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Whiffler instructing the footman to ring the nursery bell, as the children were promised that they should come down and taste the pudding.
"Judge," exclaimed the stranger, "I'm doin' a little work to pay fur my board. Who's your whiffler? He'll know me when he sees me next time." Following the stranger's eyes, Vesta and her father saw Meshach Milburn, half raised up from the low trundle-bed, staring at Joe Johnson as if trying to get at him. His lips moved, he partly articulated: "Catch the scoundre him!"
He was not pallid, meagre, and clad in unwholesome black, like the same. His bronzed face was frank and bold and unfamiliar with speculations on Original Sin or Total Depravity. "I am not the new minister," said Wade, smiling slightly over his moustache; "but a new Superintendent for the Foundry." "Mr. Whiffler is goin'?" exclaimed Mrs. Purtett.
Presently Bill shouldered forward and faced the new ruler. Since Bill took to drink and degradation, he had been the butt-end of riot and revolt at the Foundry. He had had his own way with Whiffler. He did not like to abdicate and give in to this new chap without testing him.
The friend glances at him, and observing a different expression in his face, ventures to say, ‘I should say they were blue—a decided blue.’ ‘To be sure!’ cries Mr. Whiffler, triumphantly, ‘I knew you would!
Whiffler is heard to say, ‘Mr. Saunders, shall I give you some pudding?’ A breathless silence ensues, and sixteen small eyes are fixed upon the guest in expectation of his reply. A wild shout of joy proclaims that he has said ‘No, thank you.’ Spoons are waved in the air, legs appear above the table-cloth in uncontrollable ecstasy, and eighty short fingers dabble in damson syrup.
He owned much land and was very wealthy, and, having been very abstemious, because he came of an old time when knighthood had still some of the sacredness and austerity of a religion, he was a man very sound in limb and peaceable of disposition. In his day he had been esteemed the most graceful whiffler in the world: now he used only the heavy sword, because he was himself grown heavy.
Yesterday down came Mr. Superintendent Whiffler, from Dunderbunk, up the North River, to say, that, "unless something be done, at once, the Dunderbunk Foundry and Iron-Works must wind up." President Brummage forthwith convoked his Directors. And here they sat around the green table, forlorn as the guests at a Barmecide feast. Well they might be forlorn!
Saunders thinks that if they were his, they would make him a very old man; but he says nothing. ‘And yet,’ pursues Mr. Whiffler, ‘what can equal domestic happiness? what can equal the engaging ways of children! Saunders, why don’t you get married?’ Now, this is an embarrassing question, because Mr.
Orrderr!" said the President, severely, rapping with a paper-cutter. "We must have a Man, not a Whiffler!" Churm continued. "And I have one in my eye." Everybody examined his eye. "Would you be so good as to name him?" said Old Brummage, timidly. He wanted to see a Man, but feared the strange creature might be dangerous. "Richard Wade," says Churm. They did not know him. The name sounded forcible.
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