“I don’t think,” resumed W., “I felt as much when my poor mother died—I don’t, upon my soul! She was expected for years, but the lady in green came like a thunderbolt!—When I saw the ginger-beer weltering down her, I would almost as soon have seen blood. I felt little short of a murderer. How I got her into Tweedie’s shop, Heaven knows! I suppose I pulled her in, for I cannot remember one word of persuasion. However, I got her into Tweedie’s, and had just sense enough to seat her in a chair, and to beg for a few dry cloths. To do the dear creature justice, she bore it all angelically,—but every smile, every syllable making light of her calamity, went to my heart. You don’t know my original old friend, Charles Mathews, do you, Sir?”
BANDITTI SEIZING BOOTY.
The drysalter signified dissent.
“No matter—his theory is right all over—it is as true as gospel!” exclaimed W., with an asseverating thump upon the table. “There is an infernal, malicious, aggravating little demon, hovers up aloft about us, wherever we go, ready to magnify any mischief, and deepen every disaster. Sure I am he hovered about me! The cloths came—but as soon as I began to wipe briskly, bang again went ‘t’other bottle,’ and uncorked itself before it was called for. I shall never forget the sound! Pop, whiz, fiz, whish—ish—slish—slosh—slush—guggle, guggle, guggle: I’d rather have been at the exploding of the Dartford Powder Mills! At the first report I turned hastily round, but by so doing, I only diverted the jet from the open cases on the counter, to the show-trays in the shop window, filled with Tweedie’s choicest cutlery; and as I completed the pirouette, I favoured Tweedie himself with the tail of the spout!”
“Very unpleasant, indeed,” said the drysalter, with a hard wink, as if the fussy fluid had flown in his own face.
“Unpleasant!” ejaculated W., “it was unendurable! I could have cut my throat with one of the wet razors—I could have stabbed myself with a pair of the splashed scissors! The mess was frightful—bright steel buckles, buttons, clasps, rings, all cut and polished—I saw Tweedie himself shake his head as he looked at the chains and some of the delicate articles. It wasn’t a time to stand upon words, and I believe I cursed and swore like a trooper. I know I stamped about, for I went on the lady’s foot, and that made me worse than ever. Tweedie says I raved; and I do remember I cursed myself for talking of ginger-beer, as well as Hopkins for not keeping it in his house. At last I got so rampant, that even the lady began to console me, and as she had a particularly sweet voice and manner, and Tweedie too, trying to make things comfortable, I began to hear reason: but if ever I carry ginger-beer again in my pocket, along Cheapside——”
“Till you’re a widower,” said I.
“I was coming to that, Sir,” continued W., still addressing the drysalter. “I insisted on putting the lady into a coach, and by that means obtained her address, and as common politeness dictated, I afterwards called and was well received. A new green silk dress was graciously accepted, and a white one afterwards met with the same kind indulgence, when the lady condescended to be Mrs. Walker. Our fortunes, Sir, in this world, hinge frequently on trifles. Through an explosion of pop I thus popped into a partner with a pretty fortune; but for all that, I would not have any man, like the Persian in Hajji Baba, mistake a mere accident for the custom of the country. For Cœlebs in Search of a Wife to walk up and down Cheapside with a bottle of ginger-beer in his pocket, would be Quixotic in the extreme.”
