The landlord looked at the landlady; the landlady looked at the landlord; and the chambermaid remarked, hysterically, “that of all the many wague directions she had ever seen or heerd of (and they wasn’t few in an hotel), that was the waguest.”
“The fact is, you see,” pursued the gentleman, “as I told you yesterday when you sent to me, I really know very little about him. We were schoolfellows together; but since that time I have only met him twice. On both occasions I was in London for a boy’s holiday (having come up for a week or so from Wiltshire), and lost sight of him again directly. The letter bearing my name and address which you found upon his table, and which led to your applying to me, is in answer, you will observe, to one he wrote from this house the very day he was taken ill, making an appointment with him at his own request. Here is his letter, if you wish to see it.”
The landlord read it; the landlady looked over him. The chambermaid, in the background, made out as much of it as she could, and invented the rest; believing it all from that time forth as a positive piece of evidence.
“He has very little luggage, you say?” observed the gentleman, who was no other than our old friend, John Westlock.
“Nothing but a portmanteau,” said the landlord; “and very little in it.”
“A few pounds in his purse, though?”
“Yes. It’s sealed up, and in the cashbox. I made a memorandum of the amount, which you’re welcome to see.”
“Well!” said John, “as the medical gentleman says the fever must take its course, and nothing can be done just now beyond giving him his drinks regularly and having him carefully attended to, nothing more can be said that I know of, until he is in a condition to give us some information. Can you suggest anything else?”
“N‑no,” replied the landlord, “except—”
“Except, who’s to pay, I suppose?” said John.
“Why,” hesitated the landlord, “it would be as well.”
“Quite as well,” said the landlady.
“Not forgetting to remember the servants,” said the chambermaid in a bland whisper.
“It is but reasonable, I fully admit,” said John Westlock. “At all events, you have the stock in hand to go upon for the present; and I will readily undertake to pay the doctor and the nurses.”
“Ah!” cried Mrs. Gamp. “A rayal gentleman!”
She groaned her admiration so audibly, that they all turned round. Mrs. Gamp felt the necessity of advancing, bundle in hand, and introducing herself.
“The night-nurse,” she observed, “from Kingsgate Street, well beknown to Mrs. Prig the day-nurse, and the best of creeturs. How is the poor dear gentleman tonight? If he an’t no better yet, still that is what must be expected and prepared for. It an’t the fust time by a many score, ma’am,” dropping a curtsey to the landlady, “that Mrs. Prig and me has nussed together, turn and turn about, one off, one on. We knows each other’s ways, and often gives relief when others fail. Our charges is but low, sir”—Mrs. Gamp addressed herself to John on this head—“considerin’ the nater of our painful dooty. If they wos made accordin’ to our wishes, they would be easy paid.”
Regarding herself as having now delivered her inauguration address, Mrs. Gamp curtseyed all round, and signified her wish to be conducted to the scene of her official duties. The chambermaid led her, through a variety of intricate passages, to the top of the house; and pointing at length to a solitary door at the end of a gallery, informed her that yonder was the chamber where the patient lay. That done, she hurried off with all the speed she could make.
Mrs. Gamp traversed the gallery in a great heat from having carried her large bundle up so many stairs, and tapped at the door which was immediately opened by Mrs. Prig, bonneted and shawled and all impatience to be gone. Mrs. Prig was of the Gamp build, but not so fat; and her voice was deeper and more like a man’s. She had also a beard.
“I began to think you warn’t a-coming!” Mrs. Prig observed, in some displeasure.
“It shall be made good tomorrow night,” said Mrs. Gamp, “honorable. I had to go and fetch my things.” She had begun to make signs of inquiry in reference to the position of the patient and his overhearing them—for there was a screen before the door—when Mrs. Prig settled that point easily.
“Oh!” she said aloud, “he’s quiet, but his wits is gone. It an’t no matter wot you say.”
“Anythin’ to tell afore you goes, my dear?” asked Mrs. Gamp, setting her bundle down inside the door, and looking affectionately at her partner.
“The pickled salmon,” Mrs. Prig replied, “is quite delicious. I can partlck’ler recommend it. Don’t have nothink to say to the cold meat, for it tastes of the stable. The drinks is all good.”
Mrs. Gamp expressed herself much gratified.
“The physic and them things is on the drawers and mankleshelf,” said Mrs. Prig, cursorily. “He took his last slime draught at seven. The easy-chair an’t soft enough. You’ll want his piller.”
Mrs. Gamp thanked her for these hints, and giving her a friendly good night, held the door open until she had disappeared at the other end of the gallery. Having thus performed the hospitable duty of seeing her safely off, she shut it, locked it on the inside, took up her bundle, walked round the screen, and entered on her occupation of the sick chamber.
“A little dull, but not so bad as might be,” Mrs. Gamp remarked. “I’m glad to see a parapidge, in case of fire, and lots of roofs and chimley-pots to walk upon.”
It will be seen from these remarks that Mrs. Gamp was looking out of window. When she had exhausted
