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Joseph Tuggs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds. A prolonged consultation took place, that night, in the little parlour—a consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tuggses.
Cymon Tuggs; seeing that the military gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta. ‘My wife, ma’am—Mrs. Captain Waters,’ said the military gentleman, presenting the black-eyed young lady. ‘My mother, ma’am—Mrs. Tuggs,’ said Mr. Cymon. The military gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies; and the Tuggses looked as unembarrassed as they could.
‘Water!’ exclaimed Joseph Tuggs—and Mr. Cymon Tuggs and all the ladies forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau. Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the six weeks’ acquaintance. A troublesome form, and an arbitrary custom, however, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion, in addition to a commencement; we have therefore no alternative.
The truculent Dowler figured before in "The Tuggs at Ramsgate" a very amusing and Pickwickian tale under the title of Capt. Waters, who exhibits the same simulated ferocity and jealousy of his spouse. Cruickshank's sketch, too, of the Captain is like that of Dowler when throwing up the window in the Crescent. Mrs. Waters is made as attractive as Mrs.
There is perhaps no profession, however useful; no pursuit, however meritorious; which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. Mr. Joseph Tuggs was a grocer.
‘My name is Tuggs,’ replied Mr. Simon. ‘It’s the other Mr. Tuggs,’ said the stranger, looking towards the glass door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the inside of which, the round face of Mr. Tuggs, senior, was distinctly visible, peeping over the curtain. Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish that his father would advance. Mr.
Joseph Tuggs beckoned to the proprietor of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined with faded striped calico; and, the luggage and the family having been deposited therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings. ‘How many beds have you got?’ screamed Mrs.
Joseph Tuggs. Mr. Cymon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphatically said ‘Shrimps.’ ‘Well, then, shrimps,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. ‘Srimps or shrimps, don’t much matter.’ There was pity, blended with malignity, in Mr. Cymon’s eye, as he replied, ‘Don’t matter, father! What would Captain Waters say, if he heard such vulgarity?’ ‘Or what would dear Mrs.
Cymon Tuggs looked at everybody; and finding that everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty in disposing of his eyesight. ‘So exactly the air of the marquis,’ said the military gentleman. ‘Quite extraordinary!’ sighed the military gentleman’s lady. ‘You don’t know the marquis, sir?’ inquired the military gentleman. Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative.
Captain Waters’s donkey, apparently under the influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly, head first, into a hedge, and declined to come out again: and the quadruped on which Miss Tuggs was mounted, expressed his delight at this humorous proceeding by firmly planting his fore-feet against the ground, and kicking up his hind-legs in a very agile, but somewhat alarming manner.
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