“He had a head, by all account. And, you see, as the first-born of the Lickpans have all been Roberts, they’ve all been Bobs, so the story was handed down to the present day.”
“Poor Joseph, your second boy, will never be able to bring it out in company, which is rather unfortunate,” said Mrs. Worm thoughtfully.
“’A won’t. Yes, grandfer was a clever chap, as ye say; but I knowed a cleverer. ’Twas my uncle Levi. Uncle Levi made a snuff-box that should be a puzzle to his friends to open. He used to hand en round at wedding parties, christenings, funerals, and in other jolly company, and let ’em try their skill. This extraordinary snuff-box had a spring behind that would push in and out—a hinge where seemed to be the cover; a slide at the end, a screw in front, and knobs and queer notches everywhere. One man would try the spring, another would try the screw, another would try the slide; but try as they would, the box wouldn’t open. And they couldn’t open en, and they didn’t open en. Now what might you think was the secret of that box?”
All put on an expression that their united thoughts were inadequate to the occasion.
“Why the box wouldn’t open at all. ’A were made not to open, and ye might have tried till the end of Revelations, ’twould have been as naught, for the box were glued all round.”
“A very deep man to have made such a box.”
“Yes. ’Twas like uncle Levi all over.”
“’Twas. I can mind the man very well. Tallest man ever I seed.”
“’A was so. He never slept upon a bedstead after he growed up a hard boy-chap—never could get one long enough. When ’a lived in that little small house by the pond, he used to have to leave open his chamber door every night at going to his bed, and let his feet poke out upon the landing.”
“He’s dead and gone now, nevertheless, poor man, as we all shall,” observed Worm, to fill the pause which followed the conclusion of Robert Lickpan’s speech.