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Updated: June 7, 2025
Presently a short, pudgy man in travelling dress, with thin, smoothly-brushed hair, mutton-chop whiskers and a very red face, was ushered into the room, and Mr. Windsor stretched out his hand in welcome. "Mr. Jawkins, I believe?" "Yes, Mr. Windsor; I am Jarley Jawkins, very much at your service." "Glad to see you, Jawkins," said the American; "take a cigar, won't you?
The chief trouble with the invention was that in the long-run it was more expensive than gas or oil could possibly be in the most extravagant household; but that bothered Jarley not a jot.
"Well, Jack," he said to his son, when they had been left in sole possession of the Jarley mansion, "you and I must entertain each other this afternoon. What shall we do?" "I'd like to play choo-choo car with you," said Jack. "I'll be the engine and you be the train." "Very well," said Jarley. "Have you got your steam up?" "Yeth," lisped Jack. "All aboard!"
Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the inscription, 'Jarley's WAX-WORK. 'Read it again, said the lady, complacently. 'Jarley's Wax-Work, repeated Nell. 'That's me, said the lady. 'I am Mrs Jarley.
'That, said Mrs Jarley in her exhibition tone, as Nell touched a figure at the beginning of the platform, 'is an unfortunate Maid of Honour in the Time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger in consequence of working upon a Sunday. Observe the blood which is trickling from her finger; also the gold-eyed needle of the period, with which she is at work.
At length, towards break of day, that deep sleep came upon her which succeeds to weariness and over-watching, and which has no consciousness but one of overpowering and irresistible enjoyment. Sleep hung upon the eyelids of the child so long, that, when she awoke, Mrs Jarley was already decorated with her large bonnet, and actively engaged in preparing breakfast.
In whatever way Mrs Jarley received the response, it did not provoke her to further questioning, or tempt her into any more remarks at the time, for she relapsed into a thoughtful silence, and remained in that state so long that Nell withdrew to the other window and rejoined her grandfather, who was now awake.
'Funnier! said Mrs Jarley in a shrill voice. 'It is not funny at all. 'Oh! said Nell, with all possible humility. 'It isn't funny at all, repeated Mrs Jarley. 'It's calm and what's that word again critical? no classical, that's it it's calm and classical.
"Well," said Mrs. Jarley, as they went up-stairs at eleven, "it hasn't been a very peaceful day, has it, dear?" "Oh, that all depends on how you spell peace. If you spell it p-i-e-c-e, it's been full of pieces," returned Jarley, with a smile; "but I say, my dear, I want to modify my statement last night that I had nothing to be thankful for. I have discovered one great blessing."
"There is something statuesque about her," said Pepton, who ardently admired her, "and yet there isn't. A statue could never equal her unless we knew there was a probability of movement in it. And the only statues which have that are the Jarley wax-works, which she does not resemble in the least.
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