City and town life -- Fiction; Urban poor -- Fiction
There was no very great difficulty in the matter. Jared Pellet, under
protest, wrote a note to the Rev. John Gray, the vicar, telling him that
a friend--he haggled a great deal over that word "friend"--would be glad
to undertake the duties of pew-opener in the place of the defunct Mrs
Nimmer; and the vicar mentioned the matter to his friend Mr Timson,
churchwarden and tea-dealer, and both agreed that they would be most
happy to oblige Mr Jared Pellet in the matter.
Then Mr Timson had an interview with Jared, and told him personally he
would be glad to give his weight to the matter, if Jared's friend was a
worthy suitable woman.
Now there came a hitch in the smoothness, for Jared went home and told
his wife that that red-faced old humbug Purkis had played double; and,
in fact, he had gone head-dabbing into the presence of the vicar and
churchwarden to tell them he should be glad if the post lately occupied
by Mrs Nimmer could be conferred upon a friend of his.
But explanations followed: the two principal candidates were found to be
one and the same; and Mrs Tim Ruggles was duly appointed to a post, for
whose proper filling she seemed to have been specially manufactured by
Dame Nature.
She, that is to say Mrs Tim Ruggles, glided, as it were, into the
correct rut upon the very first Sunday--coming to St Runwald's in a
mournful-hued dress--a shot putty and soot, while a tightly-fitting cap
crowned her head--a cap like a white sarcenet raised pie, all tiny bows
and tuckers--none of your fly-away servant-girl style of headdress, but
firmly tied beneath her chin with silken strings. Then, too, a
prim-white muslin handkerchief encircled her neck, with ends pinned
across, and descending to be hidden away and protected by exceedingly
stiff, dark-coloured jean stays, whose presence was manifested to the
ear of the world at large by divers creaking cracklings, when, by rare
chance, Mrs Ruggles slightly bent her fierce body--to the eye, by a
little peephole, afforded where one hook in the back of the dress had an
antipathy to its kindred loop.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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