Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

“You're so full of zeal, you see!” said Poll. “You worrit yourself so.”

“Worrit myself!” cried Mrs Gamp, raising her hands and turning up her eyes. “You speak truth in that, sir, if you never speaks no more “twixt this and when two Sundays jines together. I feels the sufferins of other people more than I feels my own, though no one mayn't suppoge it. The families I've had,” said Mrs Gamp, “if all was knowd and credit done where credit's doo, would take a week to chris'en at Saint Polge's fontin!”

“Where's the patient goin?” asked Sweedlepipe.

“Into Har'fordshire, which is his native air. But native airs nor native graces neither,” Mrs Gamp observed, “won't bring HIM round.”

“So bad as that?” inquired the wistful barber. “Indeed!”

Mrs Gamp shook her head mysteriously, and pursed up her lips. “There's fevers of the mind,” she said, “as well as body. You may take your slime drafts till you files into the air with efferwescence; but you won't cure that.”

“Ah!” said the barber, opening his eyes, and putting on his raven aspect; “Lor!”

“No. You may make yourself as light as any gash balloon,” said Mrs Gamp. “But talk, when you're wrong in your head and when you're in your sleep, of certain things; and you'll be heavy in your mind.”

“Of what kind of things now?” inquired Poll, greedily biting his nails in his great interest. “Ghosts?”

Mrs Gamp, who perhaps had been already tempted further than she had intended to go, by the barber's stimulating curiosity, gave a sniff of uncommon significance, and said, it didn't signify.

“I'm a-goin down with my patient in the coach this arternoon,” she proceeded. “I'm a-goin to stop with him a day or so, till he gets a country nuss (drat them country nusses, much the orkard hussies knows about their bis'ness); and then I'm a-comin back; and that's my trouble, Mr Sweedlepipes. But I hope that everythink'll only go on right and comfortable as long as I'm away; perwisin which, as Mrs Harris says, Mrs Gill is welcome to choose her own time; all times of the day and night bein” equally the same to me.”

During the progress of the foregoing remarks, which Mrs Gamp had addressed exclusively to the barber, Mr Bailey had been tying his cravat, getting on his coat, and making hideous faces at himself in the glass. Being now personally addressed by Mrs Gamp, he turned round, and mingled in the conversation.

“You ain't been in the City, I suppose, sir, since we was all three there together,” said Mrs Gamp, “at Mr Chuzzlewit's?”

“Yes, I have, Sairah. I was there last night.”

“Last night!” cried the barber.

“Yes, Poll, reether so. You can call it this morning, if you like to be particular. He dined with us.”

“Who does that young Limb mean by “hus?” said Mrs Gamp, with most impatient emphasis.

“Me and my Governor, Sairah. He dined at our house. We wos very merry, Sairah. So much so, that I was obliged to see him home in a hackney coach at three o'clock in the morning.”It was on the tip of the boy's tongue to relate what had followed; but remembering how easily it might be carried to his master's ears, and the repeated cautions he had had from Mr Crimple “not to chatter,” he checked himself; adding, only, “She was sitting up, expecting him.”

“And all things considered,” said Mrs Gamp sharply, “she might have know'd better than to go a-tirin herself out, by doin” anythink of the sort. Did they seem pretty pleasant together, sir?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Bailey, “pleasant enough.”

“I'm glad on it,” said Mrs Gamp, with a second sniff of significance.

“They haven't been married so long,” observed Poll, rubbing his hands, “that they need be anything but pleasant yet awhile.”

“No,” said Mrs Gamp, with a third significant signal.

“Especially,” pursued the barber, “when the gentleman bears such a character as you gave him.”

“I speak; as I find, Mr Sweedlepipes,” said Mrs Gamp. “Forbid it should be otherways! But we never knows wot's hidden in each other's hearts; and if we had glass winders there, we'd need keep the shetters up, some on us, I do assure you!”

“But you don't mean to say—” Poll Sweedlepipe began.

“No,” said Mrs Gamp, cutting him very short, “I don't. Don't think I do. The torters of the Imposition shouldn't make me own I did. All I says is,” added the good woman, rising and folding her shawl about her, “that the Bull's a-waitin, and the precious moments is a-flyin” fast.”

The little barber having in his eager curiosity a great desire to see Mrs Gamp's patient, proposed to Mr Bailey that they should accompany her to the Bull, and witness the departure of the coach. That young gentleman assenting, they all went out together.

Arriving at the tavern, Mrs Gamp (who was full-dressed for the journey, in her latest suit of mourning) left her friends to entertain themselves in the yard, while she ascended to the sick room, where her fellow-labourer Mrs Prig was dressing the invalid.

He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his bones would rattle when they moved him. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally large. He lay back in the easy-chair like one more dead than living; and rolled his languid eyes towards the door when Mrs Gamp appeared, as painfully as if their weight alone were burdensome to move.

“And how are we by this time?” Mrs Gamp observed. “We looks charming.”

“We looks a deal charminger than we are, then,” returned Mrs Prig, a little chafed in her temper. “We got out of bed back'ards, I think, for we're as cross as two sticks. I never see sich a man. He wouldn't have been washed, if he'd had his own way.”

“She put the soap in my mouth,” said the unfortunate patient feebly.

“Couldn't you keep it shut then?” retorted Mrs Prig. “Who do you think's to wash one feater, and miss another, and wear one's eyes out with all manner of fine work of that description, for half-acrown a day! If you wants to be tittivated, you must pay accordin”.”

“Oh dear me!” cried the patient, “oh dear, dear!”

“There!” said Mrs Prig, “that's the way he's been a-conductin of himself, Sarah, ever since I got him out of bed, if you'll believe it.”

“Instead of being grateful,” Mrs Gamp observed, “for all our little ways. Oh, fie for shame, sir, fie for shame!”

Here Mrs Prig seized the patient by the chin, and began to rasp his unhappy head with a hair-brush.

“I suppose you don't like that, neither!” she observed, stopping to look at him.

It was just possible that he didn't for the brush was a specimen of the hardest kind of instrument producible by modern art; and his very eyelids were red with the friction. Mrs Prig was gratified to observe the correctness of her supposition, and said triumphantly “she know'd as much.”

When his hair was smoothed down comfortably into his eyes, Mrs Prig and Mrs Gamp put on his neckerchief; adjusting his shirt collar with great nicety, so that the starched points should also invade those organs, and afflict them with an artificial ophthalmia. His waistcoat and coat were next arranged; and as every button was wrenched into a wrong button-hole, and the order of his boots was reversed, he presented on the whole rather a melancholy appearance.

“I don't think it's right,” said the poor weak invalid. “I feel as if I was in somebody else's clothes. I'm all on one side; and you've made one of my legs shorter than the other. There's a bottle in my pocket too. What do you make me sit upon a bottle for?”

“Deuce take the man!” cried Mrs Gamp, drawing it forth. “If he ain't been and got my night-bottle here. I made a little cupboard of his coat when it hung behind the door, and quite forgot it, Betsey. You'll find a ingun or two, and a little tea and sugar in his t'other pocket, my dear, if you'll just be good enough to take “em out.”