Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked hat;
and, having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future
partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night: merely pausing,
for a few minutes, in the male paupers’ ward, to abuse them a little,
with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of
workhouse-master with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications,
Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart, and bright visions of
his future promotion: which served to occupy his mind until he reached
the shop of the undertaker.
Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper: and
Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a
greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient
performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was
not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr.
Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times; but,
attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining through the
glass-window of the little parlour at the back of the shop, he made
bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and when he saw what
was going forward, he was not a little surprised.
The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread and
butter, plates and glasses; a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. At the
upper end of the table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an
easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of the arms: an open
clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other.
Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel: which
Mr. Claypole condescended to swallow, with remarkable avidity. A more
than ordinary redness in the region of the young gentleman’s nose, and
a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight
degree intoxicated; these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish
with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong
appreciation of their cooling properties, in cases of internal fever,
could have sufficiently accounted.
“Here’s a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!” said Charlotte; “try him, do;
only this one.”
“What a delicious thing is a oyster!” remarked Mr. Claypole, after he
had swallowed it. “What a pity it is, a number of ’em should ever make
you feel uncomfortable; isn’t it, Charlotte?”
“It’s quite a cruelty,” said Charlotte.
“So it is,” acquiesced Mr. Claypole. “An’t yer fond of oysters?”
“Not overmuch,” replied Charlotte. “I like to see you eat ’em, Noah
dear, better than eating ’em myself.”
“Lor!” said Noah, reflectively; “how queer!”
“Have another,” said Charlotte. “Here’s one with such a beautiful,
delicate beard!”
“I can’t manage any more,” said Noah. “I’m very sorry. Come here,
Charlotte, and I’ll kiss yer.”
“What!” said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. “Say that again, sir.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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