The Chimes | Page 8

must
you! You can't go and give a turn to none of the neighbours never, can't you! WILL you
clear the road, or won't you?'
Strictly speaking, the last question was irrelevant, as they had already done it.
'What's the matter, what's the matter!' said the gentleman for whom the door was opened;
coming out of the house at that kind of light- heavy pace--that peculiar compromise
between a walk and a jog-trot- -with which a gentleman upon the smooth down-hill of
life, wearing creaking boots, a watch-chain, and clean linen, MAY come out of his house:
not only without any abatement of his dignity, but with an expression of having important
and wealthy engagements elsewhere. 'What's the matter! What's the matter!'
'You're always a-being begged, and prayed, upon your bended knees you are,' said the
footman with great emphasis to Trotty Veck, 'to let our door-steps be. Why don't you let
'em be? CAN'T you let 'em be?'
'There! That'll do, that'll do!' said the gentleman. 'Halloa there! Porter!' beckoning with
his head to Trotty Veck. 'Come here. What's that? Your dinner?'
'Yes, sir,' said Trotty, leaving it behind him in a corner.
'Don't leave it there,' exclaimed the gentleman. 'Bring it here, bring it here. So! This is
your dinner, is it?'
'Yes, sir,' repeated Trotty, looking with a fixed eye and a watery mouth, at the piece of
tripe he had reserved for a last delicious tit-bit; which the gentleman was now turning
over and over on the end of the fork.
Two other gentlemen had come out with him. One was a low-spirited gentleman of
middle age, of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who kept his hands continually in
the pockets of his scanty pepper-and-salt trousers, very large and dog's-eared from that
custom; and was not particularly well brushed or washed. The other, a full-sized, sleek,
well-conditioned gentleman, in a blue coat with bright buttons, and a white cravat. This
gentleman had a very red face, as if an undue proportion of the blood in his body were
squeezed up into his head; which perhaps accounted for his having also the appearance of
being rather cold about the heart.
He who had Toby's meat upon the fork, called to the first one by the name of Filer; and
they both drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly short-sighted, was obliged to
go so close to the remnant of Toby's dinner before he could make out what it was, that
Toby's heart leaped up into his mouth. But Mr. Filer didn't eat it.
'This is a description of animal food, Alderman,' said Filer, making little punches in it
with a pencil-case, 'commonly known to the labouring population of this country, by the
name of tripe.'
The Alderman laughed, and winked; for he was a merry fellow, Alderman Cute. Oh, and

a sly fellow too! A knowing fellow. Up to everything. Not to be imposed upon. Deep in
the people's hearts! He knew them, Cute did. I believe you!
'But who eats tripe?' said Mr. Filer, looking round. 'Tripe is without an exception the least
economical, and the most wasteful article of consumption that the markets of this country
can by possibility produce. The loss upon a pound of tripe has been found to be, in the
boiling, seven-eights of a fifth more than the loss upon a pound of any other animal
substance whatever. Tripe is more expensive, properly understood, than the hothouse
pine-apple. Taking into account the number of animals slaughtered yearly within the bills
of mortality alone; and forming a low estimate of the quantity of tripe which the carcases
of those animals, reasonably well butchered, would yield; I find that the waste on that
amount of tripe, if boiled, would victual a garrison of five hundred men for five months
of thirty-one days each, and a February over. The Waste, the Waste!'
Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under him. He seemed to have starved a garrison
of five hundred men with his own hand.
'Who eats tripe?' said Mr. Filer, warmly. 'Who eats tripe?'
Trotty made a miserable bow.
'You do, do you?' said Mr. Filer. 'Then I'll tell you something. You snatch your tripe, my
friend, out of the mouths of widows and orphans.'
'I hope not, sir,' said Trotty, faintly. 'I'd sooner die of want!'
'Divide the amount of tripe before-mentioned, Alderman,' said Mr. Filer, 'by the
estimated number of existing widows and orphans, and the result will be one
pennyweight of tripe to each. Not a grain is left for that man. Consequently, he's a
robber.'
Trotty was so shocked, that it gave him no concern to see the Alderman finish the tripe
himself. It was a relief to get rid of it, anyhow.
'And what do you