Mrs. Trinket. What d’ye buy, what d’ye
lack, gentlemen? Gloves, ribbons, and essences,—ribbons,
gloves, and essences.
Etherege.
“And so, my love,” said Mr. Copperas,
one morning at breakfast, to his wife, his right leg
being turned over his left, and his dexter hand conveying
to his mouth a huge morsel of buttered cake,—“and,
so my love, they say that the old fool is going to
leave the jackanapes all his fortune?”
“They do say so, Mr. C.; for my part I am quite
out of patience with the art of the young man; I dare
say he is no better than he should be; he always had
a sharp look, and for aught I know there may be more
in that robbery than you or I dreamed of, Mr. Copperas.
It was a pity,” continued Mrs. Copperas, upbraiding
her lord with true matrimonial tenderness and justice,
for the consequences of his having acted from her
advice,—“it was a pity, Mr. C., that
you should have refused to lend him the pistols to
go to the old fellow’s assistance, for then
who knows but—”
“I might have converted them into pocket pistols,”
interrupted Mr. C., “and not have overshot the
mark, my dear—ha, ha, ha!”
“Lord, Mr. Copperas, you are always making a
joke of everything.”
“No, my dear, for once I am making a joke of
nothing.”
“Well, I declare it’s shameful,”
cried Mrs. Copperas, still following up her own indignant
meditations, “and after taking such notice of
Adolphus, too, and all!”
“Notice, my dear! mere words,” returned
Mr. Copperas, “mere words, like ventilators,
which make a great deal of air, but never raise the
wind; but don’t put yourself in a stew, my love,
for the doctors say that copperas in a stew is poison!”
At this moment Mr. de Warens, throwing open the door,
announced Mr. Brown; that gentleman entered, with
a sedate but cheerful air. “Well, Mrs.
Copperas, your servant; any table-linen wanted?
Mr. Copperas, how do you do? I can give you
a hint about the stocks. Master Copperas, you
are looking bravely; don’t you think he wants
some new pinbefores, ma’am? But Mr. Clarence
Linden, where is he? Not up yet, I dare say.
Ah, the present generation is a generation of sluggards,
as his worthy aunt, Mrs. Minden, used to say.”
“I am sure,” said Mrs. Copperas, with
a disdainful toss of the head, “I know nothing
about the young man. He has left us; a very
mysterious piece of business indeed, Mr. Brown; and
now I think of it, I can’t help saying that
we were by no means pleased with your introduction:
and, by the by, the chairs you bought for us at the
sale were a mere take-in, so slight that Mr. Walruss
broke two of them by only sitting down.”
“Indeed, ma’am?” said Mr. Brown,
with expostulating gravity; “but then Mr. Walruss
is so very corpulent. But the young gentleman,
what of him?” continued the broker, artfully
turning from the point in dispute.
