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temple, and bearing it bodily upon his shoulders on a sultry day and
along a dusty road. In place of enlivening his patron with a constant
fire of wit or the cheerful rattle of his quarter-staff on the heads of his
relations and acquaintance, here was that beaming Punch utterly
devoid of spine, all slack and drooping in a dark box, with his legs
doubled up round his neck, and not one of his social qualities
remaining.
Mr Codlin trudged heavily on, exchanging a word or two at intervals
with Short, and stopping to rest and growl occasionally. Short led the
way; with the flat box, the private luggage (which was not extensive)
tied up in a bundle, and a brazen trumpet slung from his shoulder-
blade. Nell and her grandfather walked next him on either hand, and
Thomas Codlin brought up the rear.
When they came to any town or village, or even to a detached house of
good appearance, Short blew a blast upon the brazen trumpet and
carolled a fragment of a song in that hilarious tone common to
Punches and their consorts. If people hurried to the windows, Mr
Codlin pitched the temple, and hastily unfurling the drapery and
concealing Short therewith, flourished hysterically on the pipes and
performed an air. Then the entertainment began as soon as might be;
Mr Codlin having the responsibility of deciding on its length and of
protracting or expediting the time for the hero's final triumph over the
enemy of mankind, according as he judged that the after-crop of half-
pence would be plentiful or scant. When it had been gathered in to the
last farthing, he resumed his load and on they went again.
Sometimes they played out the toll across a bridge or ferry, and once
exhibited by particular desire at a turnpike, where the collector, being
drunk in his solitude, paid down a shilling to have it to himself. There
was one small place of rich promise in which their hopes were
blighted, for a favourite character in the play having gold-lace upon
his coat and being a meddling wooden-headed fellow was held to be a
libel on the beadle, for which reason the authorities enforced a quick
retreat; but they were generally well received, and seldom left a town
without a troop of ragged children shouting at their heels.
They made a long day's journey, despite these interruptions, and were
yet upon the road when the moon was shining in the sky. Short
beguiled the time with songs and jests, and made the best of
everything that happened. Mr Codlin on the other hand, cursed his
fate, and all the hollow things of earth (but Punch especially), and
limped along with the theatre on his back, a prey to the bitterest
chagrin.
They had stopped to rest beneath a finger-post where four roads met,
and Mr Codlin in his deep misanthropy had let down the drapery and
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