pulled down, and some area-railings had been torn up, to arm the

more belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards were

coming. Before the rumour, the crowd gradually melted away, and

perhaps the Guards came, and perhaps they never came, and this

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

was the usual progress of a mob.

Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, but had

remained behind in the churchyard, to confer and condole with

the undertakers. The place had a soothing influence on him. He

procured a pipe from a neighbouring public-house, and smoked it,

looking in at the railings and maturely considering the spot.

“Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising himself his usual

way, “you see that there Cly that day, and you see with your own

eyes that he was a young ’un and a straight made ’un.”

Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, he

turned himself about, that he might appear before the hour of

closing, on his station at Tellson’s. Whether his meditations on

morality had touched his liver, or whether his general health had

been previously at all amiss, or whether he desired to show a little

attention to an eminent man, is not so much to the purpose, as

that he made a short call upon his medical advisera

distinguished surgeonon his way back.

Young Jerry relieved his father with dutiful interest, and

reported No job in his absence. The bank closed, the ancient

clerks came out, the usual watch was set, and Mr. Cruncher and

his son went home to tea.

“Now, I tell you where it is!” said Mr. Cruncher to his wife, on

entering. “If, as a honest tradesman, my wentures goes wrong

tonight, I shall make sure that you’ve been praying agin me, and I

shall work you for it just the same as if I seen you do it.”

The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head.

“Why, you’re at it afore my face!” said Mr. Cruncher, with signs

of angry apprehension.

“I am saying nothing.”

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“Well, then; don’t meditate nothing. You might as well flop as

meditate. You may as well go again me one way as another. Drop

it altogether.”

“Yes, Jerry.”

“Yes, Jerry,” repeated Mr. Cruncher sitting down to tea. “Ah! It

is yes, Jerry. That’s about it. You may say yes, Jerry.”

Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulky

corroborations, but made use of them, as people not unfrequently

do, to express general ironical dissatisfaction.

“You and your yes, Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite out

of his bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a large

invisible oyster out of his saucer. “Ah! I think so. I believe you.”

“You were going out tonight?” asked his decent wife, when he

took another bite.

“Yes, I am.”