At the same time Mrs. Gamp was seen in the doorway; out of breath from coming up so many stairs, and panting fearfully; but dropping curtseys to the last.
“Excuge the weakness of the man,” said Mrs. Gamp, eyeing Mr. Sweedlepipe with great indignation; “and well I might expect it, as I should have know’d, and wishin’ he was drownded in the Thames afore I had brought him here, which not a blessed hour ago he nearly shaved the noge off from the father of as lovely a family as ever, Mr. Chuzzlewit, was born three sets of twins, and would have done it, only he see it a-goin’ in the glass, and dodged the rager. And never, Mr. Sweedlepipes, I do assure you, sir, did I so well know what a misfortun it was to be acquainted with you, as now I do, which so I say, sir, and I don’t deceive you!”
“I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all,” cried the little barber, taking off his hat, “and yours too, Mrs. Gamp. But—but,” he added this half laughing and half crying, “Is there anybody here that knows him?”
As the barber said these words, a something in top-boots, with its head bandaged up, staggered into the room, and began going round and round and round, apparently under the impression that it was walking straight forward.
“Look at him!” cried the excited little barber. “Here he is! That’ll soon wear off, and then he’ll be all right again. He’s no more dead than I am. He’s all alive and hearty. Aint you, Bailey?”
“R—r—reether so, Poll!” replied that gentleman.
“Look here!” cried the little barber, laughing and crying in the same breath. “When I steady him he comes all right. There! He’s all right now. Nothing’s the matter with him now, except that he’s a little shook and rather giddy; is there, Bailey?”
“R—r—reether shook, Poll—reether so!” said Mr. Bailey. “What, my lovely Sairey! There you air!”
“What a boy he is!” cried the tenderhearted Poll, actually sobbing over him. “I never see sech a boy! It’s all his fun. He’s full of it. He shall go into the business along with me. I am determined he shall. We’ll make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the sporting branch (what a one he’ll be for the matches!) and me the shavin’. I’ll make over the birds to him as soon as ever he’s well enough. He shall have the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He’s sech a boy! I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I thought there might be someone here that know’d him!”
Mrs. Gamp had observed, not without jealousy and scorn, that a favourable impression appeared to exist in behalf of Mr. Sweedlepipe and his young friend; and that she had fallen rather into the background in consequence. She now struggled to the front, therefore, and stated her business.
“Which, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” she said, “is well beknown to Mrs. Harris as has one sweet infant (though she do not wish it known) in her own family by the mother’s side, kep in spirits in a bottle; and that sweet babe she see at Greenwich Fair, a-travelling in company with a pink-eyed lady, Prooshan dwarf, and livin’ skelinton, which judge her feelings when the barrel organ played, and she was showed her own dear sister’s child, the same not bein’ expected from the outside picter, where it was painted quite contrairy in a livin’ state, a many sizes larger, and performing beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that dear child know or do; since breathe it never did, to speak on in this wale! And Mrs. Harris, Mr. Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, and can give you information that the lady which is widdered can’t do better and may do worse, than let me wait upon her, which I hope to do. Permittin’ the sweet faces as I see afore me.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. “Is that your business? Was this good person paid for the trouble we gave her?”
“I paid her, sir,” returned Mark Tapley; “liberal.”
“The young man’s words is true,” said Mrs. Gamp, “and thank you kindly.”
“Then here we will close our acquaintance, Mrs. Gamp,” retorted Mr. Chuzzlewit. “And Mr. Sweedlepipe—is that your name?”
“That is my name, sir,” replied Poll, accepting with a profusion of gratitude, some chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his hand.
“Mr. Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your lady-lodger as you can, and give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such,” said old Martin, looking gravely at the astonished Mrs. Gamp, “as hinting at the expediency of a little less liquor, and a little more humanity, and a little less regard for herself, and a little more regard for her patients, and perhaps a trifle of additional honesty. Or when Mrs. Gamp gets into trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipe, it had better not be at a time when I am near enough to the Old Bailey to volunteer myself as a witness to her character. Endeavour to impress that upon her at your leisure, if you please.”
Mrs. Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her eyes until they were quite invisible, threw back her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to her heated brow; and in the act of saying faintly—“Less liquor!—Sairey Gamp—Bottle on the chimneypiece, and let me put my lips to it, when I am so dispoged!”—fell into one of the walking swoons; in which pitiable state she was conducted forth by Mr. Sweedlepipe, who, between his two patients, the swooning Mrs. Gamp and the revolving Bailey, had enough to do, poor fellow.
The old man looked about him, with a smile, until his eyes rested on Tom Pinch’s sister; when he smiled the more.
“We will all dine here together,” he said; “and as you and Mary have enough to talk of, Martin, you shall keep house for us until the afternoon, with Mr. and Mrs. Tapley. I must see your lodgings in the meanwhile, Tom.”
Tom
