Various were the topics in the drinking parlour, and many the bets
made between the Doctor and his convivial companions; for no man
loved an argument better; till the “briskly-circling glass” had
elated them in full flow of spirits; when the coffee mandate from
the ladies, reassembled in the dining-room, summoned them to adjourn
to the whist table, where Mrs. Deposit had already placed herself,
and was impatiently shuffling the cards in most dextrous style, and
displaying a splendid purse of guineas, four of which lay at her
elbow, as scorers, with as much indifference, on her part, as if they
had been four dumps; while the Widow Quiz, who was classed as her
compeer, picked four silver _twopences_ out of her old family crimson
silk purse, and, drawing up her head, she sat leering about her in
full state; till the Doctor and Mr. Prolix took the opponent seats,
the latter of whom drew Mrs. Deposit, and the former the Widow Quiz.
Now the Widow played a very _sharp_ game, and the Doctor a _deep_
one; but, with all their ingenuity, they could neither vanquish
the lawyer nor the gamestress, in whose favour the run of luck was
perfectly magical.
The Doctor swore, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, swung his chair,
but all to no purpose; the Widow turned her little conjuring coins,
shuffled the cards in every direction, and execrated the whole pack;
while the successful lawyer, and his fortunate partner, netted all
the shillings and half-crowns that came in their way; while Mrs.
Fungus and Mr. Deposit, _versus_ Parson Faddle and Mrs. Tonic,
experienced the same provoking fate, much to the dismay of Mrs.
Fungus, who could never keep her temper in due subordination on those
_trying_ occasions.
Matters being thus arranged, the rest of the company wished to play
a round game; which my uncle proposed should be Loo, and accordingly
took his seat by the side of the placid Mrs. Prolix, the Misses
Tonic, myself, and Mr. Bob Tonic, who had scarce dealt the cards,
when the door opened, and a lady made her entrée, whom Bob thus
addressed:--
“What! you’re come at last, Maria; we expected you to tea.”
The Doctor, hearing the name of Maria, jumped up, while his opponents
were dealing; and advancing to our table, “Mr. St. Alban,” said he,
“I must introduce my son’s wife. This, Sir, is Mrs. Bob Tonic; as
good a little woman as ever lived. Nay, don’t blush, child. How’s the
boy to-night?”
“Very poorly, Sir; which has been the reason of my delay,” answered
Mrs. Bob.
“Well, well, child! never mind; you would marry, and so you must take
a mother’s care.” He then gave her a loving nip of the cheek, and
returned to his game.
“Come, sit down, sit down!” cried her boorish husband; “don’t make a
fuss; I expected you two hours ago!”
“I dare say, you did, my love; but I could not leave the child.”
“Pshaw! why the d--l didn’t you give him the poppy syrup, and set him
to sleep?”
“So I did, my dear; but it took the contrary effect,” cried the
subordinate wife.
“Poh d--n it! it’s all want of management, because _I_ wasn’t at
home.”
The crimson of reprehension so unmerited flushed Mrs. Tonic’s cheek;
and a tear of vexation started in her eye, which added expression to
its natural lustre.
“Never mind, Madam,” exclaimed my uncle; “you are all in good time,
and we are all happy to see you, early or late: you have been
performing that duty which so eminently distinguishes the character
of a mother, and adorns it with that lustre no ostrich parent can
tarnish.”
The little smiling woman, whose countenance was the express image of
good-nature, thanked him for his polite compliment.
“Halloo! there, Squire!” cried Doctor Tonic: “why, you’ll make my son
Bob jealous. We shall have a duel, or a crim. con. Ha, ha, ha!”
“What pretty speech were you making about _ostrich parents_, Mr.
Tweazy?” said Mrs. Fungus. “It’s an idea many an embarrassed author
would thank you for.”
“I want neither authors nor critics to pass judgment on my
sentiments, Madam,” replied my uncle. “I dare say, Madam, you, who
live in the region of literary information, can be at no loss
to know, that an ostrich leaves the protection of its young to
Providence; that the egg is hatched by the sun on the seashore, where
the parent bird abandons it to its fate. Just so, the mother, who,
resigning her infant offspring to the care of nurses, dandles it on
the lap of starvation and extortion; till, falling a prey to neglect
and cruelty, the hapless blossom withers in the shade of oblivion,
because its _ostrich mother_ is too fantastic to trouble herself
about it.”
“A very stylish description, upon my word,” answered Mrs. Tonic.
“Well! if I should ever be plagued with a child,” cried Mrs. Deposit,
“I shall certainly apply to Mr. Tweazy for a lecture on maternal
duties.”
“And you shall be heartily welcome, Madam, to as long or short a
dissertation as you think proper,” replied my uncle.
“Sir!” cried the shopman (popping in his head, the express image of
a scull on a mop-stick); “Sir! Mrs. Drinkwater wants your attendance
immediately.”
“Poh! fool. Why didn’t you say I was out?”
“Why, Sir,” resumed the man (as he hung his whole weight on the
creaking lock of the door, whose hinges kept up a wee-war unison), “I
didn’t know I was to say that in a life or death case.”
“How’s that! how’s that!” said the Doctor, throwing down his cards.
“Why, Mrs. Drinkwater’s very bad, Sir; and the lawyers at her
bed-side, making her will; and he can’t go on without you.”
“What, what, what! not go on without me! Oh, oh! I’ll take a good
stiff cordial in my pocket, and be off, if that’s the case.”
“Aye, do,” said my uncle: “it may _operate_ in your _favour_.”
“Take my cards, then--will you?” answered the Doctor; who, snatching
up his hat, rushed into the shop to the cordial bottle the old lady
best loved, furnished himself with a proper dose, and, mounting his
horse, gallopped away from his bad luck to what he hoped would prove
better; and my uncle, in consequence, finished his rubber.
As the Doctor closed the door, Mr. Prolix expressed his astonishment,
that Mrs. Drinkwater should not have employed his superior abilities
on the important occasion; while Mrs. Fungus longed to know who would
be the heir.
“We shall know all about it when the Doctor comes back,” said Mrs.
Deposit.
“The Doctor must be as dumb as a dumpling,” cried Mr. Prolix: “he
must be very careful how he tells tales out of school.”
“Unless he whispers them, in confidence, to you,” replied Mrs. Fungus.
“If the house and furniture are to be sold,” said Mr. Deposit, “I
should like to speculate, and conduct the business, I must confess.”
“But you’ll stop, with proper decency, till the woman’s dead, I
hope,” said my uncle; “or d’ye mean to go to-morrow morning, and
make a live bargain for the job, whenever the casualty may take
place?”
A general laugh silenced the disconcerted projector; and Mrs. Fungus
very snappishly requested he would attend to his cards, as she was
losing a little estate, which, if luck did not take a turn, she
should be compelled to mortgage.
The cards now flew briskly round; and Mrs. Bob Tonic’s lap was like
Dame Fortune’s cornucopia, for she absolutely cleared every pool;
while poor Mrs. Prolix bore her disappointment very composedly and
patiently. Not so the Misses Tonic, who snapt and pouted their negro
lips, and gave themselves most unwarrantable airs, to which the
patient and meek sister-in-law seemed to pay no attention, probably
from the system being _habitually_ adopted; for affection or respect
to her superiority seemed quite out of the question.