‘Sparkling water, indeed!’ said Mrs Gamp. ‘I’ll have a sparkling cup o’ tea, I think. I wish you’d hold your noise!’
He burst into a laugh, which, being prolonged, fell off into a dismal wail. Checking himself, with fierce inconstancy he began to count—fast.
‘One—two—three—four—five—six.’
“One, two, buckle my shoe,”’ said Mrs Gamp, who was now on her knees, lighting the fire, “three, four, shut the door,”—I wish you’d shut your mouth, young man—“five, six, picking up sticks.” If I’d got a few handy, I should have the kettle boiling all the sooner.’
Awaiting this desirable consummation, she sat down so close to the fender (which was a high one) that her nose rested upon it; and for some time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that feature backwards and forwards along the brass top, as far as she could, without changing her position to do it. She maintained, all the while, a running commentary upon the wanderings of the man in bed.
‘That makes five hundred and twenty-one men, all dressed alike, and with the same distortion on their faces, that have passed in at the window, and out at the door,’ he cried, anxiously. ‘Look there! Five hundred and twenty-two—twenty-three—twenty-four. Do you see them?’
‘Ah! I see ‘em,’ said Mrs Gamp; ‘all the whole kit of ‘em numbered like hackney-coaches, an’t they?’
‘Touch me! Let me be sure of this. Touch me!’
‘You’ll take your next draught when I’ve made the kettle bile,’ retorted Mrs Gamp, composedly, ‘and you’ll be touched then. You’ll be touched up, too, if you don’t take it quiet.’
‘Five hundred and twenty-eight, five hundred and twenty-nine, five hundred and thirty.—Look here!’