“And likeways what a pleasure,” said Mrs. Gamp, turning with a tearful smile towards the daughters, “to see them two young ladies as I know’d afore a tooth in their pretty heads was cut, and have many a day seen—ah, the sweet creeturs!—playing at berryins down in the shop, and follerin’ the order-book to its long home in the iron safe! But that’s all past and over, Mr. Mould;” as she thus got in a carefully regulated routine to that gentleman, she shook her head waggishly; “That’s all past and over now, sir, an’t it?”
“Changes, Mrs. Gamp, changes!” returned the undertaker.
“More changes too, to come, afore we’ve done with changes, sir,” said Mrs. Gamp, nodding yet more waggishly than before. “Young ladies with such faces thinks of something else besides berryins, don’t they, sir?”
“I am sure I don’t know, Mrs. Gamp,” said Mould, with a chuckle—“Not bad in Mrs. Gamp, my dear?”
“Oh yes, you do know, sir!” said Mrs. Gamp, “and so does Mrs. Mould, your ansome pardner too, sir; and so do I, although the blessing of a daughter was deniged me; which, if we had had one, Gamp would certainly have drunk its little shoes right off its feet, as with our precious boy he did, and arterward send the child a errand to sell his wooden leg for any money it would fetch as matches in the rough, and bring it home in liquor; which was truly done beyond his years, for ev’ry individgle penny that child lost at toss or buy for kidney ones; and come home arterwards quite bold, to break the news, and offering to drown himself if that would be a satisfaction to his parents.—Oh yes, you do know, sir,” said Mrs. Gamp, wiping her eye with her shawl, and resuming the thread of her discourse. “There’s something besides births and berryins in the newspapers, an’t there, Mr. Mould?”
Mr. Mould winked at Mrs. Mould, whom he had by this time taken on his knee, and said: “No doubt. A good deal more, Mrs. Gamp. Upon my life, Mrs. Gamp is very far from bad, my dear!”
“There’s marryings, an’t there, sir?” said Mrs. Gamp, while both the daughters blushed and tittered. “Bless their precious hearts, and well they knows it! Well you know’d it too, and well did Mrs. Mould, when you was at their time of life! But my opinion is, you’re all of one age now. For as to you and Mrs. Mould, sir, ever having grandchildren—”
“Oh! Fie, fie! Nonsense, Mrs. Gamp,” replied the undertaker. “Devilish smart, though. Ca‑pi‑tal!”—this was in a whisper. “My dear”—aloud again—“Mrs. Gamp can drink a glass of rum, I dare say. Sit down, Mrs. Gamp, sit down.”
Mrs. Gamp took the chair that was nearest the door, and casting up her eyes towards the ceiling, feigned to be wholly insensible to the fact of a glass of rum being in preparation, until it was placed in her hand by one of the young ladies, when she exhibited the greatest surprise.
“A thing,” she said, “ ’as hardly ever, Mrs. Mould, occurs with me unless it is when I am indispoged, and find my half a pint of porter settling heavy on the chest. Mrs. Harris often and often says to me, ‘Sairey Gamp,’ she says, ‘you raly do amaze me!’ ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘why so? Give it a name, I beg.’ ‘Telling the truth then, ma’am,’ says Mrs. Harris, ‘and shaming him as shall be nameless betwixt you and me, never did I think till I know’d you, as any woman could sick-nurse and monthly likeways, on the little that you takes to drink.’ ‘Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘none on us knows what we can do till we tries; and wunst, when me and Gamp kept ouse, I thought so too. But now,’ I says, ‘my half a pint of porter fully satisfies; perwisin’, Mrs. Harris, that it is brought reg’lar, and draw’d mild. Whether I sicks or monthlies, ma’am, I hope I does my duty, but I am but a poor woman, and I earns my living hard; therefore I do require it, which I makes confession, to be brought reg’lar and draw’d mild.’ ”
The precise connection between these observations and the glass of rum, did not appear; for Mrs. Gamp proposing as a toast “The best of lucks to all!” took off the dram in quite a scientific manner, without any further remarks.
“And what’s your news, Mrs. Gamp?” asked Mould again, as that lady wiped her lips upon her shawl, and nibbled a corner off a soft biscuit, which she appeared to carry in her pocket as a provision against contingent drams. “How’s Mr. Chuffey?”
“Mr. Chuffey, sir,” she replied, “is jest as usual; he an’t no better and he an’t no worse. I take it very kind in the gentleman to have wrote up to you and said, ‘let Mrs. Gamp take care of him till I come home;’ but ev’ry think he does is kind. There an’t a many like him. If there was, we shouldn’t want no churches.”
“What do you want to speak to me about, Mrs. Gamp?” said Mould, coming to the point.
“Jest this, sir,” Mrs. Gamp returned, “with thanks to you for asking.
