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Rh ling on the floor, in the absence of Mrs. Prig, "that I should hear from that same woman's lips what I have heerd her speak of Mrs. Harris?"

"Never mind," said John. "You know it is not true."

"Isn't true!" cried Mrs. Gamp. "True! Don't I know as that dear woman is expectin of me at this minnit, Mr. Westlock, and is a lookin out of winder down the street, with little Tommy Harris in her arms, as calls me his own Gammy, and truly calls for bless the mottled little legs of that there precious child (like Canterbury Brawn his own dear father says, which so they are) his own. I have been, ever since I found him, Mr. Westlock, with his small red worsted shoe a gurglin in his throat, where he had put it in his play, a chick, wile they was leavin of him on the floor a lookin for it through the ouse and him a choakin sweetly in the parlor! Oh, Betsey Prig, wot wickedness you've shewed this night, but never shall you darken Sairey's doors agen, you twining serpiant?"

"You were always so kind to her, too!" said John, consolingly.

"That's the cuttin part. That's where it hurts me, Mr. Westlock," Mrs. Gamp replied; holding out her glass unconsciously, while Martin filled it.

"Chosen to help you with Mr. Lewsome!" said John. "Chosen to help you with Mr. Chuffey!"

"Chose once, but chose no more," cried Mrs. Gamp. "No pardnership with Betsey Prig agen sir!"

"No no," said John. "That would never do."

"I don't know as it ever would have done, sir," Mrs. Gamp replied, with the solemnity peculiar to a certain stage of intoxication. "Now that the marks," by which Mrs. Gamp is supposed to have meant mask, "is off that creetur's face, I do not think it ever would have done. There are reagions in families for keepin things a secret, Mr. Westlock, and havin only them about you as you knows you can repoge in. Who could repoge in Betsey Prig, arter her words of Mrs. Harris, settin in that chair afore my eyes!"

"Quite true," said John: "quite. I hope you have time to find another assistant, Mrs. Gamp"

Between her indignation and the tea-pot, her powers of comprehending what was said to her began to fail. She looked at John with tearful eyes, and murmuring the well-remembered name which Mrs. Prig had challenged—as if it were a talisman against all earthly sorrows—seemed to wander in her mind.

"I hope," repeated John, "that you have time to find another assistant?"

"Which short it is, indeed," cried Mrs. Gamp, turning up her languid eyes, and clasping Mr. Westlock's wrist with matronly affection. "To-morrow evenin, sir, I waits upon his friends. Mr. Chuzzlewit apinted it from nine to ten."

"From nine to ten," said John, with a significant glance at Martin; "and then Mr. Chuffey retires into safe keeping, does he?"

"He needs to be kep safe, I do assure you," Mrs. Gamp replied, with a mysterious air. "Other people besides me has had a happy deliverance from Betsey Prig. I little know'd that woman. She'd have let it out!"