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Updated: May 23, 2025
The Terror frowned deeply again: "We can always try," he said coldly. "And look here: I've been thinking all tea-time: if stepchildren don't like stepfathers, there's no reason why stepfathers should like stepchildren." "The Cruncher likes us, though it's no fault of ours," said Erebus. "That's just it; he doesn't really know us.
"No, miss," returned Jerry, "it shall not be named to you. Second: them poor things well out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no more!" "Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be," said Miss Pross, striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, "I have no doubt it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should have it entirely under her own superintendence.
"Wot a werry hactive mind!" cried Runty admiringly. "If you vos to guess again you'd hit the game itself an' save us playin' it." "No, you'd better lead off." "Vell, then, clubs is trumps, an' we have got a big von vith a knot on the hend for Gran'mother Cruncher see?" Mr. Scollop smiled thoughtfully and said he saw. "I see a long ways," he added.
O'Fake was positively angry when he saw that Grandmother Cruncher was to be exhibited from the same platform with himself. He stuck his pipe in his mouth, his hat on his head, and his feet on the footboard of his bed, and said emphatically that he be domned if he'd shtand the loikes av this gran'mother business any more at all.
If you have, don't expect me to befriend you when you get back to England. If you have, don't expect me to keep your secret. Tellson's shall not be imposed upon." "I hope, sir," pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, "that a gentleman like yourself wot I've had the honour of odd jobbing till I'm grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos so I don't say it is, but even if it wos.
"I don't know," returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest ardour, "Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst! Spi ies!" At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the funeral of one Roger Cly. "Was He a spy?" asked Mr. Cruncher.
Cruncher, "it's you I have got a old grudge again, is it, with your shameful impositions upon tradesmen! I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea." Sydney Carton, who, with Mr. Lorry, had been lost in amazement at this turn of the business, here requested Mr. Cruncher to moderate and explain himself.
On this post of his, Mr. Cruncher was as well known to Fleet-street and the Temple, as the Bar itself, and was almost as in-looking.
"Oh, Erebus, you do have gummy friends! I thought we should never get rid of him. I thought he'd stuck himself to us for the rest of our natural lives." Mrs. Dangerfield smiled; and the Terror said in a tone of deep meaning: "That's what he's up to." "He's not a friend of mine!" cried Erebus hotly. "We call him the Cruncher because of his teeth," said the Terror. "Then beware, Erebus beware!
For, it must be recorded, that not only was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation, but, Mr. Cruncher though it seemed on his own separate and individual account was in a state of the greatest wonder. "Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!" cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands again. "After not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so long a time, do I find you here!" "Don't call me Solomon.
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