Mrs. Gamp awoke, and sat up in her bed; presenting on the wall the shadow of a gigantic night constable, struggling with a prisoner.
“Come! Hold your tongue!” she cried, in sharp reproof. “Don’t make none of that noise here.”
There was no alteration in the face, or in the incessant motion of the head, but he talked on wildly.
“Ah!” said Mrs. Gamp, coming out of the chair with an impatient shiver; “I thought I was a-sleepin’ too pleasant to last! The devil’s in the night, I think, it’s turned so chilly!”
“Don’t drink so much!” cried the sick man. “You’ll ruin us all. Don’t you see how the fountain sinks? Look at the mark where the sparkling water was just now!”
“Sparkling water, indeed!” said Mrs. Gamp. “I’ll have a sparkling cup o’ tea, I think. I wish you’d hold your noise!”
He burst into a laugh, which, being prolonged, fell off into a dismal wail. Checking himself, with fierce inconstancy he began to count, fast.
“One—two—three—four—five—six.”
“ ‘One, two, buckle my shoe,’ ” said Mrs. Gamp, who was now on her knees, lighting the fire, “ ‘three, four, shut the door,’—I wish you’d shut your mouth, young man—‘five, six, picking up sticks.’ If I’d got a few handy, I should have the kettle biling all the sooner.”
Awaiting this desirable consummation, she sat down so close to the fender (which was a high one) that her nose rested upon it; and for some time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that feature backwards and forwards along the brass top, as far as she could, without changing her position to do it. She maintained, all the while, a running commentary upon the wanderings of the man in bed.
“That makes five hundred and twenty-one men, all dressed alike, and with the same distortion on their faces, that have passed in at the window, and out at the door,” he cried, anxiously. “Look there! Five hundred and twenty-two—twenty-three—twenty-four. Do you see them?”
“Ah! I see ’em,” said Mrs. Gamp; “all the whole kit of ’em numbered like hackney-coaches, ain’t they?”
“Touch me! Let me be sure of this. Touch me!”
“You’ll take your next draught when I’ve made the kettle bile,” retorted Mrs. Gamp, composedly, “and you’ll be touched then. You’ll be touched up, too, if you don’t take it quiet.”
“Five hundred and twenty-eight, five hundred and twenty-nine, five hundred and thirty—Look here!”
“What’s the matter now?” said Mrs. Gamp.
“They’re coming four abreast, each man with his arm entwined in the next man’s, and his hand upon his shoulder. What’s that upon the arm of every man, and on the flag?”
“Spiders, p’raps,” said Mrs. Gamp.
“Crape! Black crape! Good God! why do they wear it outside?”
“Would you have ’em carry black crape in their insides?” Mrs. Gamp retorted. “Hold your noise, hold your noise.”
The fire beginning by this time to impart a grateful warmth, Mrs. Gamp became silent; gradually rubbed her nose more and more slowly along the top of the fender; and fell into a heavy doze. She was awakened by the room ringing (as she fancied) with a name she knew:
“Chuzzlewit!”
The sound was so distinct and real, and so full of agonised entreaty, that Mrs. Gamp jumped up in terror, and ran to the door. She expected to find the passage filled with people, come to tell her that the house in the city had taken fire. But the place was empty; not a soul was there. She opened the window, and looked out. Dark, dull, dingy, and desolate housetops. As she passed to her seat again, she glanced at the patient. Just the same; but silent. Mrs. Gamp was so warm now, that she threw off the watchman’s coat, and fanned herself.
“It seemed to make the wery bottles ring,” she said. “What could I have been a-dreaming of? That dratted Chuffey, I’ll be bound.”
The supposition was probable enough. At any rate, a pinch of snuff, and the song of the steaming kettle, quite restored the tone of Mrs. Gamp’s nerves, which were none of the weakest. She brewed her tea; made some buttered toast; and sat down at the teaboard, with her face to the fire.
When once again, in a tone more terrible than that which had vibrated in her slumbering ear, these words were shrieked out:
“Chuzzlewit! Jonas! No!”
Mrs. Gamp dropped the cup she was in the act of raising to her lips, and turned round with a start that made the little teaboard leap. The cry had come from the bed.
It was bright morning the next time Mrs. Gamp looked out of the window, and the sun was rising cheerfully. Lighter and lighter grew the sky, and noisier the streets; and high into the summer air uprose the smoke of newly kindled fires, until the busy day was broad awake.
Mrs. Prig relieved punctually, having passed a good night at her other patient’s. Mr. Westlock came at the same time, but he was not admitted, the disorder being infectious. The doctor came too. The doctor shook his head. It was all he could do, under the circumstances, and he did it well.
“What sort of a night, nurse?”
“Restless, sir,” said Mrs. Gamp.
“Talk much?”
“Middling, sir,” said Mrs. Gamp.
“Nothing to the purpose, I suppose?”
“Oh bless you, no, sir. Only jargon.”
“Well!” said the doctor, “we must keep him quiet; keep the room cool; give him his draughts regularly; and see that he’s carefully looked to. That’s all!”
“And as long as Mrs. Prig and me waits upon him, sir, no fear of that,” said Mrs. Gamp.
“I suppose,” observed Mrs. Prig, when they had curtseyed the doctor out; “there’s nothin’ new?”
“Nothin’ at all, my dear,” said Mrs. Gamp. “He’s rather wearin’ in his talk from making up
