sensible of your handsome intentions, and wishes you good evening, and wishes you well.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Guppy with a blank look. “Is that tantamount, sir, to acceptance, or rejection, or consideration?”
“To decided rejection, if you please,” returned my guardian.
Mr. Guppy looked incredulously at his friend, and at his mother, who suddenly turned very angry, and at the floor, and at the ceiling.
“Indeed?” said he. “Then, Jobling, if you was the friend you represent yourself, I should think you might hand my mother out of the gangway instead of allowing her to remain where she ain’t wanted.”
But Mrs. Guppy positively refused to come out of the gangway. She wouldn’t hear of it. “Why, get along with you,” said she to my guardian, “what do you mean? Ain’t my son good enough for you? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Get out with you!”
“My good lady,” returned my guardian, “it is hardly reasonable to ask me to get out of my own room.”
“I don’t care for that,” said Mrs. Guppy. “Get out with you. If we ain’t good enough for you, go and procure somebody that is good enough. Go along and find ’em.”
I was quite unprepared for the rapid manner in which Mrs. Guppy’s power of jocularity merged into a power of taking the profoundest offence.
“Go along and find somebody that’s good enough for you,” repeated Mrs. Guppy. “Get out!” Nothing seemed to astonish Mr. Guppy’s mother so much and to make her so very indignant as our not getting out. “Why don’t you get out?” said Mrs. Guppy. “What are you stopping here for?”