“Talk of constitooshun!” Mrs. Gamp observed. “A person’s constitooshun need be made of bricks to stand it. Mrs. Harris jestly says to me, but t’other day, ‘Oh! Sairey Gamp,’ she says, ‘how is it done?’ ‘Mrs. Harris, ma’am,’ I says to her, ‘we gives no trust ourselves, and puts a deal o’trust elsevere; these is our religious feelins, and we finds ’em answer.’ ‘Sairey,’ says Mrs. Harris, ‘sech is life. Vich likeways is the hend of all things!’ ”
The barber gave a soft murmur, as much as to say that Mrs. Harris’s remark, though perhaps not quite so intelligible as could be desired from such an authority, did equal honour to her head and to her heart.
“And here,” continued Mrs. Gamp, “and here am I a-goin twenty mile in distant, on as wentersome a chance as ever anyone as monthlied ever run, I do believe. Says Mrs. Harris, with a woman’s and a mother’s art a-beatin in her human breast, she says to me, ‘You’re not a-goin, Sairey, Lord forgive you!’ ‘Why am I not a-goin, Mrs. Harris?’ I replies. ‘Mrs. Gill,’ I says, ‘wos never wrong with six; and is it likely, ma’am—I ast you as a mother—that she will begin to be unreg’lar now? Often and often have I heerd him say,’ I says to Mrs. Harris, meaning Mr. Gill, ‘that he would back his wife agen Moore’s almanac, to name the very day and hour, for ninepence farden. Is it likely, ma’am,’ I says, ‘as she will fail this once?’ Says Mrs. Harris ‘No, ma’am, not in the course of nater. But,’ she says, the tears a-fillin in her eyes, ‘you knows much betterer than me, with your experienge, how little puts us out. A Punch’s show,’ she says, ‘a chimbley sweep, a newfundlandog, or a drunkin man a-comin round the corner sharp may do it.’ So it may, Mr. Sweedlepipes,” said Mrs. Gamp, “there’s no deniging of it; and though my books is clear for a full week, I takes a anxious art along with me, I do assure you, sir.”
“You’re so full of zeal, you see!” said Poll. “You worrit yourself so.”
“Worrit myself!” cried Mrs. Gamp, raising her hands and turning up her eyes. “You speak truth in that, sir, if you never speaks no more ’twixt this and when two Sundays jines together. I feels the sufferins of other people more than I feels my own, though no one mayn’t suppoge it. The families I’ve had,” said Mrs. Gamp, “if all was knowd, and credit done where credit’s doo, would take a week to chris’en at Saint Polge’s fontin!”
“Where’s the patient going?” asked Sweedlepipe.
“Into Har’fordshire, which is his native air. But native airs nor native graces neither,” Mrs. Gamp observed, “won’t bring him round.”
“So bad as that?” inquired the wistful barber. “Indeed!”
Mrs. Gamp shook her head mysteriously, and pursed up her lips. “There’s fevers of the mind,” she said, “as well as body. You may take your slime drafts till you flies into the air with efferwescence; but you won’t cure that.”
“Ah!” said the barber, opening his eyes, and putting on his raven aspect; “Lor!”
“No. You may make yourself as light as any gash balloon,” said Mrs. Gamp. “But talk, when you’re wrong in your head and when you’re in your sleep, of certain things; and you’ll be heavy in your mind.”
“Of what kind of things now?” inquired Poll, greedily biting his nails in his great interest. “Ghosts?”
Mrs. Gamp, who perhaps had been already tempted further than she had intended to go, by the barber’s stimulating curiosity, gave a sniff of uncommon significance, and said, it didn’t signify.
“I’m a-goin down with my patient in the coach this arternoon,” she proceeded. “I’m a-goin to stop with him a day or so, till he gets a country nuss (drat them country nusses, much the orkard hussies knows about their bis’ness); and then I’m a-comin back; and that’s my trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipes. But I hope that everythink’ll only go on right and comfortable as long as I’m away; perwisin which, as Mrs. Harris says, Mrs. Gill is welcome to choose her own time; all times of the day and night bein’ equally the same to me.”
During the progress of the foregoing remarks, which Mrs. Gamp had addressed exclusively to the barber, Mr. Bailey had been tying his cravat, getting on his coat, and making hideous faces at himself in the glass. Being now personally addressed by Mrs. Gamp, he turned round, and mingled in the conversation.
“You ain’t been in the City, I suppose, sir, since we was all three there together,” said Mrs. Gamp, “at Mr. Chuzzlewit’s?”
“Yes, I have, Sairah. I was there last night.”
“Last night!” cried the barber.
“Yes, Poll, reether so. You can call it this morning, if you like to be particular. He dined with us.”
“Who does that young Limb mean by ‘hus’?” said Mrs. Gamp, with most impatient emphasis.
“Me and my Governor, Sairah. He dined at our house. We wos very merry, Sairah. So much so, that I was obliged to see him home in a hackney coach at three o’clock in the morning.” It was on the tip of the boy’s tongue to relate what had followed; but remembering how easily it might be carried to his master’s ears, and the repeated cautions he had had from Mr. Crimple “not to chatter,” he checked himself; adding, only, “She was sitting up, expecting him.”
“And all things considered,” said Mrs. Gamp sharply, “she might have know’d better than to go a-tirin herself out, by doin’ anythink of the sort. Did they seem pretty pleasant together, sir?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Bailey, “pleasant enough.”
“I’m glad on it,” said Mrs. Gamp, with a second sniff of significance.
“They haven’t been married so long,” observed Poll, rubbing his hands, “that they need be anything but pleasant yet awhile.”
“No,” said Mrs. Gamp, with a third significant signal.
“Especially,” pursued the barber, “when the gentleman bears such a character as you gave him.”
“I speak; as I find, Mr. Sweedlepipes,” said Mrs. Gamp. “Forbid it
