“I ought to make a hundred apologies to you for calling at such a season,” said Nicholas, “but I was not aware of it until I had rung the bell, and my time is so fully occupied now, that I feared it might be some days before I could possibly come again.”
“No time like the present, sir,” said Mr. Kenwigs. “The sitiwation of Mrs. Kenwigs, sir, is no obstacle to a little conversation between you and me, I hope?”
“You are very good,” said Nicholas.
At this juncture, proclamation was made by another married lady, that the baby had begun to eat like anything; whereupon the two married ladies, already mentioned, rushed tumultuously into the bedroom to behold him in the act.
“The fact is,” resumed Nicholas, “that before I left the country, where I have been for some time past, I undertook to deliver a message to you.”
“Ay, ay?” said Mr. Kenwigs.
“And I have been,” added Nicholas, “already in town for some days, without having had an opportunity of doing so.”
“It’s no matter, sir,” said Mr. Kenwigs. “I dare say it’s none the worse for keeping cold. Message from the country!” said Mr. Kenwigs, ruminating; “that’s curious. I don’t know anybody in the country.”
“Miss Petowker,” suggested Nicholas.
“Oh! from her, is it?” said Mr. Kenwigs. “Oh dear, yes. Ah! Mrs. Kenwigs will be glad to hear from her. Henrietta Petowker, eh? How odd things come about, now! That you should have met her in the country! Well!”
Hearing this mention of their old friend’s name, the four Miss Kenwigses gathered round Nicholas, open eyed and mouthed, to hear more. Mr. Kenwigs looked a little curious too, but quite comfortable and unsuspecting.
“The message relates to family matters,” said Nicholas, hesitating.
“Oh, never mind,” said Kenwigs, glancing at Mr. Lumbey, who, having rashly taken charge of little Lillyvick, found nobody disposed to relieve him of his precious burden. “All friends here.”
Nicholas hemmed once or twice, and seemed to have some difficulty in proceeding.
“At Portsmouth, Henrietta Petowker is,” observed Mr. Kenwigs.
“Yes,” said Nicholas, “Mr. Lillyvick is there.”
Mr. Kenwigs turned pale, but he recovered, and said, that was an odd coincidence also.
“The message is from him,” said Nicholas.
Mr. Kenwigs appeared to revive. He knew that his niece was in a delicate state, and had, no doubt, sent word that they were to forward full particulars. Yes. That was very kind of him; so like him too!
“He desired me to give his kindest love,” said Nicholas.
“Very much obliged to him, I’m sure. Your great-uncle, Lillyvick, my dears!” interposed Mr. Kenwigs, condescendingly explaining it to the children.
“His kindest love,” resumed Nicholas; “and to say that he had no time to write, but that he was married to Miss Petowker.”
Mr. Kenwigs started from his seat with a petrified stare, caught his second daughter by her flaxen tail, and covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief. Morleena fell, all stiff and rigid, into the baby’s chair, as she had seen her mother fall when she fainted away, and the two remaining little Kenwigses shrieked in affright.
“My children, my defrauded, swindled infants!” cried Mr. Kenwigs, pulling so hard, in his vehemence, at the flaxen tail of his second daughter, that he lifted her up on tiptoe, and kept her, for some seconds, in that attitude. “Villain, ass, traitor!”
“Drat the man!” cried the nurse, looking angrily around. “What does he mean by making that noise here?”
“Silence, woman!” said Mr. Kenwigs, fiercely.
“I won’t be silent,” returned the nurse. “Be silent yourself, you wretch. Have you no regard for your baby?”
“No!” returned Mr. Kenwigs.
“More shame for you,” retorted the nurse. “Ugh! you unnatural monster.”
“Let him die,” cried Mr. Kenwigs, in the torrent of his wrath. “Let him die! He has no expectations, no property to come into. We want no babies here,” said Mr. Kenwigs recklessly. “Take ’em away, take ’em away to the Fondling!”
With these awful remarks, Mr. Kenwigs sat himself down in a chair, and defied the nurse, who made the best of her way into the adjoining room, and returned with a stream of matrons: declaring that Mr. Kenwigs had spoken blasphemy against his family, and must be raving mad.
Appearances were certainly not in Mr. Kenwigs’s favour, for the exertion of speaking with so much vehemence, and yet in such a tone as should prevent his lamentations reaching the ears of Mrs. Kenwigs, had made him very black in the face; besides which, the excitement of the occasion, and an unwonted indulgence in various strong cordials to celebrate it, had swollen and dilated his features to a most unusual extent. But, Nicholas and the doctor—who had been passive at first, doubting very much whether Mr. Kenwigs could be in earnest—interfering to explain the immediate cause of his condition, the indignation of the matrons was changed to pity, and they implored him, with much feeling, to go quietly to bed.
“The attention,” said Mr. Kenwigs, looking around with a plaintive air, “the attention that I’ve shown to that man! The hyseters he has eat, and the pints of ale he has drank, in this house—!”
“It’s very trying, and very hard to bear, we know,” said one of the married ladies; “but think of your dear darling wife.”
“Oh yes, and what she’s been a undergoing of, only this day,” cried a great many voices. “There’s a good man, do.”
“The presents that have been made to him,” said Mr. Kenwigs, reverting to his calamity, “the pipes, the snuffboxes—a pair of india-rubber goloshes, that cost six-and-six—”
“Ah! it won’t bear thinking of, indeed,” cried the matrons generally; “but it’ll all come home to him, never fear.”
Mr. Kenwigs looked darkly upon the ladies, as if he would prefer its all coming home to him, as there was nothing to be got by it; but he said nothing, and resting his head upon his hand, subsided into a kind of doze.
Then, the matrons again expatiated on the expediency of taking the good gentleman to bed; observing that he would be better tomorrow, and that they knew what was the wear
