While he was yet busy with these labours, the hackney-coach, after encountering unheard-of difficulties from swivel-bridges, soft roads, impassable canals, caravans of casks, settlements of scarlet-beans and little wash-houses, and many such obstacles abounding in that country, stopped at the corner of Brig Place. Alighting here, Florence and Susan Nipper walked down the street, and sought out the abode of Captain Cuttle.
It happened by evil chance to be one of Mrs. MacStinger's great cleaning days. On these occasions, Mrs. MacStinger was knocked up by the policeman at a quarter before three in the morning, and rarely succumbed before twelve o'clock next night. The chief object of this institution appeared to be, that Mrs. MacStinger should move all the furniture into the back garden at early dawn, walk about the house in pattens all day, and move the furniture back again after dark. These ceremonies greatly fluttered those doves the young MacStingers, who were not only unable at such times to find any resting-place for the soles of their feet, but generally came in for a good deal of pecking from the maternal bird during the progress of the solemnities.
At the moment when Florence and Susan Nipper presented themselves at Mrs. MacStinger's door, that worthy but redoubtable female was in the act of conveying Alexander MacStinger, aged two years and three months, along the passage for forcible deposition in a sitting posture on the street pavement; Alexander being black in the face with holding his breath after punishment, and a cool paving-stone being usually found to act as a powerful restorative in such cases.
The feelings of Mrs. MacStinger, as a woman and a mother, were outraged by the look of pity for Alexander which she observed on Florence's face. Therefore, Mrs. MacStinger asserting those finest emotions of our nature, in preference to weakly gratifying her curiosity, shook and buffeted Alexander both before and during the application of the paving-stone, and took no further notice of the strangers.
`I beg your pardon, ma'am,' said Florence, when the child had found his breath again, and was using it. `Is this Captain Cuttle's house?'
`No,' said Mrs. MacStinger.
`Not Number Nine?' asked Florence, hesitating.
`Who said it wasn't Number Nine?' said Mrs. MacStinger.
Susan Nipper instantly struck in, and begged to inquire what Mrs. MacStinger meant by that, and if she knew whom she was talking to.
Mrs. MacStinger in retort, looked at her all over. `What do you want with Captain Cuttle, I should wish to know?' said Mrs. MacStinger.
`Should you? Then I'm sorry that you won't be satisfied,' returned Miss Nipper.
`Hush, Susan! If you please!' said Florence. `Perhaps you can have the goodness to tell us where Captain Cuttle lives, ma'am, as he don't live here.'
`Who says he don't live here?' retorted the implacable MacStinger. `I said it wasn't Cap'en Cuttle's house-- and it ain't his house--and forbid it, that it ever should be his house--for Cap'en Cuttle don't know how to keep a house--and don't deserve to have a house--it's my house--and when I let the upper floor to Cap'en Cuttle, oh I do a thankless thing, and cast pearls before swine!'
Mrs. MacStinger pitched her voice for the upper windows in offering these remarks, and cracked off each clause sharply by itself as if from a rifle possessing an infinity of barrels. After the last shot, the Captain's voice was heard to say, in feeble remonstrance from his own room, `Steady below!'