Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking,
song-roaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went
its way, recruiting at every step, and all the shops shutting up before it. Its
destination was the old church
of Saint Pancras
The dead man disposed of, and the crowd
being under the necessity of providing some other entertainment for itself,
another brighter genius (or perhaps the same) conceived the humour of
impeaching casual passersby, as Old Bailey spies, and wreaking vengeance on
them. Chase was given to some scores of inoffensive persons who had never been
near the Old Bailey in their lives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they
were roughly hustled and maltreated. The transition to the sport of
window-breaking, and thence to the plundering of public-houses, was easy and
natural. At last, after several hours, when sundry summerhouses had been pulled
dow and some area-railings had been torn up, to arm the more belligerent
spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards we coming. Before this rumour, the
crowd gradually melted away, and perhaps the Guards came, and perhaps they
never came, and this was the usual progress of a mob.
Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing
sports, hut had remained behind in the churchyard, to confer and condole with
the undertakers. The place had a soothing influence on him. He procured a pipe
from a neighbouring public house, and smoked it, looking in at the railings and
maturely considering the spot.
`Jerry,' said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising
himself in his usual way, `you see that there Cly that day, and you see with
your own eyes that he was a young `un and a straight made `un.'
Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a
little longer, he turned himself about, that he might appear, before the hour
of closing, on his station at Tellson's. Whether his meditations on mortality
had touched his liver, or whether his general health had been previously at all
amiss, or whether he desired to show a little attention to an eminent man, is
not so much to the purpose, as that he made a short call upon his medical
adviser--a distinguished surgeon--on his way back.
Young Jerry relieved his father with
dutiful interest, and reported No job in his absence. The bank closed, the
ancient clerks came Out, the usual watch was set, and Mr. Cruncher and his son
went home to tea.
`Now, I tell you where it is!' said Mr.
Cruncher to his wife, on entering. `If, as a honest tradesman, my wenturs goes
wrong tonight, I shall make sure that you've been praying again me, and I shall
work you for it just the same as if I seen you do it.'
The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head.
`Why, you're at it afore my face!' said Mr.
Cruncher, with signs of angry apprehension.
`I am saying nothing.'
`Well, then; don't meditate nothing. You
might as well meditate. You may as well go again me one way as another. Drop it
altogether.'
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