and eating myself, to prevent him from spoiling his livery. So, as I couldn’t stand still and see my beautiful sweet-williams eaten up before my very eyes, I ran down the garden steps, and catching hold of the end of the rope, tried to drag the woolly cannibal back to the apple tree. But no sooner did I tug the wretch away from the flowers, than off it set scampering round and round me, until, I declare, it wound the cord all about my poor legs, for all the world as if I had been a peg-top and it meant to send me spinning—which sure enough, whether he meant it or not, it did. For, directly it got my feet bound fast together with the rope, so that I couldn’t stir an inch, “the wicked mutton,” as Mr. Duffy called it, rushed full butt at me, and immediately up went my legs, and down I came bump on the grass, with a force that I felt for months afterwards. I set to screaming directly as loud as I could for Mother and Duffy, and kicking with all my might,—for, my legs being tied, I, of course, couldn’t get up, and there was the savage brute poking away with its horns, like the prongs of a pitchfork, at the cotton tops of my silk stockings. At last, just as I’d got my poor feet free from the rope by my continued kickings, thank goodness! I heard the garden door slam to, and knew, by Duffy’s puffing and blowing, and Mother’s “pshewing” away like a rocket, that assistance was at hand. But, alas! no sooner did the rampant beast catch sight of that Duffy’s red plush thingomybobs, than, attracted by the colour I suppose, off it scampered towards the porpoise; and no sooner did that coward of a Duffy catch sight of the rampant beast coming full gallop towards him, than he let fall, with fright, the broom he had come armed with to my help, and taking to his fat legs, ran round the garden, blowing like an asthmatic grampus, with the wicked mutton tearing after him like a woolly maniac. Just as he had got within a yard or so of me, and I had managed to raise myself on my hands and knees, oh! lud-a-mercy me! the savage brute rushed full butt at him behind with such force, that the great fat hulking monster cried out, “O—oo!” and was pitched sprawling right on to my poor back, and down I went again, flop, with such force, that if the fellow—though no sylph—hadn’t been as plump and soft as a feather bed, I do verily believe I should have been taken up a human pancake, and had to have been buried in one of the cracks in Dover cliffs, or some such horrible out-of-the-way place.
Poor dear respected mother—who up to this moment had been very prudent, and never left the garden-steps—the very minute she saw that fat Duffy a-top of me, and that “wicked mutton” jumping with all its might a-top of Duffy, rushed down to our rescue, shaking her handkerchief, like a stupid old thing as she is—for she ought, at her time of life, to have known that it would only have made the infuriated brute wilder than ever. And so to her cost it did; for no sooner did the animal see her, than at her it ran, and, just as she got close to our beautiful large variegated holly-bush, it gave such a poke at her busk, that back the dear respected old soul went, right into the middle of the horrid prickly shrub, and there the nasty brute stood, butting away at her, and pushing her further and further into the bush, until, what with the agony of the sharp prickles at her back, and the fear of the furious animal’s horns in front, I declare the poor dear old thing screamed in such a way, that it cut me to the quick to be obliged—when I’d kicked and tumbled that mountain of a Duffy off my back—to fly for my own life, and turn a deaf ear, not only to her heart-rending cries, but also to her pathetic entreaties to bring either the kitchen poker or the spit, and drive the mad beast from her. And well can I understand her screaming now, for when that monkey of a Wittals came in again, and he’d got my dear respected mother out of the holly-bush, upon my word, if the poor old soul’s back wasn’t pierced all over with the fine-pointed prickly things, and as full of little holes as a captain’s biscuit!—and no wonder; for, as luck would have it, she’d got on my thin fine Swiss cambric dress, which, having been quite spoilt, drat it! at the washing, I had kindly made her a present of on her last birth-day.