The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

Crumb slowly arose from his chair, and stood up at his full height. “I hove,” said he, swinging his head to one side.

“Then say it.”

“I will,” said he. He was still standing bolt upright with his hands down by his side. Then he stretched out his left to his glass which was half full of beer, and strengthened himself as far as that would strengthen him. Having done this he slowly deposited the pipe which he still held in his right hand.

“Now speak your mind, like a man,” said Mixet.

“I intends it,” said John. But he still stood dumb, looking down upon old Ruggles, who from his crouched position was looking up at him. Ruby was standing with both her hands upon the table and her eyes intent upon the wall over the fireplace.

“You’ve asked Miss Ruby to be your wife a dozen times;⁠—haven’t you, John?” suggested Mixet.

“I hove.”

“And you mean to be as good as your word?”

“I do.”

“And she has promised to have you?”

“She hove.”

“More nor once or twice?” To this proposition Crumb found it only necessary to bob his head. “You’re ready⁠—and willing?”

“I om.”

“You’re wishing to have the banns said without any more delay?”

“There ain’t no delay ’bout me;⁠—never was.”

“Everything is ready in your own house?”

“They is.”

“And you will expect Miss Ruby to come to the scratch?”

“I sholl.”

“That’s about it, I think,” said Joe Mixet, turning to the grandfather. “I don’t think there was ever anything much more straightforward than that. You know, I know, Miss Ruby knows all about John Crumb. John Crumb didn’t come to Bungay yesterday⁠—nor yet the day before. There’s been a talk of five hundred pounds, Mr. Ruggles.” Mr. Ruggles made a slight gesture of assent with his head. “Five hundred pounds is very comfortable; and added to what John has will make things that snug that things never was snugger. But John Crumb isn’t after Miss Ruby along of her fortune.”

“Nohow’s,” said the lover, shaking his head and still standing upright with his hands by his side.

“Not he;⁠—it isn’t his ways, and them as knows him’ll never say it of him. John has a heart in his buzsom.”

“I has,” said John, raising his hand a little above his stomach.

“And feelings as a man. It’s true love as has brought John Crumb to Sheep’s Acre farm this night;⁠—love of that young lady, if she’ll let me make so free. He’s a proposed to her, and she’s a haccepted him, and now it’s about time as they was married. That’s what John Crumb has to say.”

“That’s what I has to say,” repeated John Crumb, “and I means it.”

“And now, miss,” continued Mixet, addressing himself to Ruby, “you’ve heard what John has to say.”

“I’ve heard you, Mr. Mixet, and I’ve heard quite enough.”

“You can’t have anything to say against it, miss; can you? There’s your grandfather as is willing, and the money as one may say counted out⁠—and John Crumb is willing, with his house so ready that there isn’t a ha’porth to do. All we want is for you to name the day.”

“Say tomorrow, Ruby, and I’ll not be agon it,” said John Crumb, slapping his thigh.

“I won’t say tomorrow, Mr. Crumb, nor yet the day after tomorrow, nor yet no day at all. I’m not going to have you. I’ve told you as much before.”

“That was only in fun, loike.”

“Then now I tell you in earnest. There’s some folk wants such a deal of telling.”

“You don’t mean⁠—never?”

“I do mean never, Mr. Crumb.”

“Didn’t you say as you would, Ruby? Didn’t you say so as plain as the nose on my face?” John as he asked these questions could hardly refrain from tears.

“Young women is allowed to change their minds,” said Ruby.

“Brute!” exclaimed old Ruggles. “Pig! Jade! I’ll tell’ee what, John. She’ll go out o’ this into the streets;⁠—that’s what she wull. I won’t keep her here, no longer;⁠—nasty, ungrateful, lying slut.”

“She ain’t that;⁠—she ain’t that,” said John. “She ain’t that at all. She’s no slut. I won’t hear her called so;⁠—not by her grandfather. But, oh, she has a mind to put me so abouts, that I’ll have to go home and hang myself.”

“Dash it, Miss Ruby, you ain’t a going to serve a young man that way,” said the baker.

“If you’ll jist keep yourself to yourself, I’ll be obliged to you, Mr. Mixet,” said Ruby. “If you hadn’t come here at all things might have been different.”

“Hark at that now,” said John, looking at his friend almost with indignation.

Mr. Mixet, who was fully aware of his rare eloquence and of the absolute necessity there had been for its exercise if any arrangement were to be made at all, could not trust himself to words after this. He put on his hat and walked out through the back kitchen into the yard declaring that his friend would find him there, round by the pig-stye wall, whenever he was ready to return to Bungay. As soon as Mixet was gone John looked at his sweetheart out of the corners of his eyes and made a slow motion towards her, putting out his right hand as a feeler. “He’s aff now, Ruby,” said John.

“And you’d better be aff after him,” said the cruel girl.

“And when’ll I come back again?”

“Never. It ain’t no use. What’s the good of more words, Mr. Crumb?”

“Domm her; domm her,” said old Ruggles. “I’ll even it to her. She’ll have to be out on the roads this night.”

“She shall have the best bed in my house if she’ll come for it,” said John, “and the old woman to look arter her; and I won’t come nigh her till she sends for me.”

“I can find a place for myself, thank ye, Mr. Crumb.” Old Ruggles sat grinding his teeth, and swearing to himself, taking his hat off and putting it on again, and meditating vengeance. “And now if you please, Mr. Crumb, I’ll go upstairs to my own room.”

“You don’t go up to any room here, you jade you.” The old man as he said this got up from his chair as though