and so I don’t mind telling you, Kenwigs. A gentleman has a glass of punch before him to which he is just about to set his lips, when another gentleman comes and collars that glass of punch, without a “with your leave”, or “by your leave”, and carries that glass of punch away. This may be good manners—I dare say it is—but I don’t understand it, that’s all; and what’s more, I don’t care if I never do. It’s my way to speak my mind, Kenwigs, and that is my mind; and if you don’t like it, it’s past my regular time for going to bed, and I can find my way home without making it later.’
Here was an untoward event! The collector had sat swelling and fuming in offended dignity for some minutes, and had now fairly burst out. The great man—the rich relation—the unmarried uncle—who had it in his power to make Morleena an heiress, and the very baby a legatee—was offended. Gracious Powers, where was this to end!
‘I am very sorry, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, humbly.
‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry,’ retorted Mr. Lillyvick, with much sharpness. ‘You should have prevented it, then.’
The company were quite paralysed by this domestic crash. The back-parlour sat with her mouth wide open, staring vacantly at the collector, in a stupor of dismay; the other guests were scarcely less overpowered by the great man’s irritation. Mr. Kenwigs, not being skilful in such matters, only fanned the flame in attempting to extinguish it.
‘I didn’t think of it, I am sure, sir,’ said that gentleman. ‘I didn’t suppose that such a little thing as a glass of punch would have put you out of temper.’
‘Out of temper! What the devil do you mean by that piece of impertinence, Mr. Kenwigs?’ said the collector. ‘Morleena, child—give me my hat.’
‘Oh, you’re not going, Mr. Lillyvick, sir,’ interposed Miss Petowker, with her most bewitching smile.
But still Mr. Lillyvick, regardless of the siren, cried obdurately, ‘Morleena, my hat!’ upon the fourth repetition of which demand, Mrs Kenwigs sunk back in her chair, with a cry that might have softened a water-butt, not to say a water-collector; while the four little girls (privately instructed to that effect) clasped their uncle’s drab shorts in their arms, and prayed him, in imperfect English, to remain.
‘Why should I stop here, my dears?’ said Mr. Lillyvick; ‘I’m not wanted here.’
‘Oh, do not speak so cruelly, uncle,’ sobbed Mrs. Kenwigs, ‘unless you wish to kill me.’
‘I shouldn’t wonder if some people were to say I did,’ replied Mr Lillyvick, glancing angrily at Kenwigs. ‘Out of temper!’
‘Oh! I cannot bear to see him look so, at my husband,’ cried Mrs. Kenwigs. ‘It’s so dreadful in families. Oh!’
‘Mr. Lillyvick,’ said Kenwigs, ‘I hope, for the sake of your niece, that you won’t object to be reconciled.’
The collector’s features relaxed, as the company added their entreaties to those of his nephew-in-law. He gave up his hat, and held out his hand.
‘There, Kenwigs,’ said Mr. Lillyvick; ‘and let me tell you, at the same time, to show you how much out of temper I was, that if I had gone away without another word, it would have made no difference respecting that pound or two which I shall leave among your children when I die.’
‘Morleena Kenwigs,’ cried her mother, in a torrent of affection. ‘Go down upon your knees to your dear uncle, and beg him to love you all his life through, for he’s more a angel than a man, and I’ve always said so.’
Miss Morleena approaching to do homage, in compliance with this injunction, was summarily caught up and kissed by Mr. Lillyvick; and thereupon Mrs. Kenwigs darted forward and kissed the collector, and an irrepressible murmur of applause broke from the company who had witnessed his magnanimity.
The worthy gentleman then became once more the life and soul of the society; being again reinstated in his old post of lion, from which high station the temporary distraction of their thoughts had for a moment dispossessed him. Quadruped lions are said to be savage, only when they are hungry; biped lions are rarely sulky longer than when their appetite for distinction remains unappeased. Mr. Lillyvick stood higher than ever; for he had shown his power; hinted at his property and testamentary intentions; gained great credit for disinterestedness and virtue; and, in addition to all, was finally accommodated with a much larger tumbler of punch than that which Newman Noggs had so feloniously made off with.
‘I say! I beg everybody’s pardon for intruding again,’ said Crowl, looking in at this happy juncture; ‘but what a queer business this is, isn’t it? Noggs has lived in this house, now going on for five years, and nobody has ever been to see him before, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant.’
‘It’s a strange time of night to be called away, sir, certainly,’ said the collector; ‘and the behaviour of Mr. Noggs himself, is, to say the least of it, mysterious.’
‘Well, so it is,’ rejoined Crowl; ‘and I’ll tell you what’s more—I think these two geniuses, whoever they are, have run away from somewhere.’
‘What makes you think that, sir?’ demanded the collector, who seemed, by a tacit understanding, to have been chosen and elected mouthpiece to the company. ‘You have no reason to suppose that they have run away from anywhere without paying the rates and taxes due, I hope?’
Mr. Crowl, with a look of some contempt, was about to enter a general protest against the payment of rates or taxes, under any circumstances, when he was checked by a timely whisper from Kenwigs, and several frowns and winks from Mrs. K., which providentially stopped him.
‘Why the fact is,’ said Crowl, who had been listening at Newman’s door with all his might and main; ‘the fact is, that they have been talking so loud, that they quite disturbed me in my room, and so I couldn’t help catching a word here, and a word there; and all I heard, certainly seemed to refer to their having bolted from some place or other. I don’t wish to alarm Mrs. Kenwigs; but I hope they haven’t come from any jail or hospital, and brought away a fever or some unpleasantness of that sort, which might be catching for the children.’
Mrs. Kenwigs was so overpowered by this supposition, that it needed all the tender attentions of Miss Petowker, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, to restore her to anything like a state of calmness; not to mention the assiduity of Mr. Kenwigs, who held a fat smelling-bottle to his lady’s nose, until it became matter of some doubt whether the tears which coursed down her face were the result of feelings or sal volatile.
The ladies, having expressed their sympathy, singly and separately, fell, according to custom, into a little chorus of soothing expressions, among which, such condolences as ‘Poor dear!’—‘I should feel just the same, if I was her’—‘To be sure, it’s a very trying thing’—and ‘Nobody but a mother knows what a mother’s feelings is,’ were among the most prominent, and most frequently repeated. In short, the opinion of the company was so clearly manifested, that Mr. Kenwigs was on the point of repairing to Mr. Noggs’s room, to demand an explanation, and had indeed swallowed a preparatory glass of punch, with great inflexibility and steadiness of purpose, when the attention of all present was diverted by a new and terrible surprise.
This was nothing less than the sudden pouring forth of a rapid succession of the shrillest and most piercing screams, from an upper story; and to all appearance from the very two-pair back, in which the infant Kenwigs was at that moment enshrined. They were no sooner audible, than Mrs Kenwigs, opining that a strange
