"Original Sketches for the Season" (continued 6)
Reading edition
“It worn’t a jam, it were a preserver,” but he retreated again with great rapidity to avoid the paste pin launched at his head by the irate cook, but the utensil only struck the closed door, when Master Buttons again inserted his head to howl out a derisive “Boo-o-o,” and then disappeared till dinner time.
But matters progressed so satisfactorily up stairs, that by five o’clock Mr Pouter departed, basket on back, with half a yard of saw sticking out, to tickle and scratch those whom he met, to whom on the pavement he was just such an agreeable obstacle to encounter as a British war chariot, with its scythed axletrees, must have been to all concerned. But Mr Dodd was placid, the door worked beautifully, and he determined to have every other door in the house seen to and re-adjusted. So Mr Dodd dined, and at last retired to bed, serene and happy in his expression.
That very night something happened.
It was midnight, and, save when the noise of some cab, conveying the Christmas folk home, could be heard, all was still. But there were voices to be heard in the attic of Number Nine. There was a candle on a chair beside the bed, and Cook and Mary were sitting up, the one listening, while the other slowly waded through the thrilling plot of the “to be continued” tale in the Penny Mystifier.
The night was cold, and shawls thrown over shoulders was the mode, while slowly see-sawing her body backwards and forwards in bed, Mary, after once reading, went back and epitomised the tale for Cook’s benefit, that lady not having been very clear upon two or three points.
“Then,” said Mary, “when she finds as her par won’t let her marry De Belleville, she sits by the open winder, with the snow rivalling her arm’s whiteness, and a lamenting of her hard fate, and it’s quite dark, and her lover comes and begs of her to fly with him.”
“Go in a fly,” said Cook, approvingly.
“No! no! go off with him,” said Mary.
“Ah! I see,” said Cook, “go on.”
“And, after being begged and prayed a deal, she says as she will, and he fetches the ladder; and, just as she’s done falling on his neck and weeping, a mysterious voice says—”
“Oh!” cried the domestics in horrified tones as they clung together, for in the stillness of the night there was a fearful cry from below stairs, followed by the noise of something heavy falling.
“It’s the biler busted, Mary!” shivered and sobbed the cook.
“Oh no, it’s master being murdered,” gasped Mary; “I know it is. Ennery! Ennery! Ennery!” she cried, banging at the frail partition wall to arouse Buttons, who at last condescended to wake up and knock in answer.
“Oh! do get up and go down; there’s something the matter!” cried Mary and Cook together.
“Oh, ah! you go,” came back in muffled tones from the sweet youth.
“Oh, do go, there’s a good boy!” said Cook sweetly; “do go down and see.”
“Ah! I dessay,” said Buttons, recalling the morning’s treatment.
A compromise was at length effected, and the three domestics stood upon the top of the staircase gazing down, while the moon looked sideways at them through the skylight.
“Ah! I see you!” cried Cook to an imaginary burglar. “You’d better go: here’s the perlice a-coming,” which was a great fib of Mrs Cook’s, for there was not a policeman near; though, from the lady’s tones and confident way of speaking, it might have been imagined that there was a police barracks on the roof, just within call.
“Cook!” cried a faint voice.
“There. I know’d it was!” cried Mary. “It’s master, half killed.”
“Here, help! come down!” came up again faintly.
“Oh! we dussen’t, sir!” chorused Mr Dodd’s servants.
But at length Buttons was pushed forward, and, a landing at a time, the timid trio slowly descended to the assistance of poor Mr Dodd, whom they found half-stunned and bleeding upon the dining-room door mat; but warm water, diachylon, and half a glass of brandy revived Mr Dodd so that he was able to re-send his servants to bed, and then retire himself, and ponder upon the advisability of having mechanical life-preservers attached to the lower room doors, since the experimental affair fixed that day by Mr Pouter had proved so awkward, when its owner had hurriedly gone down to fetch the letters left upon the dining-room chimney-piece; though if Mr Dodd had been a burglar, the effect would have been most effectual as well as striking.
“No,” said Mr Dodd, as he turned his aching head to find an easier spot upon the pillow. “No, I think bells are the best after all.”
Next morning Mr Dodd was too ill to rise, and many of his Christmas-boxing friends who had omitted to call the previous day, went away empty. Mr Pouter’s bill has decreased yearly, for Mr Dodd’s faith has been shaken in patents; while as to spring-guns in grounds, and preservers set with springs on doors, surely it is better to suffer imaginary dangers than to run real risk, for really it cannot be pleasant to be caught in your own trap.
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Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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Chapter 11
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Chapter 12
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Chapter 13
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Chapter 14
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Chapter 15
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Chapter 16
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Chapter 17
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Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
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Chapter 20
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Chapter 21
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Chapter 22
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Chapter 23
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Chapter 24
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Chapter 25
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Chapter 26
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