CHAPTER XXVII

ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED A

LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY

As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author to keep so

mighty a personage as a beadle waiting, with his back to the

fire, and the skirts of his coat gathered up under his arms,

until such time as it might suit his pleasure to relieve him; and

as it would still less become his station, or his gallentry to

involve in the same neglect a lady on whom that beadle had looked

with an eye of tenderness and affection, and in whose ear he had

whispered sweet words, which, coming from such a quarter, might

well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of whatsoever degree; the

historian whose pen traces these words--trusting that he knows

his place, and that he entertains a becoming reverence for those

upon earth to whom high and important authority is

delegated--hastens to pay them that respect which their position

demands, and to treat them with all that duteous ceremony which

their exalted rank, and (by consequence) great virtues,

imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end, indeed, he

had purposed to introduce, in this place, a dissertation touching

the divine right of beadles, and elucidative of the position,

that a beadle can do no wrong: which could not fail to have been

both pleasurable and profitable to the right-minded reader but

which he is unfortunately compelled, by want of time and space,

to postpone to some more convenient and fitting opportunity; on

the arrival of which, he will be prepared to show, that a beadle

properly constituted: that is to say, a parochial beadle,

attached to a parochail workhouse, and attending in his official

capacity the parochial church: is, in right and virtue of his

office, possessed of all the excellences and best qualities of

humanity; and that to none of those excellences, can mere

companies' beadles, or court-of-law beadles, or even

chapel-of-ease beadles (save the last, and they in a very lowly

and inferior degree), lay the remotest sustainable claim.

Mr. Bumble had re-counted the teaspoons, re-weighed the

sugar-tongs, made a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and

ascertained to a nicety the exact condition of the furniture,

down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs; and had repeated

each process full half a dozen times; before he began to think

that it was time for Mrs. Corney to return. Thinking begets

thinking; as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corney's approach, it

occured to Mr. Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous

way of spending the time, if he were further to allay his

curiousity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney's

chest of drawers.

Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was

approaching the chamber, Mr. Bumble, beginning at the bottom,

proceeded to make himself acquainted with the contents of the

three long drawers: which, being filled with various garments of

good fashion and texture, carefully preserved between two layers

of old newspapers, speckled with dried lavender: seemed to yield

him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, in course of time, at the

right-hand corner drawer (in which was the key), and beholding

therein a small padlocked box, which, being shaken, gave forth a

pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, Mr. Bumble returned

with a stately walk to the fireplace; and, resuming his old

attitude, said, with a grave and determined air, 'I'll do it!'

He followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking his head

in a waggish manner for ten minutes, as though he were

remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant dog; and

then, he took a view of his legs in profile, with much seeming

pleasure and interest.

He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs.

Corney, hurrying into the room, threw herself, in a breathless

state, on a chair by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one

hand, placed the other over her heart, and gasped for breath.

'Mrs. Corney,' said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, 'what

is this, ma'am? Has anything happened, ma'am? Pray answer me:

I'm on--on--' Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not immediately

think of the word 'tenterhooks,' so he said 'broken bottles.'

'Oh, Mr. Bumble!' cried the lady, 'I have been so dreadfully put

out!'

'Put out, ma'am!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble; 'who has dared to--? I

know!' said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty,

'this is them wicious paupers!'

'It's dreadful to think of!' said the lady, shuddering.

'Then DON'T think of it, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Bumble.

'I can't help it,' whimpered the lady.

'Then take something, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble soothingly. 'A

little of the wine?'

'Not for the world!' replied Mrs. Corney. 'I couldn't,--oh! The

top shelf in the right-hand corner--oh!' Uttering these words,

the good lady pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard, and

underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed

to the closet; and, snatching a pint green-glass bottle from the

shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a tea-cup with its

contents, and held it to the lady's lips.

'I'm better now,' said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking

half of it.

Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in

thankfulness; and, bringing them down again to the brim of the

cup, lifted it to his nose.

'Peppermint,' exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling

gently on the beadle as she spoke. 'Try it! There's a little--a

little something else in it.'

Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his

lips; took another taste; and put the cup down empty.

'It's very comforting,' said Mrs. Corney.

'Very much so indeed, ma'am,' said the beadle. As he spoke, he

drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had

happened to distress her.

'Nothing,' replied Mrs. Corney. 'I am a foolish, excitable, weak

creetur.'

'Not weak, ma'am,' retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a

little closer. 'Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?'

'We are all weak creeturs,' said Mrs. Corney, laying down a

general principle.

'So we are,' said the beadle.

Nothing was said on either side, for a minute or two afterwards.

By the expiration of that time, Mr. Bumble had illustrated the

position by removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney's

chair, where it had previously rested, to Mrs. Corney's

aprong-string, round which is gradually became entwined.

'We are all weak creeturs,' said Mr. Bumble.

Mrs. Corney sighed.

'Don't sigh, Mrs. Corney,' said Mr. Bumble.

'I can't help it,' said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again.

'This is a very comfortable room, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble looking

round. 'Another room, and this, ma'am, would be a complete

thing.'

'It would be too much for one,' murmured the lady.

'But not for two, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents.

'Eh, Mrs. Corney?'

Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the

beadle drooped his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney's face. Mrs.

Corney, with great propriety, turned her head away, and released

her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly

replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble.

'The board allows you coals, don't they, Mrs. Corney?' inquired

the beadle, affectionately pressing her hand.

'And candles,' replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the

pressure.

'Coals, candles, and house-rent free,' said Mr. Bumble. 'Oh,

Mrs. Corney, what an Angel you are!'

The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank

into Mr. Bumble's arms; and that gentleman in his agitation,

imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose.

'Such porochial perfection!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously.

'You know that Mr. Slout is worse to-night, my fascinator?'

'Yes,' replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully.

'He can't live a week, the doctor says,' pursued Mr. Bumble. 'He

is the master of this establishment; his death will cause a

wacancy; that wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a

prospect this opens! What a opportunity for a jining of hearts

and housekeepings!'

Mrs. Corney sobbed.

'The little word?' said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful

beauty. 'The one little, little, little word, my blessed

Corney?'

'Ye--ye--yes!' sighed out the matron.

'One more,' pursued the beadle; 'compose your darling feelings

for only one more. When is it to come off?'

Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length

summoning up courage, she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble's

neck, and said, it might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that

he was 'a irresistible duck.'

Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the

contract was solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the

peppermint mixture; which was rendered the more necessary, by the

flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was being

disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman's

decease.

'Very good,' said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; 'I'll

call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow

morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?'

'It wasn't anything particular, dear,' said the lady evasively.

'It must have been something, love,' urged Mr. Bumble. 'Won't you

tell your own B.?'

'Not now,' rejoined the lady; 'one of these days. After we're

married, dear.'

'After we're married!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble. 'It wasn't any

impudence from any of them male paupers as--'

'No, no, love!' interposed the lady, hastily.

'If I thought it was,' continued Mr. Bumble; 'if I thought as any

one of 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely

countenance--'

'They wouldn't have dared to do it, love,' responded the lady.

'They had better not!' said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. 'Let

me see any man, porochial or extra-porochial, as would presume to

do it; and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time!'

Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have

seemed no very high compliment to the lady's charms; but, as Mr.

Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was

much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested, with

great admiration, that he was indeed a dove.

The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked

hat; and, having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with

his future partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night:

merely pausing, for a few minutes, in the male paupers' ward, to

abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he

could fill the office of workhouse-master with needful acerbity.

Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with

a light heart, and bright visions of his future promotion: which

served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the

undertaker.

Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper:

and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon

himself a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary

to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and

drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual

hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the

counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and

beholding a light shining through the glass-window of the little

parlour at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see

what was going forward; and when he saw what was going forward,

he was not a little surprised.

The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread

and butter, plates and glasses; a porter-pot and a wine-bottle.

At the upper end of the table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled

negligently in an easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of

the arms: an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered

bread in the other. Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening

oysters from a barrel: which Mr. Claypole condescended to

swallow, with remarkable avidity. A more than ordinary redness

in the region of the young gentleman's nose, and a kind of fixed

wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree

intoxicated; these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish

with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong

appreciation of their cooling properties, in cases of internal

fever, could have sufficiently accounted.

'Here's a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!' said Charlotte; 'try

him, do; only this one.'

'What a delicious thing is a oyster!' remarked Mr. Claypole,

after he had swallowed it. 'What a pity it is, a number of 'em

should ever make you feel uncomfortable; isn't it, Charlotte?'

'It's quite a cruelty,' said Charlotte.

'So it is,' acquiesced Mr. Claypole. 'An't yer fond of oysters?'

'Not overmuch,' replied Charlotte. 'I like to see you eat 'em,

Noah dear, better than eating 'em myself.'

'Lor!' said Noah, reflectively; 'how queer!'

'Have another,' said Charlotte. 'Here's one with such a

beautiful, delicate beard!'

'I can't manage any more,' said Noah. 'I'm very sorry. Come

here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer.'

'What!' said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. 'Say that

again, sir.'

Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr.

Claypole, without making any further change in his position than

suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in

drunken terror.

'Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!' said Mr. Bumble. 'How

dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage

him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in

strong indignation. 'Faugh!'

'I didn't mean to do it!' said Noah, blubbering. 'She's always

a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.'

'Oh, Noah,' cried Charlotte, reproachfully.

'Yer are; yer know yer are!' retorted Noah. 'She's always

a-doin' of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin,

please, sir; and makes all manner of love!'

'Silence!' cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. 'Take yourself downstairs,

ma'am. Noah, you shut up the shop; say another word till your

master comes home, at your peril; and, when he does come home,

tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old woman's shell

after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do you hear sir? Kissing!'

cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. 'The sin and wickedness

of the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful! If

Parliament don't take their abominable courses under

consideration, this country's ruined, and the character of the

peasantry gone for ever!' With these words, the beadle strode,

with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker's premises.

And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and

have made all necessary preparations for the old woman's funeral,

let us set on foot a few inquires after young Oliver Twist, and

ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby

Crackit left him.

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