mudfog+-第3章

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his　own　way；　without　the　fear　of　stocks；　fine；　or　imprisonment。　　He

had　a　general　licence；　and　he　showed　his　sense　of　the　compliment　by

making　the　most　of　it。



We　have　been　thus　particular　in　describing　the　character　and

avocations　of　Bottle…nosed　Ned；　because　it　enables　us　to　introduce

a　fact　politely；　without　hauling　it　into　the　reader's　presence　with

indecent　haste　by　the　head　and　shoulders；　and　brings　us　very

naturally　to　relate；　that　on　the　very　same　evening　on　which　Mr。

Nicholas　Tulrumble　and　family　returned　to　Mudfog；　Mr。　Tulrumble's

new　secretary；　just　imported　from　London；　with　a　pale　face　and

light　whiskers；　thrust　his　head　down　to　the　very　bottom　of　his

neckcloth…tie；　in　at　the　tap…room　door　of　the　Lighterman's　Arms；

and　inquiring　whether　one　Ned　Twigger　was　luxuriating　within；

announced　himself　as　the　bearer　of　a　message　from　Nicholas

Tulrumble；　Esquire；　requiring　Mr。　Twigger's　immediate　attendance　at

the　hall；　on　private　and　particular　business。　　It　being　by　no　means

Mr。　Twigger's　interest　to　affront　the　Mayor；　he　rose　from　the

fireplace　with　a　slight　sigh；　and　followed　the　light…whiskered

secretary　through　the　dirt　and　wet　of　Mudfog　streets；　up　to　Mudfog

Hall；　without　further　ado。



Mr。　Nicholas　Tulrumble　was　seated　in　a　small　cavern　with　a

skylight；　which　he　called　his　library；　sketching　out　a　plan　of　the

procession　on　a　large　sheet　of　paper；　and　into　the　cavern　the

secretary　ushered　Ned　Twigger。



'Well；　Twigger！'　said　Nicholas　Tulrumble；　condescendingly。



There　was　a　time　when　Twigger　would　have　replied；　'Well；　Nick！'　but

that　was　in　the　days　of　the　truck；　and　a　couple　of　years　before　the

donkey；　so；　he　only　bowed。



'I　want　you　to　go　into　training；　Twigger；'　said　Mr。　Tulrumble。



'What　for；　sir？'　inquired　Ned；　with　a　stare。



'Hush；　hush；　Twigger！'　said　the　Mayor。　　'Shut　the　door；　Mr。

Jennings。　　Look　here；　Twigger。'



As　the　Mayor　said　this；　he　unlocked　a　high　closet；　and　disclosed　a

complete　suit　of　brass　armour；　of　gigantic　dimensions。



'I　want　you　to　wear　this　next　Monday；　Twigger；'　said　the　Mayor。



'Bless　your　heart　and　soul；　sir！'　replied　Ned；　'you　might　as　well

ask　me　to　wear　a　seventy…four　pounder；　or　a　cast…iron　boiler。'



'Nonsense；　Twigger；　nonsense！'　said　the　Mayor。



'I　couldn't　stand　under　it；　sir；'　said　Twigger；　'it　would　make

mashed　potatoes　of　me；　if　I　attempted　it。'



'Pooh；　pooh；　Twigger！'　returned　the　Mayor。　　'I　tell　you　I　have　seen

it　done　with　my　own　eyes；　in　London；　and　the　man　wasn't　half　such　a

man　as　you　are；　either。'



'I　should　as　soon　have　thought　of　a　man's　wearing　the　case　of　an

eight…day　clock　to　save　his　linen；'　said　Twigger；　casting　a　look　of

apprehension　at　the　brass　suit。



'It's　the　easiest　thing　in　the　world；'　rejoined　the　Mayor。



'It's　nothing；'　said　Mr。　Jennings。



'When　you're　used　to　it；'　added　Ned。



'You　do　it　by　degrees；'　said　the　Mayor。　　'You　would　begin　with　one

piece　to…morrow；　and　two　the　next　day；　and　so　on；　till　you　had　got

it　all　on。　　Mr。　Jennings；　give　Twigger　a　glass　of　rum。　　Just　try

the　breast…plate；　Twigger。　　Stay；　take　another　glass　of　rum　first。

Help　me　to　lift　it；　Mr。　Jennings。　　Stand　firm；　Twigger！　　There！　…

it　isn't　half　as　heavy　as　it　looks；　is　it？'



Twigger　was　a　good　strong；　stout　fellow；　so；　after　a　great　deal　of

staggering；　he　managed　to　keep　himself　up；　under　the　breastplate；

and　even　contrived；　with　the　aid　of　another　glass　of　rum；　to　walk

about　in　it；　and　the　gauntlets　into　the　bargain。　　He　made　a　trial

of　the　helmet；　but　was　not　equally　successful；　inasmuch　as　he

tipped　over　instantly；　…　an　accident　which　Mr。　Tulrumble　clearly

demonstrated　to　be　occasioned　by　his　not　having　a　counteracting

weight　of　brass　on　his　legs。



'Now；　wear　that　with　grace　and　propriety　on　Monday　next；'　said

Tulrumble；　'and　I'll　make　your　fortune。'



'I'll　try　what　I　can　do；　sir；'　said　Twigger。



'It　must　be　kept　a　profound　secret；'　said　Tulrumble。



'Of　course；　sir；'　replied　Twigger。



'And　you　must　be　sober；'　said　Tulrumble；　'perfectly　sober。'　　Mr。

Twigger　at　once　solemnly　pledged　himself　to　be　as　sober　as　a　judge；

and　Nicholas　Tulrumble　was　satisfied；　although；　had　we　been

Nicholas；　we　should　certainly　have　exacted　some　promise　of　a　more

specific　nature；　inasmuch　as；　having　attended　the　Mudfog　assizes　in

the　evening　more　than　once；　we　can　solemnly　testify　to　having　seen

judges　with　very　strong　symptoms　of　dinner　under　their　wigs。

However；　that's　neither　here　nor　there。



The　next　day；　and　the　day　following；　and　the　day　after　that；　Ned

Twigger　was　securely　locked　up　in　the　small　cavern　with　the　sky…

light；　hard　at　work　at　the　armour。　　With　every　additional　piece　he

could　manage　to　stand　upright　in；　he　had　an　additional　glass　of

rum；　and　at　last；　after　many　partial　suffocations；　he　contrived　to

get　on　the　whole　suit；　and　to　stagger　up　and　down　the　room　in　it；

like　an　intoxicated　effigy　from　Westminster　Abbey。



Never　was　man　so　delighted　as　Nicholas　Tulrumble；　never　was　woman

so　charmed　as　Nicholas　Tulrumble's　wife。　　Here　was　a　sight　for　the

common　people　of　Mudfog！　　A　live　man　in　brass　armour！　　Why；　they

would　go　wild　with　wonder！



The　day　…　THE　Monday　…　arrived。



If　the　morning　had　been　made　to　order；　it　couldn't　have　been　better

adapted　to　the　purpose。　　They　never　showed　a　better　fog　in　London

on　Lord　Mayor's　day；　than　enwrapped　the　town　of　Mudfog　on　that

eventful　occasion。　　It　had　risen　slowly　and　surely　from　the　green

and　stagnant　water　with　the　first　light　of　morning；　until　it

reached　a　little　above　the　lamp…post　tops；　and　there　it　had

stopped；　with　a　sleepy；　sluggish　obstinacy；　which　bade　defiance　to

the　sun；　who　had　got　up　very　blood…shot　about　the　eyes；　as　if　he

had　been　at　a　drinking…party　over…night；　and　was　doing　his　day's

work　with　the　worst　possible　grace。　　The　thick　damp　mist　hung　over

the　town　like　a　huge　gauze　curtain。　　All　was　dim　and　dismal。　　The

church　steeples　had　bidden　a　temporary　adieu　to　the　world　below；

and　every　object　of　lesser　importance　…　houses；　barns；　hedges；

trees；　and　barges　…　had　all　taken　the　veil。



The　church…clock　struck　one。　　A　cracked　trumpet　from　the　front

garden　of　Mudfog　Hall　produced　a　feeble　flourish；　as　if　some

asthmatic　person　had　coughed　into　it　accidentally；　the　gate　flew

open；　and　out　came　a　gentleman；　on　a　moist…sugar　coloured　charger；

intended　to　represent　a　herald；　but　bearing　a　much　stronger

resemblance　to　a　court…card　on　horseback。　　This　was　one　of　the

Circus　people；　who　always　came　down　to　Mudfog　at　that　time　of　the

year；　and　who　had　been　engaged　by　Nicholas　Tulrumble　expressly　for

the　occasion。　　There　was　the　horse；　whisking　his　tail　about；

balancing　himself　on　his　hind…legs；　and　flourishing　away　with　his

fore…feet；　in　a　manner　which　would　have　gone　to　the　hearts　and

souls　of　any　reasonable　crowd。　　But　a　Mudfog　crowd　never　was　a

reasonable　one；　and　in　all　probability　never　will　be。　　Instead　of

scattering　the　very　fog　with　their　shouts；　as　they　ought　most

indubitably　to　have　done；　and　were　fully　intended　to　do；　by

Nicholas　Tulrumble；　they　no　sooner　recognized　the　herald；　than　they

began　to　growl　forth　the　most　unqualified　disapprobation　at　the

bare　notion　of　his　riding　like　any　other　man。　　If　he　had　come　out

on　his　head　indeed；　or　jumping　through　a　hoop；　or　flying　through　a

red…hot　drum；　or　even　standing　on　one　leg　with　his　other　foot　in

his　mouth；　they　might　have　had　something　to　say　to　him；　but　for　a

professional　gentleman　to　sit　astride　in　the　saddle；　with　his　feet

in　the　stirrups；　was　rather　too　good　a　joke。　　So；　the　herald　was　a

decided　failure；　and　the　crowd　hooted　with　great　energy；　as　he

pranced　ingloriously　away。



On　the　procession　came。　　We　are　afraid　to　say　how　many

supernumeraries　there　were；　in　striped　shirts　and　black　velvet

caps；　to　imitate　the　London　watermen；　or　how　many　base　imitations

of　running…footmen；　or　how　many　banners；　which；　owing　to　the