Nor did Mr. Pecksniff alone indulge in the creature comforts during this sad time. Mrs. Gamp proved to be very choice in her eating, and repudiated hashed mutton with scorn. In her drinking too, she was very punctual and particular, requiring a pint of mild porter at lunch, a pint at dinner, half-a-pint as a species of stay or holdfast between dinner and tea, and a pint of the celebrated staggering ale, or Real Old Brighton Tipper, at supper; besides the bottle on the chimneypiece, and such casual invitations to refresh herself with wine as the good breeding of her employers might prompt them to offer. In like manner, Mr. Mould's men found it necessary to drown their grief, like a young kitten in the morning of its existence, for which reason they generally fuddled themselves before they began to do anything, lest it should make head and get the better of them. In short, the whole of that strange week was a round of dismal joviality and grim enjoyment; and every one, except poor Chuffey, who came within the shadow of Anthony Chuzzlewit's grave, feasted like a Ghoul.
At length the day of the funeral, pious and truthful ceremony that it was, arrived. Mr. Mould, with a glass of generous port between his eye and the light, leaned against the desk in the little glass of wine with his gold watch in his unoccupied hand, and conversed with Mrs. Gamp; two mutes were at the house-door, looking as mournful as could be reasonably expected of men with such a thriving job in hand; the whole of Mr. Mould's establishment were on duty within the house or without; feathers waved, horses snorted, silk and velvets fluttered; in a word, as Mr. Mould emphatically said, `everything that money could do was done.'
`And what can do more, Mrs. Gamp?' exclaimed the undertaker as he emptied his glass and smacked his lips.
`Nothing in the world, sir.'
`Nothing in the world,' repeated Mr. Mould. `You are right, Mrs.Gamp.
Why do people spend more money:' here he filled his glass again: `upon a death, Mrs. Gamp, than upon a birth? Come, that's in your way; you ought to know. How do you account for that now?'
`Perhaps it is because an undertaker's charges comes dearer than a nurse's charges, sir,' said Mrs. Gamp, tittering, and smoothing down her new black dress with her hands.
`Ha, ha!' laughed Mr. Mould. `You have been breakfasting at somebody's expense this morning, Mrs. Gamp.' But seeing, by the aid of a little shaving-glass which hung opposite, that he looked merry, he composed his features and became sorrowful.
`Many's the time that I've not breakfasted at my own expense along of your kind recommending, sir; and many's the time I hope to do the same in time to come,' said Mrs. Gamp, with an apologetic curtsey.
`So be it,' replied Mr. Mould, `please Providence. No, Mrs. Gamp; I'll tell you why it is. It's because the laying out of money with a wellconducted establishment, where the thing is performed upon the very best scale, binds the broken heart, and sheds balm upon the wounded spirit. Hearts want binding, and spirits want balming when people die: not when people are born. Look at this gentleman to-day; look at him.'
`An open-handed gentleman?' cried Mrs. Gamp: with enthusiasm.
`No, no,' said the undertaker; `not an open-handed gentleman in general, by any means. There you mistake him: but an afflicted gentleman, an affectionate gentleman, who knows what it is in the power of money to do, in giving him relief, and in testifying his love and veneration for the departed.
It can give him,' said Mr. Mould, waving his watch-chain slowly round and round, so that he described one circle after every item; `it can give him four horses to each vehicle; it can give him velvet trappings; it can give him drivers in cloth cloaks and top-boots; it can give him the plumage of the ostrich, dyed black; it can give him any number of walking attendants, dressed in the first style of funeral fashion, and carrying batons tipped with, brass; it can give him a handsome tomb, it can give him a place in Westminster Abbey itself, if he choose to invest it in such a purchase.
Oh! do not let us say that gold is dross, when it can buy such things as these, Mrs. Gamp.'
`But what a blessing, sir,' said Mrs. Gamp, `that there are such as you, to sell or let 'em out on hire!'
`Aye, Mrs. Gamp, you are right,' rejoined the undertaker. `We should be an honoured calling. We do good by stealth, and blush to have it mentioned in our little bills. How much consolation may I, even I,' cried Mr. Mould, `have diffused among my fellow-creatures by means of my four long-tailed prancers, never harnessed under ten pund ten!'
Mrs. Gamp had begun to make a suitable reply, when she was interrupted by the appearance of one of Mr. Mould's assistants -- his chief mourner in fact -- an obese person, with his waistcoat in closer connexion with his legs than is quite reconcilable with the established ideas of grace; with that cast of feature which is figuratively called a bottle nose; and with a face covered all over with pimples. He had been a tender plant once upon a time, but from constant blowing in the fat atmosphere of funerals, had run to seed.
`Well, Tacker,' said Mr. Mould, `is all ready below?'
`A beautiful show, sir,' rejoined Tacker. `The horses are prouder and fresher than ever I see 'em; and toss their heads, they do, as if they knowed how much their plumes cost. One, two, three, four,' said Mr. Tacker, heaping that number of black cloaks upon his left arm.
`Is Tom there, with the cake and wine?' asked Mr. Mould.
`Ready to come in at a moment's notice, sir,' said Tacker.
`Then,' rejoined Mr. Mould, putting up his watch, and glancing at himself in the little shaving-glass, that he might be sure his face had the right expression on it: `then I think we may proceed to business. Give me the paper of gloves, Tacker. Ah, what a man he was! Ah, Tacker, Tacker, what a man he was!'
