“What,” said Mr. Cruncher, varying his apostrophe after
missing his mark“what are you up to, Aggerawayter?”
“I was only saying my prayers.”
“Saying your prayers! You’re a nice woman! What do you mean
by flopping yourself down and praying agin me?”
“I was not praying against you; I was praying for you.”
“You weren’t. And if you were, I won’t be took the liberty with.
Here! your mother’s a nice woman, young Jerry, going a praying
agin your father’s prosperity. You’ve got a dutiful mother, you
have, my son. You’ve got a religious mother, you have, my boy:
going and flopping herself down, and praying that the bread-and-
butter may be snatched out of the mouth of her only child.”
Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very ill, and,
turning to his mother, strongly deprecated any praying away of his
personal board.
“And what do you suppose, you conceited female,” said Mr.
Cruncher, with unconscious inconsistency, “that the worth of your
prayers may be? Name the price that you put your prayers at!”
“They only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth no more
than that.”
“Worth no more than that,” repeated Mr. Cruncher. “They ain’t
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
worth much, then. Whether or no, I won’t be prayed agin, I tell
you. I can’t afford it. I’m not a going to be made unlucky by your
sneaking. If you must go flopping yourself down, flop in favour of
your husband and child, and not in opposition to ’em. If I had had
any but a unnat’ral wife, and this poor boy had had any but a
unnat’ral mother, I might have made some money last week
instead of being counterpraye