Boardinghouses -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Victoria, 1837-1901 -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction
coal-sack, and Miss Wozenham has the principles and manners of a female
heaver--Madam from the manner in which I have heard her mention you I
know she has no appreciation of a lady, and from the manner in which she
has conducted herself towards me I know she has no appreciation of a
gentleman--Madam my name is Jackman--should you require any other
reference than what I have already said, I name the Bank of
England--perhaps you know it!" Such was the beginning of the Major's
occupying the parlours and from that hour to this the same and a most
obliging Lodger and punctual in all respects except one irregular which I
need not particularly specify, but made up for by his being a protection
and at all times ready to fill in the papers of the Assessed Taxes and
Juries and that, and once collared a young man with the drawing-room
clock under his coat, and once on the parapets with his own hands and
blankets put out the kitchen chimney and afterwards attending the summons
made a most eloquent speech against the Parish before the magistrates and
saved the engine, and ever quite the gentleman though passionate. And
certainly Miss Wozenham's detaining the trunks and umbrella was not in a
liberal spirit though it may have been according to her rights in law or
an act _I_ would myself have stooped to, the Major being so much the
gentleman that though he is far from tall he seems almost so when he has
his shirt-frill out and his frock-coat on and his hat with the curly
brims, and in what service he was I cannot truly tell you my dear whether
Militia or Foreign, for I never heard him even name himself as Major but
always simple "Jemmy Jackman" and once soon after he came when I felt it
my duty to let him know that Miss Wozenham had put it about that he was
no Major and I took the liberty of adding "which you are sir" his words
were "Madam at any rate I am not a Minor, and sufficient for the day is
the evil thereof" which cannot be denied to be the sacred truth, nor yet
his military ways of having his boots with only the dirt brushed off
taken to him in the front parlour every morning on a clean plate and
varnishing them himself with a little sponge and a saucer and a whistle
in a whisper so sure as ever his breakfast is ended, and so neat his ways
that it never soils his linen which is scrupulous though more in quality
than quantity, neither that nor his mustachios which to the best of my
belief are done at the same time and which are as black and shining as
his boots, his head of hair being a lovely white.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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