The Works of Thomas Hood; Vol. 02 (of 11) Comic and Serious, in Prose and Verse, With All the Original Illustrations — Inside the Classic

d to lull him into a sort of sleep with his eyes open; and even when the voice and words of his helpmate grew a little sharp and querulous in detailing all her doubts, and difficulties, and disagreeables, they could not raise even a ripple in the calm placid expanse of his forehead. How should they? His equable German good humour might well be invulnerable to all outward attacks, which had so long withstood every internal one,--ay, in Temper’s very citadel, the stomach. For instance, the better part of his daily diet was of sours. He ate “sauer-kraut,” and “sauer-braten,” with sour sauce and “sauer-ampfer” by way of salad, and pickled plums by way of dessert, and “sauer-milch” with sourish brown bread--and then, to wash these down, he drank sourish “Essigberger” wine, and “sauer-wasser,” of which the village of Kleinewinkel had its own peculiar brunnen. Still, I say, by all these sours, and many others not mentioned besides, his temper was never soured--nor could they turn one drop of the milk of human kindness that flowed in his bosom. Instead, therefore, of his round features being ever rumpled and crumpled, and furrowed up by the plough-share of passion, you never saw any thing on his face but the same everlasting sub-smile of phlegmatic philanthropy. In spite of the stream of complaint that kept pouring into his ear, he forgave Captain Schenk from the bottom of his soul for being billeted on him; and entertained no more spleen towards the King of Prussia and the Quarter-master, than he did towards the gnat that bit him last year. At length, his pipe wanting replenishing, he dropped a few comfortable words to his wife, meanwhile he refilled the bowl, and brought the engine again into play:--

“As for undressing, Malchen--before the strange man--puff--why can’t we go to bed,--puff--before _he_ does,--puff--puff and so put an end to the matter--puff--puff--puff!”

“As I live upon damsons and bullases!” (for it was the plum season,) exclaimed Madame Doppeldick, clapping her fat hands with delight, “I never thought of that! Gretchen, my lass, get the supper ready immediately, for your good master is mortal hungry, and so am I!--and then, my own Dietrich dear, we’ll bundle off to bed as fast as we can!”

THE best of plots may come to the worst of ends. It was no fault, however, of Gretchen’s; for being in a hurry of her own to meet Ludwig Liedeback, she clapped the supper upon the table in no time at all. The transcendental pipe, with the head of Kant upon it, instantly found itself deposited in a by corner; for Mr. Doppeldick, like his better half, was a person of substance, keeping a good running account with Messer and Gabel. Besides, amongst other delicacies, the board actually displayed those rarest of all inland rarities, oysters,--a bag of which the warm-hearted Adam Kloot had sent, by way of a token of remembrance, to his old friend Dietrich; forgetting utterly that it was full a hundred leagues from the nearest high water-mark of the sea to the village of Kleinewinkel. Of course they came like other travellers, with their mouths wide agape, to see the wonders of the place,--but, then, so much the easier they were to open; and as the worthy couple did not contemplate any such superfluous nicety as _shaving_ them before they swallowed them, there was a fair chance that the delicious morsels would all be devoured before the inauspicious arrival of Captain Schenk. Some such speculation seemed to glimmer in the eyes of both Mr. and Mrs. Doppeldick--when, lo! just as the sixth dead oyster had been body-snatched out of its shell, and was being flavoured up with lemon and vinegar, the door opened, and in walked a blue cap with a red band, a pair of mustachios, and a grey cloak without any arms in its sleeves. Had Madame Doppeldick held any thing but an oyster in her mouth at that moment it would infallibly have choked her, the flutter of her heart in her throat was so violent.

“Holy Virgin!--Captain Schenk!”

“At your service, Madame,” answered a voice through the mustachios.