Mr. Bangs turned homewards, fearing to find out more foolish old men among his club. He was anxious too, to see whether the other tooth had not got the start of him. The quiet, regular Mr. Bangs had become a nuisance. No one had ever suspected him of being soft, and but for this unlucky male child he might have “died as he lived, an excellent chemist, an honest man, and one of the best husbands in the world;” but if a weak man will talk, people will find him out.
He passed away very easy, not long after this, just in time to save his credit, so that no one but Peter Broo and captain Muff gave a ha, ha, or a smile when his death was announced. The baby’s tooth stood for ever uppermost in their eyes; and when they told the story, which they did every day for a twelvemonth, they got the thundering big tooth to the size of an elephant’s.
He was missed at home, particularly when the window shutters were to be latched, which office Hannah French now undertook, and the first sound of mirth that was heard in the house was from her. The baby’s teeth all came out finely; and one day as she put on her spectacles to look at them, she gave one of her little deaf laughs. Mrs. Bangs asked her what she laughed at, but Hannah French was too “cute” to tell. It was what follows that passed through her brain and produced the laugh at the end of it.
“I am glad,” thought she, “the old man went off as he did, for the baby’s mouth would have gone from ear to ear, by his grandfather’s constantly pulling it open to see what thundering big tooth was coming out next; and the baby was so used to have his mouth stretched open, that whenever he heard his grandfather’s voice on the stairs, he used, of his own accord, to throw his head back and open his mouth as wide as possible.” Then it was, as this passed through her mind, that Hannah French laughed; but it would not have done to tell Mrs. Bangs of it.
Every one of Mrs. Bangs’s thirteen daughters married, and every one had sons and daughters. I have something pleasant to say of all of them, though not so much as I have said of Fanny. She lives still, and is loved by her husband and family as dearly as ever.
Mrs. Bangs would not have one of her grandsons called Christopher, through fear of their hating her as they grew up. “I had such a deal of trouble about naming you all,” said she, to her thirteen daughters, “that I am resolved my grandchildren shall not be named after kit or kin of mine.” Whether she meant this as a pun, or only as an old saw, I do not know; I should rather suspect the latter; but we will let that alone, ‘tis no concern of ours.
THE THREAD AND NEEDLE STORE.
Martin Barton, a respectable, well looking lad, entered Mr. Daly’s thread and needle store at the age of fourteen. He was a faultless and enduring creature, always at his post, and serving out his appointed time—seven years—without giving his master the least cause of complaint. The morning of his birthday was his day of freedom, and although Mr. Daly knew that this day must come some time or other, yet he was quite unprepared for it. Great, therefore, would have been his sorrow, if Martin Barton had not, in announcing that his apprenticeship was expired, asked his consent to marry Miss Letty Daly—his only child.
Now Mr. Daly had not the least suspicion that Martin Barton had a fancy for his daughter, for he had always considered him as a young man that had no fancy for any thing outside the counter. Even Mrs. Daly, as sharp-eyed as one of her needles, heard the news pretty much as he had done—sorrow that Martin Barton’s time was up, and surprise that he wanted to marry their daughter.
“Martin Barton in love with our Letty!—it cannot be, Mr. Daly, for to my knowledge he has never spent an evening with her in his life.”