“It’s nothin’ whatever,”—said Breeks—“easily enough.”
“Breeks, you’re getting quite a heathen, and for the sake of the dear children, I won’t live with you,” pouted Mrs. Breeks.
“See, Julia, what a hole your eyes once made in my heart,” cried the flattering tailor.
“Quite another sort of thing. Holes of that sort ar’n’t supposed to kill;” and the wife proudly smiled.
“No; they certainly do heal, and don’t leave so much as a scar behind. Time does fine-draw ’em wonderful. But don’t believe it, Julia; certainly Mr. Jericho isn’t the man he was: he’s thin to a wonder, and solemn to match. And once he was so lusty and so droll. To be sure, then he never paid, and so took any joke. Do you recollect once when I made him a whole suit, without a single pocket? ‘Why Breeks,’—says he—‘why, there’s never a pocket; not a single pocket.’ ‘I know that,’ says I. ‘I made the suit so a purpose.’ ‘Why so?’ says he. ‘Why,’ says I, ‘Mr. Jericho, whenever I ask you for money, you say you never by no means have so much as a shillin’. Now, when a man never has money, what’s the use of pockets? I wouldn’t any longer hurt your feelins to make ’em.’ Law! how he laughed: never laughs now,—but in return, what a jewel of a paymaster!”
“Paymaster! And how do you know where his money comes from? I shouldn’t wonder if his money in partic’lar isn’t after all—as Mr. Jabez Spikenard says of all money—so much dust and ashes.”
“I can’t say,” answered Breeks; “all I know is, you very soon turn it into mutton and tatoes. And as for the hole that’s talked of—if Mr. Jericho’s heart had as many holes as a cullender, you’ll be good enough to wink at ’em.”
“What! be blind to wickedness! I never was in all my life, Breeks, not even afore I listened to Mr. Spikenard, and it isn’t likely I’m going to shut my eyes now. I’ll learn all about this hole of Satan’s make, depend upon it: I’ll give all the partic’lars to dear Mr. Spikenard, and won’t he make a discourse on it that’ll drag the hearts out of the very charity children! I will, Breeks,” averred the wife.
“I’m sorry to hear it, Julia: because, I did intend to give you a new cherry-coloured satin. You look well—’xtremely well in cherry-colour, Julia. Yes: I had made my mind up to a new gown.”
“And what’s to baulk a blessed intention, Breeks?” asked Julia.