“If you p–p–please ’M,” said Mary, who then stopped short, for something seemed to have got in her throat.
“Mary!” exclaimed Mrs Inglis, severely.
Poor Mary looked as serious directly, as if she were going to lose her situation, and making an effort she began again.
“If you please, ’M, here’s Mr— Oh! dear; oh!—hoo—hoo—guggle—guggle—gug—gug—gug; choke—choke; cough—cough,” went Mary, burying her face in her apron, and completely losing her breath, and turning almost black in the face with, her efforts to stifle her laughter. “Oh! dear; oh! dear,” she said, trying to run out of the room, but Mrs Inglis stopped her, and insisted upon knowing what was the cause of her mirth.
“Oh, ’M, please, ’M, here’s Mr Jones come, and wants to see Master; and oh, ’M, please, ’M—he—he—he—he—he—he’s in such a mess. Oh! dear; oh! dear; what shall I do!”
“Do,” said Mrs Inglis, at last, quite angrily. “Why, go and ask Mr Jones to step in here; or no, tell him to step into the drawing-room.”
“Oh, please, ’M, don’t,” said Mary, serious in a moment. “Please, ’M, don’t; he ain’t fit, and he’ll come off black over everything he comes a-nigh.”
“Well, send him here, then,” said Mrs Inglis; and away went Mary back into the hall, and directly after she ushered in Mr Jones, who presented such an appearance that both Mr and Mrs Inglis at once excused poor Mary’s laughter, for they had hard work to restrain their own mirth.
Mr Jones was a retired exciseman, and of the description of man known as dapper; he was a little, fat, chubby fellow, who dressed very smartly, always wearing white trousers in the summer, and a buff waistcoat, made so as to show as much shirt-front and as little waistcoat as possible. He was a man who always used to labour under, the idea that he looked very fierce, and, to make himself look fiercer, he used to brush his hair all up into a pyramid over the barren place on the top of his head, so that the hair used to form a regular pomatumed spike. But he did not look at all fierce, for his fat round face, dull eyes, and tenchy mouth would not let him; but he used to speak very loudly, and thump his Malacca cane down on the ground, and strut and look as important as many more people do who have not brains enough to teach them their insignificance as parts of creation, or how very little value they are in the world, which could go on just as well without them.
Now, Mr Jones did not like Mr Inglis; he used to say that Mr Inglis was pompous, and purse-proud, and vain; and, what was more, Mr Inglis had given the little man dreadful offence in buying the two-acre field where the potato piece was that used to be so trampled down.