The Church not being "thrown
open," he was, as I have said, our clerk. But he punished the
Amens tremendously; and when he gave out the psalm,--always giving
the whole verse,--he looked all round the congregation first, as
much as to say, "You have heard my friend overhead; oblige me with
your opinion of this style!"
I opened the door to the company,--making believe that it was a
habit of ours to open that door,--and I opened it first to Mr.
Wopsle, next to Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, and last of all to Uncle
Pumblechook. N.B. I was not allowed to call him uncle, under the
severest penalties.
"Mrs. Joe," said Uncle Pumblechook, a large hard-breathing
middle-aged slow man, with a mouth like a fish, dull staring eyes,
and sandy hair standing upright on his head, so that he looked as
if he had just been all but choked, and had that moment come to,
"I have brought you as the compliments of the season--I have
brought you, Mum, a bottle of sherry wine--and I have brought you,
Mum, a bottle of port wine."
Every Christmas Day he presented himself, as a profound novelty,
with exactly the same words, and carrying the two bottles like
dumb-bells. Every Christmas Day, Mrs. Joe replied, as she now
replied, "O, Un--cle Pum-ble--chook! This is kind!" Every
Christmas Day, he retorted, as he now retorted, "It's no more than
your merits.
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