‘There, there. Dad!’ said the innkeeper, seeing that the old gentleman was becoming excited. ‘’E ain’t got no children, praise be.’

‘That’s true,’ said the one-eyed man, ‘but ‘e ‘ave got a niece. It’ll be a sad come-down for Aggie Twitterton. Wonderful set up, she allus wos, thinkin’ there was money comin’ to ‘er.’

‘Well,’ said Mrs Hodges, ‘them as gives themselves airs above other folks don’t deserve nothin’ but disappointments. ‘Er dad wasn’t only Ted Baker’s cowman when all’s said and done, and a dirty, noisy, foul-mouthed fellow in ‘is drink, wot’s more, as there ain’t no call to be proud on,’

‘That’s right,’ said the old man. ‘A very violent man. Beat ‘is pore wife something crool, ‘e did.’

‘If you treat a man like dirt,’ opined the one-eyed man, ‘’e’ll act dirty. Dick Twitterton was a decent sort enough till ‘e tuk it into ‘is ‘ead to marry the schoolmistress, with ‘er airs and lah-di-dah ways. “Wipe yer boots on the mat,” she says to ‘im, “afore you comes into the parlour.” Wot’s the good of a wife like that to a man w’en ‘e comes in mucky from the beasts an’ wantin’ ‘is supper?’

‘Good-lookin’ feller, too, wasn’t he?’ said Katie.

‘Now, Katie!’ said the lachrymose man, reprovingly. ‘Yes, ‘e wos a well set-up man, wos Dick Twitterton. That’s wot the schoolmistress fell for, you see. You be keerful o’ that soft ‘eart o’ yours, or it’ll get you into trouble.’

More chaff followed upon this. Then the undertaker said:

‘None the more for that, I’m sorry for Aggie Twitterton.’

‘Bah!’ said the lachrymose man. ‘She’s all right. She’ve got ‘er ‘ens an’ the church organ, and she don’t do so bad. Gettin’ a bit long in the tooth now, but a man might go farther and fare wuss.’

‘Well, there, Mr Puddock!’ cried Mrs Hodges. ‘Don’t say as you’re thinkin’ o’ makin’ an offer.’

‘E’s a one to talk, ain’t he?’ said Katie, delighted to get her own back. The old man chimed in solemnly: ‘Now, do ‘ee look where you’re goin’, Ted Puddock. There’s bad blood o’ both sides in Aggie Twitterton. ‘Er mother was Willum Noakes’s sister, don’t ‘ee forgit that; and Dick Twitterton, ‘e was a violent. God-forsaking man, a swearer and a sabbath-breaker-’

The door opened to admit Frank Crutchley. He had a girl with him. Bunter, forgotten in his corner, summed her up as a lively young person, with an up-and-coming eye. The couple appeared to be on affectionate, not to say intimate terms, and Bunter gained the impression that Crutchley was seeking consolation for his losses in the linked arms of Bacchus and Aphrodite. He stood the young lady a large port (Bunter shuddered delicately) and submitted with good humour to a certain amount of chaff when he offered drinks all round.

‘Come into a fortune, ‘ave you, Frank?’

‘Mr Noakes ‘ave left ‘im ‘is share of liabilities, that’s what it is.’

‘Thought you said your speckilations ‘ad gone wrong.’

‘Ah, that’s the way wi’ these ‘ere capitalists. Every time they loses a million they orders a case of champagne.’

‘Ere, Polly, don’t you know better ‘a to go about with a chap wot speckilates?’

‘She thinks she’ll learn ‘im better w’en ‘e’s bringin’ the money ‘ome to ‘er.’

‘And so I would,’ said Polly, with some vigour.

‘Ah! Thinkin’ o’ gettin’ spliced, you two?’

‘No charge for thinkin’,’ said Crutchley.

‘Ow about the young lady in London, Frank?’

‘Which one’s that?’ retorted Crutchley.

‘Ark at ‘m! ‘E’ve got so many ‘e don’t know ‘ow to keep count on ‘em.’

‘You watch your step, Polly. Maybe ‘e’s married three times a’ready.’

‘I should worry,’ said the girl, with a toss of the head.

‘Well, well, after a buryin’ comes a weddin’. Tell us w’en it’s to be, Frank.’

‘I’ll ‘ave ter save up for the parson’s fee,’ said Crutchley, good-temperedly, ‘seem’ me forty pound’s gone west. But it was almost worth it, to see old Aggie Twitterton’s face. “Ow! Uncle’s dead and the money’s gone!” she says. “Ow, and ‘im that rich-’oo’d a-thought it?” Silly old cow!’ Crutchley laughed contemptuously. ‘’Urry up with your port, Polly, if you want us to get over in time for the big picture.’

‘So that’s what you’re after. Ain’t goin’ into no mourning for old Mr Noakes, is yer, from the looks of it?’

‘’Im?’ said Crutchley. ‘No fear, the dirty old twister. There’ll be more pickings out o’ me lord than ever there was out of ‘im. Pocket full o’ bank-notes and a nose like a cheese-faced rabbit-’

‘Hey!’ said Mr Gudgeon, with a warning glance.

‘His lordship will be much obliged to you, Mr Crutchley,’ said Bunter, emerging from the window-seat.

‘Sorry,’ said Crutchley; ‘didn’t see you was there. No offence meant. A joke’s a joke. What’ll you take, Bunter?’

‘I’ll take no liberties from anyone,’ said that gentleman, with dignity. ‘Mr Bunter to you, if you please. And by the way, Mr Gudgeon, I was to ask you kindly to send up a fresh nine-gallon cask to Talboys, the one that’s there being the property of the creditors, as we understand.’

‘Right you are,’ said the landlord, with alacrity. ‘When would you like it?’

‘First thing tomorrow,’ replied Bunter, ‘and another dozen of Bass while it settles… Ah. Mr Puffett, good evening! I was just thinking of looking you up.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Mr Puffett, heartily. ‘I jest came along to fetch up the supper-ale, George being called out. There’s a cold pie in the ‘ouse and Jinny’ll be glad to see you. Make it a quart, then, Mr Gudgeon, if you please.’

He handed a jug over the counter, which the landlord filled, saying, as he did so, to Bunter: ‘That’s all right, then. It’ll be up at ten o’clock and I’ll step round and tap it for you.’

‘I am much obliged to you, Mr Gudgeon. I shall attend personally to its reception.’

Crutchley had seized the opportunity to go out with his young woman. Mr Puffett shook his head.

‘Off to them pictures again. Wot I says is, they things are unsettlin’ the girls’ minds nowadays. Silk stockin’s and all. You wouldn’t a-seen that in my young days.’

‘Ah! come now,’ said Mrs Hodges. ‘Polly hev’ been walkin’ out wi’ Frank a good while now. Tis time ‘twere settled between ‘em. She’s a good girl, for all she’s saucy in her ways.’

‘Made up ‘is mind. hev’ he?’ said Mr Puffett. ‘Thought ‘e was set on ‘avin’ a wife from London. But there! maybe ‘e thinks she won’t ‘ave ‘im, now ‘e’s lost ‘is forty pound. Ketch ‘em on the rebound, as they say-that’s ‘ow they makes marriages these days. A man may do all ‘e likes, there’s some lass gets ‘im in the end, for all ‘is runnin’ and dodgin’ like a pig in a lane. But I likes to see a bit o’ money into the bargain-there’s more to marriage, as they say, than four bare legs in a bed.’

‘’Ark at ’im!’ said Katie.

‘Or legs in silk stockings, neither,’ said Mr Puffett. ‘Well, Tom,’ said Mrs Hodges, comfortably, ‘you’re a widow-man with a bit o’ money, so there’s a chance for some on us yet.’

‘Is there?’ retorted Mr Puffett. ‘Well, I give yer leave to try. Now, Mr Bunter, if you’re ready.’

‘Is Frank Crutchley a native of Paggleham?’ inquired Bunter, as they walked away up the road, slowly, so as not to set the beer all of a froth.

‘No,’ said Mr Puffett. ‘He came here from London. Answered an advertisement of Mr ‘Ancock’s. Been here six or seven year now. I don’t fancy ‘e’s got no parents. But ‘e’s a pushin’ young fellow, only all the girls is arter ‘im, which makes it ‘ard for ‘im to settle. I’d a-thought ‘e’d more sense than to take up with Polly Mason-serious-like, I mean. ‘E was allus set to look for a wife as could bring ‘im a bit. But there! Say what you like before’and, a man proposes and a woman disposes on ‘im for good an’ all, and then it’s too late to be careful. Look at your good gentleman-I dessay, now,’ there was a-many rich young ladies arter ‘im. And maybe he said he didn’t want none on ‘em. And ’ere ’e is on ’is ’oneymoon, and from what they was a-tellin’ the Reverend, not a wealthy young lady neither.’