“You’re one of those women,” said he, “who trouble the world by their tongues.” Then he bounced out of the house and banged the door.
He had seen Jack Hollycombe through the window going down to the brewery, and he now slowly followed the young man’s steps. He went very slowly as he got to the entrance to the brewery yard, and there he paused for a while thinking over the condition of things. “Hang the fellow,” he said to himself; “what on earth has he done that he should have it all his own way? I never had it all my way. I had to work for it;—and precious hard too. My wife had to cook the dinner with only just a slip of a girl to help her make the bed. If he’d been a gentleman there’d have been something in it. A gentleman expects to have things ready to his hand. But he’s to walk into all my money just because he’s good-looking. And then Polly tells me, that I can’t help myself because I’m good-natured. I’ll let her know whether I’m good-natured! If he wants a wife he must support a wife;—and he shall.” But though Mr. Peppercorn stood in the doorway murmuring after this fashion he knew very well that he was about to lose the battle. He had come down the street on purpose to signify to Jack Hollycombe that he might go up and settle the day with Polly; and he himself in the midst of all his objurgations was picturing to himself the delight with which he would see Polly restored to her former mode of dressing. “Well, Mr. Hollycombe, are you here?”
“Yes, Mr. Peppercorn, I am here.”
“So I perceive—as large as life. I don’t know what on earth you’re doing over here so often. You’re wasting your employers’ time, I believe.”
“I came over to see Messrs. Grist and Grindall’s young man.”
“I don’t believe you came to see any young man at all.”
“It wasn’t any young woman, as I haven’t been to your house, Mr. Peppercorn.”
“What’s the good of going to my house? There isn’t any young woman there can do you any good.” Then Mr. Peppercorn looked round and saw that there were others within hearing to whom the conversation might be attractive. “Do you come in here. I’ve got something to say to you.” Then he led the way into his own little parlour, and shut the door. “Now, Mr. Hollycombe, I’ve got something to communicate.”
“Out with it, Mr. Peppercorn.”
“There’s that girl of mine up there is the biggest fool that ever was since the world began.”
“It’s astonishing,” said Jack, “what different opinions different people have about the same thing.”
“I daresay. That’s all very well for you; but I say she’s a fool. What on earth can she see in you to make her want to give you all my money?”
“She can’t do that unless you’re so pleased.”
“And she won’t neither. If you like to take her, there she is.”
“Mr. Peppercorn, you make me the happiest man in the world.”
“I don’t make you the richest;—and you’re going to make yourself about the poorest. To marry a wife upon forty shillings a week! I did it myself, however—upon thirty-five, and I hadn’t any stupid old father-in-law to help me out. I’m not going to see her break her heart; and so you may go and tell her. But you needn’t tell her as I’m going to make her any regular allowance. Only tell her to put on some decent kind of gown, before I come home to tea. Since all this came up the slut has worn the same dress she bought three winters ago. She thinks I didn’t know it.”
And so Mr. Peppercorn had given way; and Polly was to be allowed to flaunt it again this Christmas in silks and satins. “Now you’ll give me a kiss,” said Jack when he had told his tale.
“I’ve only got it on your bare word,” she answered, turning away from him.
“Why; he sent me here himself; and says you’re to put on a proper frock to give him his tea in.”
“No.”
“But he did.”
“Then, Jack, you shall have a kiss. I am sure the message about the frock must have come from himself. Jack, are you not the happiest young man in all Plumplington?”
“How about the happiest young woman,” said Jack.
“Well; I don’t mind owning up. I am. But it’s for your sake. I could have waited, and not have been a bit impatient. But it’s so different with a man. Did he say, Jack, what he meant to do for you?”
“He swore that he would not give us a penny.”
“But that’s rubbish. I am not going to let you marry till I know what’s fixed. Nor yet will I put on my silk frock.”
“You must. He’ll be sure to go back if you don’t do that, I should risk it all now, if I were you.”
“And so make a beggar of you. My husband shall not be dependent on any man—not even on father. I shall keep my clothes on as I’ve got ’em till something is settled.”
“I wouldn’t anger him if I were you,” said Jack cautiously.
“One has got to anger him sometimes, and all for his own good. There’s the frock hanging upstairs, and I’m as fond of a bit of finery as any girl. Well;—I’ll put it on tonight because he has made something of a promise; but I’ll not continue it till I know what he means to do
