The boy gave no answer.
'Is old bellows-to-mend gone to bed?' asked Mr. Sponge in a louder voice.
'The charman's gone,' replied the boy, who looked upon his master--the
chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union--as the impersonification of all
earthly greatness.
'Dash your impittance,' growled Jog, slinking back into the nursery; 'I'll
pay you off! (puff),' added he, with a jerk of his white night-capped head,
'I'll bellows-to-mend you! (wheeze).'
CHAPTER LIV
FAMILY JARS
Gustavus James's internal qualms being at length appeased, Mr. Jogglebury
Crowdey returned to bed, but not to sleep--sleep there was none for him. He
was full of indignation and jealousy, and felt suspicious of the very
bolster itself. He had been insulted--grossly insulted. Three such
names--the 'Woolpack,' 'Old puff-and-blow,' and 'Bellows-to-mend'--no
gentleman, surely, ever was called before by a guest, in his own house.
Called, too, before his own servant. What veneration, what respect, could a
servant feel for a master whom he heard called 'Old bellows-to-mend'? It
damaged the respect inspired by the chairmanship of the Stir-it-stiff
Union, to say nothing of the trusteeship of the Sloppyhocks, Tolpuddle, and
other turnpike-roads.
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