I had become aware of an alarming growling overhead, and had probably
expressed the fact in my countenance.
"I am afraid he is a sad old rascal," said Herbert, smiling, "but I have
never seen him. Don't you smell rum? He is always at it."
"At rum?" said I.
"Yes," returned Herbert, "and you may suppose how mild it makes his
gout. He persists, too, in keeping all the provisions up stairs in his
room, and serving them out. He keeps them on shelves over his head, and
will weigh them all. His room must be like a chandler's shop."
While he thus spoke, the growling noise became a prolonged roar, and
then died away.
"What else can be the consequence," said Herbert, in explanation, "if
he will cut the cheese? A man with the gout in his right hand--and
everywhere else--can't expect to get through a Double Gloucester without
hurting himself."
He seemed to have hurt himself very much, for he gave another furious
roar.
"To have Provis for an upper lodger is quite a godsend to Mrs. Whimple,"
said Herbert, "for of course people in general won't stand that noise. A
curious place, Handel; isn't it?"
It was a curious place, indeed; but remarkably well kept and clean.
"Mrs. Whimple," said Herbert, when I told him so, "is the best of
housewives, and I really do not know what my Clara would do without
her motherly help. For, Clara has no mother of her own, Handel, and no
relation in the world but old Gruffandgrim."
"Surely that's not his name, Herbert?"
"No, no," said Herbert, "that's my name for him. His name is Mr. Barley.
But what a blessing it is for the son of my father and mother to love a
girl who has no relations, and who can never bother herself or anybody
else about her family!"
Herbert had told me on former occasions, and now reminded me, that he
first knew Miss Clara Barley when she was completing her education at
an establishment at Hammersmith, and that on her being recalled home
to nurse her father, he and she had confided their affection to the
motherly Mrs. Whimple, by whom it had been fostered and regulated
with equal kindness and discretion, ever since. It was understood that
nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by
reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject
more psychological than Gout, Rum, and Purser's stores.