"Yes—I think he is of rather an amiable turn," observed Gammon, with an expressive smile—"very gentlemanlike—and so intelligent"–
"Intelligent! Mr. Gammon! you should only have known him as I have known him!—Well, to be sure!—Lord! His only fault was, that he was above his business; but when one comes to think of it, how could it be otherwise? From the time I first clapped eyes on him—I—I—knew he was—a superior article—quite superior—you know what I mean, sir?—he couldn't help it, of course!—to be sure—he never was much liked by the other young men; but that was jealousy!—all jealousy; I saw that all the while." Here he looked at the door, and added in a very low tone, "Many sleepless nights has their bad treatment of Mr. Titmouse cost me!—Even I, now and then, used to look and speak sharply to him—just to keep him, as it were, down to the mark of the others—he was so uncommon handsome and genteel in his manner, sir. I remember telling my good lady the very first day he came to me, that he was a gentleman born—or ought to have been one."
Now, do you suppose, acute reader, that Mr. Tag-rag was insincere in all this? By no means. He spoke the real dictates of his heart, unaware of the sudden change which had taken place in his feelings. It certainly has an ugly look of improbability—but it was the nature of the beast; his eye suddenly caught a glimpse of the golden calf, and he instinctively fell down and worshipped it. "Well—at all events," said Mr. Gammon, scarcely able to keep a serious expression on his face—"though he's not lived much like a gentleman hitherto, yet he will live for the future like a very great gentleman—and spend his money like one, too."
"I—I—dare say– he will!—I wonder how he will get through a quarter of it!—what do you think he'll do, sir?"
"Heaven only knows—he may very shortly do just what he likes! Go into the House of Commons, or—perhaps—have a peerage given him"–
"Lord, sir!—I feel as if I shouldn't be quite right again for the rest of the day!—I own to you, sir, that all yesterday and to-day I've been on the point of going to Mr. Titmouse's lodgings to apologize for—for– Good gracious me! one can't take it all in at once—Ten thousand a-year!—Many a lord hasn't got more—some not half as much, I'll be bound!—Dear me, what will he do!—Well, one thing I'm sure of—he'll never have a truer friend than plain Thomas Tag-rag, though I've not always been a-flattering him—I respected him too much!—The many little things I've borne with in Titmouse, that in any one else I'd have—But why didn't he tell me, sir? We should have understood one another in a moment."—Here he paused abruptly; for his breath seemed suddenly taken away, as he reviewed the series of indignities which he had latterly inflicted on Titmouse—the kind of life which that amiable young gentleman had led in his establishment.
Never had the keen Gammon enjoyed anything more exquisitely than the scene which I have been describing. To a man of his practical sagacity in the affairs of life, and knowledge of human nature, nothing could appear more ludicrously contemptible than the conduct of poor Tag-rag. How differently are the minds of men constituted! How Gammon despised Tag-rag! And what opinion has the acute reader by this time formed of Gammon?
"Now, may I take for granted, Mr. Tag-rag, that we understand each other?" inquired Gammon.
"Yes, sir," replied Tag-rag, meekly. "But do you think Mr. Titmouse will ever forgive or forget the little misunderstanding we've lately had? If I could but explain to him how I have been acting a part towards him—all for his good!"
"You may have opportunities for doing so, if you are really so disposed, Mr. Tag-rag; for I have something seriously to propose to you. Circumstances render it desirable that for some little time this important affair should be kept as quiet as possible; and it is Mr. Titmouse's wish and ours—as his confidential professional advisers—that for some few months he should continue in your establishment, and apparently in your service as before."
"In my service!—my service!" interrupted Tag-rag, opening his eyes to their utmost. "I sha'n't know how to behave in my own premises! Have a man with ten thousand a-year behind my counter, sir? I might as well have the Lord Mayor! Sir, it can't—it can't be. Now, if Mr. Titmouse chose to become a partner in the house—ay, there might be something in that—he needn't have any trouble—be only a sleeping partner." Tag-rag warmed with the thought. "Really, sir, that wouldn't be so much amiss—would it?" Gammon assured him that it was out of the question; and gave him some of the reasons for the proposal which he (Mr. Gammon) had been making. While Gammon fancied that Tag-rag was paying profound attention to what he was saying, Tag-rag's thoughts had shot far ahead. He had an only child—a daughter, about twenty years old—Miss Tabitha Tag-rag; and the delightful possibility of her by-and-by becoming Mrs. Titmouse, put her aspiring parent into a perspiration. Into the proposal just made by Mr. Gammon, Tag-rag fell with great eagerness, which he attempted to conceal—for what innumerable opportunities would it not afford him for bringing about the desire of his heart—for throwing the lovely young couple into each other's way,—endearing them to each other! Oh, delightful! It really looked almost as if it had been determined by the powers above that the thing should come to pass! If Mr. Titmouse did not dine with him, Mrs. and Miss Tag-rag, at Satin Lodge, Clapham, on the very next Sunday, it should, Tag-rag resolved, be owing to no fault of his.—
Mr. Gammon having arranged everything exactly as he had desired, and having again enjoined Mr. Tag-rag to absolute secrecy, took his departure. Mr. Tag-rag, in his excitement, thrust out his hand, and grasped that of Gammon, which was extended towards him somewhat coldly and reluctantly. Tag-rag attended him with extreme obsequiousness to the door; and on his departure, walked back rapidly to his own room, and sat down for nearly half an hour in a sort of turbid but delicious revery. Abruptly rising, at length, he clapped his hat on his head, and saying, as he passed along the shop, that he should soon be back, hurried out to call upon his future son-in-law, full of affectionate anxiety concerning his health—and vowing within himself, that henceforth it should be the study of his life to make his daughter and Titmouse happy! There could be no doubt of the reality of the event just communicated to him by Mr. Gammon; for he was one of a well-known firm of solicitors; he had had an interview on "important business" with Titmouse a fortnight before, and that could have been nothing but the prodigious event just communicated to himself. Such things had happened to others—why not to Tittlebat Titmouse? In short, Tag-rag had no doubt on the matter; and his heart really yearned towards Titmouse.
Finding that gentleman not at home, Mr. Tag-rag left a most particularly civil message, half a dozen times repeated, with Mrs. Squallop (to whom also he was specially civil,) to the effect that he, Mr. Tag-rag, would be only too happy to see Mr. Titmouse at No. 375, Oxford Street, whenever it might suit his convenience; that Mr. Tag-rag had something very particular to say to him about the unpleasant and unaccountable[!] occurrence of yesterday; that Mr. Tag-rag was most deeply concerned to hear of Mr. Titmouse's indisposition, and anxious to learn from himself that he had recovered, &c. &c. &c.;—all which, together with one or two other little matters, which Mrs. Squallop could not help putting together, satisfied that shrewd lady that "something was in the wind about Mr. Titmouse;" and made her reflect rather anxiously on one or two violent scenes she had had with him, and which she was now ready entirely to forget and forgive. Having thus done all that at present was in his power to forward the affair, the anxious and excited Tag-rag returned to his shop; on entering which, one Lutestring, his principal young man, eagerly apprised him of a claim which he had, as he imagined, only the moment before, established to the thanks of Mr. Tag-rag, by having "bundled off, neck and crop, that hodious Titmouse," who, about five minutes before, had, it seemed, had the "impudence" to present himself at the shop-door, and walk in as if nothing had happened!! [Titmouse had so presented himself in consequence of a call from Mr. Gammon, immediately after his interview with Tag-rag.]
"You—ordered—Mr. Titmouse—off!!" exclaimed Tag-rag, starting back aghast, and almost petrifying his voluble and officious assistant.
"Of course, sir," at length exclaimed that person, meekly—"after what happened yester"–
"Who authorized you, Mr. Lutestring?" inquired Tag-rag, striving to choke down the rage rising within him.
"Why, sir, I really supposed that"–
"You supposed!! You're a meddling, impertinent, disgusting"– Suddenly his face was overspread with smiles, as three or four elegantly dressed customers entered, whom he received with profuse obeisances. But when their backs were turned, he directed a lightning look towards Lutestring, and retreated once more to his room, to meditate on the agitating events of the last hour. The extraordinary alteration in Mr. Tag-rag's behavior was attributed by his shopmen to his having been frightened out of his wits by the threats of Titmouse's lawyer—for such it was clear the stranger was; and more than one of them stored it up in their minds as a useful precedent against some future occasion.
Twice afterwards during the day did Tag-rag call at Mr. Titmouse's lodgings—but in vain; and on returning the third time he felt not a little disquieted. He determined, however, to call the first thing on the ensuing morning; if he should then fail of seeing Mr. Titmouse, he was resolved to go to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap—and besides, address a very affectionate letter to Mr. Titmouse. How totally changed had become all his feelings towards that gentleman within the last few hours. The more that Tag-rag reflected on Titmouse's conduct, the more he saw in it to approve of. How steady and regular had he been in his habits! how civil and obliging! how patient of rebuke! how pleasing in his manners to the customers! Surely, surely, thought Tag-rag, Titmouse can't have been four long years in my employ without getting a—sort of a—feeling—of attachment to me—he'd have left long ago if he hadn't! It was true there had now and then been tiffs between them; but who could agree always? Even Mrs. Tag-rag and he, when they were courting, often fell out with one another!—Tag-rag was now ready to forget and forgive all—he had never meant any harm to Titmouse. He believed that poor Tittlebat was an orphan, unhappy soul! alone in the wide world—now he would become the prey of designing strangers and adventurers. Tag-rag did not like the appearance of Gammon. No doubt that person would try and ingratiate himself as much as possible with Titmouse! Then Titmouse was remarkably good-looking. "I wonder what Tabby will think of him when she sees him!" How anxious Tittlebat must be to see her—his daughter! How could Tag-rag make Tittlebat's stay at his premises (for he could not bring himself to believe that on the morrow he could not set all right, and disavow the abominable conduct of Lutestring) agreeable and delightful? He would discharge the first of his young men that did not show Titmouse proper respect.—What low lodgings poor Tittlebat lived in!—Why could he not take up his quarters at Satin Lodge? They always had a nice spare bedroom. Ah! that would be a stroke! How Tabby could endear herself to him! What a number of things Mrs. Tag-rag could do to make him comfortable!
About seven o'clock Tag-rag quitted his premises in Oxford Street, for his country house; and, occupied with these and similar delightful and anxious thoughts and speculations, hurried along Oxford Street on his way to the Clapham stage, without thinking of his umbrella, though it rained fast. When he had taken his place on the coach-box, beside old Crack, (as he had done almost every night for years,) he was so unusually silent that Crack naturally thought his best passenger was going to become bankrupt, or compound with his creditors, or do something in that line, shortly. Mr. Tag-rag could hardly keep his temper at the slow pace old Crack was driving at—just when Mr. Tag-rag would have wished to gallop the whole way. Never had he descended with so much briskness, as when the coach at length drew up before the little green gate, which opened on the tidy little gravel walk, which led up to the little green wooden porch, which sheltered the little door which admitted you into little Satin Lodge. As Tag-rag stood for a moment wiping his wet shoes upon the mat, he could not help observing, for the first time, by the inward light of ten thousand a-year, how uncommon narrow the passage was; and thinking that Satin Lodge would never do, when he should be the father-in-law of a man worth ten thousand a-year—but he could easily let that house then, and take a large one. As he hung his hat upon the peg, the perilous insolence of Lutestring occurred to him; and he deposited such a prodigious, but half-suppressed execration upon that gentleman's name, as must have sunk a far more buoyant sinner many fathoms deeper than usual into a certain hot and deep place that shall be nameless.
Mrs. and Miss Tag-rag were sitting in the front parlor, intending to take tea as soon as Mr. Tag-rag should have arrived. It was not a large room, but sweetly furnished, according to the taste of the owners. There was only one window, and it had a flaunting white summer curtain. The walls were ornamented with three pictures, in ponderous gilt frames, being portraits of Mr., Mrs., and Miss Tag-rag; and I do not feel disposed to say more concerning these pictures, than that in each of them the dress was done with elaborate exactness—the faces seeming to have been painted in, for the purpose of setting off and completing the picture of the dress. The skinny little Miss Tag-rag sat at the worn-out, jingling pianoforte, causing it to utter—oh, horrid and doleful sound!—"The Battle of Prague." Mrs. Tag-rag, a fat, showily dressed woman of about fifty, her cap having a prodigious number of artificial flowers in it, sat reading a profitable volume, entitled "Groans from the Bottomless Pit to Awaken Sleeping Sinners," by (as he was pleased to dignify himself) the Rev. Dismal Horror—a very rousing young dissenting preacher lately come into that neighborhood, and who had almost frightened into fits half the women and children, and one or two old men, of his congregation; giving out, among several similarly cheering intimations, that they must all necessarily be damned unless they immediately set about making themselves as miserable as possible in this world. Only the Sunday before, he had pointed out, with awful force and distinctness, how cards and novels were the devil's traps to catch souls; and balls and theatres short and easy cuts to–!
He had proved to his trembling female hearers, in effect, that there was only one way to heaven, i. e. through his chapel; that the only safe mode of spending their time on earth was reading such blessed works as that which he had just published, and going daily to prayer-meetings. When, however, a Sunday or two before, he had the assurance to preach a funeral sermon, to "improve the death"—such being his impressive phrase—of a Miss Snooks, (who had kept a circulating library in the neighborhood, but had not been a member of his congregation;) and who, having been to the theatre on the Thursday night, was taken ill of a bowel attack on the Friday, and was a "lifeless corpse when the next Sabbath dawned"—you might have heard a beetle sneeze within any of the walls, all over the crowded chapel. Two-thirds of the women present, struck with the awful judgment upon the deceased Miss Snooks, inwardly made solemn vows never again to enter the accursed walls of a theatre or concert-room;[11] many determined no longer to subscribe to the circulating library, ruining their precious souls with light and amusing reading; and almost all resolved forthwith to become active members of a sort of religious tract society, which "dear Mr. Horror" had just established in the neighborhood, for the purpose of giving the sick and starving poor spiritual food, in the shape of tracts, (chiefly written by himself,) which might "wean their affections away from this vain world," and "fix them on better things," rejoicing, in the meanwhile, in the bitter pangs of destitution—and able to bear them! All this sort of thing Mr. Horror possibly imagined to be calculated to advance the cause of real religion! In short, he had created a sort of spiritual fever about the place which was then just at its height in worthy Mrs. Tag-rag.
"Well, Dolly, how are you to-night?" inquired Tag-rag, with unusual briskness, on entering the room.
"Tolerable, thank you, Tag," replied Mrs. Tag-rag, mournfully, with a sigh, closing the cheerful volume she had been perusing—it having been recommended the preceding Sunday from the pulpit by its pious and gifted author, to be read and prayed over every day by every member of his congregation!
"And how are you, Tabby?" said Tag-rag, addressing his daughter. "Come and kiss me, you little slut—come!"
"No, I sha'n't, pa! Do let me go on with my practising," said Miss Tag-rag—and twang! twang! went those infernal keys.
"D' ye hear, Tab? Come and kiss me, you little minx"–
"Really, pa, how provoking—just as I am in the middle of the Cries of the Wounded! I sha'n't—that's flat."
The doting parent could not, however, be denied; so he stepped to the piano, put his arm around his dutiful daughter's neck, kissed her fondly, and then stood for a moment behind her, admiring her brilliant execution of The Trumpet of Victory. Having changed his coat, and put on an old pair of shoes, Mr. Tag-rag was comfortable for the evening.
"Tabby plays wonderful well, Dolly, don't she?" said Tag-rag, as the tea-things were being brought in, by way of beginning a conversation, while he drew his chair nearer to his wife.
"Ah! I'd a deal rather see her reading something serious—for life is short, Tag, and eternity's long."
"Botheration!—Stuff!—Tut!" exclaimed Tag-rag!
"You may find it out one day, my dear, when, alas! it's too late"—
"I'll tell you what, Dolly," said Tag-rag, angrily, "you're doing a great deal too much in this line of business—my house is getting like a Methodist meeting-house. I can't bear it—I can't! What the deuce is come to you all in these parts, lately?" Mr. Tag-rag, I should apprise the reader, had been induced, some three years before, to quit the Church of England and take up with Mr. Dismal Horror; but his zeal had by no means kept pace with that of his wife.
"Ah, Tag-rag," replied his wife, with a sigh, "I can only pray for you—I can do no more"–
"Oh!" exclaimed Tag-rag, with an air of desperate disgust, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and stretching his legs to their utmost extent under the table. "I'll tell you what, Mrs. T." he added after a while, "I like religion well enough—but too much of it no one can stand. Too much of one thing is good for nothing; you may choke a dog with pudding;—I sha'n't renew my sittings at Mr. Horror's."
"Oh, dear, dear pa, do! That's a love of a pa!" interposed Miss Tag-rag, twirling round on her music-stool. "All Clapham's running after him—he's quite the rage! There's the Dugginses, the Pips, the Jones, the Maggots,—and, really, Mr. Horror does preach such dreadful things, it's quite delightful to look round and see all the people with their eyes and mouths wide open—and ours is such a good pew for seeing—and Mr. Horror is such a bee—yeautiful preacher—isn't he, ma?"
"Yes, love, he is—but I wish I could see you profit by him, and preparing for death"–
"Why, ma, how can you go on in that ridiculous way? You know I'm not twenty yet, however old you and pa may be!"
"Well, well! poor Tabby!" here Mrs. Tag-rag's voice faltered—"a day will come, when"–
"Play me the Devil among the Tailors, or Copenhagen Waltz, or something of that sort, Tabby," said her father, furiously, "or I shall be sick!—I can't bear it! Curse Mr. Hor"–
"Well!—Oh, my!!—I never!—Mr. Tag-rag!" exclaimed his astounded wife.
"Play away, Tab, or I'll go and sit in the kitchen! They're cheerful there! The next time I come across Mr. Horror, if I don't give him a bit of my mind"—here he paused, and slapped his hand with much energy upon the table. Mrs. Tag-rag wiped her eyes, sighed, and resumed her book. Miss Tag-rag began to make tea, her papa gradually forgetting his rage, as he fixed his dull gray eyes fondly on the pert skinny countenance of his daughter.
"By the way, Tag," exclaimed Mrs. Tag-rag, suddenly, but in the same mournful tone, addressing her husband, "you haven't of course forgot the flowers for my new bonnet?"
"Never once thought of it," replied Tag-rag, doggedly.
"You haven't! Good gracious! what am I to go to chapel in next Sunday?" she exclaimed with sudden alarm, closing her book, "and our seat in the very front of the gallery!—bless me! I shall have a hundred eyes on me!"
"Now that you're coming down a bit, and dropped out of the clouds—or p'r'aps I should say—come up from beneath!—Dolly," said her husband, much relieved, "I'll tell you a bit of news that will, I fancy, rather"–
"Come! what is it, Tag?" she inquired with a sort of languid curiosity.
"What should you say of a chance of a certain somebody" (here he looked unutterable things at his daughter) "that shall be nameless, becoming mistress of ten thousand a-year?"
"Why"—Mrs. Tag-rag changed color—"has any one fallen in love with Tab?"
"What should you say, Mrs. T., of our Tab marrying a man with ten thousand a-year? There's for you! Isn't that better than all your rel– hem!"
"Oh, Tag, don't say that; but"—here she hastily turned down the leaf of Groans from the Bottomless Pit, and tossed that inestimable work upon the sofa—"do tell me, lovey! what are you talking about?"
"What indeed, Dolly!—I'm going to have him here to dinner next Sunday."
Miss Tag-rag having been listening with breathless eagerness to this little colloquy between her prudent and amiable parents, unconscious of what she was about, poured almost all the contents of the tea-pot into the sugar-basin, instead of her papa's and mamma's tea-cups.
"Have who, dear Tag?" inquired Mrs. Tag-rag, impatiently.
"Who? why whom but my Tittlebat Titmouse!! You've seen him, and heard me speak of him often, you know"–
"What!—that odious, nasty"–
"Hush, hush!" involuntarily exclaimed Tag-rag, with an apprehensive air—"That's all past and gone—I was always a little too hard on him. Well, anyhow, he's turned up all of a sudden master of ten thousand a-year. He has indeed—may this piece of toast choke me if he hasn't!"
Mrs. Tag-rag and her daughter sat in speechless wonder.
"Where did he see Tab, Taggy?" inquired at length Mrs. Tag-rag.
"Oh—I—I—why—you see—I don't exactly think that signifies so much—he will see her, you know, next Sunday."
"So, then, he's positively coming?" inquired Mrs. Tag-rag, with a fluttered air.
"Y—e—s—I've no doubt."—(I'll discharge Lutestring to-morrow, thought Tag-rag, with a sharp inward spasm.)
"But aren't we counting our chickens, Taggy, before they're hatched? If Titmouse is all of a sudden become such a catch, he'll be snapped up in a minute, you know, of course"–
"Why, you see, Dolly—we're first in the market, I'm sure of that—his attorney tells me he's to be kept quite snug and quiet under my care for months, and see no one"–
"My gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Tag-rag, holding up both her hands—"if that don't look like a special interposition of Providence, now"–
"So I thought, Tabby, while Mr. Gammon was telling me!" replied her husband.
"Ah, Tag, there are many of 'em, if we were only to be on the look-out for them!" said Mrs. Tag-rag, excitedly.
"I do see it all! It's designed by Providence to get them soon together! When once Mr. Titmouse gets sight of Tabby, and gets into her company—eh! Tab, lovey! you'll do the rest, hem!" said Tag-rag, fondly.
"La, pa! how you do go on!" simpered Miss Tag-rag.
"You must do your part, Tab," said her father—"we'll do ours. He'll bite, you may depend on it, if you manage well!"
"What sort of a looking young man is he, dear pa?" inquired Miss Tag-rag, blushing, and her heart fluttering very fast.
"Oh, you must have seen him, sweetest"–
"How should I ever notice any one of the lots of young men at the shop, pa?—I don't at all know him."
"Well—he's the handsomest, most genteel-looking young fellow I ever came across; he's long been an ornament to my establishment, for his good looks and civil and obliging manners—quite a treasure! You should have seen how he took with the ladies of rank always!"–
"Dear me," interrupted Mrs. Tag-rag, anxiously addressing her daughter, "I hope, Tabby, that Miss Nix will send home your lilac-colored frock by next Sunday!"
"If she don't, ma, I'll take care she never makes anything more for me, that's poz!" replied Miss Tag-rag, earnestly.
"We'll call there to-morrow, love, and hurry her on," said her mother; and from that moment until eleven o'clock, when the amiable and interesting trio retired to rest, nothing was talked of but the charming Titmouse, and the good fortune he so richly deserved, and how long the courtship was likely to last. Mrs. Tag-rag, who, for the last month or so, had always remained on her knees before getting into bed, for at least ten minutes, on this eventful evening compressed her prayers, I regret to say, into one minute and a half's time, (as for Tag-rag, a hardened heathen, for all he had taken to hearing Mr. Horror, he always tumbled prayerless into bed, the moment he was undressed;) while, for once in a way, Miss Tag-rag, having taken only five minutes to put her hair into papers, popped into bed directly she had blown the candle out, without saying any prayers—or even thinking of finishing the novel which lay under her pillow, and which she had got on the sly from the circulating library of the late Miss Snooks. For several hours she lay in a delicious revery, imagining herself become Mrs. Tittlebat Titmouse, riding about Clapham in a handsome carriage, going to the play every night; and what would the three Miss Knippses say when they heard of it?—they'd burst. And such a handsome man, too!
She sank, at length, into unconsciousness, amid a soft confusion of glistening white satin—favors—bridesmaids—Mrs. Tittlebat Tit—Tit—Tit—Tit—mouse.
Titmouse, about half-past nine o'clock on the ensuing morning, was sitting in his little room in a somewhat troubled humor, musing on many things, and little imagining the intense interest he had excited in the feelings of the amiable occupants of Satin Lodge, when a knock at his door startled him out of his revery. Guess his amazement to see, on opening it, Mr. Tag-rag!
"Your most obedient, sir," commenced that gentleman, in a subdued and obsequious manner, plucking off his hat the instant that he saw Titmouse. "I hope you're better, sir!—Been very uneasy, sir, about you."
"Please to walk in, sir," replied Titmouse, not a little flustered—"I'm better, sir, thank you."
"Happy to hear it, sir?—But am also come to offer humble apologies for the rudeness of that upstart that was so rude to you yesterday, at my premises—know whom I mean, eh?—Lutestring—I shall get rid of him, I do think"–
"Thank you, sir– But—but—when I was in your employ"–
"Was in my employ!" interrupted Tag-rag, with a sigh, gazing earnestly at him—"It's no use trying to hide it any longer! I've all along seen you was a world too good for—in fact, quite above your situation in my poor shop! I may have been wrong, Mr. Titmouse," he continued diffidently, as he placed himself on what seemed the only chair in the room, (Titmouse sitting on a common wooden stool)—"but I did it for the best—eh?—don't you understand me, Mr. Titmouse?" Titmouse continued looking on the floor incredulously, sheepishly, and somewhat sullenly.
"Very much obliged, sir," at length he answered—"but must say you've rather a funny way of showing it, sir. Look at the sort of life you've led me for this"–
"Ah! knew you'd say so! But I can lay my hand on my heart, Mr. Titmouse, and declare to God—I can, indeed, Mr. Titmouse"– Titmouse preserved a very embarrassing silence.—"See I'm out of your good books—But—won't you forget and forgive, Mr. Titmouse? I meant well. Nay, I humbly beg forgiveness for everything you've not liked in me. Can I say more? Come, Mr. Titmouse, you've a noble nature, and I ask forgiveness!" cried Tag-rag, softly and earnestly: you would have thought that his life depended on his success in what he was doing!
"You—you ought to do it before the whole shop, if you're in earnest," replied Titmouse, a little relenting—"for they've all seen your goings on."
"Them!—the brutes!—the vulgar fellows, eugh!—you and I, Mr. Titmouse, are a leetle above such cattle as them! D' ye think we ought to mind what servants say?—Only you say the word, and I make a clean sweep of 'em all; you shall have the premises to yourself, Mr. Titmouse, within an hour after any of those chaps shows you the least glimmer of disrespect."
"Ah! I don't know—you've used me most uncommon bad, 'pon my soul!—far worse than they have—you've nearly broke my heart, sir! You have!"
"Well, my womankind at home are right, after all! They told me all along I was going the wrong way to work, when I said how I tried to keep your pride down, and prevent you from having your head turned by knowing your good looks! Over and over again, my little girl has said, with tears in her dear eyes, 'you'll break his spirit, dear papa—if he is handsome, wasn't it God that made him so?'" The little frostwork which Titmouse had thrown around his heart, began to melt like snow under sunbeams. "Ah, Mr. Titmouse, Mr. Titmouse! the women are always right, and we're always wrong," continued Tag-rag, earnestly, perceiving his advantage. "Upon my soul I could kick myself for my stupidity, and cruelty too!"