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Updated: June 17, 2025
Bloss, with a proper approximation to hysterics; ‘I think the house is on fire, or else there’s thieves in it. I have heard the most dreadful noises!’ ‘The devil you have!’ shouted Gobler again, bouncing back into his den, in happy imitation of the aforesaid dragon, and returning immediately with a lighted candle. ‘Why, what’s this? Wisbottle! Tomkins! O’Bleary! Agnes!
‘Don’t you think it would sound better, if you whistled it a little louder?’ inquired the mastiff. ‘No; I don’t think it would,’ rejoined the unconscious Wisbottle.
‘Not notice it!’ continued Wisbottle. ‘Bless you; I saw him whispering to her, and she crying; and then I’ll swear I heard him say something about to-night when we were all in bed.’ ‘They’re talking of us!’ exclaimed the agonised Mrs. Tibbs, as the painful suspicion, and a sense of their situation, flashed upon her mind.
‘Well; I have taken my boots off, so we can go down, close to the store-room door, and listen over the banisters;’ and down-stairs they both crept accordingly, every board creaking like a patent mangle on a Saturday afternoon. ‘It’s Wisbottle and somebody, I’ll swear,’ exclaimed the radical in an energetic whisper, when they had listened for a few moments.
Evenson looked on all these qualifications with profound contempt; and the consequence was that the two were always disputing, much to the edification of the rest of the house. It should be added, that, in addition to his partiality for whistling, Mr. Wisbottle had a great idea of his singing powers. There were two other boarders, besides the gentleman in the back drawing-room—Mr.
‘What can it be?’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs. ‘It’s like a dream. I wouldn’t be found in this situation for the world!’ ‘Nor I,’ returned Evenson, who could never bear a joke at his own expense. ‘Hush! here they are at the door.’ ‘What fun!’ whispered one of the new-comers.—It was Wisbottle. ‘Glorious!’ replied his companion, in an equally low tone.—This was Alfred Tomkins. ‘Who would have thought it?’
He was a thorough radical, and used to attend a great variety of public meetings, for the express purpose of finding fault with everything that was proposed. Mr. Wisbottle, on the other hand, was a high Tory.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Tibbs again. It was almost the only thing he ever said to anybody. ‘How are you, Tibbs?’ condescendingly replied the amateur; and he walked to the window, and whistled louder than ever. ‘Pretty air, that!’ said Evenson, with a snarl, and without taking his eyes off the paper. ‘Glad you like it,’ replied Wisbottle, highly gratified.
Bloss conversed most affectionately on the subject of pill-taking, and other innocent amusements; and Tomkins and Wisbottle ‘got into an argument;’ that is to say, they both talked very loudly and vehemently, each flattering himself that he had got some advantage about something, and neither of them having more than a very indistinct idea of what they were talking about.
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