calculations when he took to his trade or when he didn’t. A
honouring and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether.
Call yourself a religious woman? If you’re a religious woman, give
me a irreligious one! You have no more nat’ral sense of duty than
the bed of this here Thames river has of a pile, and similarly it
must be knocked into you.”
The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, and
terminated in the honest tradesman’s kicking off his clay-soiled
boots, and lying down at his length on the floor. After taking a
timid peep at him lying on his back, with his rusty hands under his
head for a pillow, his son lay down too, and fell asleep again.
There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else.
Mr. Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an
iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs.
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
Cruncher, in case he should observe any symptoms of her saying
Grace. He was brushed and washed at the usual hour, and set off
with his son to pursue his ostensible calling.
Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his
father’s side along sunny and crowded Fleet Street, was a very
different Young Jerry from him of the previous night, running
home through the darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer.
His cunning was fresh with the day, and his qualms were gone
with the nightin which particulars it is not improbable that he
had compeers in Fleet Street and the City of London, that fine
morning.
“Father,” said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care to
keep at arm’s length and to hav