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Updated: May 20, 2025
Now the words ‘we have been successful,’ had no sooner issued from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tuggs rose from the tub of weekly Dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell into the arms of his anxious mother, and fainted away without the slightest ostensible cause or pretence. ‘Water!’ screamed Mrs.
The cigars were introduced; the captain was a professed smoker; so was the lieutenant; so was Joseph Tuggs. The apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke powerful: it hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found its way behind the curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use—out came the cough.
Cymon Tuggs withdraw his eyes from the young lady’s face with inconceivable rapidity. ‘Which young men—where?’ and the military gentleman clenched his fist, and glared fearfully on the cigar-smokers around. ‘Be calm, Walter, I entreat,’ said the young lady. ‘I won’t,’ said the military gentleman. ‘Do, sir,’ interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. ‘They ain’t worth your notice.’
One ground-floor sitting-room, and three cells with beds in them up-stairs. A double-house. Family on the opposite side. Five children milk-and-watering in the parlour, and one little boy, expelled for bad behaviour, screaming on his back in the passage. ‘What’s the terms?’ said Mrs. Tuggs.
She had never heard of Pegwell; but the word ‘lunch’ had reached her ears, and it sounded very agreeably. ‘How shall we go?’ inquired the captain; ‘it’s too warm to walk.’ ‘A shay?’ suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. ‘Chaise,’ whispered Mr. Cymon. ‘I should think one would be enough,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of the correction. ‘However, two shays if you like.’
Captain Waters—‘if, in earlier life, it had been my fate to have known, and been beloved by, a noble youth—a kindred soul—a congenial spirit—one capable of feeling and appreciating the sentiments which—’ ‘Heavens! what do I hear?’ exclaimed Mr. ‘Hi—hi—hi,’ said the boys behind. ‘Come up,’ expostulated Cymon Tuggs again. ‘Hi—hi—hi,’ repeated the boys.
Joseph Tuggs—a little dark-faced man, with shiny hair, twinkling eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring from the centre button of his waistcoat in front, to the ornamental buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs.
‘Good night!’ replied Belinda; ‘and, if at any period of my life, I—Hush!’ The lady paused and stared with a steady gaze of horror, on the ashy countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. There was a double knock at the street-door. ‘It is my husband!’ said Belinda, as the captain’s voice was heard below. ‘And my family!’ added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his relatives floated up the staircase.
‘I should like a donkey so much,’ said Belinda. ‘Oh, so should I!’ echoed Charlotta Tuggs. ‘Well, we can have a fly,’ suggested the captain, ‘and you can have a couple of donkeys.’ A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Captain Waters declared it would be decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy was obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tuggs would be gallant enough to accompany them. Mr.
Everything has an end, however; even the galloping of donkeys will cease in time. The animal which Mr. Cymon Tuggs bestrode, feeling sundry uncomfortable tugs at the bit, the intent of which he could by no means divine, abruptly sidled against a brick wall, and expressed his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Cymon Tuggs’s leg on the rough surface. Mrs.
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