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The Diary of C. Jeames De La Pluche, Esq., a fiction by William Makepeace Thackeray |
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MR. JEAMES AGAIN |
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_ "DEAR MR. PUNCH,--As newmarus inquiries have been maid both at my privit ressddence, 'The Wheel of Fortune Otel,' and at your Hoffis, regarding the fate of that dear babby, James Hangelo, whose primmiture dissappearnts caused such hagnies to his distracted parents, I must begg, dear sir, the permission to ockupy a part of your valuble collams once more, and hease the public mind about my blessid boy. "Wictims of that nashnal cuss, the Broken Gage, me and Mrs. Plush was left in the train to Cheltenham, soughring from that most disgreeble of complaints, a halmost BROKEN ART. The skreems of Mrs. Jeames might be said almost to out-Y the squeel of the dying, as we rusht into that fashnable Spaw, and my pore Mary Hann found it was not Baby, but Bundles I had in my lapp. "When the Old Dowidger Lady Bareacres, who was waiting heagerly at the train, herd that owing to that abawminable Brake of Gage the luggitch, her Ladyship's Cherrybrandy box, the cradle for Lady Hangelina's baby, the lace, crockary and chany, was rejuiced to one immortial smash; the old cat howld at me and pore dear Mary Hann, as if it was huss, and not the infunnle Brake of Gage, was to blame; and as if we ad no misfortns of our hown to deplaw. She bust out about my stupid imparence; called Mary Hann a good for nothink creecher, and wep, and abewsd, and took on about her broken Chayny Bowl, a great deal mor than she did about a dear little Christian child. 'Don't talk to me abowt your bratt of a babby' (seshe); 'where's my bowl?--where's my medsan?--where's my bewtiffle Pint lace?--All in rewing through your stupiddaty, you brute, you!' "'Bring your haction aginst the Great Western, Maam,' says I, quite riled by this crewel and unfealing hold wixen. 'Ask the pawters at Gloster, why your goods is spiled--it's not the fust time they've been asked the question. Git the gage haltered aginst the nex time you send for MEDSAN and meanwild buy some at the "Plow"--they keep it very good and strong there, I'll be bound. Has for us, WE'RE a going back to the cussid station at Gloster, in such of our blessid child.' "'You don't mean to say, young woman,' seshe, 'that you're not going to Lady Hangelina: what's her dear boy to do? who's to nuss it?' "'YOU nuss it, Maam,' says I. 'Me and Mary Hann return this momint by the Fly.' And so (whishing her a suckastic ajew) Mrs. Jeames and I lep into a one oss weakle, and told the driver to go like mad back to Gloster. "I can't describe my pore gals hagny juring our ride. She sat in the carridge as silent as a milestone, and as madd as a march Air. When we got to Gloster she sprang hout of it as wild as a Tigris, and rusht to the station, up to the fatle Bench. "'My child, my child,' shreex she, in a hoss, hot voice. 'Where's my infant? a little bewtifle child, with blue eyes,--dear Mr. Policeman, give it me--a thousand guineas for it.' "'Faix, Mam,' says the man, a Hirishman, 'and the divvle a babby have I seen this day except thirteen of my own--and you're welcome to any one of THEM, and kindly.' "'As if HIS babby was equal to ours,' as my darling Mary Hann said, afterwards. All the station was scrouging round us by this time--pawters & clarx and refreshmint people and all. 'What's this year row about that there babby?' at last says the Inspector, stepping hup. I thought my wife was going to jump into his harms. 'Have you got him?' says she. "'Was it a child in a blue cloak?' says he. "'And blue eyse!' says my wife. "'I put a label on him and sent him on to Bristol; he's there by this time. The Guard of the Mail took him and put him into a letter-box,' says he: 'he went 20 minutes ago. We found him on the broad gauge line, and sent him on by it, in course,' says he. 'And it'll be a caution to you, young woman, for the future, to label your children along with the rest of your luggage.' "If my piguniary means had been such as ONCE they was, you may emadgine I'd have ad a speshle train and been hoff like smoak. As it was, we was obliged to wait 4 mortial hours for the next train (4 ears they seemed to us), and then away we went. "'My boy! my little boy!' says poor choking Mary Hann, when we got there. 'A parcel in a blue cloak?' says the man. 'No body claimed him here, and so we sent him back by the mail. An Irish nurse here gave him some supper, and he's at Paddington by this time. Yes,' says he, looking at the clock, 'he's been there these ten minutes.' "But seeing my poor wife's distracted histarricle state, this good-naterd man says, 'I think, my dear, there's a way to ease your mind. We'll know in five minutes how he is.' "'Sir,' says she, 'don't make sport of me.' "'No, my dear, we'll TELEGRAPH him.' "And he began hopparating on that singlar and ingenus elecktricle inwention, which aniliates time, and carries intellagence in the twinkling of a peg-post. "'I'll ask,' says he, 'for child marked G. W. 273.' "Back comes the telegraph with the sign, 'All right.' "'Ask what he's doing, sir,' says my wife, quite amazed. Back comes the answer in a Jiffy-- "'C. R. Y. I. N. G.' "This caused all the bystanders to laugh excep my pore Mary Hann, who pull'd a very sad face. "The good-naterd feller presently said, 'he'd have another trile;' and what d'ye think was the answer? I'm blest if it wasn't-- "'P. A. P.' "He was eating pap! There's for you--there's a rogue for you--there's a March of Intaleck! Mary Hann smiled now for the fust time. 'He'll sleep now,' says she. And she sat down with a full hart. ***** "If hever that good-naterd Shooperintendent comes to London, HE need never ask for his skore at the 'Wheel of Fortune Otel,' I promise you--where me and my wife and James Hangelo now is; and where only yesterday a gent came in and drew this pictur* of us in our bar. * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. "And if they go on breaking gages; and if the child, the most precious luggidge of the Henglishman, is to be bundled about this year way, why it won't be for want of warning, both from Professor Harris, the Commission, and from "My dear Mr. Punch's obeajent servant, "JEAMES PLUSH." [THE END] _ |
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