The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope [good story books to read .txt] 📗

ill-used a woman, and would certainly be a most dangerous antagonist to any man who would misuse a woman belonging to him. But Ruby had told the truth of him in saying that he was slow of speech, and what the world calls stupid in regard to all forms of expression. He knew good meal from bad as well as any man, and the price at which he could buy it so as to leave himself a fair profit at the selling. He knew the value of a clear conscience, and without much argument had discovered for himself that honesty is in truth the best policy. Joe Mixet, who was dapper of person and glib of tongue, had often declared that anyone buying John Crumb for a fool would lose his money. Joe Mixet was probably right; but there had been a want of prudence, a lack of worldly sagacity, in the way in which Crumb had allowed his proposed marriage with Ruby Ruggles to become a source of gossip to all Bungay. His love was now an old affair; and, though he never talked much, whenever he did talk, he talked about that. He was proud of Ruby’s beauty, and of her fortune, and of his own status as her acknowledged lover⁠—and he did not hide his light under a bushel. Perhaps the publicity so produced had some effect in prejudicing Ruby against the man whose offer she had certainly once accepted. Now when he came to settle the day⁠—having heard more than once or twice that there was a difficulty with Ruby⁠—he brought his friend Mixet with him as though to be present at his triumph. “If here isn’t Joe Mixet,” said Ruby to herself. “Was there ever such a stoopid as John Crumb? There’s no end to his being stoopid.”

The old man had slept off his anger and his beer while Ruby had been preparing the feast, and now roused himself to entertain his guests. “What, Joe Mixet; is that thou? Thou’rt welcome. Come in, man. Well, John, how is it wi’ you? Ruby’s a stewing o’ something for us to eat a bit. Don’t ’e smell it?”⁠—John Crumb lifted up his great nose, sniffed and grinned.

“John didn’t like going home in the dark like,” said the baker, with his little joke. “So I just come along to drive away the bogies.”

“The more the merrier;⁠—the more the merrier. Ruby’ll have enough for the two o’ you, I’ll go bail. So John Crumb’s afraid of bogies;⁠—is he? The more need he to have some ’un in his house to scart ’em away.”

The lover had seated himself without speaking a word; but now he was instigated to ask a question. “Where be she, Muster Ruggles?” They were seated in the outside or front kitchen, in which the old man and his granddaughter always lived; while Ruby was at work in the back kitchen. As John Crumb asked this question she could be heard distinctly among the pots and the plates. She now came out, and wiping her hands on her apron, shook hands with the two young men. She had enveloped herself in a big household apron when the cooking was in hand, and had not cared to take it off for the greeting of this lover. “Grandfather said as how you was a coming out for your supper, so I’ve been a seeing to it. You’ll excuse the apron, Mr. Mixet.”

“You couldn’t look nicer, miss, if you was to try it ever so. My mother says as it’s housifery as recommends a girl to the young men. What do you say, John?”

“I loiks to see her loik o’ that,” said John rubbing his hands down the back of his trousers, and stooping till he had brought his eyes down to a level with those of his sweetheart.

“It looks homely; don’t it, John?” said Mixet.

“Bother!” said Ruby, turning round sharp, and going back to the other kitchen. John Crumb turned round also, and grinned at his friend, and then grinned at the old man.

“You’ve got it all afore you,” said the farmer⁠—leaving the lover to draw what lesson he might from this oracular proposition.

“And I don’t care how soon I ha’e it in hond;⁠—that I don’t,” said John.

“That’s the chat,” said Joe Mixet. “There ain’t nothing wanting in his house;⁠—is there, John? It’s all there⁠—cradle, caudle-cup, and the rest of it. A young woman going to John knows what she’ll have to eat when she gets up, and what she’ll lie down upon when she goes to bed.” This he declared in a loud voice for the benefit of Ruby in the back kitchen.

“That she do,” said John, grinning again. “There’s a hun’erd and fifty poond o’ things in my house forbye what mother left behind her.”

After this there was no more conversation till Ruby reappeared with the boiled fowl, and without her apron. She was followed by the girl with a dish of broiled ham and an enormous pyramid of cabbage. Then the old man got up slowly and opening some private little door of which he kept the key in his breeches pocket, drew a jug of ale and placed it on the table. And from a cupboard of which he also kept the key, he brought out a bottle of gin. Everything being thus prepared, the three men sat round the table, John Crumb looking at his chair again and again before he ventured to occupy it. “If you’ll sit yourself down, I’ll give you a bit of something to eat,” said Ruby at last. Then he sank at once into his chair. Ruby cut up the fowl standing, and dispensed the other good things, not even placing a chair for herself at the table⁠—and apparently not expected to do so, for no one invited her. “Is it to be spirits or ale, Mr. Crumb?” she said, when the other two men had helped themselves. He turned round and gave her a look of love that might have