From a beam in the roof (which had nothing to do with his scales, as Jem
Prater had imagined), by a long but not well-plaited cord, was dangling
the respected Church-warden Cheeseman. Happily for him, he had relied on
his own goods; and the rope being therefore of very bad hemp, had failed
in this sad and too practical proof. The weight of its vendor had added
to its length some fifteen inches--as he loved to pull out things--and
his toes touched the floor, which relieved him now and then.
"Why don't you cut him down, you old fools?" cried the Admiral to three
gaffers, who stood moralising, while Mrs. Cheeseman sat upon a barrel,
sobbing heavily, with both hands spread to conceal the sad sight.
"We was afraid of hurting of him," said the quickest-witted of the
gaffers; "Us wanted to know why 'a doed it," said the deepest; and, "The
will of the Lord must be done," said the wisest.
After fumbling in vain for his knife, and looking round, the Admiral ran
back into the shop, and caught up the sharp steel blade with which the
victim of a troubled mind had often unsold a sold ounce in the days of
happy commerce. In a moment the Admiral had the poor Church-warden in
his sturdy arms, and with a sailor's skill had unknotted the choking
noose, and was shouting for brandy, as he kept the blue head from
falling back.
When a little of the finest eau de vie that ever was smuggled had been
administered, the patient rallied, and becoming comparatively cheerful,
was enabled to explain that "it was all a mistake altogether.
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