It was so amusing, that Tom, with Ruth upon his arm, stood looking down from the wharf, as nearly regardless as it was in the nature of flesh and blood to be, of an elderly lady behind him, who had brought a large umbrella with her, and didn’t know what to do with it. This tremendous instrument had a hooked handle; and its vicinity was first made known to him by a painful pressure on the windpipe, consequent upon its having caught him round the throat. Soon after disengaging himself with perfect good humour, he had a sensation of the ferule in his back; immediately afterwards, of the hook entangling his ankles; then of the umbrella generally, wandering about his hat, and flapping at it like a great bird; and, lastly, of a poke or thrust below the ribs, which give him such exceeding anguish, that he could not refrain from turning round to offer a mild remonstrance.
Upon his turning round, he found the owner of the umbrella struggling on tiptoe, with a countenance expressive of violent animosity, to look down upon the steamboats; from which he inferred that she had attacked him, standing in the front row, by design, and as her natural enemy.
“What a very ill-natured person you must be!” said Tom.
The lady cried out fiercely, “Where’s the pelisse!”—meaning the constabulary—and went on to say, shaking the handle of the umbrella at Tom, that but for them fellers never being in the way when they was wanted, she’d have given him in charge, she would.
“If they greased their whiskers less, and minded the duties which they’re paid so heavy for, a little more,” she observed, “no one needn’t be drove mad by scrouding so!”
She had been grievously knocked about, no doubt, for her bonnet was bent into the shape of a cocked hat. Being a fat little woman, too, she was in a state of great exhaustion and intense heat. Instead of pursuing the altercation, therefore, Tom civilly inquired what boat she wanted to go on board of?
“I suppose,” returned the lady, “as nobody but yourself can want to look at a steam package, without wanting to go a-boarding of it, can they! Booby!”
“Which one do you want to look at then?” said Tom. “We’ll make room for you if we can. Don’t be so ill-tempered.”
“No blessed creetur as ever I was with in trying times,” returned the lady, somewhat softened, “and they’re a many in their numbers, ever brought it as a charge again myself that I was anythin’ but mild and equal in my spirits. Never mind a-contradicting of me, if you seem to feel it does you good, ma’am, I often says, for well you know that Sairey may be trusted not to give it back again. But I will not denige that I am worrited and wexed this day, and with good reagion, Lord forbid!”
By this time, Mrs. Gamp (for it was no other than that experienced practitioner) had, with Tom’s assistance, squeezed and worked herself into a small corner between Ruth and the rail; where, after breathing very hard for some little time, and performing a short series of dangerous evolutions with her umbrella, she managed to establish herself pretty comfortably.
“And which of all them smoking monsters is the Ankworks boat, I wonder. Goodness me!” cried Mrs. Gamp.
“What boat did you want?” asked Ruth.
“The Ankworks package,” Mrs. Gamp replied. “I will not deceive you, my sweet. Why should I?”
“That is the Antwerp packet in the middle,” said Ruth.
“And I wish it was in Jonadge’s belly, I do,” cried Mrs. Gamp; appearing to confound the prophet with the whale in this miraculous aspiration.
Ruth said nothing in reply; but, as Mrs. Gamp, laying her chin against the cool iron of the rail, continued to look intently at the Antwerp boat, and every now and then to give a little groan, she inquired whether any child of hers was going aboard that morning? Or perhaps her husband, she said kindly.
“Which shows,” said Mrs. Gamp, casting up her eyes, “what a little way you’ve travelled into this wale of life, my dear young creetur! As a good friend of mine has frequent made remark to me, which her name, my love, is Harris, Mrs. Harris through the square and up the steps a-turnin’ round by the tobacker shop, ‘Oh Sairey, Sairey, little do we know wot lays afore us!’ ‘Mrs. Harris, ma’am,’ I says, ‘not much, it’s true, but more than you suppoge. Our calcilations, ma’am,’ I says, ‘respectin’ wot the number of a family will be, comes most times within one, and oftener than you would suppoge, exact.’ ‘Sairey,’ says Mrs. Harris, in a awful way, ‘Tell me wot is my indiwidgle number.’ ‘No, Mrs. Harris,’ I says to her, ‘ex‑cuge me, if you please. My own,’ I says, ‘has fallen out of three-pair backs, and had damp doorsteps settled on their lungs, and one was turned up smilin’ in a bedstead, unbeknown. Therefore, ma’am,’ I says, ‘seek not to proticipate, but take ’em as they come and as they go.’ Mine,” says Mrs. Gamp, “mine is all gone, my dear young chick. And as to husbands, there’s a wooden leg gone likeways home to its account, which in its constancy of walkin’ into wine vaults, and never comin’ out again ’till fetched by force, was quite as weak as flesh, if not weaker.”
When she had delivered this oration, Mrs. Gamp leaned her
