“Oh, mustn’t I, though?” cried Basil. “It’s as little as I can do. Ha! you don’t know the lot of people that’s asking me. Bless you! they ask a hundred times to my once. Well, will old Jericho tip the loyalty? Did you give him my sentiment, mother, eh? Money—money’s like the air you breathe; if you have it not you die. Have you brought me the beggarly allowance?—If I don’t blush a hole in my cheek to take it! It’s disgusting. A hundred a year! Not enough to keep a blind man in dogs.” “My dear Basil, where do you imbibe such extraordinary parallels?” asked Mrs. Jericho; and with her eyes feeding upon the knowing, impudent face of the young man, she affectionately adjusted his cravat. “What a careless child you are—I’m sure you don’t take care of yourself.” “First make it worth my while, mother. Care! What’s the use of buttoning an empty pocket? But about this worse half of yours; this supernumerary father of mine. Only wished I’d ha’ guessed what he’s turned out. Little as I was, I’d ha’ forbid the banns—I would—if I’d jumped upon a three-legged stool to do it.” Mrs. Jericho drew a deep, deep sigh, and tenderly pressed the hero in her arms. “Don’t sigh, ma’am,” said the youth, “don’t sigh; for times are bad, and bobbin’s getting dearer.” Mrs. Jericho tapped the young gentleman on his cheek. “To business, as the sun said when he rose late—to business, my dear madam. What does that ruffian-in-law answer to my just proposal?” “Basil, really, my dear Basil, I cannot listen: whatever Mr. Jericho’s faults may be, if I can endure them—if I can be silent—at least I may expect my children”— “Not at all, my dear lady, not at all. Your children never said a word to the bargain. They only looked on while you were sold. They have all the freedom of English subjects, and may abuse your husband _ad libitum_. I do nothing rashly, dear madam; I’ve inquired into the law, and I know it. My allegiance, my dear lady, is due to my own buried father; and as I’m told, he was a gentleman”— “Basil, don’t—pray don’t! You bring him up before me. Ha! Basil, your father _was_ a man.” “No doubt of it, my dear lady; no doubt of it, my revered mother;” and the young gentleman, with really a touch of grace, bent his head, and raised his mother’s hand to his lips. “Would shoot the fellow, my dear lady, who doubted it. Well, why did you hook-and-eye yourself to the individual up stairs? Why were you induced to drop upon the golden name of Pennibacker the tin extinguisher of Jericho? As Hamlet somewhere says, why did you leave that Primrose Hill of clover, to go to grass on Wormwood Scrubs?” “I entreat you, Basil—I supplicate, my dearest boy, that you desist! You”— “All right, my dear lady, all right, and got the receipt. What I meant to say was this. You sacrificed yourself for the good of your family?” And Basil Pennibacker, with wrinkled forehead, looked inquiringly about, gesticulating as though chewing his emotion. “Didn’t you?”