"No—five, I tell you."
"Well—five then," said Banks. "I'll be there at a few minits 'afore nine: I s'pose you'll cut the carkiss down at the usual hour?"
"Yes—yes," answered Smithers. "I'm always punctiwal with the dead as well as the living."
The undertaker muttered something about "blessed defuncts," smoothed down the limp ends of his dirty cravat, and slowly withdrew, shaking his head more solemnly than ever.
"See what it is to be a Public Executioner!" cried Smithers, turning with an air of triumph towards his son: "look at the perk-visits—look at the priweleges! And yet you go snivelling about like a young gal, 'cos I want to make you fit to succeed me in my honourable profession."
"O father!" cried the lad, unable to restrain his feelings any longer: "instead of being respected, we are abhorred—instead of being honoured, our very touch is contamination! You yourself know, dear father, that you scarcely or never go abroad; if you enter the public-house tap-room, even in a neighbourhood so low as this, the people get up and walk away on different excuses. When I step out for an errand, the boys in the streets point at me; and those who are well-behaved, pass me with stealthy looks of horror and dread. Even that canting hypocrite who has just left us—even he never crosses your threshold except when his interest is concerned;—and yet he, they say, is connected with body-snatchers, and does not bear an over-excellent character in his neighbourhood. Yet such a sneaking old wretch as that approaches our door with loathing—Oh! I know that he does! You see, father—dear father, that it is a horrible employment; then pray don't make me embrace it—Oh! don't—pray don't, father—dear father: say you won't—and I'll do any thing else you tell me! I'll pick up rags and bones from the gutters—I'll sweep chimnies—I'll break stones from dawn to darkness;—but do not—do not make me an executioner!"
Smithers was so astounded at this appeal that he had allowed it to proceed without interruption. He was accustomed to be addressed on the same subject, but never to such a length, nor with such arguments; so that the manner and matter of that prayer produced a strange impression on the man who constantly sought, by means of rude sophistries, to veil from himself and his family the true estimation in which his calling was held.
Gibbet, mistaking his father's astonishment for a more favourable impression, threw himself at his feet, clasped his hands, and exclaimed, "Oh! do not turn a deaf ear to my prayer! And think not, dear father, that I confound you with that pursuit which I abhor;—think not that I see other in you than my parent—a parent whom——"
"Whom you shall obey!" cried the executioner, now recovering the use of his tongue: "or, by God!" he added, pointing with terrible ferocity towards the model-gallows, "I'll serve you as I did that puppet just now—and as I shall do the man down in the Old Bailey presently."
Gibbet rose—disappointed, dispirited, and with a heart agitated by the most painful emotions.