calculations when he took to his trade or when he didn’t. A

honouring and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether.

Call yourself a religious woman? If you’re a religious woman, give

me a irreligious one! You have no more nat’ral sense of duty than

the bed of this here Thames river has of a pile, and similarly it

must be knocked into you.”

The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, and

terminated in the honest tradesman’s kicking off his clay-soiled

boots, and lying down at his length on the floor. After taking a

timid peep at him lying on his back, with his rusty hands under his

head for a pillow, his son lay down too, and fell asleep again.

There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else.

Mr. Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an

iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

Cruncher, in case he should observe any symptoms of her saying

Grace. He was brushed and washed at the usual hour, and set off

with his son to pursue his ostensible calling.

Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his

father’s side along sunny and crowded Fleet Street, was a very

different Young Jerry from him of the previous night, running

home through the darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer.

His cunning was fresh with the day, and his qualms were gone

with the nightin which particulars it is not improbable that he

had compeers in Fleet Street and the City of London, that fine

morning.

“Father,” said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care to

keep at arm’s length and to have the stool well between them:

“what’s a Resurrection-Man?”

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he

answered, “How should I know?”

“I thought you knowed everything, father,” said the artless boy.

“Hem! Well,” returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and

lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play. “he’s a tradesman.”

“What’s his goods, father?” asked the brisk Young Jerry.

“His goods,” said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his

mind, “is a branch of Scientific goods.”

“Persons’ bodies, ain’t it, father?” asked the lively boy.

“I believe it is something of that sort,” said Mr. Cruncher.

“Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when I’m

quite growed up!”

Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and

moral way. “It depends on how you dewelop your talents. Be

careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

can help to nobody, and there’s no telling at the present time what

you may not come to be fit for.” As Young Jerry, thus encouraged,

went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of

the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: “Jerry, you honest

tradesman, there’s hope wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you,