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Although I felt I was buying his silence by accepting, we followed the others into the supper-room. Neither Carrie nor I, after our unfortunate mishap, felt inclined to stay longer. As we were departing, Farmerson said: "Are you going? if so, you might give me a lift." I thought it better to consent, but wish I had first consulted Carrie. After the Mansion House Ball. Carrie offended.
I said, by way of reproof to him: "You never sent to-day to paint the bath, as I requested." Farmerson said: "Pardon me, Mr. Pooter, no shop when we're in company, please." Before I could think of a reply, one of the sheriffs, in full Court costume, slapped Farmerson on the back and hailed him as an old friend, and asked him to dine with him at his lodge. I was astonished.
I followed, and met Farmerson, who immediately said, in his loud voice "Oh, are you the one who went down?" I answered with an indignant look. With execrable taste, he said: "Look here, old man, we are too old for this game. We must leave these capers to the youngsters. Come and have another glass, that is more in our line."
Left Farmerson repairing the scraper, but when I came home found three men working. I asked the meaning of it, and Farmerson said that in making a fresh hole he had penetrated the gas-pipe. He said it was a most ridiculous place to put the gas-pipe, and the man who did it evidently knew nothing about his business. I felt his excuse was no consolation for the expense I shall be put to.
It would be more satisfactory to him and to us to have the work done properly. I consented, but felt I had been talked over. Planted some mustard-and-cress and radishes, and went to bed at nine. April 10. Farmerson came round to attend to the scraper himself. He seems a very civil fellow. He says he does not usually conduct such small jobs personally, but for me he would do so.
Farmerson, you permit him to snub YOU, in my presence, and then accept his invitation to take a glass of champagne with you, and you don't limit yourself to one glass. You then offer this vulgar man, who made a bungle of repairing our scraper, a seat in our cab on the way home. I say nothing about his tearing my dress in getting in the cab, nor of treading on Mrs.
I was astounded at this insinuation and simply ejaculated: "Caroline!" She said: "Don't be theatrical, it has no effect on me. Reserve that tone for your new friend, Mister Farmerson, the ironmonger." I was about to speak, when Carrie, in a temper such as I have never seen her in before, told me to hold my tongue. She said: "Now I'M going to say something! After professing to snub Mr.
I was just moving with Carrie, when Farmerson seized me rather roughly by the collar, and addressing the sheriff, said: "Let me introduce my neighbour, Pooter." He did not even say "Mister." The sheriff handed me a glass of champagne. I felt, after all, it was a great honour to drink a glass of wine with him, and I told him so.
It is also a great comfort to us to know that our boy Willie is getting on so well in the Bank at Oldham. We should like to see more of him. Now for my diary: April 3. Tradesmen called for custom, and I promised Farmerson, the ironmonger, to give him a turn if I wanted any nails or tools. By-the-by, that reminds me there is no key to our bedroom door, and the bells must be seen to.
Carrie made a most hearty supper, for which I was pleased; for I sometimes think she is not strong. There was scarcely a dish she did not taste. I was so thirsty, I could not eat much. Receiving a sharp slap on the shoulder, I turned, and, to my amazement, saw Farmerson, our ironmonger. He said, in the most familiar way: "This is better than Brickfield Terrace, eh?"
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