Barnaby Rudge | Page 8

by the sleeve, 'I didn't see the young lady,
you know. Whew! There's the wind again--AND rain-- well it IS a
night!'
Rough weather indeed!' observed the strange man.
'You're used to it?' said Joe, catching at anything which seemed to
promise a diversion of the subject.
'Pretty well,' returned the other. 'About the young lady--has Mr
Haredale a daughter?'
'No, no,' said the young fellow fretfully, 'he's a single
gentleman--he's--be quiet, can't you, man? Don't you see this talk is not
relished yonder?'
Regardless of this whispered remonstrance, and affecting not to hear it,
his tormentor provokingly continued:
'Single men have had daughters before now. Perhaps she may be his
daughter, though he is not married.'

'What do you mean?' said Joe, adding in an undertone as he approached
him again, 'You'll come in for it presently, I know you will!'
'I mean no harm'--returned the traveller boldly, 'and have said none that
I know of. I ask a few questions--as any stranger may, and not
unnaturally--about the inmates of a remarkable house in a
neighbourhood which is new to me, and you are as aghast and
disturbed as if I were talking treason against King George. Perhaps you
can tell me why, sir, for (as I say) I am a stranger, and this is Greek to
me?'
The latter observation was addressed to the obvious cause of Joe
Willet's discomposure, who had risen and was adjusting his riding-
cloak preparatory to sallying abroad. Briefly replying that he could give
him no information, the young man beckoned to Joe, and handing him
a piece of money in payment of his reckoning, hurried out attended by
young Willet himself, who taking up a candle followed to light him to
the house-door.
While Joe was absent on this errand, the elder Willet and his three
companions continued to smoke with profound gravity, and in a deep
silence, each having his eyes fixed on a huge copper boiler that was
suspended over the fire. After some time John Willet slowly shook his
head, and thereupon his friends slowly shook theirs; but no man
withdrew his eyes from the boiler, or altered the solemn expression of
his countenance in the slightest degree.
At length Joe returned--very talkative and conciliatory, as though with
a strong presentiment that he was going to be found fault with.
'Such a thing as love is!' he said, drawing a chair near the fire, and
looking round for sympathy. 'He has set off to walk to London,--all the
way to London. His nag gone lame in riding out here this blessed
afternoon, and comfortably littered down in our stable at this minute;
and he giving up a good hot supper and our best bed, because Miss
Haredale has gone to a masquerade up in town, and he has set his heart
upon seeing her! I don't think I could persuade myself to do that,
beautiful as she is,--but then I'm not in love (at least I don't think I am)

and that's the whole difference.'
'He is in love then?' said the stranger.
'Rather,' replied Joe. 'He'll never be more in love, and may very easily
be less.'
'Silence, sir!' cried his father.
'What a chap you are, Joe!' said Long Parkes.
'Such a inconsiderate lad!' murmured Tom Cobb.
'Putting himself forward and wringing the very nose off his own
father's face!' exclaimed the parish-clerk, metaphorically.
'What HAVE I done?' reasoned poor Joe.
'Silence, sir!' returned his father, 'what do you mean by talking, when
you see people that are more than two or three times your age, sitting
still and silent and not dreaming of saying a word?'
'Why that's the proper time for me to talk, isn't it?' said Joe rebelliously.
'The proper time, sir!' retorted his father, 'the proper time's no time.'
'Ah to be sure!' muttered Parkes, nodding gravely to the other two who
nodded likewise, observing under their breaths that that was the point.
'The proper time's no time, sir,' repeated John Willet; 'when I was your
age I never talked, I never wanted to talk. I listened and improved
myself that's what I did.'
'And you'd find your father rather a tough customer in argeyment, Joe,
if anybody was to try and tackle him,' said Parkes.
'For the matter o' that, Phil!' observed Mr Willet, blowing a long, thin,
spiral cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, and staring at it
abstractedly as it floated away; 'For the matter o' that, Phil, argeyment

is a gift of Natur. If Natur has gifted a man with powers of argeyment, a
man has a right to make the best of 'em, and has not a right to stand on
false delicacy, and deny that he is so gifted; for that is a turning of his