‘It’s a strange time of night to be called away, sir, certainly,’ said the collector; ‘and the behaviour of Mr. Noggs himself, is, to say the least of it, mysterious.’
‘Well, so it is,’ rejoined Crowl; ‘and I’ll tell you what’s more—I think these two geniuses, whoever they are, have run away from somewhere.’
‘What makes you think that, sir?’ demanded the collector, who seemed, by a tacit understanding, to have been chosen and elected mouthpiece to the company. ‘You have no reason to suppose that they have run away from anywhere without paying the rates and taxes due, I hope?’
Mr. Crowl, with a look of some contempt, was about to enter a general protest against the payment of rates or taxes, under any circumstances, when he was checked by a timely whisper from Kenwigs, and several frowns and winks from Mrs. K., which providentially stopped him.
‘Why the fact is,’ said Crowl, who had been listening at Newman’s door with all his might and main; ‘the fact is, that they have been talking so loud, that they quite disturbed me in my room, and so I couldn’t help catching a word here, and a word there; and all I heard, certainly seemed to refer to their having bolted from some place or other. I don’t wish to alarm Mrs. Kenwigs; but I hope they haven’t come from any jail or hospital, and brought away a fever or some unpleasantness of that sort, which might be catching for the children.’
Mrs. Kenwigs was so overpowered by this supposition, that it needed all the tender attentions of Miss Petowker, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, to restore her to anything like a state of calmness; not to mention the assiduity of Mr. Kenwigs, who held a fat smelling-bottle to his lady’s nose, until it became matter of some doubt whether the tears which coursed down her face were the result of feelings or sal volatile.
The ladies, having expressed their sympathy, singly and separately, fell, according to custom, into a little chorus of soothing expressions, among which, such condolences as ‘Poor dear!’—‘I should feel just the same, if I was her’—‘To be sure, it’s a very trying thing’—and ‘Nobody but a mother knows what a mother’s feelings is,’ were among the most prominent, and most frequently repeated. In short, the opinion of the company was so clearly manifested, that Mr. Kenwigs was on the point of repairing to Mr. Noggs’s room, to demand an explanation, and had indeed swallowed a preparatory glass of punch, with great inflexibility and steadiness of purpose, when the attention of all present was diverted by a new and terrible surprise.
This was nothing less than the sudden pouring forth of a rapid succession of the shrillest and most piercing screams, from an upper story; and to all appearance from the very two-pair back, in which the infant Kenwigs was at that moment enshrined. They were no sooner audible, than Mrs Kenwigs, opining that a strange cat had come in, and sucked the baby’s breath while the girl was asleep, made for the door, wringing her hands, and shrieking dismally; to the great consternation and confusion of the company.
‘Mr. Kenwigs, see what it is; make haste!’ cried the sister, laying violent hands upon Mrs. Kenwigs, and holding her back by force. ‘Oh don’t twist about so, dear, or I can never hold you.’
‘My baby, my blessed, blessed, blessed, blessed baby!’ screamed Mrs Kenwigs, making every blessed louder than the last. ‘My own darling, sweet, innocent Lillyvick—Oh let me go to him. Let me go-o-o-o!’