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Updated: June 25, 2025
And remembering the ghastly sawdust-eating waiting-rooms of the North English railways, he wrote that rich chapter in Mugby Junction.
He seems quite unconscious of the obvious truth, that the backwardness of Catholics was simply the refusal of Bob Cratchit to enter the house of Gradgrind. An example of the second attitude can be found in the purple patches of fun in Mugby Junction; in which the English waitress denounces the profligate French habit of providing new bread and clean food for people travelling by rail.
"The Boy at Mugby," to wit, the one exhilarated and exhilarating appreciate of the whole elaborate system of Refreshmenting in this Isle of the Brave and Land of the Free, by which he means to say Britannia. Laconically, "I am the Boy at Mugby," he announces. "That's about what I am."
"I'll try and get through the business I've got on hand to-night, and be off to Devonshire to-morrow." Mrs. Mugby exerted herself to the uttermost in her endeavour to make the captain's first dinner at home a great culinary triumph, but the disappointment he had experienced that morning had quite taken away his appetite.
Isn't she coming to bid me welcome after all I've gone through to earn more money for her?" Before Susan could answer, Mrs. Mugby had heard the voice of her master, and came hurrying in to greet him. "Thank you for your hearty welcome," said the captain, hurriedly; "but where's my daughter?
We can see it in the witty and withering criticism delivered by the Yankee traveller in the musty refreshment room of Mugby Junction; a genuine example of a genuinely American fun and freedom satirising a genuinely British stuffiness and snobbery.
It was the convenient place to live in, for occasionally borrowing Polly. It was the convenient place to live in, for being joined at will to all sorts of agreeable places and persons. Here follows the substance of what was seen, heard, or otherwise picked up, by the gentleman for Nowhere, in his careful study of the Junction. I am the boy at Mugby. That's about what I am.
"That's me!" cries the Boy at Mugby, exultantly, adding, with an intense relish for his occupation, "what a delightful lark it is!"
Tuesday, the 15th of January, 1867, was the inaugural night of the series, when "Barbox, Brothers," and "The Boy at Mugby," were read for the first time at St. James's Hall, Piccadilly.
While Rosamond occupied the abode which Captain Jernam had chosen for her, River View Cottage was abandoned entirely to the care of Mrs. Mugby and Susan Trott, and the trim house had a desolate look in the dismal autumn days, and the darkening winter twilights, carefully as it was kept by Mrs.
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