Baring-Gould Sabine
In the Roar of the Sea
CHAPTER XXI
OTHELLO COTTAGE
To revert to the old life as far as possible under changed circumstances, to pass a sponge over a terrible succession of pictures, to brush out the vision of horrors from her eyes, and shake the burden of the past off her head – if for a while only – was a joy to Judith. She had been oppressed with nightmare, and now the night was over, her brain clear, and should forget its dreams.
She and Jamie were together, and were children once more; her anxiety for her brother was allayed, and she had broken finally with Cruel Coppinger. Her heart bounded with relief. Jamie was simple and docile as of old; and she rambled with him through the lanes, along the shore, upon the downs, avoiding only one tract of common and one cove.
A child’s heart is elastic; eternal droopings it cannot bear. Beaten down, bruised and draggled by the storm, it springs up when the sun shines, and laughs into flower. It is no eucalyptus that ever hangs its leaves; it is a sensitive plant, wincing, closing, at a trifle, feeling acutely, but not for long.
And now Judith had got an idea into her head, that she communicated to Jamie, and her sanguine anticipations kindled his torpid mind. She had resolved to make little shell baskets and other chimney ornaments, not out of the marine shells cast up by the sea, for on that coast none came ashore whole, but out of the myriad snail-shells that strew the downs. They were of all sizes, from a pin’s head to a gooseberry, and of various colors – salmon-pink, sulphur-yellow, rich brown and pure white. By judicious arrangement of sizes and of colors, with a little gum on cardboard, what wonderful erections might be made, certain to charm the money out of the pocket, and bring in a little fortune to the twins.
“And then,” said Jamie, “I can build a linney, and rent a paddock, and keep my Neddy at Polzeath.”
“And,” said Judith, “we need be no longer a burden to Auntie.”
The climax of constructive genius would be exhibited in the formation of a shepherd and shepherdess, for which Judith was to paint faces and hands; but their hats, their garments, their shoes, were to be made of shells. The shepherdess was to have a basket on her arm, and in this basket were to be flowers, not made out of complete shells, but out of particles of sea-shells of rainbow colors.
What laughter, what exultation there was over the shepherd and shepherdess! How in imagination they surpassed the fascinations of Dresden china figures. And the price at which they were to be sold was settled. Nothing under a pound would be accepted, and that would be inadequate to represent the value of such a monument of skill and patience! The shepherd and shepherdess would have to be kept under glass bells, on a drawing-room mantel-shelf.
Judith’s life had hitherto been passed between her thoughtful, cultured father and her thoughtless, infantile brother. In some particulars she was old for her age, but in others she was younger than her years. As the companion of her father, she had gained powers of reasoning, a calmness in judging, and a shrewdness of sense which is unusual in a girl of eighteen. But as also the associate of Jamie in his play, she had a childish delight in the simplest amusements, and a readiness to shake off all serious thought and fretting care in an instant, and to accommodate herself to the simplicity of her brother.
Thus – a child with a child – Judith and Jamie were on the common one windy, showery day, collecting shells, laughing, chattering, rejoicing over choice snail-shells, as though neither had passed through a wave of trouble, as though life lay serene before them.
Judith had no experience of the world. With her natural wit and feminine instinct she had discovered that Cruel Coppinger loved her. She had also no hesitation in deciding that he must be repulsed. Should he seek her, she must avoid him. They could not possibly unite their lives. She had told him this, and there the matter ended. He must swallow his disappointment, and think no more about her. No one could have everything he wanted. Other people had to put up with rejection, why not Coppinger? It might be salutary to him to find that he could not have his way in all things. So she argued, and then she put aside from her all thought of the Captain, and gave herself up to consideration of snail-shell boxes, baskets, and shepherds and shepherdesses.
Jamie was developing a marvellous aptitude for bird-stuffing. Mr. Menaida had told Judith repeatedly that if the boy would stick to it, he might become as skilful as himself. He would be most happy, thankful to be able to pass over to him some of the work that accumulated, and which he could not execute. “I am not a professional; I am an amateur. I only stuff birds to amuse my leisure moments. Provokingly enough, gentlemen do not believe this. They write to me as if I were a tradesman, laying their commands upon me, and I resent it. I have a small income of my own, and am not forced to slave for my bread and ’baccy. Now, if Jamie will work with me and help me, I will cheerfully share profits with him. I must be director – that is understood.”
But it was very doubtful whether poor Jamie could be taught to apply himself regularly to the work, and that under a desultory master, who could not himself remain at a task many minutes without becoming exhausted and abandoning it. Jamie could be induced to work only by being humored. He loved praise. He must be coaxed and flattered to undertake any task that gave trouble. Fortunately, taxidermy did not require any mental effort, and it was the straining of his imperfect mental powers that irritated and exhausted the boy.
With a little cajolery he might be got to do as much as did Uncle Zachie, and if Mr. Menaida were as good as his word – and there could be little doubt that so kind, amiable, and honorable a man would be that – Jamie would really earn a good deal of money. Judith also hoped to earn more with her shell-work, and together she trusted they would be able to support themselves without further tax on Miss Trevisa.
And what a childish pleasure they found in scheming their future, what they would do with their money, where they would take a house, how furnish it! They laughed over their schemes, and their pulses fluttered at the delightful pictures they conjured up. And all their rosy paradise was to rise out of the proceeds of stuffed birds and snail-shell chimney ornaments.
“Ju! come here, Ju!” cried Jamie.
Then again impatiently, “Ju! come here, Ju!”
“What is it, dear?”
“Here is the very house for us. Do come and see.”
On the down, nestled against a wall that had once enclosed a garden, but was now ruinous, stood a cottage. It was built of wreck-timber, thatched with heather and bracken, and with stones laid on the thatching, which was bound with ropes, as protection against the wind. A quaint, small house, with little windows under the low eaves; one story high, the window-frames painted white; the glass frosted with salt blown from the sea, so that it was impossible to look through the small panes, and discover what was within. The door had a gable over it, and the centre of the gable was occupied by a figure-head of Othello. The Moor of Venice was black and well battered by storm, so that the paint was washed and bitten off him. There was a strong brick chimney in the midst of the roof, but no smoke issued from it, nor had the house the appearance of being inhabited. There were no blinds to the windows, there were no crocks, no drying linen about the house; it had a deserted look, and yet was in good repair.
“Oh, Ju!” said Jamie, “we will live here. Will it not be fun? And I shall have a gun and shoot birds.”
“Whose house can it be?” asked Judith.
“I don’t know. Ju, the door is open; shall we go in?”
“No, Jamie, we have no right there.”
A little gate was in the wall, and Judith looked through. There had at one time certainly been a garden there, but it had been neglected, and allowed to be overrun with weeds. Roses, escallonica, and lavender had grown in untrimmed luxuriance. Marigolds rioted over the space like a weed. Pinks flourished, loving the sandy soil, but here and there the rude blue thistle had intruded and asserted its right to the sea-border land as its indigenous home.
Down came the rain, so lashing that Judith was constrained to seek shelter, and, in spite of her protest that she had no right to enter Othello Cottage, she passed the threshold.
No one was within but Jamie, who had not attended to her objection; led by curiosity, and excusing himself by the rain, he had opened the door and gone inside.
The house was unoccupied, and yet was not in a condition of neglect and decay. If no one lived there, yet certainly some one visited it, for it had not that mouldy atmosphere that pervades a house long shut up, nor were dust and sand deep on floor and table. There was furniture, though scanty. The hearth showed traces of having had a fire in it at no very distant period. There were benches. There were even tinder-box and candle on the mantle-shelf.
Jamie was in high excitement and delight. This was the ogre’s cottage to which Jack had climbed up the bean-stalk. He was sure to find somewhere the hen that laid golden eggs, and the harp that played of itself.
Judith seated herself on one of the benches and sorted her shells, leaving Jamie to amuse himself. As the house was uninhabited, it did not seem to her that any gross impropriety existed in allowing him to run in and out and peep round the rooms, and into the corners.
“Judith,” he exclaimed, coming to her from an adjoining room, “there is a bed in here, and there are crooks in the wall!”
“What are the crooks for, dear?”
“For climbing, I think.”
Then he ran back, and she saw no more of him for a while, but heard him scrambling.
She rose and went to the door into the adjoining apartment to see that he was after no mischief. She found that this apartment was intended for sleeping in. There was a bedstead with a mattress on it, but no clothes. Jamie had found some crooks in the wall, and was scrambling up these, with hands and feet, toward the ceiling, where she perceived an opening, apparently into the attic.
“Oh, Jamie! what are you doing there?”
“Ju, I want to see whether there is anything between the roof and the ceiling. There may be the harp there, or the hen that lays golden eggs.”
“The shower is nearly over; I shall not wait for you.”
She seated herself on the bed and watched him. He thrust open a sliding board, and crawled through into the attic. He would soon tire of exploring among the rafters, and would return dirty, and have to be cleared of cobwebs and dust. But it amused the boy. He was ever restless, and she would find it difficult to keep him occupied sitting by her below till the rain ceased, so she allowed him to scramble and search as he pleased. Very few minutes had passed before Judith heard a short cough in the main room, and she at once rose and stepped back into it to apologize for her intrusion. To her great surprise she found her aunt there, at the little window, measuring it.
“A couple of yards will do – double width,” said Miss Trevisa.
“Auntie!” exclaimed Judith. “Who ever would have thought of seeing you here?”
Miss Trevisa turned sharply round, and her lips tightened.
“And who would have thought of seeing you here,” she answered, curtly.
“Auntie, the rain came on; I ran in here so as not to be wet through. To whom does this house belong?”
“To the master – to whom else? Captain Coppinger.”
“Are you measuring the window for blinds for him?”
“I am measuring for blinds, but not for him.”
“But – who lives here?”
“No one as yet.”
“Is any one coming to live here?”
“Yes – I am.”
“Oh, auntie! and are we to come here with you?”
Miss Trevisa snorted, and stiffened her back.
“Are you out of your senses, like Jamie, to ask such a question? What is the accommodation here? Two little bedrooms, one large kitchen, and a lean-to for scullery – that is all – a fine roomy mansion for three people indeed!”
“But, auntie, are you leaving the Glaze?”
“Yes, I am. Have you any objection to that?”
“No, aunt, only I am surprised. And Captain Cruel lets you have this dear little cottage?”
“As to its being dear, I don’t know, I am to have it; and that is how you have found it open to poke and pry into. I came up to look round and about me, and then found I had not brought my measuring tape with me, so I returned home for that, and you found the door open and thrust yourself in.”
“I am very sorry if I have given you annoyance.”
“Oh, it’s no annoyance to me. The place is not mine yet.”
“But when do you come here, Aunt Dunes?”
“When?” Miss Trevisa looked at her niece with a peculiar expression in her hard face that Judith noticed, but could not interpret. “That,” said Miss Trevisa, “I do not know yet.”
“I suppose you will do up that dear little garden,” said Judith.
Miss Trevisa did not vouchsafe an answer; she grunted, and resumed her measuring.
“Has this cottage been vacant for long, auntie?”
“Yes.”
“But, auntie, some one comes here. It is not quite deserted.”
Miss Trevisa said to herself, “Four times two and one breadth torn in half to allow for folds will do it. Four times two is eight, and one breadth more is ten.”
Just then Jamie appeared, shyly peeping through the door. He had heard his aunt’s voice, and was afraid to show himself. Her eye, however, observed him, and in a peremptory tone she ordered him to come forward.
But Jamie would not obey her willingly, and he deemed it best for him to make a dash through the kitchen to the open front door.
“That boy!” growled Miss Trevisa, “I’ll be bound he has been at mischief.”
“Auntie, I think the rain has ceased, I will say good-by.”
Then Judith left the cottage.
“Ju,” said Jamie, when he was with his sister beyond earshot of the aunt, “such fun – I have something to tell you.”
“What is it, Jamie?”
“I won’t tell you till we get home.”
“Oh, Jamie, not till we get back to Polzeath?”
“Well, not till we get half-way home – to the white gate. Then I will tell you.”
CHAPTER XXII
JAMIE’S RIDE
“Now, Jamie! the white gate.”
“The white gate! – what about that?” He had forgotten his promise.
“You have a secret to tell me.”
Then the boy began to laugh and to tap his pockets.
“What do you think, Ju! look what I have found. Do you know what is in the loft of the cottage we were in? There are piles of tobacco, all up hidden away in the dark under the rafters. I have got my pockets stuffed as full as they will hold. It is for Uncle Zachie. Won’t he be pleased?”
“Oh, Jamie! you should not have done that.”
“Why not? Don’t scold, Ju!”
“It is stealing.”
“No, it is not. No one lives there.”
“Nevertheless it belongs to some one, by whatever means it was got, and for whatever purpose stowed away there. You had no right to touch it.”
“Then why do you take snail-shells?”
“They belong to no one, no one values them. It is other with this tobacco. Give it up. Take it back again.”
“What – to Aunt Dunes? I daren’t, she’s so cross.”
“Well, give it to me, and I will take it to her. She is now at the cottage, and the tobacco can be replaced.”
“Oh, Ju, I should like to see her scramble up the wall!”
“I do not think she will do that; but she will contrive somehow to have the tobacco restored. It is not yours, and I believe it belongs to Captain Cruel. If it be not given back now he may hear of it and be very angry.”
“He would beat me,” said the boy, hastily emptying his pockets. “I’d rather have Aunt Dunes’ jaw than Captain Cruel’s stick.” He gave the tobacco to his sister, but he was not in a good humor. He did not see the necessity for restoring it. But Jamie never disobeyed his sister, when they were alone, and she was determined with him. Before others he tried to display his independence, by feeble defiances never long maintained, and ending in a reconciliation with tears and kisses, and promises of submission without demur for the future. With all, even the most docile children, there occur epochs when they try their wings, strut and ruffle their plumes, and crow very loud – epochs of petulance or boisterous outbreak of self-assertion in the face of their guides and teachers. If the latter be firm, the trouble passes away to be renewed at a future period till manhood or womanhood is reached, and then guide and teacher who is wise falls back, lays down control, and lets the pupils have their own way. But if at the first attempts at mastery, those in authority, through indifference or feebleness or folly, give way, then the fate of the children is sealed, they are spoiled for ever.
Jamie had his rebellious fits, and they were distressing to Judith, but she never allowed herself to be conquered. She evaded provoking them whenever possible; and as much as possible led him by his affection. He had a very tender heart, was devotedly attached to his sister, and appeals to his better nature were usually successful, not always immediately, but in the long run.
Her association with Jamie had been of benefit to Judith; it had strengthened her character. She had been forced from earliest childhood to be strong where he was weak, to rule because he was incapable of ruling himself. This had nurtured in her a decision of mind, a coolness of judgment, and an inflexibility of purpose unusual in a girl of her years.
Judith walked to Othello Cottage, carrying the tobacco in her skirt, held up by both hands; and Jamie sauntered back to Polzeath, carrying his sister’s basket of shells, stopping at intervals to add to the collection, then ensconcing himself in a nook of the hedge to watch a finch, a goldhammer, or a blackbird, then stopped to observe and follow a beetle of gorgeous metallic hues that was running across the path.
Presently he emerged into the highway, the parish road; there was no main road in those parts maintained by toll-gates, and then observed a gig approach in which sat two men, one long and narrow-faced, the other tall, but stout and round-faced. He recognized the former at once as Mr. Scantlebray, the appraiser. Mr. Scantlebray, who was driving, nudged his companion, and with the butt-end of the whip pointed to the boy.
“Heigh! hi-up! Gaffer!” called Mr. Scantlebray, flapping his arms against his sides, much as does a cock with his wings. “Come along; I have something of urgent importance to say to you – something so good that it will make you squeak; something so delicious that it will make your mouth water.”
This was addressed to Jamie, as the white mare leisurely trotted up to where the boy stood. Then Scantlebray drew up, with his elbows at right angles to his trunk.
“Here’s my brother thirsting, ravening to make your acquaintance – and, by George! you are in luck’s way, young hopeful, to make his. Obadiah! this here infant is an orphing. Orphing! this is Obadiah Scantlebray, whom I call Scanty because he is fat. Jump up, will y’, into the gig.”
Jamie looked vacantly about him. He had an idea that he ought to wait for Judith or go directly home. But she had not forbidden him to have a ride, and a ride was what he dearly loved.
“Are you coming?” asked Scantlebray; “or do you need a more ceremonious introduction to Mr. Obadiah, eh?”
“I’ve got a basket of shells,” said Jamie. “They belong to Ju.”
“Well, put Ju’s basket in – the shells won’t hurt – and then in with you. There’s a nice little portmantle in front, on which you can sit and look us in the face, and if you don’t tumble off with laughing, it will be because I strap you in. My brother is the very comicalest fellow in Cornwall. It’s a wonder I haven’t died of laughter. I should have, but our paths diverged; he took up the medical line, and I the valuation and all that, so my life was saved. Are you comfortable there?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jamie, seated himself where advised.
“Now for the strap round ye,” said Scantlebray. “Don’t be alarmed; it’s to hold you together, lest you split your sides with merriment, and to hold you in, lest you tumble overboard convulsed with laughter. That brother of mine is the killingest man in Great Britain. Look at his face. Bless me! in church I should explode when I saw him, but that I am engrossed in my devotions. On with you, Juno!”
That to the gray mare, and a whip applied to make the gray mare trot along, which she did, with her head down lost in thought, or as if smelling the road, to make sure that she was on the right track.
“’Tisn’t what he says,” remarked Mr. Scantlebray, seeing a questioning expression on Jamie’s innocent face, “it’s the looks of him. And when he speaks – well, it’s the way he says it more than what he says. I was at a Charity Trust dinner, and Obadiah said to the waiter, ‘Cutlets, please!’ The fellow dropped the dish, and I stuffed my napkin into my mouth, ran out, and went into a fit. Now, Scanty, show the young gentleman how to make a rabbit.”
Then Mr. Scantlebray tickled up the mare with the lash of his whip, cast some objurgations at a horse-fly that was hovering and then darting at Juno.
Mr. Obadiah drew forth a white but very crumpled kerchief from his pocket, and proceeded to fold it on his lap.
“Just look at him,” said the agent, “doing it in spite of the motion of the gig. It’s wonderful. But his face is the butchery. I can’t look at it for fear of letting go the reins.”
The roads were unfrequented; not a person was passing as the party jogged along. Mr. Scantlebray hissed to the mare between his front teeth, which were wide apart; then, turning his eye sideways, observed what his brother was about.
“That’s his carcase,” said he, in reference to the immature rabbit.
Then a man was sighted coming along the road, humming a tune. It was Mr. Menaida.
“How are you? Compliments to the young lady orphing, and say we’re jolly – all three,” shouted Scantlebray, urging his mare to a faster pace, and keeping her up to it till they had turned a corner, and Menaida was no more in sight.
“Just look at his face, as he’s a folding of that there pockyhandkercher,” said the appraiser. “It’s exploding work.”
Jamie looked into the stolid features of Mr. Obadiah, and laughed – laughed heartily, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Not that he saw aught humorous there, but that he was told it was there, he ought to see it, and would be a fool if he were not convulsed by it.
Precisely the same thing happens with us. We look at and go into raptures over a picture, because it is by a Royal Academician who has been knighted on account of his brilliant successes. We are charmed at a cantata, stifling our yawns, because we are told by the art critics who are paid to puff it, that we are fools, and have no ears if we do not feel charmed by it. We rush to read a new novel, and find it vastly clever, because an eminent statesman has said on a postcard it has pleased him.
We laugh when told to laugh, condemn when told to condemn, and would stand on our heads if informed that it was bad for us to walk on our feet.
“There!” said Mr. Scantlebray, the valuer. “Them’s ears.”
“Crrrh!” went Mr. Obadiah, and the handkerchief, converted into a white bunny, shot from his hand up his sleeve.
“I can’t drive, ’pon my honor; I’m too ill. You have done me for to-day,” said Scantlebray the elder, the valuer. “Now, young hopeful, what say you? Will you make a rabbit, also? I’ll give you a shilling if you will.”
Thereupon Jamie took the kerchief and spread it out, and began to fold it. Whenever he went wrong Mr. Obadiah made signs, either by elevation of his brows and a little shake of his head, or by pointing, and his elder brother caught him at it and protested. Obadiah was the drollest fellow, he was incorrigible, as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat. There was no trusting him for a minute when the eye was off him.
“Come, Scanty! I’ll put you on your honor. Look the other way.” But a moment after – “Ah, for shame! there you are at it again. Young hopeful, you see what a vicious brother I have; perfectly untrustworthy, but such a comical dog. Full of tricks up to the ears. You should see him make shadows on the wall. He can represent a pig eating out of a trough. You see the ears flap, the jaws move, the eye twinkle in appreciation of the barley-meal. It is to the life, and all done by the two hands – by one, I may say, for the other serves as trough. What! Done the rabbit! First rate! Splendid! Here is the shilling. But, honor bright, you don’t deserve it; that naughty Scanty helped you.”
“Please,” said Jamie, timidly, “may I get out now and go home?”
“Go home! What for?”
“I want to show Ju my shilling.”
“By ginger! that is too rich. Not a bit of it. Do you know Mistress Polgrean’s sweetie shop?”
“But that’s at Wadebridge.”
“At Wadebridge; and why not? You will spend your shilling there. But look at my brother. It is distressing; his eyes are alight at the thoughts of the tartlets, and the sticks of peppermint sugar, and the almond rock. Are you partial to almond rock, orphin?”
Jamie’s mind was at once engaged.
“Which is it to be? Gingerbreads or tartlets, almond rock or barley-sugar?”
“I think I’ll have the peppermint,” said Jamie.
“Then peppermint it shall be. And you will give me a little bit, and Scanty a bit, and take a little bit home to Ju, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’ll take a little bit home to Ju, Obadiah, old man.”
The funny brother nodded.
“And the basket of shells?” asked the elder.
“Yes, she is making little boxes with them to sell,” said Jamie.
“I suppose I may have the privilege of buying some,” said Mr. Scantlebray, senior. “Oh, look at that brother of mine! How he is screwing his nose about! I say, old man, are you ill? Upon my life, I believe he is laughing.”
Presently Jamie got restless.
“Please, Mr. Scantlebray, may I get out? Ju will be frightened at my being away so long.”
“Poor Ju!” said Scantlebray, the elder. “But no – don’t you worry your mind about that. We passed Uncle Zachie, and he will tell her where you are, in good hands, or rather, nipped between most reliable knees – my brother’s and mine. Sit still. I can’t stop Juno; we’re going down-hill now, and if I stopped Juno she would fall. You must wait – wait till we get to Mrs. Polgrean’s.” Then, after chuckling-to himself, Scantlebray, senior, said: “Obadiah, old man, I wonder what Missie Ju is thinking? I wonder what she will say, eh?” Again he chuckled. “No place in your establishment for that party, eh?”
The outskirts of Wadebridge were reached.
“Now may I get out?” said Jamie.
“Bless my heart! Not yet. Wait for Mrs. Polgrean’s.”
But presently Mrs. Polgrean’s shop-window was passed.
“Oh, stop! stop!” cried Jamie. “We have gone by the sweetie shop.”
“Of course we have,” answered Scantlebray, senior. “I daren’t trust that brother of mine in there; he has such a terrible sweet tooth. Besides, I want you to see the pig eating out of the trough. It will kill you. If it don’t I’ll give you another shilling.”
Presently he drew up at the door of a stiff, square-built house, with a rambling wing thrown out on one side. It was stuccoed and painted drab – drab walls, drab windows, and drab door.
“Now, then, young man,” said Scantlebray, cheerily, “I’ll unbuckle the strap and let you out. You come in with me. This is my brother’s mansion, roomy, pleasant, and comprehensive. You shall have a dish of tea.”
“And then I may go home?”
“And then – we shall see; shan’t we, Obadiah, old man?”
They entered the hall, and the door was shut and fastened behind them; then into a somewhat dreary room, with red flock paper on the walls, no pictures, leather-covered, old, mahogany chairs, and a book or two on the table – one of these a Bible.
Jamie looked wonderingly about him, a little disposed to cry. He was a long way from Polzeath, and Judith would be waiting for him and anxious, and the place into which he was ushered was not cheery, not inviting.
“Now, then,” said Mr. Scantlebray, “young hopeful, give me my shilling.”
“Please, I’m going to buy some peppermint and burnt almonds for Ju and me as I go back.”
“Oh, indeed! But suppose you do not have the chance?”
Jamie looked vacantly in his face, then into that of the stolid brother, who was not preparing to show him the pig feeding out of a trough, nor was he calling for tea.
“Come,” said Scantlebray, the elder; “suppose I take charge of that shilling till you have the chance of spending it, young man.”
“Please, I’ll spend it now.”
“Not a bit. You won’t have the chance. Do you know where you are!”
Jamie looked round in distress. He was becoming frightened at the altered tone of the valuer.
“My dear,” said Mr. Scantlebray, “you’re now an honorable inmate of my brother’s Establishment for Idiots, which you don’t leave till cured of imbecility. That shilling, if you please?”
