"I don't know what to make of that child, ma'am," said Tim, on one of
his visits to Duplex Street. "I'm afraid she's in a bad way, and that
we ought to see another doctor;" and as he spoke he gazed vacantly at a
guinea-pig on the hearth, a present from Monsieur Canau to one of the
children, and brought from Decadia.
"Then why not take her to one, Mr Ruggles?" said Mrs Jared, rather
tartly, for she strongly disapproved of Tim's obedience to his better
half.
"Expense--expense--expense, ma'am," said Tim. "You see, Mrs Ruggles
keeps the purse, and has her own ideas about money. Wonderfully clever
woman; but I don't quite think she sees how bad poor little Pine is."
"Mr Ruggles, I don't like your wonderfully clever women," said Mrs
Jared; "they are not worth much generally. I like to see a woman clever
enough to do her duty to her husband and family; and if she knows that,
and does it well, she is quite clever enough to my way of thinking."
"Gently, my dear, gently," said Jared; for Mrs Pellet was growing rather
warm, and--as is peculiar to the female sex--loud; but Jared's words
acted like oil, and his wife's feathers grew smooth directly.
Some time had elapsed since Tim Ruggles had made his appearance in
Duplex Street, for the trousers trade had been brisk, and he had been
busy enough at home, while messages from the foreman of the shop for
which he worked were constantly being borne to Carnaby Street to know
"whether Ruggles meant to wear out that last pair of trousers as well as
make them;" or, "if he did not mean to make those last two pair, to send
them back and let somebody else." "When, you know," said Tim, "at my
place it was all board; I had my breakfast on the board, my dinner on
the board, my tea on the board, my supper on the board, and for two or
three nights the only sleep I had was an hour or two when I lay down on
the board; and once I dreamed that I was a sewing-machine, and that Mrs
Ruggles was turning my handle, when she was only shaking my arm because
it was morning, and time for me to be up and at work again."
There was peace in the domestic grove at Duplex Street; the little ones
were all in bed; Patty was thinking of Janet and her goldfish, and
sometimes of Harry Clayton, as she sewed on buttons and strings where
small garments needed them; and Mrs Jared was industriously embroidering
a workhouse-window pattern upon one of a basketful of stockings, some of
which strongly resembled the Irishman's knife, for it was a difficult
matter to make out any portion of the original hose, so covered were
they with Mrs Jared's darnings.
Jared himself was busy with his glue-pot, the constant companion of his
leisure evenings. That glue-pot was to Jared Pellet what a pocket-knife
is to some people, and a ball of string to others--it was a perfect
treasure, and with it he performed feats strongly allied to those of
Robin, Houdin, or Wiljalba Frikell, without taking into consideration
the money it earned him. Boots and shoes were renovated to a wonderful
extent; wall-paper torn down by tiny mischievous fingers was replaced;
broken chairs had their limbs set; in fact, Jared looked upon glue as a
panacea, even going so far as to pop scraps in his mouth, though it
cannot be avowed that he swallowed them, and it may only have been for
the purpose of cleaning his fingers. And yet, it was a nasty little
pot, being of a vicious character, and given to boiling over and
covering Mrs Jared's hobs and polished black bars with a nasty sticky
slime that would not come off; while, when she remonstrated with Jared,
being naturally proud of her black-leading, he quietly told her that it
was of the nature of glue to stick, and that the little pot ought to
have been watched. Just as if it was of any use to watch the
treacherous little object; for one moment it would be calm, and the next
in a state of violent eruption, hissing, bubbling, and sending forth
noxious jets of steam to an extent which made it unapproachable.
Tim Ruggles sat very silent after Mrs Jared had spoken, for he
entertained a most profound respect for her expressions of opinion; and
the upshot of that conversation was, that, in spite of his wife's
opposition, he took little Pine to a doctor--a hint, however, which he
dropped at home relative to the possibility of a cessation of certain
payments, in the event of what he called "anything happening," somewhat
softened Mrs Ruggles' opposition. The next time, too, after that
conversation that Tim went to Bedford Row to draw the bi-monthly
payment, he ventured to suggest that a little medical advice was
necessary for the child, when the gentleman who took his receipt said,
"Oh!" in a quiet manner, as much as to say, "I quite agree with you; and
you think so, do you?"
"Her cough tears her poor little chest terrible, sir," said Tim,
respectfully.
"Indeed!" said the legal gentleman, who was very pale, smooth, and cool.
"Her sleep's broken a good deal, too, sir," said Tim, warming to his
task.
"Ah!" said the legal gentleman, with a quiet, well-bred smile, which no
amount of torturing would have turned into a laugh.
"It wherrits me to hear her, sir--awful," said Tim; "and I think if them
as belongs to her knowed, they'd--"
"Give instructions? eh!" said the legal gentleman. "There, there! she's
in capital hands--couldn't be in better. Try a little magnesia, or dill
water, or squills, or what you like. Good morning, Mr Ruggles. You
have the note, I think. This day two months, mind."
"But, sir," exclaimed Tim, eagerly, "if you was to put it to them."
"Exactly," said the legal gentleman; "Parker & Tomlin's abstract on
office-table. Coming!" he exclaimed, replying to some imaginary call.
"Good morning, Mr Ruggles; this day two months."
Tim found himself the next minute in the entry, holding the money he had
received very far down in his pocket with one hand, as if every one in
Bedford Row and its vicinity was intent upon garrotting him, and bearing
off his cash.
"Squills, indeed! magneshy!" muttered Tim, indignantly; "I'd like to
give him magneshy--a brute. It's my opinion as they wouldn't much mind
if something was to happen, and this sorter thing could be dropped;" and
he left hold of his money, drew forth that hand and slapped his pocket;
but only to thrust back the hand and once more hold tightly to his
treasure, for he told himself that some of it should go in comforts for
the child, or he'd know the reason why.
Tim crossed Holborn, and made his way into a retired street, where he
gave vent to a deep sigh, and, as if continuing his interrupted train of
thought, he muttered--
"I can't say as I shall only go once, or whether it'll be twice, or a
hundred times, to fetch this; but it's my opinion something will
happen."
The thought of "something" happening seemed to cut Tim to the quick, for
as if to force back the rising grief, he crushed his hat down over his
eyes, and hurried through the streets to his abode, where he found Mrs
Ruggles waiting to take charge of the money.
"Of course not," exclaimed that lady, as soon as Tim, taking advantage
of the child having dropped into one of her short slumbers, had related
his conversation with the lawyer. "What would they care? Glad of it,
as hundreds more would be; but we'll disappoint them; they're not going
to get off so easy as they expect."
Tim hugged himself in secret as he saw the effect of his words; for
after that, for a season, Mrs Ruggles was very particular in seeing that
the child took her medicine, and was at the dispensary regularly at the
proper hours for receiving advice.
But this did not last long; Mrs Ruggles declaring that she thought,
after all, there was not much the matter, and returning to her old ways,
though even her hard fierce nature shrank from treating so severely as
had been her former custom the poor suffering child surely fading away
before her eyes.
Volume 1, Chapter XXIII.