Chapter 27 - Page 2

‘No, indeed, sir,’ returned Mrs Sparsit, ‘I should hope not. Say no more, sir. I would, sir, I could see you gay again.’

‘What do you mean, ma’am?’ blustered Bounderby.

‘Sir,’ rejoined Mrs Sparsit, ‘there was wont to be an elasticity in you which I sadly miss. Be buoyant, sir!’

Mr Bounderby, under the influence of this difficult adjuration, backed up by her compassionate eye, could only scratch his head in a feeble and ridiculous manner, and afterwards assert himself at a distance, by being heard to bully the small fry of business all the morning.

‘Bitzer,’ said Mrs Sparsit that afternoon, when her patron was gone on his journey, and the Bank was closing, ‘present my compliments to young Mr Thomas, and ask him if he would step up and partake of a lamb chop and walnut ketchup, with a glass of India ale?’ Young Mr Thomas being usually ready for anything in that way, returned a gracious answer, and followed on its heels. ‘Mr Thomas,’ said Mrs Sparsit, ‘these plain viands being on table, I thought you might be tempted.’

‘Thank’ee, Mrs Sparsit,’ said the whelp. And gloomily fell to.

‘How is Mr Harthouse, Mr Tom?’ asked Mrs Sparsit.

‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Tom.

‘Where may he be at present?’ Mrs Sparsit asked in a light conversational manner, after mentally devoting the whelp to the Furies for being so uncommunicative.

‘He is shooting in Yorkshire,’ said Tom. ‘Sent Loo a basket half as big as a church, yesterday.’

‘The kind of gentleman, now,’ said Mrs Sparsit, sweetly, ‘whom one might wager to be a good shot!’

‘Crack,’ said Tom.

He had long been a down-looking young fellow, but this characteristic had so increased of late, that he never raised his eyes to any face for three seconds together. Mrs Sparsit consequently had ample means of watching his looks, if she were so inclined.

‘Mr Harthouse is a great favourite of mine,’ said Mrs Sparsit, ‘as indeed he is of most people. May we expect to see him again shortly, Mr Tom?’

‘Why, I expect to see him tomorrow,’ returned the whelp.

‘Good news!’ cried Mrs Sparsit, blandly.

‘I have got an appointment with him to meet him in the evening at the station here,’ said Tom, ‘and I am going to dine with him afterwards, I believe. He is not coming down to the country house for a week or so, being due somewhere else. At least, he says so; but I shouldn’t wonder if he was to stop here over Sunday, and stray that way.’

‘Which reminds me!’ said Mrs Sparsit.