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“Inspectors of customs!” said Mrs. Partington,
energetically, as she laid down the paper chronicling
some new appointment. Here was a new idea, that
broke upon her mind like a ray of sunshine through a
corn barn.

“Inspectors of customs!” and she looked up at the
rigid profile of the old corporal, as if she would ask what
he had to say about it; but that warrior had hung there
too long to be now disturbed by trifles, and he took no
notice of her.

“Inspectors of customs!” continued she, as she
turned her attention to the old black teapot, and then
turned out the tea, which celestial beverage gurgled
through the spout, in harmony with her reflections, not
too strong; “that 's a new idea to me. But, thank
Providence, I ha'n't got no customs that I had n't as
lives they 'd inspect as not; only I 'd a little rather
they would n't. I wish everybody could say so, but
I 'm afeard there are many customs that won't bear
looking into. Well, let every tub stand on its own bottom,
I say — I won't cast no speciousness on nobody.
But I don't see what they wanted to appoint any more
for, and be to so much suspense when every place has so
many in it that will inspect customs for nothing. If
they 'd only make my next-door neighbor, Miss Juniper,
now, an inspector of customs, they would n't need
another for a long ways, that 's mortally sartin.”

p677-092

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She stirred her souchong as she ruminated, untasting,
and Ike helped himself, unheeded, to the last preserved
pear there was in the dish.