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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Come, Job," said Handy, softened by success, "don't let 'em have to say that old Bunce has a man like you under his thumb, a man that always holds his head in the hospital as high as Bunce himself, though you're never axed to drink wine, and sneak, and tell lies about your betters as he does." Skulpit held the pen, and made little flourishes with it in the air, but still hesitated.
"A hundred a year's a nice thing, for sartain," again argued Crumple. "Well, neighbour Skulpit, how's it to be?" "Oh, please yourself," said Skulpit: "please yourself, and you'll please me." The pen was thrust into Crumple's hand, and a faint, wandering, meaningless sign was made, betokening such sanction and authority as Jonathan Crumple was able to convey.
"And if you'll be said by me," continued Handy, "you'll not write your name to it at all, but just put your mark like the others;" the cloud began to clear from Skulpit's brow; "we all know you can do it if you like, but maybe you wouldn't like to seem uppish, you know." "Well, the mark would be best," said Skulpit. "One name and the rest marks wouldn't look well, would it?"
"Twopence a day!" muttered Moody with a curse; "sink his twopence!" "Twopence a day!" exclaimed Handy; "and I'm to go, hat in hand, and thank a chap for twopence a day, when he owes me a hundred pounds a year; no, thank ye; that may do for you, but it won't for me. Come, I say, Skulpit, are you a going to put your mark to this here paper, or are you not?"
And Skulpit is sly, and no better than he should be, and got money from your father, ma'am, I know. And then he had just a drop of tea, and after that I took him his glass of port wine with my own hands. And it touched me, ma'am, so it did, when he said, 'Oh, Mrs Baxter, how good you are; you know well what it is I like. And then he went to bed.
It was the more provoking, as Bunce himself could write his name legibly, and one of those three doubting souls had for years boasted of like power, and possessed, indeed, a Bible, in which he was proud to show his name written by himself some thirty years ago "Job Skulpit;" but it was thought that Job Skulpit, having forgotten his scholarship, on that account recoiled from the petition, and that the other doubters would follow as he led them.
Skulpit looked round in wretched indecision to his two friends. "What d'ye think, Bill Gazy?" said he. But Bill Gazy couldn't think. He made a noise like the bleating of an old sheep, which was intended to express the agony of his doubt, and again muttered that "he didn't know."
The surplus would not go to you; your wants are adequately provided for, and your position could hardly be improved." "God bless your reverence, we knows it," said Spriggs. "It's all true, your reverence," said Skulpit. "We sees it all now."
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