'ooman vishes to be religious, she should begin vith dischargin' her
dooties at home, and makin' them as is about her cheerful and happy,
and that vile she goes to church, or chapel, or wot not, at all proper
times, she should be wery careful not to con-wert this sort o' thing
into a excuse for idleness or self-indulgence. I have done this," she
says, "and I've vasted time and substance on them as has done it more
than me; but I hope ven I'm gone, Veller, that you'll think on me as I
wos afore I know'd them people, and as I raly wos by natur."
'"Susan," says I--I wos took up wery short by this, Samivel; I von't
deny it, my boy--"Susan," I says, "you've been a wery good vife to me,
altogether; don't say nothin' at all about it; keep a good heart, my
dear; and you'll live to see me punch that 'ere Stiggins's head yet."
She smiled at this, Samivel,' said the old gentleman, stifling a sigh
with his pipe, 'but she died arter all!'
'Vell,' said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation, after
the lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the old gentleman in
slowly shaking his head from side to side, and solemnly smoking, 'vell,
gov'nor, ve must all come to it, one day or another.'
'So we must, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the elder.
'There's a Providence in it all,' said Sam.
'O' course there is,' replied his father, with a nod of grave approval.
'Wot 'ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?'
Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by this reflection, the
elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, and stirred the fire with a
meditative visage.
While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook,
dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about, in the bar, glided
into the room, and bestowing many smirks of recognition upon Sam,
silently stationed herself at the back of his father's chair, and
announced her presence by a slight cough, the which, being disregarded,
was followed by a louder one.
'Hollo!' said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he looked
round, and hastily drew his chair away. 'Wot's the matter now?'
'Have a cup of tea, there's a good soul,' replied the buxom female
coaxingly. 'I von't,' replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous
manner. 'I'll see you--' Mr. Weller hastily checked himself, and added
in a low tone, 'furder fust.'
'Oh, dear, dear! How adwersity does change people!' said the lady,
looking upwards.
'It's the only thing 'twixt this and the doctor as shall change my
condition,' muttered Mr. Weller.
'I really never saw a man so cross,' said the buxom female.
'Never mind. It's all for my own good; vich is the reflection vith vich
the penitent school-boy comforted his feelin's ven they flogged him,'
rejoined the old gentleman.
The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and sympathising
air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his father really ought
not to make an effort to keep up, and not give way to that lowness of
spirits.
'You see, Mr. Samuel,' said the buxom female, 'as I was telling him
yesterday, he will feel lonely, he can't expect but what he should, sir,
but he should keep up a good heart, because, dear me, I'm sure we all
pity his loss, and are ready to do anything for him; and there's no
situation in life so bad, Mr. Samuel, that it can't be mended. Which
is what a very worthy person said to me when my husband died.' Here the
speaker, putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and looked
affectionately at the elder Mr. Weller.
'As I don't rekvire any o' your conversation just now, mum, vill you
have the goodness to re-tire?' inquired Mr. Weller, in a grave and
steady voice.
'Well, Mr. Weller,' said the buxom female, 'I'm sure I only spoke to you
out of kindness.'
'Wery likely, mum,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Samivel, show the lady out, and
shut the door after her.'
This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at once left the
room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr. Weller, senior,
falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration, said--
'Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun week--only vun week, my
boy--that 'ere 'ooman 'ud marry me by force and wiolence afore it was
over.'
'Wot! is she so wery fond on you?' inquired Sam.
'Fond!' replied his father. 'I can't keep her avay from me. If I was
locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she'd find means
to get at me, Sammy.'
'Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!' observed Sam, smiling.
'I don't take no pride out on it, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, poking the
fire vehemently, 'it's a horrid sitiwation. I'm actiwally drove out
o' house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out o' your poor
mother-in-law's body, ven vun old 'ooman sends me a pot o' jam, and
another a pot o' jelly, and another brews a blessed large jug o'
camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own hands.' Mr. Weller
paused with an aspect of intense disgust, and looking round, added in
a whisper, 'They wos all widders, Sammy, all on 'em, 'cept the
camomile-tea vun, as wos a single young lady o' fifty-three.'
Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman having broken
an obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance expressive of as much
earnestness and malice as if it had been the head of one of the widows
last-mentioned, said:
'In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box.'
'How are you safer there than anyveres else?' interrupted Sam.
''Cos a coachman's a privileged indiwidual,' replied Mr. Weller, looking
fixedly at his son. ''Cos a coachman may do vithout suspicion wot other
men may not; 'cos a coachman may be on the wery amicablest terms with
eighty mile o' females, and yet nobody think that he ever means to marry
any vun among 'em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy?'
'Vell, there's somethin' in that,' said Sam.
'If your gov'nor had been a coachman,' reasoned Mr. Weller, 'do you
s'pose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him, s'posin' it
possible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity? They dustn't
ha' done it.'
'Wy not?' said Sam, rather disparagingly.
'Wy not!' rejoined Mr. Weller; ''cos it 'ud ha' gone agin their
consciences. A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' con-nectin' link betwixt
singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it.'
'Wot! You mean, they're gen'ral favorites, and nobody takes adwantage on
'em, p'raps?' said Sam.
His father nodded.
'How it ever come to that 'ere pass,' resumed the parent Weller, 'I
can't say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess such insiniwations,
and is alvays looked up to--a-dored I may say--by ev'ry young 'ooman in
ev'ry town he vurks through, I don't know. I only know that so it is.
It's a regulation of natur--a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law
used to say.'
'A dispensation,' said Sam, correcting the old gentleman.
'Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better,' returned
Mr. Weller; 'I call it a dispensary, and it's always writ up so, at
the places vere they gives you physic for nothin' in your own bottles;
that's all.'
With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe, and once
more summoning up a meditative expression of countenance, continued as
follows--
'Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o' stoppin here
to be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same time I do
not vish to separate myself from them interestin' members o' society
altogether, I have come to the determination o' driving the Safety,
and puttin' up vunce more at the Bell Savage, vich is my nat'ral born
element, Sammy.'
'And wot's to become o' the bis'ness?' inquired Sam.
'The bis'ness, Samivel,' replied the old gentleman, 'good-vill, stock,
and fixters, vill be sold by private contract; and out o' the money, two
hundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o' your mother-in-law's to me,
a little afore she died, vill be invested in your name in--What do you
call them things agin?'
'Wot things?' inquired Sam.
'Them things as is always a-goin' up and down, in the city.'
'Omnibuses?' suggested Sam.
'Nonsense,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Them things as is alvays
a-fluctooatin', and gettin' theirselves inwolved somehow or another vith
the national debt, and the chequers bill; and all that.'
'Oh! the funds,' said Sam.
'Ah!' rejoined Mr. Weller, 'the funs; two hundred pounds o' the money is
to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four and a half per cent.
reduced counsels, Sammy.'
'Wery kind o' the old lady to think o' me,' said Sam, 'and I'm wery much
obliged to her.'
'The rest will be inwested in my name,' continued the elder Mr. Weller;
'and wen I'm took off the road, it'll come to you, so take care you
don't spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that no widder gets a
inklin' o' your fortun', or you're done.'
Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with a more
serene countenance; the disclosure of these matters appearing to have
eased his mind considerably.
'Somebody's a-tappin' at the door,' said Sam.
'Let 'em tap,' replied his father, with dignity.
Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap, and another, and
then a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquired why the tapper was not
admitted.
'Hush,' whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks, 'don't take no
notice on 'em, Sammy, it's vun o' the widders, p'raps.'
No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after a short
lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was no female head that
was thrust in at the partially-opened door, but the long black locks and
red face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. Weller's pipe fell from his hands.
The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost imperceptible
degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough to admit of the passage
of his lank body, when he glided into the room and closed it after him,
with great care and gentleness. Turning towards Sam, and raising his
hands and eyes in token of the unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded
the calamity that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backed
chair to his old corner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very
edge, drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same to
his optics.
While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back in his
chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees, and his
whole countenance expressive of absorbing and overwhelming astonishment.
Sam sat opposite him in perfect silence, waiting, with eager curiosity,
for the termination of the scene.
Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his eyes for some
minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then, mastering his feelings by
a strong effort, put it in his pocket and buttoned it up. After this, he
stirred the fire; after that, he rubbed his hands and looked at Sam.
'Oh, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence, in a
very low voice, 'here's a sorrowful affliction!'
Sam nodded very slightly.
'For the man of wrath, too!' added Mr. Stiggins; 'it makes a vessel's
heart bleed!' Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something
relative to making a vessel's nose bleed; but Mr. Stiggins heard him
not. 'Do you know, young man,' whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing his chair
closer to Sam, 'whether she has left Emanuel anything?'
'Who's he?' inquired Sam.
'The chapel,' replied Mr. Stiggins; 'our chapel; our fold, Mr. Samuel.'
'She hasn't left the fold nothin', nor the shepherd nothin', nor the
animals nothin',' said Sam decisively; 'nor the dogs neither.'
Mr. Stiggins looked slily at Sam; glanced at the old gentleman, who was
sitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep; and drawing his chair still
nearer, said--
'Nothing for ME, Mr. Samuel?'
Sam shook his head.
'I think there's something,' said Stiggins, turning as pale as he could
turn. 'Consider, Mr. Samuel; no little token?'
'Not so much as the vorth o' that 'ere old umberella o' yourn,' replied
Sam.
'Perhaps,' said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments' deep
thought, 'perhaps she recommended me to the care of the man of wrath,
Mr. Samuel?'
'I think that's wery likely, from what he said,' rejoined Sam; 'he wos
a-speakin' about you, jist now.'
'Was he, though?' exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. 'Ah! He's changed,
I dare say. We might live very comfortably together now, Mr. Samuel,
eh? I could take care of his property when you are away--good care, you
see.'
Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response.
Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller the elder gave vent to an extraordinary
