Doctor Marigold | Page 6

Take the lot, and I'll drop two thousand pound in the streets of your
magnificent town for them to pick up that can. Not enough? Now look
here. This is the very furthest that I'm a going to. I'll make it two
thousand five hundred. And still you won't? Here, missis! Put the
horse--no, stop half a moment, I shouldn't like to turn my back upon
you neither for a trifle, I'll make it two thousand seven hundred and
fifty pound. There! Take the lot on your own terms, and I'll count out
two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound on the foot- board of the
cart, to be dropped in the streets of your magnificent town for them to
pick up that can. What do you say? Come now! You won't do better,
and you may do worse. You take it? Hooray! Sold again, and got the
seat!"
These Dear Jacks soap the people shameful, but we Cheap Jacks don't.
We tell 'em the truth about themselves to their faces, and scorn to court
'em. As to wenturesomeness in the way of puffing up the lots, the Dear
Jacks beat us hollow. It is considered in the Cheap Jack calling, that
better patter can be made out of a gun than any article we put up from

the cart, except a pair of spectacles. I often hold forth about a gun for a
quarter of an hour, and feel as if I need never leave off. But when I tell
'em what the gun can do, and what the gun has brought down, I never
go half so far as the Dear Jacks do when they make speeches in praise
of THEIR guns--their great guns that set 'em on to do it. Besides, I'm in
business for myself: I ain't sent down into the market-place to order, as
they are. Besides, again, my guns don't know what I say in their
laudation, and their guns do, and the whole concern of 'em have reason
to be sick and ashamed all round. These are some of my arguments for
declaring that the Cheap Jack calling is treated ill in Great Britain, and
for turning warm when I think of the other Jacks in question setting
themselves up to pretend to look down upon it.
I courted my wife from the footboard of the cart. I did indeed. She was
a Suffolk young woman, and it was in Ipswich marketplace right
opposite the corn-chandler's shop. I had noticed her up at a window last
Saturday that was, appreciating highly. I had took to her, and I had said
to myself, "If not already disposed of, I'll have that lot." Next Saturday
that come, I pitched the cart on the same pitch, and I was in very high
feather indeed, keeping 'em laughing the whole of the time, and getting
off the goods briskly. At last I took out of my waistcoat-pocket a small
lot wrapped in soft paper, and I put it this way (looking up at the
window where she was). "Now here, my blooming English maidens, is
an article, the last article of the present evening's sale, which I offer to
only you, the lovely Suffolk Dumplings biling over with beauty, and I
won't take a bid of a thousand pounds for from any man alive. Now
what is it? Why, I'll tell you what it is. It's made of fine gold, and it's
not broke, though there's a hole in the middle of it, and it's stronger
than any fetter that ever was forged, though it's smaller than any finger
in my set of ten. Why ten? Because, when my parents made over my
property to me, I tell you true, there was twelve sheets, twelve towels,
twelve table-cloths, twelve knives, twelve forks, twelve tablespoons,
and twelve teaspoons, but my set of fingers was two short of a dozen,
and could never since be matched. Now what else is it? Come, I'll tell
you. It's a hoop of solid gold, wrapped in a silver curl-paper, that I
myself took off the shining locks of the ever beautiful old lady in
Threadneedle Street, London city; I wouldn't tell you so if I hadn't the
paper to show, or you mightn't believe it even of me. Now what else is

it? It's a man-trap and a handcuff, the parish stocks and a leg-lock, all in
gold and all in one. Now what else is it? It's a wedding- ring. Now I'll
tell you what I'm a going to do with it. I'm not a going to offer this lot
for money; but I mean to give it to the next of you beauties that laughs,
and I'll pay her a visit to-morrow morning at exactly half after nine
o'clock as the chimes