There was most of a small jar of whisky—the first purchase Mr. Butson had caused on his change of condition. It was brought, with tumblers, and Uncle Isaac celebrated the occasion with full honours and much fragmentary declamation. He drank the health of bride and bridegroom, first separately and then together. He drank the health of the family, completed and adorned by the addition of Butson. He drank success to the shop; long life to all the parties concerned; happiness to each of them. And a certain forgetfulness ensuing, he began his toast-list afresh, in conscientious precaution lest something had been omitted. “See there, Bess; see there, me gal,” he exclaimed, with some thickness of utterance, turning to Bessy (whose one desire was to remain unnoticed), and making a semicircular swing of the arm in Butson’s direction. “Yer father! Noo s-stepfather! Local p’rentis! As a cripple an’ a burden it’s your dooty to be grateful for the c-circumstance. Bein’ a widderer o’ long ex-experience meself I’m grateful for s-surroundin’ priv’leges, which it is your dooty t’ respeck. See? Dooty t’ respeck an’ obey; likewise honour. ’C-cos if shillun don’ ’speck an’ ’bey whash good C-catechism? Eh?” Uncle Isaac’s voice grew loud and fierce. “Whash become C-catechishm I say? Nullavoid. Ca’chishm’s nullavoid.” . . . Here, pausing to look round at Mr. and Mrs. Butson, he lost his argument altogether, and stared owlishly at the wall. . . . “’Owsomedever, the ’casion bein’ the state an’ pediment o’ ’oly matrimony, ’cordin’ to confidential ’tentions, nothin’ remains but ashk you all join me ’n drinkin’—d-drinkin’—er—er—lil’ drop more.” Uncle Isaac subsided with his face on the table, and his eyes closed. So that it grew necessary for Mr. Butson to shake him and bring him to a perpendicular. Whereupon, being duly invested with his hat, he was safely set in his way on the narrow pavement of Harbour Lane. XXI. TWICE or thrice more Uncle Isaac came to supper, though he was dimly aware that his visits were in some way less successful than had been their wont; insomuch that he took nothing home with him for breakfast, nor even went so far as to hint his desire, in Butson’s presence. For Butson welcomed him not at all, and his manner grew shorter at each meeting, and this with full intent. Because Mr. Butson perceived that, as first step toward being master in his own house, he must get rid of Uncle Isaac. Mere curtness of manner—even gruffness—would never drive Uncle Isaac from his prey. It operated only to make him more voluble, more strenuously blandiloquent. Till one evening after supper, as he lay back in his chair sucking noisily at lips and teeth, he resolved to venture a step in the matter of the lapsed grants in aid of breakfast. Johnny and Bessy were out of the house (they went out more often now), Nan was serving in the shop, and Mr. Butson sat with his back partly turned, and smoked, in uncivil silence.