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"Come, Tribbledale; I ain't going to let you abuse her, you know." "I don't want to abuse her. God knows I love her too well in spite of all. It's your turn now. I can see that. There's a great many of them have had their turns." "Were there now?" asked Crocker anxiously. "There was Pollocky; him at the Highbury Gas Works. He came after me. It was because of him she dropped me."
'It was here young Tribbledale fell, a clerk at Pogson and Littlebird's, who dashed out his brains for love on the very day as Clara Demijohn got herself married. I'm of that disposition, Crocker, as I'd do anything for love; anything."
"Or else it was he." On receipt of this information Crocker whistled. "It was something about money," continued Tribbledale. "The old woman wouldn't part." "There is money I suppose?" "The old woman has a lot." "And isn't the niece to have it?" asked Crocker. "No doubt she will; because there never was a pair more loving. But the old lady will keep it herself as long as she is here."
Clara, who was repenting herself of her hardness to young Tribbledale, was forced to put up with Mrs. Duffer. When suddenly there came a thundering knock at the door, and Mr. Crocker was announced by the maid, who had been duly instructed beforehand as to all peculiarities in the names of the guests.
"That's not the way they do it at all," said Crocker, who was altogether confused. "It has been written in the book, Sam; and I know that they never go back from that." "Who wrote it? Nothing has been written. There isn't a book; not at least like that. Tribbledale has invented it." "Oh, Sam, why did you tear those papers; Her Majesty's Mail papers? What else was there to expect?
He could not endure the thought of leaving London, it might be for much more than the one day intended, without making some effort in regard to the object which was nearest his heart. Early in the day he walked into Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's office, and saw Mr. Tribbledale seated on a high stool behind a huge desk, which nearly filled up the whole place.
"Oh, Daniel, what hours you do keep!" said Clara, when the young gentleman was shown into the parlour. "What on earth brings you here at such a time as this?" Tribbledale was never slow to declare that he was brought thither by the overwhelming ardour of his passion. His love for Clara was so old a story, and had been told so often, that the repeating of it required no circumlocution.
It was now nearly ten, and she could not but feel that the evening was going heavily. Tribbledale had said one tender word to her; but she had snubbed him, expecting Crocker to be there almost at once, and he had retired silent into a corner.
"Tell him that he must wait yet five minutes longer," said Zachary Fay, frowning. Tribbledale, awestruck as he bethought himself how great were the affairs of Pollock and Austen, retreated back hurriedly to the court. "You know what I mean, Mr. Fay," continued Lord Hampstead. "I know well what thou meanest, my lord. I think I know what thou meanest.
"Oh, my lord," said Tribbledale, "it shall go with the clock and the harmonium, and shall be the proudest moment of my life." When Miss Demijohn heard that the salary of Pogson and Littlebird's clerk, she called it "Dan's screw" in speaking of the matter to her aunt, had been raised to £160 per annum, she felt that there could be no excuse for a further change.
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