Mr. Easy, at all events then let me choose the name.”
“That you shall, my dear, and it was with this view that I have mentioned the subject so early.”
“I think, Mr. Easy, I will call the boy after my poor father—his name shall be Robert.”
“Very well, my dear, if you wish it, it shall be Robert. You shall have your own way. But I think, my dear, upon a little consideration, you will acknowledge that there is a decided objection.”
“An objection, Mr. Easy?”
“Yes, my dear; Robert may be very well, but you must reflect upon the consequences; he is certain to be called Bob.”
“Well, my dear, and suppose they do call him Bob?”
“I cannot bear even the supposition, my dear. You forget the county in which we are residing, the downs covered with sheep.”
“Why, Mr. Easy, what can sheep have to do with a Christian name?”
“There it is; women never look to consequences. My dear, they have a great deal to do with the name of Bob. I will appeal to any farmer in the county, if ninety-nine shepherds’ dogs out of one hundred are not called Bob. Now observe, your child is out of doors somewhere in the fields or plantations; you want and you call him. Instead of your child, what do you find? Why, a dozen curs at least, who come running up to you, all answering to the name of Bob, and wagging their stumps of tails. You see, Mrs. Easy, it is a dilemma not to be got over. You level your only son to the brute creation by giving him a Christian name which, from its peculiar brevity, has been monopolised by all the dogs in the county. Any other name you please, my dear, but in this one instance you must allow me to lay my positive veto.”
“Well, then, let me see—but I’ll think of it, Mr. Easy; my head aches very much just now.”
“I will think for you, my dear. What do you say to John?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Easy, such a common name?”
“A proof of its popularity, my dear. It is scriptural—we have the apostle and the baptist—we have a dozen popes who were all Johns. It is royal—we have plenty of kings who were Johns—and, moreover, it is short, and sounds honest and manly.”
“Yes, very true, my dear; but they will call him Jack.”
“Well, we have had several celebrated characters who were Jacks. There was—let me see—Jack the Giant Killer, and Jack of the Bean Stalk—and Jack—Jack—”
“Jack Spratt,” replied Mrs. Easy.
“And Jack Cade, Mrs. Easy, the great rebel—and three-fingered Jack, Mrs. Easy, the celebrated negro—and, above all, Jack Falstaff, ma’am, Jack Falstaff—honest Jack Falstaff—witty Jack Falstaff—”
“I thought, Mr. Easy, that I was to be permitted to choose the name.”
“Well, so you shall, my dear; I give it up to you. Do just as you please; but depend upon it that John is the right name. Is it not now, my dear?”
“It’s the way you always treat me, Mr. Easy; you say that you give it up, and that I shall have my own way, but I never do have it. I am sure that the child will be christened John.”
“Nay, my dear, it shall be just what you please. Now I recollect it, there were several Greek emperors who were Johns; but decide for yourself, my dear.”
“No, no,” replied Mrs. Easy, who was ill, and unable to contend any longer, “I give it up, Mr. Easy. I know how it will be, as it always is: you give me my own way as people give pieces of gold to children, it’s their own money, but they must not spend it. Pray call him John.”
“There, my dear, did not I tell you, you would be of my opinion upon reflection? I knew you would. I have given you your own way, and you tell me to call him John; so now we’re both of the same mind, and that point is settled.”
“I should like to go to sleep, Mr. Easy; I feel far from well.”
“You shall always do just as you like, my dear,” replied the husband, “and have your own way in everything. It is the greatest pleasure I have when I yield to your wishes. I will walk in the garden. Good-bye, my dear.”
Mrs. Easy made no reply, and the philosopher quitted the room. As may easily be imagined, on the following day the boy was christened John.
Chapter Three.
In which our hero has to wait the issue of an argument.
The reader may observe that, in general, all my first chapters are very short, and increase in length as the work advances. I mention this as a proof of my modesty and diffidence. At first, I am like a young bird just out of its mother’s nest, pluming my little feathers and taking short flights. By degrees I obtain more confidence, and wing my course over hill and dale.
It is very difficult to throw any interest into a chapter on childhood. There is the same uniformity in all children until they develop. We cannot, therefore, say much relative to Jack Easy’s earliest days; he sucked and threw up his milk, while the nurse blessed it for a pretty dear, slept, and sucked again. He crowed in the morning like a cock, screamed when he was washed, stared at the candle, and made wry faces with the wind. Six months passed in these innocent amusements, and then he was put into shorts. But I ought here to have remarked, that Mrs. Easy did not find herself equal to nursing her own infant, and it was necessary to look out for a substitute.
Now a commonplace person would have been satisfied with the recommendation of the medical man, who looks but to the one thing needful, which is a sufficient and wholesome supply of nourishment for the child; but Mr. Easy was a philosopher, and had latterly taken to craniology, and he descanted very learnedly with the doctor upon the effect of his only son obtaining his nutriment from an unknown source. “Who knows,” observed Mr. Easy, “but that my son may not imbibe with his milk the very worst passions of human nature.”
“I have examined her,” replied the doctor, “and can safely recommend her.”
“That examination is only preliminary to one more important,” replied Mr. Easy. “I must examine her.”
“Examine who, Mr. Easy?” exclaimed his wife, who had lain down again on the bed.
“The nurse, my dear.”
“Examine what, Mr. Easy?” continued the lady.
“Her head, my dear,” replied the husband. “I must ascertain what her propensities are.”
“I think you had better leave her alone, Mr. Easy. She comes this evening, and I shall question her pretty severely. Dr. Middleton, what do you know of this young person?”
“I know, madam, that she is very healthy and strong, or I should not have selected her.”
“But is
