Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/239

181 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 181

here, Ma'am — * Lines to a brass Pot,' Ma'am. * Brass pot ;' — that's me, Ma'am. * False she'd have grown ;' — that's you, Ma'am — you." With this ebullition of rage, which was not unaccompanied with something like a tremble, at the expression of his wife's face, Mr. Pott clashed the current number of the Eatanswill Independent at her feet.

" Upon my word, Sir," said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stooping to pick up the paper. " Upon my word. Sir."

Mr. Pott winced ben-eath the contemptuous gaze of his wife. He had made a desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but it was fast coming unscrewed again.

There appears nothing very tremendous in this little sentence, " Upon my word. Sir," when it comes to be read ; but the tone of voice in which it was delivered, and the look that accompanied it, both seem ing to bear reference to some revenge to be thereafter wreaked upon the head of Pott, produced their full effect upon him. The most un- skilful observer could have detected in his troubled countenance, a readi- ness to resign his Wellington boots to any efficient substitute who would have consented to stand in them at that moment.

Mrs. Pott read the paragraph, uttered a loud shriek, and threw herself at full length on the hearth-rug, screaming, and tapping it with the heels of her shoes, in a manner which could leave no doubt of the propriety of her feelings on the occasion.

" My dear," said the terrified Pott, — " I did'nt say I believed it ; —

I " but the unfortunate man's voice was drowned in the screaming

of his partner.

" Mrs. Pott, let me entreat you, my dear Ma'am, to compose your- self," said Mr. Winkle ; but the shrieks and tappings were louder, and more frequent, than ever.

" My dear," said Mr. Pott, " I am very sorry. If you won't consider your own health, consider me, my dear. We shall have a crowd round the house." But the more strenuously Mr. Pott entreated, the more vehemently the screams poured forth.

Very fortunately, however, attached to Mrs. Pott's person was a body-guard of one, a young lady whose ostensible employment was to preside over her toilet, but who rendered herself useful in a variety of ways, and in none more so than in the particular department of con- stantly aiding and abetting her mistress in every wish and inclination opposed to the desires of the unhappy Pott. The screams reached this young lady's ears in due course, and brought her to the room with a F:peed which threatened to derange materially, the very exquisite arrange- ment of her cap and ringlets.

" Oh, my dear, dear mistress ! " exclaimed the body-guard, kneeling frantically by the side of the prostrate Mrs. Pott. " Oh, my dear mis- tress, what is the matter?"

" Your master — your brutal master," murmured the patient.

Pott was evidently giving way.

" It's a shame," said the body-guard, reproachfully. " I know he'll be the death on you. Ma'am. Poor dear thing."

He gave way more. The opposite party followed up the attack.

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