“Well, I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you, Misses Brown,” said the unfortunate youth, greatly aggravated; “but you’re so jealous of a cove. I’m very fond of you myself, and all that, of course; but I don’t smother you, do I, Misses Brown?”
He looked and spoke as if he would have been far from objecting to do so, however, on a favourable occasion.
“And to talk about birdcages, too!” whimpered the Grinder. “As if that was a crime! Why, look’ee here! Do you know who this belongs to?”
“To Master, dear?” said the old woman with a grin.
“Ah!” replied the Grinder, lifting a large cage tied up in a wrapper, on the table, and untying it with his teeth and hands. “It’s our parrot, this is.”
“Mr. Carker’s parrot, Rob?”
“Will you hold your tongue, Misses Brown?” returned the goaded Grinder. “What do you go naming names for? I’m blest,” said Rob, pulling his hair with both hands in the exasperation of his feelings, “if she ain’t enough to make a cove run wild!”
“What! Do you snub me, thankless boy!” cried the old woman, with ready vehemence.
“Good gracious, Misses Brown, no!” returned the Grinder, with tears in his eyes. “Was there ever such a—! Don’t I dote upon you, Misses Brown?”
“Do you, sweet Rob? Do you truly, chickabiddy?” With that, Mrs. Brown held him in her fond embrace once more; and did not release him until he had made several violent and ineffectual struggles with his legs, and his hair was standing on end all over his head.
“Oh!” returned the Grinder, “what a thing it is to be perfectly pitched into with affection like this here. I wish she was—How have you been, Misses Brown?”
“Ah! Not here since this night week!” said the old woman, contemplating him with a look of reproach.
“Good gracious, Misses Brown,” returned the Grinder, “I said tonight’s a week, that I’d come tonight, didn’t I? And here I am. How you do go on! I wish you’d be a little rational, Misses Brown. I’m hoarse with saying things in my defence, and my very face is shiny with being hugged!” He rubbed it hard with his sleeve, as if to remove the tender polish in question.
“Drink a little drop to comfort you, my Robin,” said the old woman, filling the glass from the bottle and giving it to him.
“Thank’ee, Misses Brown,” returned the Grinder. “Here’s your health. And long may you—et ceterer.” Which, to judge from the expression of his face, did not include any very choice blessings. “And here’s her health,” said the Grinder, glancing at Alice, who sat with her eyes fixed, as it seemed to him, on the wall behind him, but in reality on Mr. Dombey’s face at the door, “and wishing her the same and many of ’em!”
He drained the glass to these two sentiments, and set it down.
“Well, I say, Misses Brown!” he proceeded. “To go on a little rational now. You’re a judge of birds, and up to their ways, as I know to my cost.”
“Cost!” repeated Mrs. Brown.
“Satisfaction, I mean,” returned the Grinder. “How you do take up a cove, Misses Brown! You’ve put it all out of my head again.”
“Judge of birds, Robby,” suggested the old woman.
“Ah!” said the Grinder. “Well, I’ve got to take care of this parrot—certain things being sold, and a certain establishment broke up—and as I don’t want no notice took at present, I wish you’d attend to her for a week or so, and give her board and lodging, will you? If I must come backwards and forwards,” mused the Grinder with a dejected face, “I may as well have something to come for.”
“Something to come for?” screamed the old woman.
“Besides you, I mean, Misses Brown,” returned the craven Rob. “Not that I want any inducement but yourself, Misses Brown, I’m sure. Don’t begin again, for goodness’ sake.”
“He don’t care for me! He don’t care for me, as I care for him!” cried Mrs. Brown, lifting up her skinny hands. “But I’ll take care of his bird.”
“Take good care of it too, you know, Mrs. Brown,” said Rob, shaking his head. “If you was so much as to stroke its feathers once the wrong way, I believe it would be found out.”
“Ah, so sharp as that, Rob?” said Mrs. Brown, quickly.
“Sharp, Misses Brown!” repeated Rob. “But this is not to be talked about.”
Checking himself abruptly, and not without a fearful glance across the room, Rob filled the glass again, and having slowly emptied it, shook his head, and began to draw his fingers across and across the wires of the parrot’s cage by way of a diversion from the dangerous theme that had just been broached.
The old woman eyed him slyly, and hitching her chair nearer his, and looking in at the parrot, who came down from the gilded dome at her call, said:
“Out of place now, Robby?”
“Never you mind, Misses Brown,” returned the Grinder, shortly.
“Board wages, perhaps, Rob?” said Mrs. Brown.
“Pretty Polly!” said the Grinder.
The old woman darted a glance at him that might have warned him to consider his ears in danger, but it was his turn to look in at the parrot now, and however expressive his imagination may have made her angry scowl, it was unseen by his bodily eyes.
“I wonder Master didn’t take you with him, Rob,” said the old woman, in a wheedling voice, but with increased malignity of aspect.
Rob was so absorbed in contemplation of the parrot, and in trolling his forefinger on the wires, that he made no answer.
The old woman had her clutch within a hair’s breadth of his shock of hair as it stooped over the table; but she restrained her fingers, and said, in a voice that choked with its efforts to be coaxing:
“Robby, my child.”
“Well, Misses Brown,” returned the Grinder.
“I say I wonder Master didn’t take you with him, dear.”
“Never you mind, Misses Brown,” returned the Grinder.
Mrs. Brown instantly directed the
