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EM!--So, Mr. Caudle: I hope you enjoyed yourself at Greenwich. How do I
know you've been at Greenwich? I know it very well, sir: know all about
it: know more than you think I know. I thought there was something in
the wind. Yes; I was sure of it, when you went out of the house, to-day.
I knew it by the looks of you, though I didn't say anything. Upon my
word! And you call yourself a respectable man, and the father of a
family! Going to a fair amongst all sorts of people,--at your time of
life. Yes; and never think of taking your wife with you. Oh, no! you can
go and enjoy yourself out, with, _I_ don't know who: go out, and make
yourself very pleasant, I dare say. Don't tell me; I hear what a nice
companion Mr. Caudle is: what a good-tempered person. Ha! I only wish
people could see you at home, that's all. But so it is with men. They
can keep all their good temper for out-of-doors--their wives never see
any of it. Oh, dear! I'm sure I don't know who'd be a poor woman!
“Now, Caudle, I'm not in an ill temper: not at all. I know I used to be
a fool when we were first married: I used to worry and fret myself to
death, when you went out; but I've got over that. I wouldn't put myself
out of the way now for the best man that ever trod. For what thanks does
a poor woman get? None at all. No: it's those who don't care for their
families, who are the best thought of. I only wish I could bring myself
not to care for mine.
“And why couldn't you say, like a man, you were going to Greenwich Fair,
when you went out? It's no use your saying that, Mr. Caudle: don't tell
me that you didn't think of going; you 'd made your mind up to it, and
you know it. Pretty games you've had, no doubt! I should like to have
been behind you, that's all. A man at your time of life!
“And I, of course, I never want to go out. Oh, no! I may stay at home
with the cat. You couldn't think of taking your wife and children, like
any other decent man, to a fair. Oh, no; you never care to be seen with
us. I'm sure, many people don't know you 're married: how can they? Your
wife's never seen with you. Oh, no; anybody but those belonging to you!
“Greenwich Fair, indeed! Yes,--and of course you went up and down the
hill, running and racing with nobody knows who. Don't tell me; I know
what you are when you're out. You don't suppose, Mr. Caudle, I've
forgotten that pink bonnet, do you? No: I won't hold my tongue, and I'm
not a foolish woman. It's no matter, sir, if the pink bonnet was fifty
years ago--it's all the same for that. No: and if I live for fifty years
to come, I never will leave off talking of it. You ought to be ashamed
of yourself, Mr. Caudle. Ha! few wives would have been what I've been to
you. I only wish my time was to come over again, that's all; I wouldn't
be the fool I have been.
“Going to a fair! and I suppose you had your fortune told by the
gypsies? You needn't have wasted your money. I'm sure I can tell you
your fortune if you go on as you do. Yes, the gaol will be your fortune,
Mr. Caudle. And it would be no matter--none at all--if your wife and
children didn't suffer with you.
“And then you must go riding upon donkeys--you didn't go riding upon
donkeys? Yes; it's very well for you to say so; but I dare say you did.
I tell you, Caudle, I know what you are when you 're out. I wouldn't
trust any of you--you, especially, Caudle.
“Then you must go in the thick of the fair, and have the girls
scratching your coat with rattles! You couldn't help it, if they did
scratch your coat? Don't tell me; people don't scratch coats unless they
're encouraged to do it. And you must go in a swing, too. You didn't
go in a swing? And I'm a foolish woman to think so, am I? Well, if you
didn't, it was no fault of yours: you wished to go, I've no doubt.
“And then you must go into the shows? There,--you don't deny that. You
_did_ go into a show. What of it, Mr. Caudle? A good deal of it, sir.
Nice crowding and squeezing in those shows, I know. Pretty places!
And you a married man and the father of a family. No: I won't hold my
tongue. It's very well for you to threaten to get up. You're to go to
Greenwich Fair, and race up and down the hill, and play at kiss in the
ring. Pah! it's disgusting, Mr. Caudle. Oh, I dare say you _did_ play
at it; if you didn't, you'd have liked, and that's just as bad;--and you
can go into swings, and shows, and roundabouts. If I was you, I should
hide my head under the clothes, and be ashamed of myself.
“And what is most selfish--most mean of you, Caudle--you can go and
enjoy yourself, and never so much as bring home for the poor children a
gingerbread-nut. Don't tell me that your pocket was picked of a pound of
nuts! Nice company you must have been in to have your pocket picked.
“But I dare say I shall hear all about it tomorrow. I've no doubt, sir,
you were dancing at the Crown-and-Anchor. I should like to have seen
you. No: I'm not making myself ridiculous. It's you that's making
yourself ridiculous; and everybody that knows you says so. Everybody
knows what I have to put up with from you.
“Going to a fair, indeed! At your time----”
“Here,” says Caudle, “I dozed off, hearing confusedly the
words--hill--gypsies--rattles--roundabout--swings--pink bonnet--nuts.”