“And what did you do then?” inquired Climberkin.
“I went to live wi’ an uncle,” replied Boggle. “He kept a knife-and-forkery. Meat of all kinds, ready cooked, was waiting for the hungry at any hour, with vegetables in season and out o’ season; soups of all sorts, and some of very strange sorts; with mustard, bread, pepper, and salt. I continued at this business a considerable time, and liked it much better nor the ship carpenterin’; and I gained a good many ’ticular notions o’ things in general: indeed, I may say, without any sinnivation against the sort o’ meat we sold, as how I became a slap bang judge o’ horse-flesh. I still continued ’deavourin’ to set things right as was goin’ t’other way; but the same sort o’ fun al’ays happened as when I ’tempted to make jealousy become a proof o’ love: I got no more gratitude nor would serve a flea to lie down upon. Well, it so happened as our customers was frequently in the habit o’ complainin’ o’ dyspepsia. Every body had dyspepsia: long or short, little or big, fat or lean, every mortal cretur talked o’ nothin’ else but his dyspepsia. Some said it was all acause o’ their diet, and they detarmined to make a reg’lar change in their eatables; so havin’ been used to nothin’ else but mutton and beef, they directly began to eat nothin’ else but beef and mutton. And some said it was one thing, and some said it was another; and some said it was just exactly neither. Now, I knowed about as much o’ dyspepsia as I did o’ the top o’ the moon; but I seed as there was a screw loose somewhere, and I was nat’rally anxious to put it in proper order. So I got hold of a book as gived explanations in the most popular incomprehensible manner about diet and regimen, and what you should eat and what you shouldn’t eat; and how much you might put in your bread-room, and how much you might let alone; and there I met with the whole complete circumbendibus about dyspepsia.”
“And what was it?” inquired his companion.
“Why, I can’t exactly say what it was,” replied Boggle, “acause the book didn’t exactly tell me; but I found out as every fellow as had it should be reg’lar as clock-work in his eatables, and should have no more nor a sartain quantity at no time. So I began ’deavourin’ to cure the dyspepsia. I hadn’t the power to make ’em reg’late their jaw tackle accordin’ to the book; but I took precious good care as every one should have a sartain quantity. Whether a fellow could eat a horse, or hadn’t a appetite no more nor a blue bottle, I sarved ’em all wi’ a sartain quantity. Acause why? It was good for their dyspepsia. But they kicked up such a bobbery! The big eaters got into a devourin’ rage, and they left the shop, swearing I was a tryin’ to pick their pockets. Ungrateful wretches! I was only a tryin’ to cure their dyspepsia. And the little eaters were so very few in comparison, that, if they had remained satisfied wi’ my treatment, their custom would have been of no sort o’ significance; but, acause I gived them more nor their money’s worth, they quitted the place, saying it was too cheap to be good, and that I was only a wantin’ to poisen ’em. Ignorant creturs! I was only a wantin’ to cure their dyspepsia! Well, my uncle was in a reg’lar take in at the loss o’ his business: it put him into as complete a botheration as ever you seed. He was a man o’ very few words, but was unkimmon handy upon occasions; and, seein’ or fancyin’ summut wasn’t correct, he watched my goin’s on; and one day he cotched me a sarving out a sartain quantity to a fellow who didn’t want quite so much. So he axed me what I was arter; and I up and I told him all about the dyspepsia; and all about my attemptin’ to cure it; and all about my sarvin’ out a sartain quantity to every body as comed to the shop. Well, afore I’d got to the end o’ my story, my uncle, in the most unnat’ral way as could be, took up a stick as was handy, and he sarved me out wi’ a sartain quantity, till I was obligated to make all sail out o’ the shop.”
“Accordin’ to my notions, it wasn’t a bit more nor you deserved,” remarked the unsympathising Climberkin.
“What, not for trying to cure the dyspepsia!” loudly exclaimed the other.
“Not for trying to cure nothin’,” was the reply. “But what became o’ you arter that?”
“Why, my friends thought my notions o’ things in general not likely to come to no good ashore, so they took it into their heads to send me afloat,” responded his companion. “My first voyage lasted long enough to give me a tolerable smartish insight into the nautical; but I was continually wantin’ to set things right, and my good intentions were as continually a sarving me out wi’ a sartain quantity. Now, this might ha’ made any fellow but me tired o’ tryin’ to benefit his fellow-creturs: but I wasn’t a chap o’ that sort; and I still went on, as sarcumstances required, ’tempting to do lots o’ good, and gettin’ in return nothin’ but lots o’ bad. Well, when I came ashore in my native place, I was rather a hold-your-head-up sort o’ young chap; and, havin’ some money to spend, I swaggered about the streets most consumedly, and fancied as every gal I cotched sight on was thinkin’ o’ nothin’ in natur’ but lookin’ arter me. So I thought as a matter o’ course I’d look arter them. I just did. As I had ’ticular notions o’ things in general, as every man as is a man, and thinks like a man, should have, I thought it would be cruel to the rest o’ the she creturs if I confined my attentions to one: consequently, I went a courtin’ away like a steam-engine to all as I could meet. I had ’em o’ all sorts and sizes, colours and complexions—scraggy or squab—longs or shorts—it made not a bit o’ difference—as long as they were inclined to be fond o’ me, I was inclined to be fond o’ them. I had the best intentions—I thought o’ nothin’ but makin’ ’em happy; and the more happiness as I could make, the more good I thought I was a doing. Well, somehow or other, things began to look queer, and every one on ’em was a wantin’ me to marry ’em. Now, there was a law again a fellow marryin’ more nor one wife; and I knew as if I married one it would be unkimmonly unjust to the rest. This my ’ticular notion o’ things in general wouldn’t allow. I still entertained the best intentions; so thinkin’ as if they knowed the rights o’ the case they would see the impossibility o’ my agreein’ to their wishes, I, unbeknown to the others, invited every one to meet me under a large tree, a little way out o’ the town, in the branches o’ which I hid myself very snug, to diskiver the upshot. First one came—then came another—and number one looked at number two in all sorts o’ ways. Then came a third, and the two looked at number three in all sorts o’ ways. Then came a fourth, a fifth, a sixth—ay, I may as well acknowledge at once as how they came to a matter o’ twenty; and they all looked at one another in all sorts o’ ways. At last, one on ’em, as I knowed to be a bit o’ a spit-fire, spoke up.
“‘Ladies,’ says she, ‘may I ask what brought you all here?’