The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

176 TOBIAS SMOLLETT
humble slave from that moment—He received her in his arms, and
giving her his coat to protect her from the weather, ascended again
with admirable dexterity.
At that instant, the landlord of the house called out with an
audible voice, that the fire was extinguished, and the ladies had
nothing further to fear: this was a welcome note to the audience,
and produced an immediate effect; the shrieking ceased, and a con-
fused sound of expostulation ensued. I conducted Mrs. Tabitha
and my sister to their own chamber, where Liddy fainted away;
but was soon brought to herself. Then I went to offer my services
to the other ladies, who might want assistance—They were all
scudding through the passage to their several apartments; and as
the thoroughfair was lighted by two lamps, I had a pretty good
observation of them in their transit; but as most of them were naked
to the smock, and all their heads shrowded in huge nightcaps, I
could not distinguish one face from another, though I recognized
some of their voices—These were generally plaintive: some wept,
some scolded, and some prayed—I lifted up one poor old gentle-
woman, who had been overturned and sore bruised by a multitude
of feet; and this was also the case with the lame parson from
Northumberland, whom Micklewhimmen had in his passage over-
thrown, though not with impunity, for the cripple, in falling, gave
him such a good pelt on the head with his crutch, that the blood
followed.
As for this lawyer, he waited below till the hurly burly was over,
and then stole softly to his own chamber, from whence he did not
venture to make a second sally till eleven in the forenoon, when he
was led into the Public Room by his own servant and another assis-
tant, groaning most woefully, with a bloody napkin round his head.
But things were greatly altered—The selfish brutality of his be-
haviour on the stairs had steeled their hearts against all his arts and
address—Not a soul offered to accommodate him with chair,
cushion, or footstool; so that he was obliged to sit down on a hard
wooden bench—In that position, he looked around with a rueful
aspect, and, bowing very low, said in a whining tone, ‘Your most
humble servant, ladies—Fire is a dreadful calamity—’ ‘Fire purifies
gold, and it tries friendship,’ cried Mrs. Tabitha, bridling. ‘Yea,
madam (replied Micklewhimmen); and it trieth discretion also—’
‘If discretion consists in forsaking a friend in adversity, you are
eminently possessed of that virtue,’ resumed our aunt—‘Na,