but there's something to say yet of mrs. brumm. you saw her turning away from robert east's door, saying that her husband, andrew, had promised to come home that night and to bring his wages. mrs. brumm, a bad manager, as were many of the rest, would probably have received him with a sloppy kitchen, buckets, and besoms. andrew had had experience of this, and, disloyal knight that he was, allowed himself to be seduced into the horned ram. he'd just take one pint and a pipe, he said to his conscience, and be home in time for his wife to get what she wanted. a little private matter of his own would call him away early. pressed for a sum of money in the week which was owing to his club, and not possessing it, he had put his sunday coat in pledge: and this he wanted to get out. however, a comrade sitting in the next chair to him at the horned ram had to get his coat out of the same accommodating receptacle. nothing more easy than for him to bring out andrew's at the same time; which was done. the coat on the back of his chair, his pipe in his mouth, and a pint of good ale before him, the outer world was as nothing to andrew brumm.
at ten o'clock, the landlord came in. "andrew brumm, here's your wife wanting to see you."
now andrew was not a bad sort of man by any means, but he had a great antipathy to being looked after. a joke went round at andrew's expense; for if there was one thing the men in general hated more than another, it was that their wives should come in quest of them to the public-houses. mrs. brumm received a sharp reprimand; but she saw that he was, as she expressed it, "getting on," so she got some money from him and kept her scolding for another opportunity.
she did not go near the pawnbroker's to get her irons out. she bought a bit of meat and what else she wanted, and returned to honey fair. robert east was closing his door for the night as she passed it. "has brumm come home?" he asked.
"not he, the toper! he is stuck fast at the horned ram, getting in for it nicely. i have been after him for some money."
"have you got your irons out?" inquired charlotte, coming to the door.
"no, nor nothing else; and there's pretty near half the kitchen in. it's him that'll suffer. he has been getting out his own coat, but he can't put it on. leastways, he won't without a clean collar and shirt; and let him fish for them. wait till to-morrow comes, mr. 'drew brumm!"
"was his coat in?" returned charlotte, surprised.
"that it was. him as goes on so when i puts a thing or two in! he owed some money at his club, and he went and put his coat in for four shillings, and adam thorneycroft has been and fetched it out for him."
"adam thorneycroft!" involuntarily returned charlotte.
"thorneycroft's coat was in too, and he went for it just now, and brumm gave him the ticket to get out his. smith's daughter told me that. she was serving with her mother in the bar."
"is adam thorneycroft at the horned ram still?"
"that he is: side by side with brumm. a nice pair of 'em! charlotte east, take my advice; don't you have anything to say to thorneycroft. a woman had better climb up to the top of her topmost chimbley and pitch herself off, head foremost, than marry a man given to drink."
charlotte east felt vexed at the allusion—vexed that her name should be coupled openly with that of adam thorneycroft by the busy tongues of honey fair. that an attachment existed between herself and adam thorneycroft was true; but she did not wish the fact to become too apparent to others. latterly she had been schooling her heart to forget him, for he was taking to frequent public-houses.
mrs. brumm went home, and was soon followed by her husband. he was not much the worse for what he had taken: he was a little. mrs. brumm reproached him with it, and a wordy war ensued.
they arose peaceably in the morning. andrew was a civil, well-conducted man, and but for horned rams would have been a pattern to three parts of honey fair. he liked to be dressed well on sunday and to attend the cathedral with his two children: he was very fond of listening to the chanting mrs. brumm—as was the custom generally with the wives of honey fair—stayed at home to cook the dinner. andrew was accustomed to do many odd jobs on the sunday morning, to save his wife trouble. he cleaned the boots and shoes, brushed his clothes, filled the coal-box, and made himself useful in sundry other ways. all this done, they sat down to breakfast with the two children, the unfortunate jacky less black than he had been the previous night.
"now, jacky," said brumm, when the meal was over, "get yourself ready; it has gone ten. polly too."
"it's a'most too cold for polly this morning," said mrs. brumm.
"not a bit on't. the walk'll do her good, and give her an appetite for dinner. what is for dinner, bell? i asked you before, but you didn't answer."
"it ain't much thanks to you as there's anything," retorted mrs. brumm, who rejoiced in the aristocratic name of arabella. "you plant yourself again at the horned ram, and see if i worries myself to come after you for money. i'll starve on the sunday first."
"i can't think what goes of your money," returned andrew. "there had not used to be this fuss if i stopped out for half an hour on the saturday night, with my wages in my pocket. where does yours go to?"
"it goes in necessaries," shortly answered mrs. brumm. but not caring for reasons of her own to pursue this particular topic, she turned to that of the dinner. "i have half a shoulder of mutton, and i'm going to take it to the bake'us with a batter pudden under it, and to boil the taters at home."
"that's capital!" returned andrew, gently rubbing his hands. "there's nothing nicer than baked mutton and a batter pudden. jacky, brush your hair well: it's as rough as bristles."
"i had to use a handful of soda to get the dye out," said mrs. brumm. "soda's awful stuff for making the hair rough."
andrew slipped out to the honey fair barber, who did an extensive business on sunday morning, to be shaved. when he returned he went up to wash and dress, and finally uncovered a deal box where he was accustomed to find his clean shirt. with all mrs. brumm's faults she had neat ways. the shirt was not there.
"bell, where's my clean shirt?" he called out from the top of the stairs.
mrs. bell brumm had been listening for the words and received them with satisfaction. she nodded, winked, and went through a little pantomime of ecstasy, to the intense delight of the children, who were in the secret, and nodded and winked with her. "clean shirt?" she called back again, as if not understanding.
"my sunday shirt ain't here."
"you haven't got no sunday shirt to-day."
andrew brumm descended the stairs in consternation. "no sunday shirt!" he repeated.
"no shirt, nor no collar, nor no handkercher," coolly affirmed mrs. brumm. "there ain't none ironed. they be all in the wet and the rough, wrapped up in an old towel. jacky and polly haven't nothing either."
brumm stared considerably. "why, what's the meaning of that?"
"the irons are in pawn," shortly answered mrs. brumm. "you know you never came home with the money, so i couldn't get 'em out."
another wordy war. andrew protested she had no "call" to put the irons in any such place. she impudently retorted that she should put the house in if she liked.
a hundred such little episodes could be related of the domestic life of honey fair.
