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

“There ain’t much to choose between ’em. What one says is all spite; and the other man says nothing at all.”

“Oh Ruby, Ruby,” said Mrs. Pipkin, with solemnly persuasive voice, “I hope you’ll come to learn some day, that a loving heart is better nor a fickle tongue⁠—specially with vittels certain.”

On the following morning the Bungay church bells rang merrily, and half its population was present to see John Crumb made a happy man. He himself went out to the farm and drove the bride and Mrs. Pipkin into the town, expressing an opinion that no hired charioteer would bring them so safely as he would do himself; nor did he think it any disgrace to be seen performing this task before his marriage. He smiled and nodded at everyone, now and then pointing back with his whip to Ruby when he met any of his specially intimate friends, as though he would have said, “See, I’ve got her at last in spite of all difficulties.” Poor Ruby, in her misery under this treatment, would have escaped out of the cart had it been possible. But now she was altogether in the man’s hands and no escape was within her reach. “What’s the odds?” said Mrs. Pipkin as they settled their bonnets in a room at the Inn just before they entered the church. “Drat it⁠—you make me that angry I’m half minded to cuff you. Ain’t he fond o’ you? Ain’t he got a house of his own? Ain’t he well to do all round? Manners! What’s manners? I don’t see nothing amiss in his manners. He means what he says, and I call that the best of good manners.”

Ruby, when she reached the church, had been too completely quelled by outward circumstances to take any notice of Joe Mixet, who was standing there, quite unabashed, with a splendid nosegay in his buttonhole. She certainly had no right on this occasion to complain of her husband’s silence. Whereas she could hardly bring herself to utter the responses in a voice loud enough for the clergyman to catch the familiar words, he made his assertions so vehemently that they were heard throughout the whole building. “I, John⁠—take thee Ruby⁠—to my wedded wife⁠—to ’ave and to ’old⁠—from this day forrard⁠—for better nor worser⁠—for richer nor poorer⁠—;” and so on to the end. And when he came to the “worldly goods” with which he endowed his Ruby, he was very emphatic indeed. Since the day had been fixed he had employed all his leisure-hours in learning the words by heart, and would now hardly allow the clergyman to say them before him. He thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony, and would have liked to be married over and over again, every day for a week, had it been possible.

And then there came the breakfast, to which he marshalled the way up the broad stairs of the inn at Bungay, with Mrs. Hurtle on one arm and Mrs. Pipkin on the other. He had been told that he ought to take his wife’s arm on this occasion, but he remarked that he meant to see a good deal of her in future, and that his opportunities of being civil to Mrs. Hurtle and Mrs. Pipkin would be rare. Thus it came to pass that, in spite of all that poor Ruby had said, she was conducted to the marriage-feast by Joe Mixet himself. Ruby, I think, had forgotten the order which she had given in reference to the baker. When desiring that she might see nothing more of Joe Mixet, she had been in her pride;⁠—but now she was so tamed and quelled by the outward circumstances of her position, that she was glad to have someone near her who knew how to behave himself. “Mrs. Crumb, you have my best wishes for your continued ’ealth and ’appiness,” said Joe Mixet in a whisper.

“It’s very good of you to say so, Mr. Mixet.”

“He’s a good ’un; is he.”

“Oh, I dare say.”

“You just be fond of him and stroke him down, and make much of him, and I’m blessed if you mayn’t do a’most anything with him⁠—all’s one as a babby.”

“A man shouldn’t be all’s one as a babby, Mr. Mixet.”

“And he don’t drink hard, but he works hard, and go where he will he can hold his own.” Ruby said no more, and soon found herself seated by her husband’s side. It certainly was wonderful to her that so many people should pay John Crumb so much respect, and should seem to think so little of the meal and flour which pervaded his countenance.

After the breakfast, or “bit of dinner,” as John Crumb would call it, Mr. Mixet of course made a speech. “He had had the pleasure of knowing John Crumb for a great many years, and the honour of being acquainted with Miss Ruby Ruggles⁠—he begged all their pardons, and should have said Mrs. John Crumb⁠—ever since she was a child.” “That’s a downright story,” said Ruby in a whisper to Mrs. Hurtle. “And he’d never known two young people more fitted by the gifts of nature to contribute to one another’s ’appinesses. He had understood that Mars and Wenus always lived on the best of terms, and perhaps the present company would excuse him if he likened this ’appy young couple to them two ’eathen gods and goddesses. For Miss Ruby⁠—Mrs. Crumb he should say⁠—was certainly lovely as ere a Wenus as ever was; and as for John Crumb, he didn’t believe that ever a Mars among ’em could stand again him. He didn’t remember just at present whether Mars and Wenus had any young family, but he hoped that before long there would be any number of young Crumbs for the Bungay birds to pick up. ’Appy is the man as ’as his quiver full of ’em⁠—and the woman too, if you’ll allow me to say so, Mrs. Crumb.” The speech, of which only a small sample can be given here, was very much admired by the ladies and gentlemen present⁠—with the single exception of poor