"Undertaker!" ejaculated the widow, a light breaking in upon her as she thought of the systematic measurement of the body.
"Undertaker and furnisher of funerals, ma'am, on the most genteel and economic principles."
"Well—I raly took you for a minister," said Mrs. Smith, somewhat disappointed.
"Excellent woman! your goodness flatters me," ejaculated the undertaker. "But here is my card, ma'am—Edward Banks, you perceive—Globe Lane. Ah! my dear madam, I knew your dear deceased husband well! Often and oft have we chanted the same hymn together in the parish church; and often have we drunk together out of the same pewter at the Spotted Dog."
Mournful, indeed, was the shake of the head that accompanied this latter assurance; and the undertaker once more had recourse to his dingy pocket-handkerchief.
The widow used the corner of her apron.
Mr. Banks saw the advantage he had gained, and hastened to clench the object of his visit.
"Yes, my dear madam, no man respected your dear husband more than me: in fact, I wenerated that man. Poor dear Thomas Smith——"
"Matthew, sir," said the widow mildly.
"Ah! so it was, ma'am—Matthew Smith! Good fellow—charming companion—excellent man—gone, gone—never to come back no more!"
And Mr. Banks sobbed audibly.
"Well," observed the widow, wiping her eyes, "it's wery strange that poor dear Mat never should have mentioned your name to me, considering you was so intimate."
"Our friendship, ma'am, was a solemn compact—too solemn to be made a matter of idle conversation. But since I have made myself known to you, my dear madam, do, pray, let me take this unpleasant business off your hands, and conduct the funeral of your lamented lodger."
"Well, sir," said the widow, after a moment's reflection, "since you are in the undertaking line, and as you've called so polite and all, I shall be wery much obleeged——"
"Say no more, my dear Mrs. Smith," exclaimed Mr. Banks. "I will do the thing respectable for you—and wery moderate charges. You need not bother yourself about it in any way. We will bury the dear departed in one of the Globe Lane grounds; and I will even provide the clergyman."
"Do you know a good—pious—sincere minister, that you can recommend, Mr. Banks?" asked the widow.
"I do, ma'am—a godly, dewout, prayerful man—meek and humble," answered the undertaker.
"I rayther want a little advice in one way—quite private," continued Mrs. Smith; "and I should take it as a faviour if your friend the minister would just step round—or shall I call upon him?"
"No, Mrs. Smith—certainly not. He shall pay his respects to you. Gentlemen always waits upon ladies," added Mr. Banks.
Though he uttered a compliment, he did not smile; but Mrs. Smith was flattered; and, leading the way down stairs to her little parlour, she invited Mr. Banks to take "a thimble-full of something short to keep out the damp that cold morning."
Mr. Banks accepted the civility; and the costs of the funeral were duly settled. The undertaker engaged to inter the deceased lodger for five pounds, and pay all expenses. At length he took his leave; and Mrs. Smith felt quite relieved from any anxiety respecting the obsequies of the deceased.
From Mrs. Smith's humble abode, the respectable Mr. Banks proceeded to the dwelling of the Resurrection Man, who had just returned from a visit to the surgeon that had attended upon the deceased. The success of this visit will be related hereafter; for the present, let us hasten to inform our readers that Mr. Banks acquainted his friend Mr. Tidkins with every particular respecting his call upon the widow in Smart Street.
CHAPTER CII.
THE REVEREND VISITOR.
WHEN Mr. Banks had taken his leave of the widow in Smart Street, Globe Town, the latter seated herself in her little parlour to reflect upon what had passed during the interview.
"Well," she said to herself, "that certainly is a wery singular man. To have knowed my husband so well, and for me never to have knowed him! P'raps, after all, my poor Mat was fond of the public-house, and didn't like to speak of the acquaintances he met there. That accounts for his never mentioning Mr. Banks's name. But for a man like Mr. Banks to come here whimpering and crying over a corpse which he never see living, shows a excellent heart. Mr. Banks must be a wery amiable man. And yet I always heerd say that butchers and undertakers was the most unfeelingest of men. They never let butchers set on juries; but I'm sure if undertakers is so milk-hearted, they may set on juries, or up in pulpits, or any where else, for my part. Mr. Banks is a wery respectable man—and a wery pious one too. I'm sure I thought he was going to sing a hymn—'specially after the dodger of gin he took. The minister that he said he'd send to me must be a holy man: I shall put confidence in him—and foller his advice."
A tap at the parlour door interrupted Mrs. Smith's reverie; and the Buffer's wife entered the room.
"How do you do this morning, ma'am?" said Moll Wicks. "I thought I heerd that you had company just now?"
"Only Mr. Banks, the undertaker, Mrs. Wicks."
"Oh! Mr. Banks, was it?" ejaculated the Buffer's wife, who now began to comprehend a part of the Resurrection Man's plan: "and a highly respectable individual he is too."
"Do you know any thing of him, Mrs. Wicks?"
"Certainly I do, ma'am. He buried my grandfather and grandmother, my great uncle and my lame aunt, and never took no more than expenses out of pocket," answered Moll—although be it well remembered, she had never seen nor heard of Mr. Banks before the preceding evening.
"Ah! well—I thought I couldn't be wrong," observed the widow, extremely satisfied with this information.
"And so I suppose, ma'am, you've made the arrangements with him for the funeral?"
"Just so," responded Mrs. Smith; "and in the course of the day I expect a wery pious minister of Mr. Banks's acquaintance."
Scarcely were these words uttered, when a modest double knock at the front door was heard—a summons which Mrs. Wicks volunteered to answer.
The moment she opened the door, an ejaculation of surprise was about to issue from her tongue; but the individual whom she saw upon the threshold put his finger to his lips to impose silence.
The Buffer's wife responded with a significant nod, and introduced the visitor into the widow's parlour.
Moll Wicks then withdrew to her own room.
Meantime the visitor stood in the presence of Mrs. Smith, who beheld before her a short man, with a pale face, dark piercing eyes, shaggy brows, and long straggling black hair. He was dressed in a respectable suit of mourning, and wore a clean white cravat.
"Pardon me, ma'am, if I intrude," said the visitor; "but my friend Mr. Banks—"
"Oh! sir, you are quite welcome," ejaculated the widow. "Pray sit down, sir. I presume you are the reverend minister—"
"I am a humble vessel of the Lord," answered the visitor, casting down his eyes with great meekness: "and I am come to see in what way I can be useful to a respectable widow of whom my friend, the excellent Mr. Banks, has spoken so very highly."
"The truth is, reverend sir," said the widow, sinking her voice, and drawing her chair closer up to her sanctified visitor, "I want some good advice how to act in a wery partickler matter."
"It is my business