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Some portions of the two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the moon fell strongly on a puce-coloured boot and a glazed stock. Mr. Cymon Tuggs and Mrs. Captain Waters were seated on that bench. They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the sea. ‘Walter will return to-morrow,’ said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully breaking silence. Mr.
‘Kim up!’ shouted one of the two boys who followed behind, to propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotta Tuggs had been hoisted, and pushed, and pulled, into their respective saddles. ‘Hi—hi—hi!’ groaned the other boy behind Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling against the heels of Cymon’s boots, and Cymon’s boots nearly scraping the ground. ‘Way—way!
Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message—the captain brought an action. Mr. Joseph Tuggs interposed—the lieutenant negotiated. When Mr.
Cymon Tuggs blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly protested that he was no horseman. The objection was at once overruled. A fly was speedily found; and three donkeys—which the proprietor declared on his solemn asseveration to be ‘three parts blood, and the other corn’—were engaged in the service.
Joseph Tuggs responded, ‘To be sure.’ And then they went down the steep wooden steps a little further on, which led to the bottom of the cliff; and looked at the crabs, and the seaweed, and the eels, till it was more than fully time to go back to Ramsgate again. Finally, Mr. Cymon Tuggs ascended the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one; and Mr.
All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tuggses; and when, in the course of farther conversation, it was discovered that Miss Charlotta Tuggs was the fac simile of a titled relative of Mrs. Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tuggs herself was the very picture of the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton, their delight in the acquisition of so genteel and friendly an acquaintance, knew no bounds.
In the same story we have an anticipation of another incident: the shutting up and detection of Pipkin in the cupboard, who is discovered by a pipe being required, just as young Tuggs was by his coughing from the tobacco smoke. Boz was partial to this method of discovery, for, at the close, Snodgrass was thus concealed and shut up at Osborne's Hotel.
Joseph Tuggs, with considerable celerity, removed his face from the curtain and placed it before the stranger. ‘I come from the Temple,’ said the man with the bag. ‘From the Temple!’ said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the door of the little parlour and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective. ‘From the Temple!’ said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs at the same moment. ‘From the Temple!’ said Mr.
He was, at that very moment, eating pickled salmon with a pocket-knife. ‘We must leave town immediately,’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to being genteel. The question then arose, Where should they go? ‘Gravesend?’ mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. The idea was unanimously scouted. Gravesend was low. ‘Margate?’ insinuated Mrs. Tuggs.
Tuggs again.—One parlour and a mattress. ‘Why the devil didn’t they say so at first?’ inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, rather pettishly. ‘Don’t know,’ said Mrs. Tuggs. ‘Wretches!’ exclaimed the nervous Cymon. Another bill—another stoppage. Same question—same answer—similar result. ‘What do they mean by this?’ inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, thoroughly out of temper. ‘Don’t know,’ said the placid Mrs. Tuggs.
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