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sophy of History sometimes costs its author !” and he groaned.
Mr. Jobb was a short, red-faced, very active little man of about forty-five, with a quick eye and a bald head. He had a Bardolphian pose, and a tendency to corpulency; none of his medicines had been able either to whiten the one, or to reduce the other, so he wisely referred to them occasionally as proofs of even redundant health. He was something of a beau—was generally in black for“ some highly respected patient whom he had kept alive as long as human art could do so, and who had remembered his services by a legacy !” He wore a shirt with an elaborately plaited frill
-a jet brooch, a white neckcloth, black gloves and gaiters. His manner was bustling, and was a curious mixture of command and cajolery.
The coach arrived — Grunter returned, supported by Mr. Jobb and Fitzcribb. Slowly, and with frequent stoppings, he got down stairs, and, with the aid of coachman, and waterman, was lifted into the coach, and was driven off with Jobb and Fitzcribb.
Scarcely was he gone, when Benoni, the little invalid (a precocious boy of six), stole from behind a window-curtain, and ran up to his mother, with a large pin in his hand, saying, “ Dear ma’, I did it all—Benoni did it with this !"
On inquiry, it proved that Benoni, at the arrival of Grunter, had hid under his father's table, and, passionately fond of that kind father, had, when he heard the quarrel between him and Grunter, plunged into the leg of the latter a pin he had just picked up, and forthwith noiselessly hid himself and his weapon behind the curtain.
Mrs. Fitzcribb had missed her darling, even in all the hurry of her arrangements for Grunter's reception ; but she had fancied he was perhaps gone down to Sally-for Sally, generally at war with the rest of the family, was very fond of the little bright-eyed invalid : twice she had treated him to a peep-show, once to Punch ; often had she given him a rosy-cheeked apple, a gingerbread wife from a fair, or a paper of lollypops; and often, when
he had been every where so ught in vain, he was found on Sally's lap, by her large kitchen fire.
Mrs. Fitzcribb tried to reprove him, but laughter prevented her.
“Why did you do it? Naughty boy,” she said, at length.
“Benoni 's a good boy, and loves papaand nasty, ugly great man scolded papa.”
It was a rule with the Fitzcribbs never to scold Benoni, so, as he began to cry at being called naughty, and as his fault sprang from an excess of filial piety, his mother caught him to her bosom, and kissed his pale, wan cheek, again and again. And when, on Fitzcribb’s return after the opera, she let him into the ludicrous secret, he, convinced that Grunter would never forgive them for having unconsciously promoted his making so great a fool of himself, as to have called in a surgeon for a scratch of a pin, and for having let him fancy himself in danger from its effects, resolved not to undeceive him, but to let him undergo the course of medicine, which they both agreed
could not but be serviceable to the inflated old pedant, and would perhaps clear his head for the History of Philosophy and the Philosophy of History!
“Coming events cast their shadows before.”
When the melancholy cortège, attending the wounded and terrified Grunter, arrived at St. James's Square, Fitzcribb, after seeing his co-partner installed in his room, under the direction of Mr. Jobb, availed himself of the carriage Mr. Lindsay had sent back to fetch his old usher, and had himself conveyed to the opera.
The house was brilliantly attended. The only beaux of the Lindsay party were Sir Peter Riskwell, Julian, and De Villeneuve. Old Mr. Lindsay, when he heard the strange story Fitzcribb had to tell, was seized with a