_Slowgoe._ Like your revolutionist ways. But his Lordship knows what belongs to the true dignity of a nobleman. He won’t let Mr Crowther wind up his watch by Nocton Hall. That’s sweet revenge. For the parson writes: “I was in the habit of regulating my watch by the clock in the tower of Nocton Hall, and every Saturday evening went up to the Hall for that purpose, having learnt that it was by that time the inhabitants of the two villages regulated theirs. On Saturday evening the policeman on the grounds came up to me and said ‘he was very sorry to be compelled to act so to a gentleman, but he had been directed to warn me off the grounds, and of course he must obey his orders.’” Now isn’t that spirit on the part of his Lordship? Won’t let the clergyman set his watch by Nocton clock. Won’t the parson be sorry for that? _Nutts._ I can’t say; but all I know is this, if his Lordship’s clock goes at all like his manners to his curates, it’s the last timepiece I should like to wind myself up by, anyhow. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. _Nutts._ Now, Mr Bleak, I b’lieve the shave’s with you. (_=Bleak= takes the chair_.) Mustn’t complain; but dreadful weather this for business. Not a soul in town. Had nothing to do but improve my mind all the week. Now, folks who pay rent and taxes can’t afford that. Everybody still at the seaside. _Slowgoe._ Humph! For my part I can’t think where the ’noxial gales are gone to: they _ought_ to blow people back to London by this time. But nothing is as it was. _Tickle._ Rum thing this at Margate. And quite a warning to young women. _Mrs Nutts._ What’s that, Mr Tickle? _Tickle._ Young lady of most respectable family--father in the Excise--turned to a mermaid. _Mrs Nutts._ Nonsense! it can’t be. What for? _Tickle._ Because she would dance the polka close inshore, and make so many people write to the _Times_. Now she’s punished; now she’s enough o’ bathing. Now she does nothing but sing songs, comb her hair, and stare at herself in a looking-glass. _Nutts._ Well, for a young woman that can be no punishment. _Mrs Nutts._ Mr Nutts, you’re a fool. (_Retires._) _Nutts._ As you’re all family men, gentlemen, you understand that. And yet I never could make it out why the tenderest of wives have the greatest knack of calling their husbands fools. _Tickle._ Bless you! it’s only too much love speaking out. Just as a saucepan, when too hot, boils over. _Slowgoe._ (_With paper._) Great season for the vineyards. It seems there never was such a promise for champagne. Glorious news this for the poor. In course nobody here understands it; but according to perlitical economy, when champagne’s plentiful it must bring down ginger-beer. _Nutts._ Well, all I know is, pineapples haven’t cheapened potatoes.