"Nothink to signify in the court here, for three months a"most."
"And _then_, ma"am, what _was_ it, pray? Give those to your boy" (they were his boots); "let him rub "em up, ma"am, he"s not a bit too young to begin; and, egad! he had better do "em _well_, too;" and thrusting his feet into a great pair of slippers, he reverted to his question--"What sickness was _then_, ma"am, three months ago, here in this pleasant little prison-yard of a place--hey?"
"Fever, please, sir, at No. 4. Three took it, please: two of "em went to hospital."
"And never walked out?"
"Don"t know, indeed, sir--and one died, please, sir, in the court here, and he left three little children."
"I hope they"re gone away?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"Well, that"s a release. Rest his soul, he"s dead! as our immortal bard, that says everything so much better than anyone else, says; and rest our souls, _they"re_ gone with their vile noise. So your bill of mortality is not much to signify; and make that coffee--d"ye see?--this moment, and let me have it as hot as--as the final abode of Dissenters and Catholics--I see you believe in the Church Catechism--immediately, if you please, to the next room."
So, with a courtesy, Sally Rumble tripped from the room, with the coffee-case in her hand.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LODGER AND HIS LANDLADY.
SALLY was beginning to conceive a great fear of her guest, and terror being the chief spring of activity, in a marvellously short time the coffee was made, and she, with Lucy Maria holding the candle behind her, knocking at what they called the drawing-room door. When, in obedience to his command, she entered, he was standing by the chimney-piece, gazing at her through an atmosphere almost hazy with tobacco smoke. He had got on his dressing-gown, which was pea-green, and a scarlet fez, and stood with his inquisitive smile and scowl, and his long pipe a little removed from his lips.
"Oh, it"s _you_? yes; no one--do you mind--except Mr. Larkin, or Mr.
Levi, or Mr. Goldshed, ever comes in to me--always charmed to see _you_, and _them_--but there ends my public; so, my dear lady, if any person should ask to see Mr. Dingwell, from New York in America, you"ll simply say there"s no such person here--yes--there"s--_no_-- _such_--_person_--_here_--upon my honour. And you"re no true woman if you don"t say so with pleasure--because it"s a fib."
Sarah Rumble courtesied affirmatively.
"I forgot to give you this note--my letter of introduction. Here, ma"am, take it, and read it, if you can. It comes from those eminent harpies, the Messrs. Goldshed and Levi--your landlords, aren"t they?"
Another courtesy from grave, dark-browed Miss Rumble acknowledged the fact.
"It is pleasant to be accredited by such gentlemen--good landlords, I dare say?"
"I"ve nothing to say against Mr. Levi; and I"m "appy to say, sir, my rent"s bin always paid up punctual," she said.
"Yes, just so--capital landlord! charming tenant; and I suspect if you didn"t, they"d find a way to make you--eh? Your coffee"s not so bad--you may make it next time just a degree stronger, bitter as wormwood and verjuice, please--black and bitter, ma"am, as English prejudice. It isn"t badly made, however--no, it _is_ really _good_. It isn"t a common Christian virtue, making good coffee--the Mahometans have a knack of it, and you must be a bit of a genius, ma"am, for I think you"ll make it very respectably by to-morrow evening, or at latest, by next year. You shall do everything well for me, madam. The Dingwells are always d--d flighty, wicked, unreasonable people, ma"am, and you"ll find me a regular Dingwell, and _worse_, madam. Look at me--don"t I look like a vampire. I tell you, ma"am, I"ve been buried, and they would not let me rest in my grave, and they"ve called me up by their infernal incantations, and here I am, ma"am, an evoked spirit. I have not read that bit of paper. How do they introduce me--as Mr. Dingwell, or Mr.
Dingwell"s ghost? I"m wound up in a sort of way; but I"m deficient in blood, ma"am, and in heat. You"ll have to keep the fire up always like _this_, Mrs. Rumble. You"d better mind, or you"ll have me a bit too like a corpse to be pleasant. Egad! I frighten myself in the gla.s.s, ma"am.
There is what they call transfusion of blood _now_, ma"am, and a very sensible thing it is. Pray, don"t you think so?"
"I do suppose what you say"s correct, sir."
"When a fellow comes out of the grave, ma"am--that"s sherry in that bottle; be kind enough to fill this gla.s.s--he"s chilly, and he wants blood, Mrs. Rumble. A gallon, or so, transfused into my veins wouldn"t hurt me. You can"t _make_ blood fast enough for the wear and tear of life, especially in a place like merry England, as the poets call it--and merry England is as damp all over as one of your charnel vaults under your dirty churches. Egad! it"s enough to make a poor ghost like me turn vampire, and drain those rosy little brats of yours--ha, ha, ha!--_your_ children, are they, Mrs. Rumble--eh?"
"No, sir, please--my brother"s children."
"Your _brother"s_--ho! He doesn"t live _here_, I hope?"
"He"s dead, sir."
"Dead--is he?"
"Five years last May, sir."
"Oh! that"s good. And their mother?--some more sherry, please."
"Dead about four years, poor thing! They"re orphans, sir, please."
""Gad! I _do_ please; it"s a capital arrangement, ma"am, as they _are_ here, and you mustn"t let "em go among the children that swarm about places like this. Egad! ma"am, I"ve no fancy for scarlatina or small-pox, or any sort or description of your nursery maladies."
"They"re very "ealthy, sir, I thank you," said grave Sarah Rumble, a little mistaking Mr. Dingwell"s drift.
"Very glad to hear it, ma"am."
"Very kind o" you, sir," she said, with a courtesy.
"Kind, of course, yes, very kind," he echoed.
"Very "ealthy, indeed, sir, I"m thankful to say."
"Well, yes, they do look well--for town brats, you know--plump and rosy--hang "em, little skins of sweet red wine; egad! enough to make a fellow turn vampire, as I said. Give me a little more sherry--thank you, ma"am. Any place near here where they sell ice?"
"Yes, sir, there"s Mr. Candy"s hice-store, in Love Lane, sir."
"You must arrange to get me a pound, or so, every day at twelve o"clock, broken up in lumps, like sugar, and keep it in a cold cellar; do you mind, ma"am?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"How old are _you_, ma"am? Well, _no_, you need not mind--hardly a fair question; a steady woman--a lady who has seen the world--_some_thing of it, hey?" said he; "so have _I_--I"m a steady old fellow, egad!--you must give me a latch-key, ma"am."
"Yes, sir."
"Some ten or twelve years will see us out; curious thing life, ma"am, eh? ha, ha, ha!--Sparkling cup, ma"am, while it lasts--_some_times; pity the flask has so few gla.s.ses, and is flat so soon; isn"t it so, ma"am?"
"I never drank wine, sir, but once."
"No! where was that?"
"At Mr. Snelly"s wedding, twenty years since."
""Gad! you"d make a good Turk, ma"am--don"t mistake me--it"s only they drink no wine. You"ve found life an up-hill business, then, hey?"
Mrs. Rumble sighed profoundly, shook her head, and said,--
"I"ve "ad my trials, sir."