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diff --git a/883-h/883-h.htm b/883-h/883-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d7e005 --- /dev/null +++ b/883-h/883-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,47176 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> + <title> + Our Mutual Friend | Project Gutenberg + </title> +<style> +body { + margin: 5%; + background: #faebd0; + text-align: justify + } +p { + text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em + } +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 { + text-align: center; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15% + } +hr { + width: 50%; + text-align: center + } +.foot { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: -3em; + font-size: 90% + } +blockquote { + font-size: 97%; + font-style: italic; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10% + } +.mynote { + background-color: #DDE; + color: #000; + padding: 0.5em; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-family: sans-serif; + font-size: 95% + } +.toc { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-bottom: 0.75em + } +.toc2 { + margin-left: 20% + } +.indent5 { + margin-left: 5% + } +.indent10 { + margin-left: 10% + } +.indent15 { + margin-left: 15% + } +.indent20 { + margin-left: 20% + } +div.fig { + display: block; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center + } +div.middle { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify + } +.figleft { + float: left; + margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1% + } +.figright { + float: right; + margin-right: 0%; + margin-left: 1% + } +.pagenum { + display: inline; + font-size: 100%; + font-style: normal; + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + position: absolute; + right: 1%; + text-align: right + } +.side { + float: left; + font-size: 75%; + width: 25%; + padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; + font-weight: bold; + font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; + color: black; + background: #eee; + border: solid 1px + } +p.pfirst, p.noindent { + text-indent: 0 + } +span.dropcap { + float: left; + margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; + line-height: 1 + } +p.poem { + font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 10% + } +p.poem span.poemindent { + margin-left: 2% + } +p.bordered { + font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 30%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + border-style: solid; + border-width: 1px; + padding: 2%; + display: inline-block + } +p.bordered.centered { + text-align: center + } + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 883 ***</div> +<p> +<br> +</p> +<p> +<br> +</p> +<hr> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<h1> + OUR MUTUAL FRIEND + </h1> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<h2> + Charles Dickens + </h2> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0010m " src="images/0010m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0010m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0010.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-1659942493229705187"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0012m " src="images/0012m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0012m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0012.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-5482074888354630891"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<hr> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class="toc2"> +<p> +<br><a href="#link2H_4_0001" class="pginternal"> <b>BOOK THE FIRST — THE CUP AND + THE LIP</b> </a> +</p> +<table><tbody> +<tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0001" class="pginternal"> Chapter 1 </a><br> +<a href="#link2HCH0002" class="pginternal"> Chapter 2 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0003" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 3 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0004" class="pginternal"> Chapter 4 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0005" class="pginternal"> Chapter 5 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0006" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 6 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0007" class="pginternal"> Chapter 7 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0008" class="pginternal"> Chapter 8 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0009" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 9 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0010" class="pginternal"> Chapter 10 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0011" class="pginternal"> Chapter 11 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0012" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 12 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0013" class="pginternal"> Chapter 13 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0014" class="pginternal"> Chapter 14 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0015" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 15 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0016" class="pginternal"> Chapter 16 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0017" class="pginternal"> Chapter 17 </a></td></tr> + </tbody></table> + <p> <br> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019" class="pginternal"> <b>BOOK THE SECOND — BIRDS OF A FEATHER</b></a> + </p> +<table><tbody> +<tr><td> +<a href="#link2HCH0018" class="pginternal"> Chapter 1 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0019" class="pginternal"> Chapter 2 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0020" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 3 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0021" class="pginternal"> Chapter 4 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0022" class="pginternal"> Chapter 5 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0023" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 6 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0024" class="pginternal"> Chapter 7 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0025" class="pginternal"> Chapter 8 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0026" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 9 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0027" class="pginternal"> Chapter 10 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0028" class="pginternal"> Chapter 11 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0029" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 12 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0030" class="pginternal"> Chapter 13 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0031" class="pginternal"> Chapter 14 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0032" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 15 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0033" class="pginternal"> Chapter 16 </a></td></tr> + </tbody></table> +<p><br> +<a href="#link2H_4_0036" class="pginternal"> +<b>BOOK THE THIRD — A LONG LANE</b> </a> + </p> +<table><tbody> +<tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0034" class="pginternal"> Chapter 1 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0035" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 2 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0036" class="pginternal"> Chapter 3 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0037" class="pginternal"> Chapter 4 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0038" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 5 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0039" class="pginternal"> Chapter 6 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0040" class="pginternal"> Chapter 7 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0041" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 8 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0042" class="pginternal"> Chapter 9 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0043" class="pginternal"> Chapter 10 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0044" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 11 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0045" class="pginternal"> Chapter 12 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0046" class="pginternal"> Chapter 13 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0047" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 14 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0048" class="pginternal"> Chapter 15 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0049" class="pginternal"> Chapter 16 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0050" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 17 </a> </td></tr> + </tbody></table> + <p> <br> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054" class="pginternal"> <b>BOOK THE FOURTH — A TURNING</b> </a> + </p> + <table><tbody> +<tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0051" class="pginternal"> Chapter 1 </a><br> +<a href="#link2HCH0052" class="pginternal"> Chapter 2 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0053" class="pginternal"> Chapter 3 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0054" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 4 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0055" class="pginternal"> Chapter 5 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0056" class="pginternal"> Chapter 6 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0057" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 7 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0058" class="pginternal"> Chapter 8 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0059" class="pginternal"> Chapter 9 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0060" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 10 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0061" class="pginternal"> Chapter 11 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0062" class="pginternal"> Chapter 12 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0063" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 13 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0064" class="pginternal"> Chapter 14 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0065" class="pginternal"> Chapter 15 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0066" class="pginternal"> + Chapter 16 </a> </td></tr><tr><td> <a href="#link2HCH0067" class="pginternal"> Chapter 17 </a></td></tr> + </tbody></table> + +</div> + +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<hr> +<p> +<a id="link2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br> <br> +</p> +<h2> + BOOK THE FIRST — THE CUP AND THE LIP + </h2> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> +<h3> + ON THE LOOK OUT + </h3> +<p> + In these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no need + to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with two + figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge which is of + iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn evening was + closing in. + </p> +<p> + The figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled + hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty, + sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl rowed, + pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the rudder-lines slack + in his hands, and his hands loose in his waistband, kept an eager look + out. He had no net, hook, or line, and he could not be a fisherman; his + boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no inscription, no appliance + beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a + waterman; his boat was too crazy and too small to take in cargo for + delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or river-carrier; there was no + clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a most + intent and searching gaze. The tide, which had turned an hour before, was + running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad + sweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern + foremost before it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of + his head. She watched his face as earnestly as he watched the river. But, + in the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror. + </p> +<p> + Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of + the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this + boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that they + often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage as the man + showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his brown arms bare to + between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose knot of a looser + kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard and + whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming to be made out of the mud that + begrimed his boat, still there was a business-like usage in his steady + gaze. So with every lithe action of the girl, with every turn of her + wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror; they were + things of usage. + </p> +<p> + ‘Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the + sweep of it.’ + </p> +<p> + Trusting to the girl’s skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the + coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it + happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into the + bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore some + resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as though + with diluted blood. This caught the girl’s eye, and she shivered. + </p> +<p> + ‘What ails you?’ said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent + on the advancing waters; ‘I see nothing afloat.’ + </p> +<p> + The red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had come + back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again. Wheresoever the + strong tide met with an impediment, his gaze paused for an instant. At + every mooring-chain and rope, at every stationery boat or barge that split + the current into a broad-arrowhead, at the offsets from the piers of + Southwark Bridge, at the paddles of the river steamboats as they beat the + filthy water, at the floating logs of timber lashed together lying off + certain wharves, his shining eyes darted a hungry look. After a darkening + hour or so, suddenly the rudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he + steered hard towards the Surrey shore. + </p> +<p> + Always watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in her + sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden jerk, + and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern. + </p> +<p> + The girl pulled the hood of a cloak she wore, over her head and over her + face, and, looking backward so that the front folds of this hood were + turned down the river, kept the boat in that direction going before the + tide. Until now, the boat had barely held her own, and had hovered about + one spot; but now, the banks changed swiftly, and the deepening shadows + and the kindling lights of London Bridge were passed, and the tiers of + shipping lay on either hand. + </p> +<p> + It was not until now that the upper half of the man came back into the + boat. His arms were wet and dirty, and he washed them over the side. In + his right hand he held something, and he washed that in the river too. It + was money. He chinked it once, and he blew upon it once, and he spat upon + it once,—‘for luck,’ he hoarsely said—before he put it in his + pocket. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie!’ + </p> +<p> + The girl turned her face towards him with a start, and rowed in silence. + Her face was very pale. He was a hook-nosed man, and with that and his + bright eyes and his ruffled head, bore a certain likeness to a roused bird + of prey. + </p> +<p> + ‘Take that thing off your face.’ + </p> +<p> + She put it back. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here! and give me hold of the sculls. I’ll take the rest of the spell.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, father! No! I can’t indeed. Father!—I cannot sit so near + it!’ + </p> +<p> + He was moving towards her to change places, but her terrified + expostulation stopped him and he resumed his seat. + </p> +<p> + ‘What hurt can it do you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘None, none. But I cannot bear it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s my belief you hate the sight of the very river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I—I do not like it, father.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As if it wasn’t your living! As if it wasn’t meat and drink to you!’ + </p> +<p> + At these latter words the girl shivered again, and for a moment paused in + her rowing, seeming to turn deadly faint. It escaped his attention, for he + was glancing over the stern at something the boat had in tow. + </p> +<p> + ‘How can you be so thankless to your best friend, Lizzie? The very fire + that warmed you when you were a babby, was picked out of the river + alongside the coal barges. The very basket that you slept in, the tide + washed ashore. The very rockers that I put it upon to make a cradle of it, + I cut out of a piece of wood that drifted from some ship or another.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie took her right hand from the scull it held, and touched her lips + with it, and for a moment held it out lovingly towards him: then, without + speaking, she resumed her rowing, as another boat of similar appearance, + though in rather better trim, came out from a dark place and dropped + softly alongside. + </p> +<p> + ‘In luck again, Gaffer?’ said a man with a squinting leer, who sculled her + and who was alone, ‘I know’d you was in luck again, by your wake as you + come down.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ replied the other, drily. ‘So you’re out, are you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, pardner.’ + </p> +<p> + There was now a tender yellow moonlight on the river, and the new comer, + keeping half his boat’s length astern of the other boat, looked hard at its + track. + </p> +<p> + ‘I says to myself,’ he went on, ‘directly you hove in view, yonder’s + Gaffer, and in luck again, by George if he ain’t! Scull it is, pardner—don’t + fret yourself—I didn’t touch him.’ This was in answer to a quick + impatient movement on the part of Gaffer: the speaker at the same time + unshipping his scull on that side, and laying his hand on the gunwale of + Gaffer’s boat and holding to it. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s had touches enough not to want no more, as well as I make him out, + Gaffer! Been a knocking about with a pretty many tides, ain’t he pardner? + Such is my out-of-luck ways, you see! He must have passed me when he went + up last time, for I was on the lookout below bridge here. I a’most think + you’re like the wulturs, pardner, and scent ’em out.’ + </p> +<p> + He spoke in a dropped voice, and with more than one glance at Lizzie who + had pulled on her hood again. Both men then looked with a weird unholy + interest in the wake of Gaffer’s boat. + </p> +<p> + ‘Easy does it, betwixt us. Shall I take him aboard, pardner?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said the other. In so surly a tone that the man, after a blank + stare, acknowledged it with the retort: + </p> +<p> + ‘—Arn’t been eating nothing as has disagreed with you, have you, + pardner?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, yes, I have,’ said Gaffer. ‘I have been swallowing too much of that + word, Pardner. I am no pardner of yours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Since when was you no pardner of mine, Gaffer Hexam Esquire?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Since you was accused of robbing a man. Accused of robbing a live man!’ + said Gaffer, with great indignation. + </p> +<p> + ‘And what if I had been accused of robbing a dead man, Gaffer?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You <i>couldn’t</i> do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Couldn’t you, Gaffer?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Has a dead man any use for money? Is it possible for a dead man to + have money? What world does a dead man belong to? ‘Tother world. What + world does money belong to? This world. How can money be a corpse’s? Can a + corpse own it, want it, spend it, claim it, miss it? Don’t try to go + confounding the rights and wrongs of things in that way. But it’s worthy + of the sneaking spirit that robs a live man.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell you what it is—.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No you won’t. I’ll tell you what it is. You got off with a short time of + it for putting your hand in the pocket of a sailor, a live sailor. Make + the most of it and think yourself lucky, but don’t think after that to + come over <i>me</i> with your pardners. We have worked together in time past, but + we work together no more in time present nor yet future. Let go. Cast + off!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gaffer! If you think to get rid of me this way—.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I don’t get rid of you this way, I’ll try another, and chop you over + the fingers with the stretcher, or take a pick at your head with the + boat-hook. Cast off! Pull you, Lizzie. Pull home, since you won’t let your + father pull.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie shot ahead, and the other boat fell astern. Lizzie’s father, + composing himself into the easy attitude of one who had asserted the high + moralities and taken an unassailable position, slowly lighted a pipe, and + smoked, and took a survey of what he had in tow. What he had in tow, + lunged itself at him sometimes in an awful manner when the boat was + checked, and sometimes seemed to try to wrench itself away, though for the + most part it followed submissively. A neophyte might have fancied that the + ripples passing over it were dreadfully like faint changes of expression + on a sightless face; but Gaffer was no neophyte and had no fancies. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> +<h3> + THE MAN FROM SOMEWHERE + </h3> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Veneering were bran-new people in a bran-new house in a + bran-new quarter of London. Everything about the Veneerings was spick and + span new. All their furniture was new, all their friends were new, all + their servants were new, their plate was new, their carriage was new, + their harness was new, their horses were new, their pictures were new, + they themselves were new, they were as newly married as was lawfully + compatible with their having a bran-new baby, and if they had set up a + great-grandfather, he would have come home in matting from the + Pantechnicon, without a scratch upon him, French polished to the crown of + his head. + </p> +<p> + For, in the Veneering establishment, from the hall-chairs with the new + coat of arms, to the grand pianoforte with the new action, and upstairs + again to the new fire-escape, all things were in a state of high varnish + and polish. And what was observable in the furniture, was observable in + the Veneerings—the surface smelt a little too much of the workshop + and was a trifle sticky. + </p> +<p> + There was an innocent piece of dinner-furniture that went upon easy + castors and was kept over a livery stable-yard in Duke Street, Saint + James’s, when not in use, to whom the Veneerings were a source of blind + confusion. The name of this article was Twemlow. Being first cousin to + Lord Snigsworth, he was in frequent requisition, and at many houses might + be said to represent the dining-table in its normal state. Mr and Mrs + Veneering, for example, arranging a dinner, habitually started with + Twemlow, and then put leaves in him, or added guests to him. Sometimes, + the table consisted of Twemlow and half a dozen leaves; sometimes, of + Twemlow and a dozen leaves; sometimes, Twemlow was pulled out to his + utmost extent of twenty leaves. Mr and Mrs Veneering on occasions of + ceremony faced each other in the centre of the board, and thus the + parallel still held; for, it always happened that the more Twemlow was + pulled out, the further he found himself from the center, and nearer to + the sideboard at one end of the room, or the window-curtains at the other. + </p> +<p> + But, it was not this which steeped the feeble soul of Twemlow in + confusion. This he was used to, and could take soundings of. The abyss to + which he could find no bottom, and from which started forth the engrossing + and ever-swelling difficulty of his life, was the insoluble question + whether he was Veneering’s oldest friend, or newest friend. To the + excogitation of this problem, the harmless gentleman had devoted many + anxious hours, both in his lodgings over the livery stable-yard, and in + the cold gloom, favourable to meditation, of Saint James’s Square. Thus. + Twemlow had first known Veneering at his club, where Veneering then knew + nobody but the man who made them known to one another, who seemed to be + the most intimate friend he had in the world, and whom he had known two + days—the bond of union between their souls, the nefarious conduct of + the committee respecting the cookery of a fillet of veal, having been + accidentally cemented at that date. Immediately upon this, Twemlow + received an invitation to dine with Veneering, and dined: the man being of + the party. Immediately upon that, Twemlow received an invitation to dine + with the man, and dined: Veneering being of the party. At the man’s were a + Member, an Engineer, a Payer-off of the National Debt, a Poem on + Shakespeare, a Grievance, and a Public Office, who all seem to be utter + strangers to Veneering. And yet immediately after that, Twemlow received + an invitation to dine at Veneerings, expressly to meet the Member, the + Engineer, the Payer-off of the National Debt, the Poem on Shakespeare, the + Grievance, and the Public Office, and, dining, discovered that all of them + were the most intimate friends Veneering had in the world, and that the + wives of all of them (who were all there) were the objects of Mrs + Veneering’s most devoted affection and tender confidence. + </p> +<p> + Thus it had come about, that Mr Twemlow had said to himself in his + lodgings, with his hand to his forehead: ‘I must not think of this. This + is enough to soften any man’s brain,’—and yet was always thinking of + it, and could never form a conclusion. + </p> +<p> + This evening the Veneerings give a banquet. Eleven leaves in the Twemlow; + fourteen in company all told. Four pigeon-breasted retainers in plain + clothes stand in line in the hall. A fifth retainer, proceeding up the + staircase with a mournful air—as who should say, ‘Here is another + wretched creature come to dinner; such is life!’—announces, ‘Mis-ter + Twemlow!’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Veneering welcomes her sweet Mr Twemlow. Mr Veneering welcomes his + dear Twemlow. Mrs Veneering does not expect that Mr Twemlow can in nature + care much for such insipid things as babies, but so old a friend must + please to look at baby. ‘Ah! You will know the friend of your family + better, Tootleums,’ says Mr Veneering, nodding emotionally at that new + article, ‘when you begin to take notice.’ He then begs to make his dear + Twemlow known to his two friends, Mr Boots and Mr Brewer—and clearly + has no distinct idea which is which. + </p> +<p> + But now a fearful circumstance occurs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mis-ter and Mis-sus Podsnap!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ says Mr Veneering to Mrs Veneering, with an air of much + friendly interest, while the door stands open, ‘the Podsnaps.’ + </p> +<p> + A too, too smiling large man, with a fatal freshness on him, appearing + with his wife, instantly deserts his wife and darts at Twemlow with: + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you do? So glad to know you. Charming house you have here. I hope + we are not late. So glad of the opportunity, I am sure!’ + </p> +<p> + When the first shock fell upon him, Twemlow twice skipped back in his neat + little shoes and his neat little silk stockings of a bygone fashion, as if + impelled to leap over a sofa behind him; but the large man closed with him + and proved too strong. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me,’ says the large man, trying to attract the attention of his wife + in the distance, ‘have the pleasure of presenting Mrs Podsnap to her host. + She will be,’ in his fatal freshness he seems to find perpetual verdure + and eternal youth in the phrase, ‘she will be so glad of the opportunity, + I am sure!’ + </p> +<p> + In the meantime, Mrs Podsnap, unable to originate a mistake on her own + account, because Mrs Veneering is the only other lady there, does her best + in the way of handsomely supporting her husband’s, by looking towards Mr + Twemlow with a plaintive countenance and remarking to Mrs Veneering in a + feeling manner, firstly, that she fears he has been rather bilious of + late, and, secondly, that the baby is already very like him. + </p> +<p> + It is questionable whether any man quite relishes being mistaken for any + other man; but, Mr Veneering having this very evening set up the + shirt-front of the young Antinous in new worked cambric just come home, is + not at all complimented by being supposed to be Twemlow, who is dry and + weazen and some thirty years older. Mrs Veneering equally resents the + imputation of being the wife of Twemlow. As to Twemlow, he is so sensible + of being a much better bred man than Veneering, that he considers the + large man an offensive ass. + </p> +<p> + In this complicated dilemma, Mr Veneering approaches the large man with + extended hand and, smilingly assures that incorrigible personage that he + is delighted to see him: who in his fatal freshness instantly replies: + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you. I am ashamed to say that I cannot at this moment recall where + we met, but I am so glad of this opportunity, I am sure!’ + </p> +<p> + Then pouncing upon Twemlow, who holds back with all his feeble might, he + is haling him off to present him, as Veneering, to Mrs Podsnap, when the + arrival of more guests unravels the mistake. Whereupon, having re-shaken + hands with Veneering as Veneering, he re-shakes hands with Twemlow as + Twemlow, and winds it all up to his own perfect satisfaction by saying to + the last-named, ‘Ridiculous opportunity—but so glad of it, I am + sure!’ + </p> +<p> + Now, Twemlow having undergone this terrific experience, having likewise + noted the fusion of Boots in Brewer and Brewer in Boots, and having + further observed that of the remaining seven guests four discrete + characters enter with wandering eyes and wholly declined to commit + themselves as to which is Veneering, until Veneering has them in his + grasp;—Twemlow having profited by these studies, finds his brain + wholesomely hardening as he approaches the conclusion that he really is + Veneering’s oldest friend, when his brain softens again and all is lost, + through his eyes encountering Veneering and the large man linked together + as twin brothers in the back drawing-room near the conservatory door, and + through his ears informing him in the tones of Mrs Veneering that the same + large man is to be baby’s godfather. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dinner is on the table!’ + </p> +<p> + Thus the melancholy retainer, as who should say, ‘Come down and be + poisoned, ye unhappy children of men!’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow, having no lady assigned him, goes down in the rear, with his hand + to his forehead. Boots and Brewer, thinking him indisposed, whisper, ‘Man + faint. Had no lunch.’ But he is only stunned by the unvanquishable + difficulty of his existence. + </p> +<p> + Revived by soup, Twemlow discourses mildly of the Court Circular with + Boots and Brewer. Is appealed to, at the fish stage of the banquet, by + Veneering, on the disputed question whether his cousin Lord Snigsworth is + in or out of town? Gives it that his cousin is out of town. ‘At + Snigsworthy Park?’ Veneering inquires. ‘At Snigsworthy,’ Twemlow rejoins. + Boots and Brewer regard this as a man to be cultivated; and Veneering is + clear that he is a remunerative article. Meantime the retainer goes round, + like a gloomy Analytical Chemist: always seeming to say, after ‘Chablis, + sir?’—‘You wouldn’t if you knew what it’s made of.’ + </p> +<p> + The great looking-glass above the sideboard, reflects the table and the + company. Reflects the new Veneering crest, in gold and eke in silver, + frosted and also thawed, a camel of all work. The Heralds’ College found + out a Crusading ancestor for Veneering who bore a camel on his shield (or + might have done it if he had thought of it), and a caravan of camels take + charge of the fruits and flowers and candles, and kneel down to be loaded + with the salt. Reflects Veneering; forty, wavy-haired, dark, tending to + corpulence, sly, mysterious, filmy—a kind of sufficiently + well-looking veiled-prophet, not prophesying. Reflects Mrs Veneering; + fair, aquiline-nosed and fingered, not so much light hair as she might + have, gorgeous in raiment and jewels, enthusiastic, propitiatory, + conscious that a corner of her husband’s veil is over herself. Reflects + Podsnap; prosperously feeding, two little light-coloured wiry wings, one + on either side of his else bald head, looking as like his hairbrushes as + his hair, dissolving view of red beads on his forehead, large allowance of + crumpled shirt-collar up behind. Reflects Mrs Podsnap; fine woman for + Professor Owen, quantity of bone, neck and nostrils like a rocking-horse, + hard features, majestic head-dress in which Podsnap has hung golden + offerings. Reflects Twemlow; grey, dry, polite, susceptible to east wind, + First-Gentleman-in-Europe collar and cravat, cheeks drawn in as if he had + made a great effort to retire into himself some years ago, and had got so + far and had never got any farther. Reflects mature young lady; raven + locks, and complexion that lights up well when well powdered—as it + is—carrying on considerably in the captivation of mature young + gentleman; with too much nose in his face, too much ginger in his + whiskers, too much torso in his waistcoat, too much sparkle in his studs, + his eyes, his buttons, his talk, and his teeth. Reflects charming old Lady + Tippins on Veneering’s right; with an immense obtuse drab oblong face, + like a face in a tablespoon, and a dyed Long Walk up the top of her head, + as a convenient public approach to the bunch of false hair behind, pleased + to patronize Mrs Veneering opposite, who is pleased to be patronized. + Reflects a certain ‘Mortimer’, another of Veneering’s oldest friends; who + never was in the house before, and appears not to want to come again, who + sits disconsolate on Mrs Veneering’s left, and who was inveigled by Lady + Tippins (a friend of his boyhood) to come to these people’s and talk, and + who won’t talk. Reflects Eugene, friend of Mortimer; buried alive in the + back of his chair, behind a shoulder—with a powder-epaulette on it—of + the mature young lady, and gloomily resorting to the champagne chalice + whenever proffered by the Analytical Chemist. Lastly, the looking-glass + reflects Boots and Brewer, and two other stuffed Buffers interposed + between the rest of the company and possible accidents. + </p> +<p> + The Veneering dinners are excellent dinners—or new people wouldn’t + come—and all goes well. Notably, Lady Tippins has made a series of + experiments on her digestive functions, so extremely complicated and + daring, that if they could be published with their results it might + benefit the human race. Having taken in provisions from all parts of the + world, this hardy old cruiser has last touched at the North Pole, when, as + the ice-plates are being removed, the following words fall from her: + </p> +<p> + ‘I assure you, my dear Veneering—’ + </p> +<p> + (Poor Twemlow’s hand approaches his forehead, for it would seem now, that + Lady Tippins is going to be the oldest friend.) + </p> +<p> + ‘I assure you, my dear Veneering, that it is the oddest affair! Like the + advertising people, I don’t ask you to trust me, without offering a + respectable reference. Mortimer there, is my reference, and knows all + about it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer raises his drooping eyelids, and slightly opens his mouth. But a + faint smile, expressive of ‘What’s the use!’ passes over his face, and he + drops his eyelids and shuts his mouth. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Mortimer,’ says Lady Tippins, rapping the sticks of her closed green + fan upon the knuckles of her left hand—which is particularly rich in + knuckles, ‘I insist upon your telling all that is to be told about the man + from Jamaica.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give you my honour I never heard of any man from Jamaica, except the man + who was a brother,’ replies Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tobago, then.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor yet from Tobago.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Except,’ Eugene strikes in: so unexpectedly that the mature young lady, + who has forgotten all about him, with a start takes the epaulette out of + his way: ‘except our friend who long lived on rice-pudding and isinglass, + till at length to his something or other, his physician said something + else, and a leg of mutton somehow ended in daygo.’ + </p> +<p> + A reviving impression goes round the table that Eugene is coming out. An + unfulfilled impression, for he goes in again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, my dear Mrs Veneering,’ quoth Lady Tippins, I appeal to you whether + this is not the basest conduct ever known in this world? I carry my lovers + about, two or three at a time, on condition that they are very obedient + and devoted; and here is my oldest lover-in-chief, the head of all my + slaves, throwing off his allegiance before company! And here is another of + my lovers, a rough Cymon at present certainly, but of whom I had most + hopeful expectations as to his turning out well in course of time, + pretending that he can’t remember his nursery rhymes! On purpose to annoy + me, for he knows how I doat upon them!’ + </p> +<p> + A grisly little fiction concerning her lovers is Lady Tippins’s point. She + is always attended by a lover or two, and she keeps a little list of her + lovers, and she is always booking a new lover, or striking out an old + lover, or putting a lover in her black list, or promoting a lover to her + blue list, or adding up her lovers, or otherwise posting her book. Mrs + Veneering is charmed by the humour, and so is Veneering. Perhaps it is + enhanced by a certain yellow play in Lady Tippins’s throat, like the legs + of scratching poultry. + </p> +<p> + ‘I banish the false wretch from this moment, and I strike him out of my + Cupidon (my name for my Ledger, my dear,) this very night. But I am + resolved to have the account of the man from Somewhere, and I beg you to + elicit it for me, my love,’ to Mrs Veneering, ‘as I have lost my own + influence. Oh, you perjured man!’ This to Mortimer, with a rattle of her + fan. + </p> +<p> + ‘We are all very much interested in the man from Somewhere,’ Veneering + observes. + </p> +<p> + Then the four Buffers, taking heart of grace all four at once, say: + </p> +<p> + ‘Deeply interested!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite excited!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dramatic!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Man from Nowhere, perhaps!’ + </p> +<p> + And then Mrs Veneering—for the Lady Tippins’s winning wiles are + contagious—folds her hands in the manner of a supplicating child, + turns to her left neighbour, and says, ‘Tease! Pay! Man from Tumwhere!’ At + which the four Buffers, again mysteriously moved all four at once, + explain, ‘You can’t resist!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my life,’ says Mortimer languidly, ‘I find it immensely embarrassing + to have the eyes of Europe upon me to this extent, and my only consolation + is that you will all of you execrate Lady Tippins in your secret hearts + when you find, as you inevitably will, the man from Somewhere a bore. + Sorry to destroy romance by fixing him with a local habitation, but he + comes from the place, the name of which escapes me, but will suggest + itself to everybody else here, where they make the wine.’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene suggests ‘Day and Martin’s.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, not that place,’ returns the unmoved Mortimer, ‘that’s where they + make the Port. My man comes from the country where they make the Cape + Wine. But look here, old fellow; it’s not at all statistical and it’s + rather odd.’ + </p> +<p> + It is always noticeable at the table of the Veneerings, that no man + troubles himself much about the Veneerings themselves, and that any one + who has anything to tell, generally tells it to anybody else in + preference. + </p> +<p> + ‘The man,’ Mortimer goes on, addressing Eugene, ‘whose name is Harmon, was + only son of a tremendous old rascal who made his money by Dust.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Red velveteens and a bell?’ the gloomy Eugene inquires. + </p> +<p> + ‘And a ladder and basket if you like. By which means, or by others, he + grew rich as a Dust Contractor, and lived in a hollow in a hilly country + entirely composed of Dust. On his own small estate the growling old + vagabond threw up his own mountain range, like an old volcano, and its + geological formation was Dust. Coal-dust, vegetable-dust, bone-dust, + crockery dust, rough dust and sifted dust,—all manner of Dust.’ + </p> +<p> + A passing remembrance of Mrs Veneering, here induces Mortimer to address + his next half-dozen words to her; after which he wanders away again, tries + Twemlow and finds he doesn’t answer, ultimately takes up with the Buffers + who receive him enthusiastically. + </p> +<p> + ‘The moral being—I believe that’s the right expression—of this + exemplary person, derived its highest gratification from anathematizing + his nearest relations and turning them out of doors. Having begun (as was + natural) by rendering these attentions to the wife of his bosom, he next + found himself at leisure to bestow a similar recognition on the claims of + his daughter. He chose a husband for her, entirely to his own satisfaction + and not in the least to hers, and proceeded to settle upon her, as her + marriage portion, I don’t know how much Dust, but something immense. At + this stage of the affair the poor girl respectfully intimated that she was + secretly engaged to that popular character whom the novelists and + versifiers call Another, and that such a marriage would make Dust of her + heart and Dust of her life—in short, would set her up, on a very + extensive scale, in her father’s business. Immediately, the venerable + parent—on a cold winter’s night, it is said—anathematized and + turned her out.’ + </p> +<p> + Here, the Analytical Chemist (who has evidently formed a very low opinion + of Mortimer’s story) concedes a little claret to the Buffers; who, again + mysteriously moved all four at once, screw it slowly into themselves with + a peculiar twist of enjoyment, as they cry in chorus, ‘Pray go on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The pecuniary resources of Another were, as they usually are, of a very + limited nature. I believe I am not using too strong an expression when I + say that Another was hard up. However, he married the young lady, and they + lived in a humble dwelling, probably possessing a porch ornamented with + honeysuckle and woodbine twining, until she died. I must refer you to the + Registrar of the District in which the humble dwelling was situated, for + the certified cause of death; but early sorrow and anxiety may have had to + do with it, though they may not appear in the ruled pages and printed + forms. Indisputably this was the case with Another, for he was so cut up + by the loss of his young wife that if he outlived her a year it was as + much as he did.’ + </p> +<p> + There is that in the indolent Mortimer, which seems to hint that if good + society might on any account allow itself to be impressible, he, one of + good society, might have the weakness to be impressed by what he here + relates. It is hidden with great pains, but it is in him. The gloomy + Eugene too, is not without some kindred touch; for, when that appalling + Lady Tippins declares that if Another had survived, he should have gone + down at the head of her list of lovers—and also when the mature + young lady shrugs her epaulettes, and laughs at some private and + confidential comment from the mature young gentleman—his gloom + deepens to that degree that he trifles quite ferociously with his + dessert-knife. + </p> +<p> + Mortimer proceeds. + </p> +<p> + ‘We must now return, as novelists say, and as we all wish they wouldn’t, + to the man from Somewhere. Being a boy of fourteen, cheaply educated at + Brussels when his sister’s expulsion befell, it was some little time + before he heard of it—probably from herself, for the mother was + dead; but that I don’t know. Instantly, he absconded, and came over here. + He must have been a boy of spirit and resource, to get here on a stopped + allowance of five sous a week; but he did it somehow, and he burst in on + his father, and pleaded his sister’s cause. Venerable parent promptly + resorts to anathematization, and turns him out. Shocked and terrified boy + takes flight, seeks his fortune, gets aboard ship, ultimately turns up on + dry land among the Cape wine: small proprietor, farmer, grower—whatever + you like to call it.’ + </p> +<p> + At this juncture, shuffling is heard in the hall, and tapping is heard at + the dining-room door. Analytical Chemist goes to the door, confers angrily + with unseen tapper, appears to become mollified by descrying reason in the + tapping, and goes out. + </p> +<p> + ‘So he was discovered, only the other day, after having been expatriated + about fourteen years.’ + </p> +<p> + A Buffer, suddenly astounding the other three, by detaching himself, and + asserting individuality, inquires: ‘How discovered, and why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! To be sure. Thank you for reminding me. Venerable parent dies.’ + </p> +<p> + Same Buffer, emboldened by success, says: ‘When?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The other day. Ten or twelve months ago.’ + </p> +<p> + Same Buffer inquires with smartness, ‘What of?’ But herein perishes a + melancholy example; being regarded by the three other Buffers with a stony + stare, and attracting no further attention from any mortal. + </p> +<p> + ‘Venerable parent,’ Mortimer repeats with a passing remembrance that there + is a Veneering at table, and for the first time addressing him—‘dies.’ + </p> +<p> + The gratified Veneering repeats, gravely, ‘dies’; and folds his arms, and + composes his brow to hear it out in a judicial manner, when he finds + himself again deserted in the bleak world. + </p> +<p> + ‘His will is found,’ said Mortimer, catching Mrs Podsnap’s rocking-horse’s + eye. ‘It is dated very soon after the son’s flight. It leaves the lowest + of the range of dust-mountains, with some sort of a dwelling-house at its + foot, to an old servant who is sole executor, and all the rest of the + property—which is very considerable—to the son. He directs + himself to be buried with certain eccentric ceremonies and precautions + against his coming to life, with which I need not bore you, and that’s all—except—’ + and this ends the story. + </p> +<p> + The Analytical Chemist returning, everybody looks at him. Not because + anybody wants to see him, but because of that subtle influence in nature + which impels humanity to embrace the slightest opportunity of looking at + anything, rather than the person who addresses it. + </p> +<p> + ‘—Except that the son’s inheriting is made conditional on his + marrying a girl, who at the date of the will, was a child of four or five + years old, and who is now a marriageable young woman. Advertisement and + inquiry discovered the son in the man from Somewhere, and at the present + moment, he is on his way home from there—no doubt, in a state of + great astonishment—to succeed to a very large fortune, and to take a + wife.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Podsnap inquires whether the young person is a young person of + personal charms? Mortimer is unable to report. + </p> +<p> + Mr Podsnap inquires what would become of the very large fortune, in the + event of the marriage condition not being fulfilled? Mortimer replies, + that by special testamentary clause it would then go to the old servant + above mentioned, passing over and excluding the son; also, that if the son + had not been living, the same old servant would have been sole residuary + legatee. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Veneering has just succeeded in waking Lady Tippins from a snore, by + dexterously shunting a train of plates and dishes at her knuckles across + the table; when everybody but Mortimer himself becomes aware that the + Analytical Chemist is, in a ghostly manner, offering him a folded paper. + Curiosity detains Mrs Veneering a few moments. + </p> +<p> + Mortimer, in spite of all the arts of the chemist, placidly refreshes + himself with a glass of Madeira, and remains unconscious of the Document + which engrosses the general attention, until Lady Tippins (who has a habit + of waking totally insensible), having remembered where she is, and + recovered a perception of surrounding objects, says: ‘Falser man than Don + Juan; why don’t you take the note from the commendatore?’ Upon which, the + chemist advances it under the nose of Mortimer, who looks round at him, + and says: + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s this?’ + </p> +<p> + Analytical Chemist bends and whispers. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Who</i>?’ says Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + Analytical Chemist again bends and whispers. + </p> +<p> + Mortimer stares at him, and unfolds the paper. Reads it, reads it twice, + turns it over to look at the blank outside, reads it a third time. + </p> +<p> + ‘This arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner,’ says Mortimer then, + looking with an altered face round the table: ‘this is the conclusion of + the story of the identical man.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Already married?’ one guesses. + </p> +<p> + ‘Declines to marry?’ another guesses. + </p> +<p> + ‘Codicil among the dust?’ another guesses. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, no,’ says Mortimer; ‘remarkable thing, you are all wrong. The story + is completer and rather more exciting than I supposed. Man’s drowned!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> +<h3> + ANOTHER MAN + </h3> +<p> + As the disappearing skirts of the ladies ascended the Veneering staircase, + Mortimer, following them forth from the dining-room, turned into a library + of bran-new books, in bran-new bindings liberally gilded, and requested to + see the messenger who had brought the paper. He was a boy of about + fifteen. Mortimer looked at the boy, and the boy looked at the bran-new + pilgrims on the wall, going to Canterbury in more gold frame than + procession, and more carving than country. + </p> +<p> + ‘Whose writing is this?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mine, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who told you to write it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My father, Jesse Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it he who found the body?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What is your father?’ + </p> +<p> + The boy hesitated, looked reproachfully at the pilgrims as if they had + involved him in a little difficulty, then said, folding a plait in the + right leg of his trousers, ‘He gets his living along-shore.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it far?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is which far?’ asked the boy, upon his guard, and again upon the road to + Canterbury. + </p> +<p> + ‘To your father’s?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s a goodish stretch, sir. I come up in a cab, and the cab’s waiting to + be paid. We could go back in it before you paid it, if you liked. I went + first to your office, according to the direction of the papers found in + the pockets, and there I see nobody but a chap of about my age who sent me + on here.’ + </p> +<p> + There was a curious mixture in the boy, of uncompleted savagery, and + uncompleted civilization. His voice was hoarse and coarse, and his face + was coarse, and his stunted figure was coarse; but he was cleaner than + other boys of his type; and his writing, though large and round, was good; + and he glanced at the backs of the books, with an awakened curiosity that + went below the binding. No one who can read, ever looks at a book, even + unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot. + </p> +<p> + ‘Were any means taken, do you know, boy, to ascertain if it was possible + to restore life?’ Mortimer inquired, as he sought for his hat. + </p> +<p> + ‘You wouldn’t ask, sir, if you knew his state. Pharaoh’s multitude that + were drowned in the Red Sea, ain’t more beyond restoring to life. If + Lazarus was only half as far gone, that was the greatest of all the + miracles.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Halloa!’ cried Mortimer, turning round with his hat upon his head, ‘you + seem to be at home in the Red Sea, my young friend?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Read of it with teacher at the school,’ said the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘And Lazarus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and him too. But don’t you tell my father! We should have no peace + in our place, if that got touched upon. It’s my sister’s contriving.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You seem to have a good sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She ain’t half bad,’ said the boy; ‘but if she knows her letters it’s the + most she does—and them I learned her.’ + </p> +<p> + The gloomy Eugene, with his hands in his pockets, had strolled in and + assisted at the latter part of the dialogue; when the boy spoke these + words slightingly of his sister, he took him roughly enough by the chin, + and turned up his face to look at it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, I’m sure, sir!’ said the boy, resisting; ‘I hope you’ll know me + again.’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene vouchsafed no answer; but made the proposal to Mortimer, ‘I’ll go + with you, if you like?’ So, they all three went away together in the + vehicle that had brought the boy; the two friends (once boys together at a + public school) inside, smoking cigars; the messenger on the box beside the + driver. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me see,’ said Mortimer, as they went along; ‘I have been, Eugene, + upon the honourable roll of solicitors of the High Court of Chancery, and + attorneys at Common Law, five years; and—except gratuitously taking + instructions, on an average once a fortnight, for the will of Lady Tippins + who has nothing to leave—I have had no scrap of business but this + romantic business.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I,’ said Eugene, ‘have been “called” seven years, and have had no + business at all, and never shall have any. And if I had, I shouldn’t know + how to do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am far from being clear as to the last particular,’ returned Mortimer, + with great composure, ‘that I have much advantage over you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hate,’ said Eugene, putting his legs up on the opposite seat, ‘I hate + my profession.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall I incommode you, if I put mine up too?’ returned Mortimer. ‘Thank + you. I hate mine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was forced upon me,’ said the gloomy Eugene, ‘because it was + understood that we wanted a barrister in the family. We have got a + precious one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was forced upon me,’ said Mortimer, ‘because it was understood that we + wanted a solicitor in the family. And we have got a precious one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There are four of us, with our names painted on a door-post in right of + one black hole called a set of chambers,’ said Eugene; ‘and each of us has + the fourth of a clerk—Cassim Baba, in the robber’s cave—and + Cassim is the only respectable member of the party.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am one by myself, one,’ said Mortimer, ‘high up an awful staircase + commanding a burial-ground, and I have a whole clerk to myself, and he has + nothing to do but look at the burial-ground, and what he will turn out + when arrived at maturity, I cannot conceive. Whether, in that shabby + rook’s nest, he is always plotting wisdom, or plotting murder; whether he + will grow up, after so much solitary brooding, to enlighten his + fellow-creatures, or to poison them; is the only speck of interest that + presents itself to my professional view. Will you give me a light? Thank + you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then idiots talk,’ said Eugene, leaning back, folding his arms, smoking + with his eyes shut, and speaking slightly through his nose, ‘of Energy. If + there is a word in the dictionary under any letter from A to Z that I + abominate, it is energy. It is such a conventional superstition, such + parrot gabble! What the deuce! Am I to rush out into the street, collar + the first man of a wealthy appearance that I meet, shake him, and say, “Go + to law upon the spot, you dog, and retain me, or I’ll be the death of + you”? Yet that would be energy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Precisely my view of the case, Eugene. But show me a good opportunity, + show me something really worth being energetic about, and I’ll show you + energy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And so will I,’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + And it is likely enough that ten thousand other young men, within the + limits of the London Post-office town delivery, made the same hopeful + remark in the course of the same evening. + </p> +<p> + The wheels rolled on, and rolled down by the Monument and by the Tower, + and by the Docks; down by Ratcliffe, and by Rotherhithe; down by where + accumulated scum of humanity seemed to be washed from higher grounds, like + so much moral sewage, and to be pausing until its own weight forced it + over the bank and sunk it in the river. In and out among vessels that + seemed to have got ashore, and houses that seemed to have got afloat—among + bowsprits staring into windows, and windows staring into ships—the + wheels rolled on, until they stopped at a dark corner, river-washed and + otherwise not washed at all, where the boy alighted and opened the door. + </p> +<p> + ‘You must walk the rest, sir; it’s not many yards.’ He spoke in the + singular number, to the express exclusion of Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is a confoundedly out-of-the-way place,’ said Mortimer, slipping + over the stones and refuse on the shore, as the boy turned the corner + sharp. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here’s my father’s, sir; where the light is.’ + </p> +<p> + The low building had the look of having once been a mill. There was a + rotten wart of wood upon its forehead that seemed to indicate where the + sails had been, but the whole was very indistinctly seen in the obscurity + of the night. The boy lifted the latch of the door, and they passed at + once into a low circular room, where a man stood before a red fire, + looking down into it, and a girl sat engaged in needlework. The fire was + in a rusty brazier, not fitted to the hearth; and a common lamp, shaped + like a hyacinth-root, smoked and flared in the neck of a stone bottle on + the table. There was a wooden bunk or berth in a corner, and in another + corner a wooden stair leading above—so clumsy and steep that it was + little better than a ladder. Two or three old sculls and oars stood + against the wall, and against another part of the wall was a small + dresser, making a spare show of the commonest articles of crockery and + cooking-vessels. The roof of the room was not plastered, but was formed of + the flooring of the room above. This, being very old, knotted, seamed, and + beamed, gave a lowering aspect to the chamber; and roof, and walls, and + floor, alike abounding in old smears of flour, red-lead (or some such + stain which it had probably acquired in warehousing), and damp, alike had + a look of decomposition. + </p> +<p> + ‘The gentleman, father.’ + </p> +<p> + The figure at the red fire turned, raised its ruffled head, and looked + like a bird of prey. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re Mortimer Lightwood Esquire; are you, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mortimer Lightwood is my name. What you found,’ said Mortimer, glancing + rather shrinkingly towards the bunk; ‘is it here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘’Tain’t not to say here, but it’s close by. I do everything reg’lar. I’ve + giv’ notice of the circumstarnce to the police, and the police have took + possession of it. No time ain’t been lost, on any hand. The police have + put into print already, and here’s what the print says of it.’ + </p> +<p> + Taking up the bottle with the lamp in it, he held it near a paper on the + wall, with the police heading, BODY FOUND. The two friends read the + handbill as it stuck against the wall, and Gaffer read them as he held the + light. + </p> +<p> + ‘Only papers on the unfortunate man, I see,’ said Lightwood, glancing from + the description of what was found, to the finder. + </p> +<p> + ‘Only papers.’ + </p> +<p> + Here the girl arose with her work in her hand, and went out at the door. + </p> +<p> + ‘No money,’ pursued Mortimer; ‘but threepence in one of the + skirt-pockets.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Three. Penny. Pieces,’ said Gaffer Hexam, in as many sentences. + </p> +<p> + ‘The trousers pockets empty, and turned inside out.’ + </p> +<p> + Gaffer Hexam nodded. ‘But that’s common. Whether it’s the wash of the tide + or no, I can’t say. Now, here,’ moving the light to another similar + placard, ‘<i>his </i>pockets was found empty, and turned inside out. And here,’ + moving the light to another, ‘<i>her </i>pocket was found empty, and turned + inside out. And so was this one’s. And so was that one’s. I can’t read, + nor I don’t want to it, for I know ’em by their places on the wall. This + one was a sailor, with two anchors and a flag and G. F. T. on his arm. + Look and see if he warn’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite right.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This one was the young woman in grey boots, and her linen marked with a + cross. Look and see if she warn’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite right.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This is him as had a nasty cut over the eye. This is them two young + sisters what tied themselves together with a handkecher. This the drunken + old chap, in a pair of list slippers and a nightcap, wot had offered—it + afterwards come out—to make a hole in the water for a quartern of + rum stood aforehand, and kept to his word for the first and last time in + his life. They pretty well papers the room, you see; but I know ’em all. + I’m scholar enough!’ + </p> +<p> + He waved the light over the whole, as if to typify the light of his + scholarly intelligence, and then put it down on the table and stood behind + it looking intently at his visitors. He had the special peculiarity of + some birds of prey, that when he knitted his brow, his ruffled crest stood + highest. + </p> +<p> + ‘You did not find all these yourself; did you?’ asked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + To which the bird of prey slowly rejoined, ‘And what might <i>your </i>name be, + now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This is my friend,’ Mortimer Lightwood interposed; ‘Mr Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Eugene Wrayburn, is it? And what might Mr Eugene Wrayburn have asked + of me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I asked you, simply, if you found all these yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I answer you, simply, most on ’em.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you suppose there has been much violence and robbery, beforehand, + among these cases?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t suppose at all about it,’ returned Gaffer. ‘I ain’t one of the + supposing sort. If you’d got your living to haul out of the river every + day of your life, you mightn’t be much given to supposing. Am I to show + the way?’ + </p> +<p> + As he opened the door, in pursuance of a nod from Lightwood, an extremely + pale and disturbed face appeared in the doorway—the face of a man + much agitated. + </p> +<p> + ‘A body missing?’ asked Gaffer Hexam, stopping short; ‘or a body found? + Which?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am lost!’ replied the man, in a hurried and an eager manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lost?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I—I—am a stranger, and don’t know the way. I—I—want + to find the place where I can see what is described here. It is possible I + may know it.’ He was panting, and could hardly speak; but, he showed a + copy of the newly-printed bill that was still wet upon the wall. Perhaps + its newness, or perhaps the accuracy of his observation of its general + look, guided Gaffer to a ready conclusion. + </p> +<p> + ‘This gentleman, Mr Lightwood, is on that business.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + During a pause, Mortimer and the stranger confronted each other. Neither + knew the other. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, sir,’ said Mortimer, breaking the awkward silence with his airy + self-possession, ‘that you did me the honour to mention my name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I repeated it, after this man.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You said you were a stranger in London?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘An utter stranger.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you seeking a Mr Harmon?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I believe I can assure you that you are on a fruitless errand, and + will not find what you fear to find. Will you come with us?’ + </p> +<p> + A little winding through some muddy alleys that might have been deposited + by the last ill-savoured tide, brought them to the wicket-gate and bright + lamp of a Police Station; where they found the Night-Inspector, with a pen + and ink, and ruler, posting up his books in a whitewashed office, as + studiously as if he were in a monastery on top of a mountain, and no + howling fury of a drunken woman were banging herself against a cell-door + in the back-yard at his elbow. With the same air of a recluse much given + to study, he desisted from his books to bestow a distrustful nod of + recognition upon Gaffer, plainly importing, ‘Ah! we know all about <i>you</i>, + and you’ll overdo it some day;’ and to inform Mr Mortimer Lightwood and + friends, that he would attend them immediately. Then, he finished ruling + the work he had in hand (it might have been illuminating a missal, he was + so calm), in a very neat and methodical manner, showing not the slightest + consciousness of the woman who was banging herself with increased + violence, and shrieking most terrifically for some other woman’s liver. + </p> +<p> + ‘A bull’s-eye,’ said the Night-Inspector, taking up his keys. Which a + deferential satellite produced. ‘Now, gentlemen.’ + </p> +<p> + With one of his keys, he opened a cool grot at the end of the yard, and + they all went in. They quickly came out again, no one speaking but Eugene: + who remarked to Mortimer, in a whisper, ‘Not <i>much </i>worse than Lady + Tippins.’ + </p> +<p> + So, back to the whitewashed library of the monastery—with that liver + still in shrieking requisition, as it had been loudly, while they looked + at the silent sight they came to see—and there through the merits of + the case as summed up by the Abbot. No clue to how body came into river. + Very often was no clue. Too late to know for certain, whether injuries + received before or after death; one excellent surgical opinion said, + before; other excellent surgical opinion said, after. Steward of ship in + which gentleman came home passenger, had been round to view, and could + swear to identity. Likewise could swear to clothes. And then, you see, you + had the papers, too. How was it he had totally disappeared on leaving + ship, till found in river? Well! Probably had been upon some little game. + Probably thought it a harmless game, wasn’t up to things, and it turned + out a fatal game. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict. + </p> +<p> + ‘It appears to have knocked your friend over—knocked him completely + off his legs,’ Mr Inspector remarked, when he had finished his summing up. + ‘It has given him a bad turn to be sure!’ This was said in a very low + voice, and with a searching look (not the first he had cast) at the + stranger. + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood explained that it was no friend of his. + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed?’ said Mr Inspector, with an attentive ear; ‘where did you pick + him up?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood explained further. + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector had delivered his summing up, and had added these words, with + his elbows leaning on his desk, and the fingers and thumb of his right + hand, fitting themselves to the fingers and thumb of his left. Mr + Inspector moved nothing but his eyes, as he now added, raising his voice: + </p> +<p> + ‘Turned you faint, sir! Seems you’re not accustomed to this kind of work?’ + </p> +<p> + The stranger, who was leaning against the chimneypiece with drooping head, + looked round and answered, ‘No. It’s a horrible sight!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You expected to identify, I am told, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Have </i>you identified?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. It’s a horrible sight. O! a horrible, horrible sight!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who did you think it might have been?’ asked Mr Inspector. ‘Give us a + description, sir. Perhaps we can help you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no,’ said the stranger; ‘it would be quite useless. Good-night.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector had not moved, and had given no order; but, the satellite + slipped his back against the wicket, and laid his left arm along the top + of it, and with his right hand turned the bull’s-eye he had taken from his + chief—in quite a casual manner—towards the stranger. + </p> +<p> + ‘You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, you know; or you + wouldn’t have come here, you know. Well, then; ain’t it reasonable to ask, + who was it?’ Thus, Mr Inspector. + </p> +<p> + ‘You must excuse my telling you. No class of man can understand better + than you, that families may not choose to publish their disagreements and + misfortunes, except on the last necessity. I do not dispute that you + discharge your duty in asking me the question; you will not dispute my + right to withhold the answer. Good-night.’ + </p> +<p> + Again he turned towards the wicket, where the satellite, with his eye upon + his chief, remained a dumb statue. + </p> +<p> + ‘At least,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘you will not object to leave me your card, + sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should not object, if I had one; but I have not.’ He reddened and was + much confused as he gave the answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘At least,’ said Mr Inspector, with no change of voice or manner, ‘you + will not object to write down your name and address?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector dipped a pen in his inkstand, and deftly laid it on a piece + of paper close beside him; then resumed his former attitude. The stranger + stepped up to the desk, and wrote in a rather tremulous hand—Mr + Inspector taking sidelong note of every hair of his head when it was bent + down for the purpose—‘Mr Julius Handford, Exchequer Coffee House, + Palace Yard, Westminster.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Staying there, I presume, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Staying there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Consequently, from the country?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh? Yes—from the country.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-night, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + The satellite removed his arm and opened the wicket, and Mr Julius + Handford went out. + </p> +<p> + ‘Reserve!’ said Mr Inspector. ‘Take care of this piece of paper, keep him + in view without giving offence, ascertain that he <i>is</i> staying there, and + find out anything you can about him.’ + </p> +<p> + The satellite was gone; and Mr Inspector, becoming once again the quiet + Abbot of that Monastery, dipped his pen in his ink and resumed his books. + The two friends who had watched him, more amused by the professional + manner than suspicious of Mr Julius Handford, inquired before taking their + departure too whether he believed there was anything that really looked + bad here? + </p> +<p> + The Abbot replied with reticence, couldn’t say. If a murder, anybody might + have done it. Burglary or pocket-picking wanted ’prenticeship. Not so, + murder. We were all of us up to that. Had seen scores of people come to + identify, and never saw one person struck in that particular way. Might, + however, have been Stomach and not Mind. If so, rum stomach. But to be + sure there were rum everythings. Pity there was not a word of truth in + that superstition about bodies bleeding when touched by the hand of the + right person; you never got a sign out of bodies. You got row enough out + of such as her—she was good for all night now (referring here to the + banging demands for the liver), ‘but you got nothing out of bodies if it + was ever so.’ + </p> +<p> + There being nothing more to be done until the Inquest was held next day, + the friends went away together, and Gaffer Hexam and his son went their + separate way. But, arriving at the last corner, Gaffer bade his boy go + home while he turned into a red-curtained tavern, that stood dropsically + bulging over the causeway, ‘for a half-a-pint.’ + </p> +<p> + The boy lifted the latch he had lifted before, and found his sister again + seated before the fire at her work. Who raised her head upon his coming in + and asking: + </p> +<p> + ‘Where did you go, Liz?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I went out in the dark.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There was no necessity for that. It was all right enough.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘One of the gentlemen, the one who didn’t speak while I was there, looked + hard at me. And I was afraid he might know what my face meant. But there! + Don’t mind me, Charley! I was all in a tremble of another sort when you + owned to father you could write a little.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! But I made believe I wrote so badly, as that it was odds if any one + could read it. And when I wrote slowest and smeared but with my finger + most, father was best pleased, as he stood looking over me.’ + </p> +<p> + The girl put aside her work, and drawing her seat close to his seat by the + fire, laid her arm gently on his shoulder. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ll make the most of your time, Charley; won’t you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Won’t I? Come! I like that. Don’t I?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Charley, yes. You work hard at your learning, I know. And I work a + little, Charley, and plan and contrive a little (wake out of my sleep + contriving sometimes), how to get together a shilling now, and a shilling + then, that shall make father believe you are beginning to earn a stray + living along shore.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are father’s favourite, and can make him believe anything.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish I could, Charley! For if I could make him believe that learning + was a good thing, and that we might lead better lives, I should be a’most + content to die.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t talk stuff about dying, Liz.’ + </p> +<p> + She placed her hands in one another on his shoulder, and laying her rich + brown cheek against them as she looked down at the fire, went on + thoughtfully: + </p> +<p> + ‘Of an evening, Charley, when you are at the school, and father’s—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters,’ the boy struck in, with a backward + nod of his head towards the public-house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Then as I sit a-looking at the fire, I seem to see in the burning + coal—like where that glow is now—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s gas, that is,’ said the boy, ‘coming out of a bit of a forest + that’s been under the mud that was under the water in the days of Noah’s + Ark. Look here! When I take the poker—so—and give it a dig—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t disturb it, Charley, or it’ll be all in a blaze. It’s that dull + glow near it, coming and going, that I mean. When I look at it of an + evening, it comes like pictures to me, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Show us a picture,’ said the boy. ‘Tell us where to look.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! It wants my eyes, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cut away then, and tell us what your eyes make of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, there are you and me, Charley, when you were quite a baby that never + knew a mother—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t go saying I never knew a mother,’ interposed the boy, ‘for I knew a + little sister that was sister and mother both.’ + </p> +<p> + The girl laughed delightedly, and her eyes filled with pleasant tears, as + he put both his arms round her waist and so held her. + </p> +<p> + ‘There are you and me, Charley, when father was away at work and locked us + out, for fear we should set ourselves afire or fall out of window, sitting + on the door-sill, sitting on other door-steps, sitting on the bank of the + river, wandering about to get through the time. You are rather heavy to + carry, Charley, and I am often obliged to rest. Sometimes we are sleepy + and fall asleep together in a corner, sometimes we are very hungry, + sometimes we are a little frightened, but what is oftenest hard upon us is + the cold. You remember, Charley?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I remember,’ said the boy, pressing her to him twice or thrice, ‘that I + snuggled under a little shawl, and it was warm there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sometimes it rains, and we creep under a boat or the like of that: + sometimes it’s dark, and we get among the gaslights, sitting watching the + people as they go along the streets. At last, up comes father and takes us + home. And home seems such a shelter after out of doors! And father pulls + my shoes off, and dries my feet at the fire, and has me to sit by him + while he smokes his pipe long after you are abed, and I notice that + father’s is a large hand but never a heavy one when it touches me, and + that father’s is a rough voice but never an angry one when it speaks to + me. So, I grow up, and little by little father trusts me, and makes me his + companion, and, let him be put out as he may, never once strikes me.’ + </p> +<p> + The listening boy gave a grunt here, as much as to say ‘But he strikes <i>me</i> + though!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Those are some of the pictures of what is past, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cut away again,’ said the boy, ‘and give us a fortune-telling one; a + future one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! There am I, continuing with father and holding to father, because + father loves me and I love father. I can’t so much as read a book, + because, if I had learned, father would have thought I was deserting him, + and I should have lost my influence. I have not the influence I want to + have, I cannot stop some dreadful things I try to stop, but I go on in the + hope and trust that the time will come. In the meanwhile I know that I am + in some things a stay to father, and that if I was not faithful to him he + would—in revenge-like, or in disappointment, or both—go wild + and bad.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give us a touch of the fortune-telling pictures about me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was passing on to them, Charley,’ said the girl, who had not changed + her attitude since she began, and who now mournfully shook her head; ‘the + others were all leading up. There are you—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where am I, Liz?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Still in the hollow down by the flare.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There seems to be the deuce-and-all in the hollow down by the flare,’ + said the boy, glancing from her eyes to the brazier, which had a grisly + skeleton look on its long thin legs. + </p> +<p> + ‘There are you, Charley, working your way, in secret from father, at the + school; and you get prizes; and you go on better and better; and you come + to be a—what was it you called it when you told me about that?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha, ha! Fortune-telling not know the name!’ cried the boy, seeming to be + rather relieved by this default on the part of the hollow down by the + flare. ‘Pupil-teacher.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You come to be a pupil-teacher, and you still go on better and better, + and you rise to be a master full of learning and respect. But the secret + has come to father’s knowledge long before, and it has divided you from + father, and from me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No it hasn’t!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes it has, Charley. I see, as plain as plain can be, that your way is + not ours, and that even if father could be got to forgive your taking it + (which he never could be), that way of yours would be darkened by our way. + But I see too, Charley—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Still as plain as plain can be, Liz?’ asked the boy playfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! Still. That it is a great work to have cut you away from father’s + life, and to have made a new and good beginning. So there am I, Charley, + left alone with father, keeping him as straight as I can, watching for + more influence than I have, and hoping that through some fortunate chance, + or when he is ill, or when—I don’t know what—I may turn him to + wish to do better things.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You said you couldn’t read a book, Lizzie. Your library of books is the + hollow down by the flare, I think.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be very glad to be able to read real books. I feel my want of + learning very much, Charley. But I should feel it much more, if I didn’t + know it to be a tie between me and father.—Hark! Father’s tread!’ + </p> +<p> + It being now past midnight, the bird of prey went straight to roost. At + mid-day following he reappeared at the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, in + the character, not new to him, of a witness before a Coroner’s Jury. + </p> +<p> + Mr Mortimer Lightwood, besides sustaining the character of one of the + witnesses, doubled the part with that of the eminent solicitor who watched + the proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased, as was + duly recorded in the newspapers. Mr Inspector watched the proceedings too, + and kept his watching closely to himself. Mr Julius Handford having given + his right address, and being reported in solvent circumstances as to his + bill, though nothing more was known of him at his hotel except that his + way of life was very retired, had no summons to appear, and was merely + present in the shades of Mr Inspector’s mind. + </p> +<p> + The case was made interesting to the public, by Mr Mortimer Lightwood’s + evidence touching the circumstances under which the deceased, Mr John + Harmon, had returned to England; exclusive private proprietorship in which + circumstances was set up at dinner-tables for several days, by Veneering, + Twemlow, Podsnap, and all the Buffers: who all related them irreconcilably + with one another, and contradicted themselves. It was also made + interesting by the testimony of Job Potterson, the ship’s steward, and one + Mr Jacob Kibble, a fellow-passenger, that the deceased Mr John Harmon did + bring over, in a hand-valise with which he did disembark, the sum realized + by the forced sale of his little landed property, and that the sum + exceeded, in ready money, seven hundred pounds. It was further made + interesting, by the remarkable experiences of Jesse Hexam in having + rescued from the Thames so many dead bodies, and for whose behoof a + rapturous admirer subscribing himself ‘A friend to Burial’ (perhaps an + undertaker), sent eighteen postage stamps, and five ‘Now Sir’s to the + editor of the Times. + </p> +<p> + Upon the evidence adduced before them, the Jury found, That the body of Mr + John Harmon had been discovered floating in the Thames, in an advanced + state of decay, and much injured; and that the said Mr John Harmon had + come by his death under highly suspicious circumstances, though by whose + act or in what precise manner there was no evidence before this Jury to + show. And they appended to their verdict, a recommendation to the Home + Office (which Mr Inspector appeared to think highly sensible), to offer a + reward for the solution of the mystery. Within eight-and-forty hours, a + reward of One Hundred Pounds was proclaimed, together with a free pardon + to any person or persons not the actual perpetrator or perpetrators, and + so forth in due form. + </p> +<p> + This Proclamation rendered Mr Inspector additionally studious, and caused + him to stand meditating on river-stairs and causeways, and to go lurking + about in boats, putting this and that together. But, according to the + success with which you put this and that together, you get a woman and a + fish apart, or a Mermaid in combination. And Mr Inspector could turn out + nothing better than a Mermaid, which no Judge and Jury would believe in. + </p> +<p> + Thus, like the tides on which it had been borne to the knowledge of men, + the Harmon Murder—as it came to be popularly called—went up + and down, and ebbed and flowed, now in the town, now in the country, now + among palaces, now among hovels, now among lords and ladies and + gentlefolks, now among labourers and hammerers and ballast-heavers, until + at last, after a long interval of slack water it got out to sea and + drifted away. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> +<h3> + THE R. WILFER FAMILY + </h3> +<p> + Reginald Wilfer is a name with rather a grand sound, suggesting on first + acquaintance brasses in country churches, scrolls in stained-glass + windows, and generally the De Wilfers who came over with the Conqueror. + For, it is a remarkable fact in genealogy that no De Any ones ever came + over with Anybody else. + </p> +<p> + But, the Reginald Wilfer family were of such commonplace extraction and + pursuits that their forefathers had for generations modestly subsisted on + the Docks, the Excise Office, and the Custom House, and the existing R. + Wilfer was a poor clerk. So poor a clerk, through having a limited salary + and an unlimited family, that he had never yet attained the modest object + of his ambition: which was, to wear a complete new suit of clothes, hat + and boots included, at one time. His black hat was brown before he could + afford a coat, his pantaloons were white at the seams and knees before he + could buy a pair of boots, his boots had worn out before he could treat + himself to new pantaloons, and, by the time he worked round to the hat + again, that shining modern article roofed-in an ancient ruin of various + periods. + </p> +<p> + If the conventional Cherub could ever grow up and be clothed, he might be + photographed as a portrait of Wilfer. His chubby, smooth, innocent + appearance was a reason for his being always treated with condescension + when he was not put down. A stranger entering his own poor house at about + ten o’clock P.M. might have been surprised to find him sitting up to + supper. So boyish was he in his curves and proportions, that his old + schoolmaster meeting him in Cheapside, might have been unable to withstand + the temptation of caning him on the spot. In short, he was the + conventional cherub, after the supposititious shoot just mentioned, rather + grey, with signs of care on his expression, and in decidedly insolvent + circumstances. + </p> +<p> + He was shy, and unwilling to own to the name of Reginald, as being too + aspiring and self-assertive a name. In his signature he used only the + initial R., and imparted what it really stood for, to none but chosen + friends, under the seal of confidence. Out of this, the facetious habit + had arisen in the neighbourhood surrounding Mincing Lane of making + christian names for him of adjectives and participles beginning with R. + Some of these were more or less appropriate: as Rusty, Retiring, Ruddy, + Round, Ripe, Ridiculous, Ruminative; others, derived their point from + their want of application: as Raging, Rattling, Roaring, Raffish. But, his + popular name was Rumty, which in a moment of inspiration had been bestowed + upon him by a gentleman of convivial habits connected with the + drug-markets, as the beginning of a social chorus, his leading part in the + execution of which had led this gentleman to the Temple of Fame, and of + which the whole expressive burden ran: + </p> +<p class="poem "> + ‘Rumty iddity, row dow dow,<br> + Sing toodlely, teedlely, bow wow wow.’ + </p> +<p> + Thus he was constantly addressed, even in minor notes on business, as + ‘Dear Rumty’; in answer to which, he sedately signed himself, ‘Yours + truly, R. Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + He was clerk in the drug-house of Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles. + Chicksey and Stobbles, his former masters, had both become absorbed in + Veneering, once their traveller or commission agent: who had signalized + his accession to supreme power by bringing into the business a quantity of + plate-glass window and French-polished mahogany partition, and a gleaming + and enormous doorplate. + </p> +<p> + R. Wilfer locked up his desk one evening, and, putting his bunch of keys + in his pocket much as if it were his peg-top, made for home. His home was + in the Holloway region north of London, and then divided from it by fields + and trees. Between Battle Bridge and that part of the Holloway district in + which he dwelt, was a tract of suburban Sahara, where tiles and bricks + were burnt, bones were boiled, carpets were beat, rubbish was shot, dogs + were fought, and dust was heaped by contractors. Skirting the border of + this desert, by the way he took, when the light of its kiln-fires made + lurid smears on the fog, R. Wilfer sighed and shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah me!’ said he, ‘what might have been is not what is!’ + </p> +<p> + With which commentary on human life, indicating an experience of it not + exclusively his own, he made the best of his way to the end of his + journey. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer was, of course, a tall woman and an angular. Her lord being + cherubic, she was necessarily majestic, according to the principle which + matrimonially unites contrasts. She was much given to tying up her head in + a pocket-handkerchief, knotted under the chin. This head-gear, in + conjunction with a pair of gloves worn within doors, she seemed to + consider as at once a kind of armour against misfortune (invariably + assuming it when in low spirits or difficulties), and as a species of full + dress. It was therefore with some sinking of the spirit that her husband + beheld her thus heroically attired, putting down her candle in the little + hall, and coming down the doorsteps through the little front court to open + the gate for him. + </p> +<p> + Something had gone wrong with the house-door, for R. Wilfer stopped on the + steps, staring at it, and cried: + </p> +<p> + ‘Hal-loa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘the man came himself with a pair of pincers, and + took it off, and took it away. He said that as he had no expectation of + ever being paid for it, and as he had an order for another <i>LADIES’ SCHOOL</i> + door-plate, it was better (burnished up) for the interests of all + parties.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps it was, my dear; what do you think?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are master here, R. W.,’ returned his wife. ‘It is as you think; not + as I do. Perhaps it might have been better if the man had taken the door + too?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, we couldn’t have done without the door.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Couldn’t we?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, my dear! Could we?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is as you think, R. W.; not as I do.’ With those submissive words, the + dutiful wife preceded him down a few stairs to a little basement front + room, half kitchen, half parlour, where a girl of about nineteen, with an + exceedingly pretty figure and face, but with an impatient and petulant + expression both in her face and in her shoulders (which in her sex and at + her age are very expressive of discontent), sat playing draughts with a + younger girl, who was the youngest of the House of Wilfer. Not to encumber + this page by telling off the Wilfers in detail and casting them up in the + gross, it is enough for the present that the rest were what is called ‘out + in the world,’ in various ways, and that they were Many. So many, that + when one of his dutiful children called in to see him, R. Wilfer generally + seemed to say to himself, after a little mental arithmetic, ‘Oh! here’s + another of ’em!’ before adding aloud, ‘How de do, John,’ or Susan, as the + case might be. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well Piggywiggies,’ said R. W., ‘how de do to-night? What I was thinking + of, my dear,’ to Mrs Wilfer already seated in a corner with folded gloves, + ‘was, that as we have let our first floor so well, and as we have now no + place in which you could teach pupils even if pupils—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The milkman said he knew of two young ladies of the highest + respectability who were in search of a suitable establishment, and he took + a card,’ interposed Mrs Wilfer, with severe monotony, as if she were + reading an Act of Parliament aloud. ‘Tell your father whether it was last + Monday, Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But we never heard any more of it, ma,’ said Bella, the elder girl. + </p> +<p> + ‘In addition to which, my dear,’ her husband urged, ‘if you have no place + to put two young persons into—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ Mrs Wilfer again interposed; ‘they were not young persons. + Two young ladies of the highest respectability. Tell your father, Bella, + whether the milkman said so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, it is the same thing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No it is not,’ said Mrs Wilfer, with the same impressive monotony. + ‘Pardon me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean, my dear, it is the same thing as to space. As to space. If you + have no space in which to put two youthful fellow-creatures, however + eminently respectable, which I do not doubt, where are those youthful + fellow-creatures to be accommodated? I carry it no further than that. And + solely looking at it,’ said her husband, making the stipulation at once in + a conciliatory, complimentary, and argumentative tone—‘as I am sure + you will agree, my love—from a fellow-creature point of view, my + dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have nothing more to say,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, with a meek + renunciatory action of her gloves. ‘It is as you think, R. W.; not as I + do.’ + </p> +<p> + Here, the huffing of Miss Bella and the loss of three of her men at a + swoop, aggravated by the coronation of an opponent, led to that young + lady’s jerking the draught-board and pieces off the table: which her + sister went down on her knees to pick up. + </p> +<p> + ‘Poor Bella!’ said Mrs Wilfer. + </p> +<p> + ‘And poor Lavinia, perhaps, my dear?’ suggested R. W. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘no!’ + </p> +<p> + It was one of the worthy woman’s specialities that she had an amazing + power of gratifying her splenetic or worldly-minded humours by extolling + her own family: which she thus proceeded, in the present case, to do. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, R. W. Lavinia has not known the trial that Bella has known. The trial + that your daughter Bella has undergone, is, perhaps, without a parallel, + and has been borne, I will say, Nobly. When you see your daughter Bella in + her black dress, which she alone of all the family wears, and when you + remember the circumstances which have led to her wearing it, and when you + know how those circumstances have been sustained, then, R. W., lay your + head upon your pillow and say, “Poor Lavinia!”’ + </p> +<p> + Here, Miss Lavinia, from her kneeling situation under the table, put in + that she didn’t want to be ‘poored by pa’, or anybody else. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure you do not, my dear,’ returned her mother, ‘for you have a fine + brave spirit. And your sister Cecilia has a fine brave spirit of another + kind, a spirit of pure devotion, a beau-ti-ful spirit! The self-sacrifice + of Cecilia reveals a pure and womanly character, very seldom equalled, + never surpassed. I have now in my pocket a letter from your sister + Cecilia, received this morning—received three months after her + marriage, poor child!—in which she tells me that her husband must + unexpectedly shelter under their roof his reduced aunt. “But I will be + true to him, mamma,” she touchingly writes, “I will not leave him, I must + not forget that he is my husband. Let his aunt come!” If this is not + pathetic, if this is not woman’s devotion—!’ The good lady waved her + gloves in a sense of the impossibility of saying more, and tied the + pocket-handkerchief over her head in a tighter knot under her chin. + </p> +<p> + Bella, who was now seated on the rug to warm herself, with her brown eyes + on the fire and a handful of her brown curls in her mouth, laughed at + this, and then pouted and half cried. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure,’ said she, ‘though you have no feeling for me, pa, I am one of + the most unfortunate girls that ever lived. You know how poor we are’ (it + is probable he did, having some reason to know it!), ‘and what a glimpse + of wealth I had, and how it melted away, and how I am here in this + ridiculous mourning—which I hate!—a kind of a widow who never + was married. And yet you don’t feel for me.—Yes you do, yes you do.’ + </p> +<p> + This abrupt change was occasioned by her father’s face. She stopped to + pull him down from his chair in an attitude highly favourable to + strangulation, and to give him a kiss and a pat or two on the cheek. + </p> +<p> + ‘But you ought to feel for me, you know, pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, I do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and I say you ought to. If they had only left me alone and told me + nothing about it, it would have mattered much less. But that nasty Mr + Lightwood feels it his duty, as he says, to write and tell me what is in + reserve for me, and then I am obliged to get rid of George Sampson.’ + </p> +<p> + Here, Lavinia, rising to the surface with the last draughtman rescued, + interposed, ‘You never cared for George Sampson, Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And did I say I did, miss?’ Then, pouting again, with the curls in her + mouth; ‘George Sampson was very fond of me, and admired me very much, and + put up with everything I did to him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You were rude enough to him,’ Lavinia again interposed. + </p> +<p> + ‘And did I say I wasn’t, miss? I am not setting up to be sentimental about + George Sampson. I only say George Sampson was better than nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You didn’t show him that you thought even that,’ Lavinia again + interposed. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a chit and a little idiot,’ returned Bella, ‘or you wouldn’t make + such a dolly speech. What did you expect me to do? Wait till you are a + woman, and don’t talk about what you don’t understand. You only show your + ignorance!’ Then, whimpering again, and at intervals biting the curls, and + stopping to look how much was bitten off, ‘It’s a shame! There never was + such a hard case! I shouldn’t care so much if it wasn’t so ridiculous. It + was ridiculous enough to have a stranger coming over to marry me, whether + he liked it or not. It was ridiculous enough to know what an embarrassing + meeting it would be, and how we never could pretend to have an inclination + of our own, either of us. It was ridiculous enough to know I shouldn’t + like him—how <i>could </i>I like him, left to him in a will, like a dozen + of spoons, with everything cut and dried beforehand, like orange chips. + Talk of orange flowers indeed! I declare again it’s a shame! Those + ridiculous points would have been smoothed away by the money, for I love + money, and want money—want it dreadfully. I hate to be poor, and we + are degradingly poor, offensively poor, miserably poor, beastly poor. But + here I am, left with all the ridiculous parts of the situation remaining, + and, added to them all, this ridiculous dress! And if the truth was known, + when the Harmon murder was all over the town, and people were speculating + on its being suicide, I dare say those impudent wretches at the clubs and + places made jokes about the miserable creature’s having preferred a watery + grave to me. It’s likely enough they took such liberties; I shouldn’t + wonder! I declare it’s a very hard case indeed, and I am a most + unfortunate girl. The idea of being a kind of a widow, and never having + been married! And the idea of being as poor as ever after all, and going + into black, besides, for a man I never saw, and should have hated—as + far as <i>he</i> was concerned—if I had seen!’ + </p> +<p> + The young lady’s lamentations were checked at this point by a knuckle, + knocking at the half-open door of the room. The knuckle had knocked two or + three times already, but had not been heard. + </p> +<p> + ‘Who is it?’ said Mrs Wilfer, in her Act-of-Parliament manner. ‘Enter!’ + </p> +<p> + A gentleman coming in, Miss Bella, with a short and sharp exclamation, + scrambled off the hearth-rug and massed the bitten curls together in their + right place on her neck. + </p> +<p> + ‘The servant girl had her key in the door as I came up, and directed me to + this room, telling me I was expected. I am afraid I should have asked her + to announce me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ returned Mrs Wilfer. ‘Not at all. Two of my daughters. R. W., + this is the gentleman who has taken your first-floor. He was so good as to + make an appointment for to-night, when you would be at home.’ + </p> +<p> + A dark gentleman. Thirty at the utmost. An expressive, one might say + handsome, face. A very bad manner. In the last degree constrained, + reserved, diffident, troubled. His eyes were on Miss Bella for an instant, + and then looked at the ground as he addressed the master of the house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Seeing that I am quite satisfied, Mr Wilfer, with the rooms, and with + their situation, and with their price, I suppose a memorandum between us + of two or three lines, and a payment down, will bind the bargain? I wish + to send in furniture without delay.’ + </p> +<p> + Two or three times during this short address, the cherub addressed had + made chubby motions towards a chair. The gentleman now took it, laying a + hesitating hand on a corner of the table, and with another hesitating hand + lifting the crown of his hat to his lips, and drawing it before his mouth. + </p> +<p> + ‘The gentleman, R. W.,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘proposes to take your apartments + by the quarter. A quarter’s notice on either side.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall I mention, sir,’ insinuated the landlord, expecting it to be + received as a matter of course, ‘the form of a reference?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think,’ returned the gentleman, after a pause, ‘that a reference is not + necessary; neither, to say the truth, is it convenient, for I am a + stranger in London. I require no reference from you, and perhaps, + therefore, you will require none from me. That will be fair on both sides. + Indeed, I show the greater confidence of the two, for I will pay in + advance whatever you please, and I am going to trust my furniture here. + Whereas, if you were in embarrassed circumstances—this is merely + supposititious—’ + </p> +<p> + Conscience causing R. Wilfer to colour, Mrs Wilfer, from a corner (she + always got into stately corners) came to the rescue with a deep-toned + ‘Per-fectly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—Why then I—might lose it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ observed R. Wilfer, cheerfully, ‘money and goods are certainly the + best of references.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you think they <i>are </i>the best, pa?’ asked Miss Bella, in a low voice, + and without looking over her shoulder as she warmed her foot on the + fender. + </p> +<p> + ‘Among the best, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should have thought, myself, it was so easy to add the usual kind of + one,’ said Bella, with a toss of her curls. + </p> +<p> + The gentleman listened to her, with a face of marked attention, though he + neither looked up nor changed his attitude. He sat, still and silent, + until his future landlord accepted his proposals, and brought writing + materials to complete the business. He sat, still and silent, while the + landlord wrote. + </p> +<p> + When the agreement was ready in duplicate (the landlord having worked at + it like some cherubic scribe, in what is conventionally called a doubtful, + which means a not at all doubtful, Old Master), it was signed by the + contracting parties, Bella looking on as scornful witness. The contracting + parties were R. Wilfer, and John Rokesmith Esquire. + </p> +<p> + When it came to Bella’s turn to sign her name, Mr Rokesmith, who was + standing, as he had sat, with a hesitating hand upon the table, looked at + her stealthily, but narrowly. He looked at the pretty figure bending down + over the paper and saying, ‘Where am I to go, pa? Here, in this corner?’ + He looked at the beautiful brown hair, shading the coquettish face; he + looked at the free dash of the signature, which was a bold one for a + woman’s; and then they looked at one another. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0048m " src="images/0048m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0048m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0048.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-2815535697296598451"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Much obliged to you, Miss Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Obliged?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have given you so much trouble.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Signing my name? Yes, certainly. But I am your landlord’s daughter, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + As there was nothing more to do but pay eight sovereigns in earnest of the + bargain, pocket the agreement, appoint a time for the arrival of his + furniture and himself, and go, Mr Rokesmith did that as awkwardly as it + might be done, and was escorted by his landlord to the outer air. When R. + Wilfer returned, candlestick in hand, to the bosom of his family, he found + the bosom agitated. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pa,’ said Bella, ‘we have got a Murderer for a tenant.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pa,’ said Lavinia, ‘we have got a Robber.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To see him unable for his life to look anybody in the face!’ said Bella. + ‘There never was such an exhibition.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dears,’ said their father, ‘he is a diffident gentleman, and I should + say particularly so in the society of girls of your age.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nonsense, our age!’ cried Bella, impatiently. ‘What’s that got to do with + him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Besides, we are not of the same age:—which age?’ demanded Lavinia. + </p> +<p> + ‘Never <i>you </i>mind, Lavvy,’ retorted Bella; ‘you wait till you are of an age + to ask such questions. Pa, mark my words! Between Mr Rokesmith and me, + there is a natural antipathy and a deep distrust; and something will come + of it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, and girls,’ said the cherub-patriarch, ‘between Mr Rokesmith and + me, there is a matter of eight sovereigns, and something for supper shall + come of it, if you’ll agree upon the article.’ + </p> +<p> + This was a neat and happy turn to give the subject, treats being rare in + the Wilfer household, where a monotonous appearance of Dutch-cheese at ten + o’clock in the evening had been rather frequently commented on by the + dimpled shoulders of Miss Bella. Indeed, the modest Dutchman himself + seemed conscious of his want of variety, and generally came before the + family in a state of apologetic perspiration. After some discussion on the + relative merits of veal-cutlet, sweetbread, and lobster, a decision was + pronounced in favour of veal-cutlet. Mrs Wilfer then solemnly divested + herself of her handkerchief and gloves, as a preliminary sacrifice to + preparing the frying-pan, and R. W. himself went out to purchase the + viand. He soon returned, bearing the same in a fresh cabbage-leaf, where + it coyly embraced a rasher of ham. Melodious sounds were not long in + rising from the frying-pan on the fire, or in seeming, as the firelight + danced in the mellow halls of a couple of full bottles on the table, to + play appropriate dance-music. + </p> +<p> + The cloth was laid by Lavvy. Bella, as the acknowledged ornament of the + family, employed both her hands in giving her hair an additional wave + while sitting in the easiest chair, and occasionally threw in a direction + touching the supper: as, ‘Very brown, ma;’ or, to her sister, ‘Put the + saltcellar straight, miss, and don’t be a dowdy little puss.’ + </p> +<p> + Meantime her father, chinking Mr Rokesmith’s gold as he sat expectant + between his knife and fork, remarked that six of those sovereigns came + just in time for their landlord, and stood them in a little pile on the + white tablecloth to look at. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hate our landlord!’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + But, observing a fall in her father’s face, she went and sat down by him + at the table, and began touching up his hair with the handle of a fork. It + was one of the girl’s spoilt ways to be always arranging the family’s hair—perhaps + because her own was so pretty, and occupied so much of her attention. + </p> +<p> + ‘You deserve to have a house of your own; don’t you, poor pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t deserve it better than another, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At any rate I, for one, want it more than another,’ said Bella, holding + him by the chin, as she stuck his flaxen hair on end, ‘and I grudge this + money going to the Monster that swallows up so much, when we all want—Everything. + And if you say (as you want to say; I know you want to say so, pa) “that’s + neither reasonable nor honest, Bella,” then I answer, “Maybe not, pa—very + likely—but it’s one of the consequences of being poor, and of + thoroughly hating and detesting to be poor, and that’s my case.” Now, you + look lovely, pa; why don’t you always wear your hair like that? And here’s + the cutlet! If it isn’t very brown, ma, I can’t eat it, and must have a + bit put back to be done expressly.’ + </p> +<p> + However, as it was brown, even to Bella’s taste, the young lady graciously + partook of it without reconsignment to the frying-pan, and also, in due + course, of the contents of the two bottles: whereof one held Scotch ale + and the other rum. The latter perfume, with the fostering aid of boiling + water and lemon-peel, diffused itself throughout the room, and became so + highly concentrated around the warm fireside, that the wind passing over + the house roof must have rushed off charged with a delicious whiff of it, + after buzzing like a great bee at that particular chimneypot. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pa,’ said Bella, sipping the fragrant mixture and warming her favourite + ankle; ‘when old Mr Harmon made such a fool of me (not to mention himself, + as he is dead), what do you suppose he did it for?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Impossible to say, my dear. As I have told you time out of number since + his will was brought to light, I doubt if I ever exchanged a hundred words + with the old gentleman. If it was his whim to surprise us, his whim + succeeded. For he certainly did it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I was stamping my foot and screaming, when he first took notice of + me; was I?’ said Bella, contemplating the ankle before mentioned. + </p> +<p> + ‘You were stamping your little foot, my dear, and screaming with your + little voice, and laying into me with your little bonnet, which you had + snatched off for the purpose,’ returned her father, as if the remembrance + gave a relish to the rum; ‘you were doing this one Sunday morning when I + took you out, because I didn’t go the exact way you wanted, when the old + gentleman, sitting on a seat near, said, “That’s a nice girl; that’s a + <i>very </i>nice girl; a promising girl!” And so you were, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And then he asked my name, did he, pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then he asked your name, my dear, and mine; and on other Sunday mornings, + when we walked his way, we saw him again, and—and really that’s + all.’ + </p> +<p> + As that was all the rum and water too, or, in other words, as R. W. + delicately signified that his glass was empty, by throwing back his head + and standing the glass upside down on his nose and upper lip, it might + have been charitable in Mrs Wilfer to suggest replenishment. But that + heroine briefly suggesting ‘Bedtime’ instead, the bottles were put away, + and the family retired; she cherubically escorted, like some severe saint + in a painting, or merely human matron allegorically treated. + </p> +<p> + ‘And by this time to-morrow,’ said Lavinia when the two girls were alone + in their room, ‘we shall have Mr Rokesmith here, and shall be expecting to + have our throats cut.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You needn’t stand between me and the candle for all that,’ retorted + Bella. ‘This is another of the consequences of being poor! The idea of a + girl with a really fine head of hair, having to do it by one flat candle + and a few inches of looking-glass!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You caught George Sampson with it, Bella, bad as your means of dressing + it are.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You low little thing. Caught George Sampson with it! Don’t talk about + catching people, miss, till your own time for catching—as you call + it—comes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps it has come,’ muttered Lavvy, with a toss of her head. + </p> +<p> + ‘What did you say?’ asked Bella, very sharply. ‘What did you say, miss?’ + </p> +<p> + Lavvy declining equally to repeat or to explain, Bella gradually lapsed + over her hair-dressing into a soliloquy on the miseries of being poor, as + exemplified in having nothing to put on, nothing to go out in, nothing to + dress by, only a nasty box to dress at instead of a commodious + dressing-table, and being obliged to take in suspicious lodgers. On the + last grievance as her climax, she laid great stress—and might have + laid greater, had she known that if Mr Julius Handford had a twin brother + upon earth, Mr John Rokesmith was the man. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> +<h3> + BOFFIN’S BOWER + </h3> +<p> + Over against a London house, a corner house not far from Cavendish Square, + a man with a wooden leg had sat for some years, with his remaining foot in + a basket in cold weather, picking up a living on this wise:—Every + morning at eight o’clock, he stumped to the corner, carrying a chair, a + clothes-horse, a pair of trestles, a board, a basket, and an umbrella, all + strapped together. Separating these, the board and trestles became a + counter, the basket supplied the few small lots of fruit and sweets that + he offered for sale upon it and became a foot-warmer, the unfolded + clothes-horse displayed a choice collection of halfpenny ballads and + became a screen, and the stool planted within it became his post for the + rest of the day. All weathers saw the man at the post. This is to be + accepted in a double sense, for he contrived a back to his wooden stool, + by placing it against the lamp-post. When the weather was wet, he put up + his umbrella over his stock in trade, not over himself; when the weather + was dry, he furled that faded article, tied it round with a piece of yarn, + and laid it cross-wise under the trestles: where it looked like an + unwholesomely-forced lettuce that had lost in colour and crispness what it + had gained in size. + </p> +<p> + He had established his right to the corner, by imperceptible prescription. + He had never varied his ground an inch, but had in the beginning + diffidently taken the corner upon which the side of the house gave. A + howling corner in the winter time, a dusty corner in the summer time, an + undesirable corner at the best of times. Shelterless fragments of straw + and paper got up revolving storms there, when the main street was at + peace; and the water-cart, as if it were drunk or short-sighted, came + blundering and jolting round it, making it muddy when all else was clean. + </p> +<p> + On the front of his sale-board hung a little placard, like a + kettle-holder, bearing the inscription in his own small text: + </p> +<p class="bordered"> + Errands gone<br> + On with fi<br> + Delity By<br> + Ladies and Gentlemen<br> + I remain<br> + Your humble Servt.<br> + Silas Wegg. + </p> +<p> + He had not only settled it with himself in course of time, that he was + errand-goer by appointment to the house at the corner (though he received + such commissions not half a dozen times in a year, and then only as some + servant’s deputy), but also that he was one of the house’s retainers and + owed vassalage to it and was bound to leal and loyal interest in it. For + this reason, he always spoke of it as ‘Our House,’ and, though his + knowledge of its affairs was mostly speculative and all wrong, claimed to + be in its confidence. On similar grounds he never beheld an inmate at any + one of its windows but he touched his hat. Yet, he knew so little about + the inmates that he gave them names of his own invention: as ‘Miss + Elizabeth’, ‘Master George’, ‘Aunt Jane’, ‘Uncle Parker’—having no + authority whatever for any such designations, but particularly the last—to + which, as a natural consequence, he stuck with great obstinacy. + </p> +<p> + Over the house itself, he exercised the same imaginary power as over its + inhabitants and their affairs. He had never been in it, the length of a + piece of fat black water-pipe which trailed itself over the area-door into + a damp stone passage, and had rather the air of a leech on the house that + had ‘taken’ wonderfully; but this was no impediment to his arranging it + according to a plan of his own. It was a great dingy house with a quantity + of dim side window and blank back premises, and it cost his mind a world + of trouble so to lay it out as to account for everything in its external + appearance. But, this once done, was quite satisfactory, and he rested + persuaded, that he knew his way about the house blindfold: from the barred + garrets in the high roof, to the two iron extinguishers before the main + door—which seemed to request all lively visitors to have the + kindness to put themselves out, before entering. + </p> +<p> + Assuredly, this stall of Silas Wegg’s was the hardest little stall of all + the sterile little stalls in London. It gave you the face-ache to look at + his apples, the stomach-ache to look at his oranges, the tooth-ache to + look at his nuts. Of the latter commodity he had always a grim little + heap, on which lay a little wooden measure which had no discernible + inside, and was considered to represent the penn’orth appointed by Magna + Charta. Whether from too much east wind or no—it was an easterly + corner—the stall, the stock, and the keeper, were all as dry as the + Desert. Wegg was a knotty man, and a close-grained, with a face carved out + of very hard material, that had just as much play of expression as a + watchman’s rattle. When he laughed, certain jerks occurred in it, and the + rattle sprung. Sooth to say, he was so wooden a man that he seemed to have + taken his wooden leg naturally, and rather suggested to the fanciful + observer, that he might be expected—if his development received no + untimely check—to be completely set up with a pair of wooden legs in + about six months. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg was an observant person, or, as he himself said, ‘took a powerful + sight of notice’. He saluted all his regular passers-by every day, as he + sat on his stool backed up by the lamp-post; and on the adaptable + character of these salutes he greatly plumed himself. Thus, to the rector, + he addressed a bow, compounded of lay deference, and a slight touch of the + shady preliminary meditation at church; to the doctor, a confidential bow, + as to a gentleman whose acquaintance with his inside he begged + respectfully to acknowledge; before the Quality he delighted to abase + himself; and for Uncle Parker, who was in the army (at least, so he had + settled it), he put his open hand to the side of his hat, in a military + manner which that angry-eyed buttoned-up inflammatory-faced old gentleman + appeared but imperfectly to appreciate. + </p> +<p> + The only article in which Silas dealt, that was not hard, was gingerbread. + On a certain day, some wretched infant having purchased the damp + gingerbread-horse (fearfully out of condition), and the adhesive + bird-cage, which had been exposed for the day’s sale, he had taken a tin + box from under his stool to produce a relay of those dreadful specimens, + and was going to look in at the lid, when he said to himself, pausing: + ‘Oh! Here you are again!’ + </p> +<p> + The words referred to a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in + mourning, coming comically ambling towards the corner, dressed in a pea + over-coat, and carrying a large stick. He wore thick shoes, and thick + leather gaiters, and thick gloves like a hedger’s. Both as to his dress + and to himself, he was of an overlapping rhinoceros build, with folds in + his cheeks, and his forehead, and his eyelids, and his lips, and his ears; + but with bright, eager, childishly-inquiring, grey eyes, under his ragged + eyebrows, and broad-brimmed hat. A very odd-looking old fellow altogether. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here you are again,’ repeated Mr Wegg, musing. ‘And what are you now? Are + you in the Funns, or where are you? Have you lately come to settle in this + neighbourhood, or do you own to another neighbourhood? Are you in + independent circumstances, or is it wasting the motions of a bow on you? + Come! I’ll speculate! I’ll invest a bow in you.’ + </p> +<p> + Which Mr Wegg, having replaced his tin box, accordingly did, as he rose to + bait his gingerbread-trap for some other devoted infant. The salute was + acknowledged with: + </p> +<p> + ‘Morning, sir! Morning! Morning!’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Calls me Sir!’ said Mr Wegg, to himself; ‘<i>he</i> won’t answer. A bow gone!’) + </p> +<p> + ‘Morning, morning, morning!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Appears to be rather a ’arty old cock, too,’ said Mr Wegg, as before; + ‘Good morning to <i>you</i>, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you remember me, then?’ asked his new acquaintance, stopping in his + amble, one-sided, before the stall, and speaking in a pounding way, though + with great good-humour. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have noticed you go past our house, sir, several times in the course of + the last week or so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Our house,’ repeated the other. ‘Meaning—?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mr Wegg, nodding, as the other pointed the clumsy forefinger + of his right glove at the corner house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Now, what,’ pursued the old fellow, in an inquisitive manner, + carrying his knotted stick in his left arm as if it were a baby, ‘what do + they allow you now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s job work that I do for our house,’ returned Silas, drily, and with + reticence; ‘it’s not yet brought to an exact allowance.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! It’s not yet brought to an exact allowance? No! It’s not yet brought + to an exact allowance. Oh!—Morning, morning, morning!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Appears to be rather a cracked old cock,’ thought Silas, qualifying his + former good opinion, as the other ambled off. But, in a moment he was back + again with the question: + </p> +<p> + ‘How did you get your wooden leg?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg replied, (tartly to this personal inquiry), ‘In an accident.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! I haven’t got to keep it warm,’ Mr Wegg made answer, in a sort of + desperation occasioned by the singularity of the question. + </p> +<p> + ‘He hasn’t,’ repeated the other to his knotted stick, as he gave it a hug; + ‘he hasn’t got—ha!—ha!—to keep it warm! Did you ever + hear of the name of Boffin?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Wegg, who was growing restive under this examination. ‘I + never did hear of the name of Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, no,’ retorted Mr Wegg, again approaching desperation; ‘I can’t say I + do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why don’t you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know why I don’t,’ retorted Mr Wegg, approaching frenzy, ‘but I + don’t at all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I’ll tell you something that’ll make you sorry for that,’ said the + stranger, smiling. ‘My name’s Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t help it!’ returned Mr Wegg. Implying in his manner the offensive + addition, ‘and if I could, I wouldn’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But there’s another chance for you,’ said Mr Boffin, smiling still, ‘Do + you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick, or Noddy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not, sir,’ Mr Wegg rejoined, as he sat down on his stool, with an + air of gentle resignation, combined with melancholy candour; ‘it is not a + name as I could wish any one that I had a respect for, to call <i>me</i> by; but + there may be persons that would not view it with the same objections.—I + don’t know why,’ Mr Wegg added, anticipating another question. + </p> +<p> + ‘Noddy Boffin,’ said that gentleman. ‘Noddy. That’s my name. Noddy—or + Nick—Boffin. What’s your name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Silas Wegg.—I don’t,’ said Mr Wegg, bestirring himself to take the + same precaution as before, ‘I don’t know why Silas, and I don’t know why + Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, hugging his stick closer, ‘I want to make a + sort of offer to you. Do you remember when you first see me?’ + </p> +<p> + The wooden Wegg looked at him with a meditative eye, and also with a + softened air as descrying possibility of profit. ‘Let me think. I ain’t + quite sure, and yet I generally take a powerful sight of notice, too. Was + it on a Monday morning, when the butcher-boy had been to our house for + orders, and bought a ballad of me, which, being unacquainted with the + tune, I run it over to him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Right, Wegg, right! But he bought more than one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, to be sure, sir; he bought several; and wishing to lay out his money + to the best, he took my opinion to guide his choice, and we went over the + collection together. To be sure we did. Here was him as it might be, and + here was myself as it might be, and there was you, Mr Boffin, as you + identically are, with your self-same stick under your very same arm, and + your very same back towards us. To—be—sure!’ added Mr Wegg, + looking a little round Mr Boffin, to take him in the rear, and identify + this last extraordinary coincidence, ‘your wery self-same back!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you think I was doing, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should judge, sir, that you might be glancing your eye down the + street.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Wegg. I was a listening.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was you, indeed?’ said Mr Wegg, dubiously. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not in a dishonourable way, Wegg, because you was singing to the butcher; + and you wouldn’t sing secrets to a butcher in the street, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It never happened that I did so yet, to the best of my remembrance,’ said + Mr Wegg, cautiously. ‘But I might do it. A man can’t say what he might + wish to do some day or another.’ (This, not to release any little + advantage he might derive from Mr Boffin’s avowal.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ repeated Boffin, ‘I was a listening to you and to him. And what do + you—you haven’t got another stool, have you? I’m rather thick in my + breath.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I haven’t got another, but you’re welcome to this,’ said Wegg, resigning + it. ‘It’s a treat to me to stand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lard!’ exclaimed Mr Boffin, in a tone of great enjoyment, as he settled + himself down, still nursing his stick like a baby, ‘it’s a pleasant place, + this! And then to be shut in on each side, with these ballads, like so + many book-leaf blinkers! Why, its delightful!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I am not mistaken, sir,’ Mr Wegg delicately hinted, resting a hand on + his stall, and bending over the discursive Boffin, ‘you alluded to some + offer or another that was in your mind?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m coming to it! All right. I’m coming to it! I was going to say that + when I listened that morning, I listened with hadmiration amounting to + haw. I thought to myself, “Here’s a man with a wooden leg—a literary + man with—“’ + </p> +<p> + ‘N—not exactly so, sir,’ said Mr Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you know every one of these songs by name and by tune, and if you + want to read or to sing any one on ’em off straight, you’ve only to whip + on your spectacles and do it!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘I see you at it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, sir,’ returned Mr Wegg, with a conscious inclination of the head; + ‘we’ll say literary, then.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘“A literary man—<i>with </i>a wooden leg—and all Print is open to + him!” That’s what I thought to myself, that morning,’ pursued Mr Boffin, + leaning forward to describe, uncramped by the clotheshorse, as large an + arc as his right arm could make; ‘“all Print is open to him!” And it is, + ain’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, truly, sir,’ Mr Wegg admitted, with modesty; ‘I believe you couldn’t + show me the piece of English print, that I wouldn’t be equal to collaring + and throwing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘On the spot?’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘On the spot.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know’d it! Then consider this. Here am I, a man without a wooden leg, + and yet all print is shut to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed, sir?’ Mr Wegg returned with increasing self-complacency. + ‘Education neglected?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Neg—lected!’ repeated Boffin, with emphasis. ‘That ain’t no word + for it. I don’t mean to say but what if you showed me a B, I could so far + give you change for it, as to answer Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come, come, sir,’ said Mr Wegg, throwing in a little encouragement, + ‘that’s something, too.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s something,’ answered Mr Boffin, ‘but I’ll take my oath it ain’t + much.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps it’s not as much as could be wished by an inquiring mind, sir,’ + Mr Wegg admitted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, look here. I’m retired from business. Me and Mrs Boffin—Henerietty + Boffin—which her father’s name was Henery, and her mother’s name was + Hetty, and so you get it—we live on a compittance, under the will of + a diseased governor.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gentleman dead, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Man alive, don’t I tell you? A diseased governor? Now, it’s too late for + me to begin shovelling and sifting at alphabeds and grammar-books. I’m + getting to be a old bird, and I want to take it easy. But I want some + reading—some fine bold reading, some splendid book in a gorging + Lord-Mayor’s-Show of wollumes’ (probably meaning gorgeous, but misled by + association of ideas); ‘as’ll reach right down your pint of view, and take + time to go by you. How can I get that reading, Wegg? By,’ tapping him on + the breast with the head of his thick stick, ‘paying a man truly qualified + to do it, so much an hour (say twopence) to come and do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hem! Flattered, sir, I am sure,’ said Wegg, beginning to regard himself + in quite a new light. ‘Hew! This is the offer you mentioned, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Do you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am considering of it, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t,’ said Boffin, in a free-handed manner, ‘want to tie a literary + man—<i>with </i>a wooden leg—down too tight. A halfpenny an hour + shan’t part us. The hours are your own to choose, after you’ve done for + the day with your house here. I live over Maiden Lane way—out + Holloway direction—and you’ve only got to go East-and-by-North when + you’ve finished here, and you’re there. Twopence halfpenny an hour,’ said + Boffin, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket and getting off the stool + to work the sum on the top of it in his own way; ‘two long’uns and a + short’un—twopence halfpenny; two short’uns is a long’un and two two + long’uns is four long’uns—making five long’uns; six nights a week at + five long’uns a night,’ scoring them all down separately, ‘and you mount + up to thirty long’uns. A round’un! Half a crown!’ + </p> +<p> + Pointing to this result as a large and satisfactory one, Mr Boffin smeared + it out with his moistened glove, and sat down on the remains. + </p> +<p> + ‘Half a crown,’ said Wegg, meditating. ‘Yes. (It ain’t much, sir.) Half a + crown.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Per week, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Per week. Yes. As to the amount of strain upon the intellect now. Was you + thinking at all of poetry?’ Mr Wegg inquired, musing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would it come dearer?’ Mr Boffin asked. + </p> +<p> + ‘It would come dearer,’ Mr Wegg returned. ‘For when a person comes to + grind off poetry night after night, it is but right he should expect to be + paid for its weakening effect on his mind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To tell you the truth Wegg,’ said Boffin, ‘I wasn’t thinking of poetry, + except in so fur as this:—If you was to happen now and then to feel + yourself in the mind to tip me and Mrs Boffin one of your ballads, why + then we should drop into poetry.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I follow you, sir,’ said Wegg. ‘But not being a regular musical + professional, I should be loath to engage myself for that; and therefore + when I dropped into poetry, I should ask to be considered so fur, in the + light of a friend.’ + </p> +<p> + At this, Mr Boffin’s eyes sparkled, and he shook Silas earnestly by the + hand: protesting that it was more than he could have asked, and that he + took it very kindly indeed. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you think of the terms, Wegg?’ Mr Boffin then demanded, with + unconcealed anxiety. + </p> +<p> + Silas, who had stimulated this anxiety by his hard reserve of manner, and + who had begun to understand his man very well, replied with an air; as if + he were saying something extraordinarily generous and great: + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin, I never bargain.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So I should have thought of you!’ said Mr Boffin, admiringly. ‘No, sir. I + never did ’aggle and I never will ’aggle. Consequently I meet you at once, + free and fair, with—Done, for double the money!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin seemed a little unprepared for this conclusion, but assented, + with the remark, ‘You know better what it ought to be than I do, Wegg,’ + and again shook hands with him upon it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Could you begin to night, Wegg?’ he then demanded. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Wegg, careful to leave all the eagerness to him. ‘I + see no difficulty if you wish it. You are provided with the needful + implement—a book, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bought him at a sale,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Eight wollumes. Red and gold. + Purple ribbon in every wollume, to keep the place where you leave off. Do + you know him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The book’s name, sir?’ inquired Silas. + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought you might have know’d him without it,’ said Mr Boffin slightly + disappointed. ‘His name is Decline-And-Fall-Off-The-Rooshan-Empire.’ (Mr + Boffin went over these stones slowly and with much caution.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay indeed!’ said Mr Wegg, nodding his head with an air of friendly + recognition. + </p> +<p> + ‘You know him, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I haven’t been not to say right slap through him, very lately,’ Mr Wegg + made answer, ‘having been otherways employed, Mr Boffin. But know him? Old + familiar declining and falling off the Rooshan? Rather, sir! Ever since I + was not so high as your stick. Ever since my eldest brother left our + cottage to enlist into the army. On which occasion, as the ballad that was + made about it describes: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + ‘Beside that cottage door, Mr Boffin,<br> + <span class="poemindent">A girl was on her knees;</span><br> + She held aloft a snowy scarf, Sir,<br> + <span class="poemindent">Which (my eldest brother noticed) fluttered in the breeze.</span><br> + She breathed a prayer for him, Mr Boffin;<br> + <span class="poemindent">A prayer he coold not hear.</span><br> + And my eldest brother lean’d upon his sword, Mr Boffin,<br> + <span class="poemindent">And wiped away a tear.’</span> + </p> +<p> + Much impressed by this family circumstance, and also by the friendly + disposition of Mr Wegg, as exemplified in his so soon dropping into + poetry, Mr Boffin again shook hands with that ligneous sharper, and + besought him to name his hour. Mr Wegg named eight. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where I live,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘is called The Bower. Boffin’s Bower is + the name Mrs Boffin christened it when we come into it as a property. If + you should meet with anybody that don’t know it by that name (which hardly + anybody does), when you’ve got nigh upon about a odd mile, or say and a + quarter if you like, up Maiden Lane, Battle Bridge, ask for Harmony Jail, + and you’ll be put right. I shall expect you, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, + clapping him on the shoulder with the greatest enthusiasm, ‘most joyfully. + I shall have no peace or patience till you come. Print is now opening + ahead of me. This night, a literary man—<i>with </i>a wooden leg—’ he + bestowed an admiring look upon that decoration, as if it greatly enhanced + the relish of Mr Wegg’s attainments—‘will begin to lead me a new + life! My fist again, Wegg. Morning, morning, morning!’ + </p> +<p> + Left alone at his stall as the other ambled off, Mr Wegg subsided into his + screen, produced a small pocket-handkerchief of a penitentially-scrubbing + character, and took himself by the nose with a thoughtful aspect. Also, + while he still grasped that feature, he directed several thoughtful looks + down the street, after the retiring figure of Mr Boffin. But, profound + gravity sat enthroned on Wegg’s countenance. For, while he considered + within himself that this was an old fellow of rare simplicity, that this + was an opportunity to be improved, and that here might be money to be got + beyond present calculation, still he compromised himself by no admission + that his new engagement was at all out of his way, or involved the least + element of the ridiculous. Mr Wegg would even have picked a handsome + quarrel with any one who should have challenged his deep acquaintance with + those aforesaid eight volumes of Decline and Fall. His gravity was + unusual, portentous, and immeasurable, not because he admitted any doubt + of himself but because he perceived it necessary to forestall any doubt of + himself in others. And herein he ranged with that very numerous class of + impostors, who are quite as determined to keep up appearances to + themselves, as to their neighbours. + </p> +<p> + A certain loftiness, likewise, took possession of Mr Wegg; a condescending + sense of being in request as an official expounder of mysteries. It did + not move him to commercial greatness, but rather to littleness, insomuch + that if it had been within the possibilities of things for the wooden + measure to hold fewer nuts than usual, it would have done so that day. + But, when night came, and with her veiled eyes beheld him stumping towards + Boffin’s Bower, he was elated too. + </p> +<p> + The Bower was as difficult to find, as Fair Rosamond’s without the clue. + Mr Wegg, having reached the quarter indicated, inquired for the Bower half + a dozen times without the least success, until he remembered to ask for + Harmony Jail. This occasioned a quick change in the spirits of a hoarse + gentleman and a donkey, whom he had much perplexed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, yer mean Old Harmon’s, do yer?’ said the hoarse gentleman, who was + driving his donkey in a truck, with a carrot for a whip. ‘Why didn’t yer + niver say so? Eddard and me is a goin’ by <i>Him</i>! Jump in.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg complied, and the hoarse gentleman invited his attention to the + third person in company, thus; + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, you look at Eddard’s ears. What was it as you named, agin? Whisper.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg whispered, ‘Boffin’s Bower.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eddard! (keep yer hi on his ears) cut away to Boffin’s Bower!’ + </p> +<p> + Edward, with his ears lying back, remained immoveable. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eddard! (keep yer hi on his ears) cut away to Old Harmon’s.’ Edward + instantly pricked up his ears to their utmost, and rattled off at such a + pace that Mr Wegg’s conversation was jolted out of him in a most + dislocated state. + </p> +<p> + ‘Was-it-Ev-verajail?’ asked Mr Wegg, holding on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a proper jail, wot you and me would get committed to,’ returned his + escort; ‘they giv’ it the name, on accounts of Old Harmon living solitary + there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And-why-did-they-callitharm-Ony?’ asked Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘On accounts of his never agreeing with nobody. Like a speeches of chaff. + Harmon’s Jail; Harmony Jail. Working it round like.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Doyouknow-Mist-Erboff-in?’ asked Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should think so! Everybody do about here. Eddard knows him. (Keep yer + hi on his ears.) Noddy Boffin, Eddard!’ + </p> +<p> + The effect of the name was so very alarming, in respect of causing a + temporary disappearance of Edward’s head, casting his hind hoofs in the + air, greatly accelerating the pace and increasing the jolting, that Mr + Wegg was fain to devote his attention exclusively to holding on, and to + relinquish his desire of ascertaining whether this homage to Boffin was to + be considered complimentary or the reverse. + </p> +<p> + Presently, Edward stopped at a gateway, and Wegg discreetly lost no time + in slipping out at the back of the truck. The moment he was landed, his + late driver with a wave of the carrot, said ‘Supper, Eddard!’ and he, the + hind hoofs, the truck, and Edward, all seemed to fly into the air + together, in a kind of apotheosis. + </p> +<p> + Pushing the gate, which stood ajar, Wegg looked into an enclosed space + where certain tall dark mounds rose high against the sky, and where the + pathway to the Bower was indicated, as the moonlight showed, between two + lines of broken crockery set in ashes. A white figure advancing along this + path, proved to be nothing more ghostly than Mr Boffin, easily attired for + the pursuit of knowledge, in an undress garment of short white + smock-frock. Having received his literary friend with great cordiality, he + conducted him to the interior of the Bower and there presented him to Mrs + Boffin:—a stout lady of a rubicund and cheerful aspect, dressed (to + Mr Wegg’s consternation) in a low evening-dress of sable satin, and a + large black velvet hat and feathers. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Boffin, Wegg,’ said Boffin, ‘is a highflyer at Fashion. And her make + is such, that she does it credit. As to myself I ain’t yet as Fash’nable + as I may come to be. Henerietty, old lady, this is the gentleman that’s a + going to decline and fall off the Rooshan Empire.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I am sure I hope it’ll do you both good,’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + It was the queerest of rooms, fitted and furnished more like a luxurious + amateur tap-room than anything else within the ken of Silas Wegg. There + were two wooden settles by the fire, one on either side of it, with a + corresponding table before each. On one of these tables, the eight volumes + were ranged flat, in a row, like a galvanic battery; on the other, certain + squat case-bottles of inviting appearance seemed to stand on tiptoe to + exchange glances with Mr Wegg over a front row of tumblers and a basin of + white sugar. On the hob, a kettle steamed; on the hearth, a cat reposed. + Facing the fire between the settles, a sofa, a footstool, and a little + table, formed a centrepiece devoted to Mrs Boffin. They were garish in + taste and colour, but were expensive articles of drawing-room furniture + that had a very odd look beside the settles and the flaring gaslight + pendent from the ceiling. There was a flowery carpet on the floor; but, + instead of reaching to the fireside, its glowing vegetation stopped short + at Mrs Boffin’s footstool, and gave place to a region of sand and sawdust. + Mr Wegg also noticed, with admiring eyes, that, while the flowery land + displayed such hollow ornamentation as stuffed birds and waxen fruits + under glass-shades, there were, in the territory where vegetation ceased, + compensatory shelves on which the best part of a large pie and likewise of + a cold joint were plainly discernible among other solids. The room itself + was large, though low; and the heavy frames of its old-fashioned windows, + and the heavy beams in its crooked ceiling, seemed to indicate that it had + once been a house of some mark standing alone in the country. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you like it, Wegg?’ asked Mr Boffin, in his pouncing manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘I admire it greatly, sir,’ said Wegg. ‘Peculiar comfort at this fireside, + sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you understand it, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, in a general way, sir,’ Mr Wegg was beginning slowly and knowingly, + with his head stuck on one side, as evasive people do begin, when the + other cut him short: + </p> +<p> + ‘You <i>don’t</i> understand it, Wegg, and I’ll explain it. These arrangements is + made by mutual consent between Mrs Boffin and me. Mrs Boffin, as I’ve + mentioned, is a highflyer at Fashion; at present I’m not. I don’t go + higher than comfort, and comfort of the sort that I’m equal to the + enjoyment of. Well then. Where would be the good of Mrs Boffin and me + quarrelling over it? We never did quarrel, before we come into Boffin’s + Bower as a property; why quarrel when we <i>have </i>come into Boffin’s Bower as + a property? So Mrs Boffin, she keeps up her part of the room, in her way; + I keep up my part of the room in mine. In consequence of which we have at + once, Sociability (I should go melancholy mad without Mrs Boffin), + Fashion, and Comfort. If I get by degrees to be a higher-flyer at Fashion, + then Mrs Boffin will by degrees come for’arder. If Mrs Boffin should ever + be less of a dab at Fashion than she is at the present time, then Mrs + Boffin’s carpet would go back’arder. If we should both continny as we are, + why then <i>here </i>we are, and give us a kiss, old lady.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin who, perpetually smiling, had approached and drawn her plump + arm through her lord’s, most willingly complied. Fashion, in the form of + her black velvet hat and feathers, tried to prevent it; but got deservedly + crushed in the endeavour. + </p> +<p> + ‘So now, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, wiping his mouth with an air of much + refreshment, ‘you begin to know us as we are. This is a charming spot, is + the Bower, but you must get to apprechiate it by degrees. It’s a spot to + find out the merits of; little by little, and a new’un every day. There’s + a serpentining walk up each of the mounds, that gives you the yard and + neighbourhood changing every moment. When you get to the top, there’s a + view of the neighbouring premises, not to be surpassed. The premises of + Mrs Boffin’s late father (Canine Provision Trade), you look down into, as + if they was your own. And the top of the High Mound is crowned with a + lattice-work Arbour, in which, if you don’t read out loud many a book in + the summer, ay, and as a friend, drop many a time into poetry too, it + shan’t be my fault. Now, what’ll you read on?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, sir,’ returned Wegg, as if there were nothing new in his + reading at all. ‘I generally do it on gin and water.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Keeps the organ moist, does it, Wegg?’ asked Mr Boffin, with innocent + eagerness. + </p> +<p> + ‘N-no, sir,’ replied Wegg, coolly, ‘I should hardly describe it so, sir. I + should say, mellers it. Mellers it, is the word I should employ, Mr + Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + His wooden conceit and craft kept exact pace with the delighted + expectation of his victim. The visions rising before his mercenary mind, + of the many ways in which this connexion was to be turned to account, + never obscured the foremost idea natural to a dull overreaching man, that + he must not make himself too cheap. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin’s Fashion, as a less inexorable deity than the idol usually + worshipped under that name, did not forbid her mixing for her literary + guest, or asking if he found the result to his liking. On his returning a + gracious answer and taking his place at the literary settle, Mr Boffin + began to compose himself as a listener, at the opposite settle, with + exultant eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sorry to deprive you of a pipe, Wegg,’ he said, filling his own, ‘but you + can’t do both together. Oh! and another thing I forgot to name! When you + come in here of an evening, and look round you, and notice anything on a + shelf that happens to catch your fancy, mention it.’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg, who had been going to put on his spectacles, immediately laid them + down, with the sprightly observation: + </p> +<p> + ‘You read my thoughts, sir. <i>Do</i> my eyes deceive me, or is that object up + there a—a pie? It can’t be a pie.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, it’s a pie, Wegg,’ replied Mr Boffin, with a glance of some little + discomfiture at the Decline and Fall. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Have </i>I lost my smell for fruits, or is it a apple pie, sir?’ asked Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s a veal and ham pie,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it indeed, sir? And it would be hard, sir, to name the pie that is a + better pie than a weal and hammer,’ said Mr Wegg, nodding his head + emotionally. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have some, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Mr Boffin, I think I will, at your invitation. I wouldn’t at + any other party’s, at the present juncture; but at yours, sir!—And + meaty jelly too, especially when a little salt, which is the case where + there’s ham, is mellering to the organ, is very mellering to the organ.’ + Mr Wegg did not say what organ, but spoke with a cheerful generality. + </p> +<p> + So, the pie was brought down, and the worthy Mr Boffin exercised his + patience until Wegg, in the exercise of his knife and fork, had finished + the dish: only profiting by the opportunity to inform Wegg that although + it was not strictly Fashionable to keep the contents of a larder thus + exposed to view, he (Mr Boffin) considered it hospitable; for the reason, + that instead of saying, in a comparatively unmeaning manner, to a visitor, + ‘There are such and such edibles down stairs; will you have anything up?’ + you took the bold practical course of saying, ‘Cast your eye along the + shelves, and, if you see anything you like there, have it down.’ + </p> +<p> + And now, Mr Wegg at length pushed away his plate and put on his + spectacles, and Mr Boffin lighted his pipe and looked with beaming eyes + into the opening world before him, and Mrs Boffin reclined in a + fashionable manner on her sofa: as one who would be part of the audience + if she found she could, and would go to sleep if she found she couldn’t. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hem!’ began Wegg, ‘This, Mr Boffin and Lady, is the first chapter of the + first wollume of the Decline and Fall off—’ here he looked hard at + the book, and stopped. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the matter, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, it comes into my mind, do you know, sir,’ said Wegg with an air of + insinuating frankness (having first again looked hard at the book), ‘that + you made a little mistake this morning, which I had meant to set you right + in, only something put it out of my head. I think you said Rooshan Empire, + sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is Rooshan; ain’t it, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir. Roman. Roman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the difference, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The difference, sir?’ Mr Wegg was faltering and in danger of breaking + down, when a bright thought flashed upon him. ‘The difference, sir? There + you place me in a difficulty, Mr Boffin. Suffice it to observe, that the + difference is best postponed to some other occasion when Mrs Boffin does + not honour us with her company. In Mrs Boffin’s presence, sir, we had + better drop it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg thus came out of his disadvantage with quite a chivalrous air, and + not only that, but by dint of repeating with a manly delicacy, ‘In Mrs + Boffin’s presence, sir, we had better drop it!’ turned the disadvantage on + Boffin, who felt that he had committed himself in a very painful manner. + </p> +<p> + Then, Mr Wegg, in a dry unflinching way, entered on his task; going + straight across country at everything that came before him; taking all the + hard words, biographical and geographical; getting rather shaken by + Hadrian, Trajan, and the Antonines; stumbling at Polybius (pronounced + Polly Beeious, and supposed by Mr Boffin to be a Roman virgin, and by Mrs + Boffin to be responsible for that necessity of dropping it); heavily + unseated by Titus Antoninus Pius; up again and galloping smoothly with + Augustus; finally, getting over the ground well with Commodus: who, under + the appellation of Commodious, was held by Mr Boffin to have been quite + unworthy of his English origin, and ‘not to have acted up to his name’ in + his government of the Roman people. With the death of this personage, Mr + Wegg terminated his first reading; long before which consummation several + total eclipses of Mrs Boffin’s candle behind her black velvet disc, would + have been very alarming, but for being regularly accompanied by a potent + smell of burnt pens when her feathers took fire, which acted as a + restorative and woke her. Mr Wegg, having read on by rote and attached as + few ideas as possible to the text, came out of the encounter fresh; but, + Mr Boffin, who had soon laid down his unfinished pipe, and had ever since + sat intently staring with his eyes and mind at the confounding enormities + of the Romans, was so severely punished that he could hardly wish his + literary friend Good-night, and articulate ‘Tomorrow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Commodious,’ gasped Mr Boffin, staring at the moon, after letting Wegg + out at the gate and fastening it: ‘Commodious fights in that + wild-beast-show, seven hundred and thirty-five times, in one character + only! As if that wasn’t stunning enough, a hundred lions is turned into + the same wild-beast-show all at once! As if that wasn’t stunning enough, + Commodious, in another character, kills ’em all off in a hundred goes! As + if that wasn’t stunning enough, Vittle-us (and well named too) eats six + millions’ worth, English money, in seven months! Wegg takes it easy, but + upon-my-soul to a old bird like myself these are scarers. And even now + that Commodious is strangled, I don’t see a way to our bettering + ourselves.’ Mr Boffin added as he turned his pensive steps towards the + Bower and shook his head, ‘I didn’t think this morning there was half so + many Scarers in Print. But I’m in for it now!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> +<h3> + CUT ADRIFT + </h3> +<p> + The Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, already mentioned as a tavern of a + dropsical appearance, had long settled down into a state of hale + infirmity. In its whole constitution it had not a straight floor, and + hardly a straight line; but it had outlasted, and clearly would yet + outlast, many a better-trimmed building, many a sprucer public-house. + Externally, it was a narrow lopsided wooden jumble of corpulent windows + heaped one upon another as you might heap as many toppling oranges, with a + crazy wooden verandah impending over the water; indeed the whole house, + inclusive of the complaining flag-staff on the roof, impended over the + water, but seemed to have got into the condition of a faint-hearted diver + who has paused so long on the brink that he will never go in at all. + </p> +<p> + This description applies to the river-frontage of the Six Jolly Fellowship + Porters. The back of the establishment, though the chief entrance was + there, so contracted that it merely represented in its connexion with the + front, the handle of a flat iron set upright on its broadest end. This + handle stood at the bottom of a wilderness of court and alley: which + wilderness pressed so hard and close upon the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters + as to leave the hostelry not an inch of ground beyond its door. For this + reason, in combination with the fact that the house was all but afloat at + high water, when the Porters had a family wash the linen subjected to that + operation might usually be seen drying on lines stretched across the + reception-rooms and bed-chambers. + </p> +<p> + The wood forming the chimney-pieces, beams, partitions, floors and doors, + of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, seemed in its old age fraught with + confused memories of its youth. In many places it had become gnarled and + riven, according to the manner of old trees; knots started out of it; and + here and there it seemed to twist itself into some likeness of boughs. In + this state of second childhood, it had an air of being in its own way + garrulous about its early life. Not without reason was it often asserted + by the regular frequenters of the Porters, that when the light shone full + upon the grain of certain panels, and particularly upon an old corner + cupboard of walnut-wood in the bar, you might trace little forests there, + and tiny trees like the parent tree, in full umbrageous leaf. + </p> +<p> + The bar of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters was a bar to soften the human + breast. The available space in it was not much larger than a + hackney-coach; but no one could have wished the bar bigger, that space was + so girt in by corpulent little casks, and by cordial-bottles radiant with + fictitious grapes in bunches, and by lemons in nets, and by biscuits in + baskets, and by the polite beer-pulls that made low bows when customers + were served with beer, and by the cheese in a snug corner, and by the + landlady’s own small table in a snugger corner near the fire, with the + cloth everlastingly laid. This haven was divided from the rough world by a + glass partition and a half-door, with a leaden sill upon it for the + convenience of resting your liquor; but, over this half-door the bar’s + snugness so gushed forth that, albeit customers drank there standing, in a + dark and draughty passage where they were shouldered by other customers + passing in and out, they always appeared to drink under an enchanting + delusion that they were in the bar itself. + </p> +<p> + For the rest, both the tap and parlour of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters + gave upon the river, and had red curtains matching the noses of the + regular customers, and were provided with comfortable fireside tin + utensils, like models of sugar-loaf hats, made in that shape that they + might, with their pointed ends, seek out for themselves glowing nooks in + the depths of the red coals, when they mulled your ale, or heated for you + those delectable drinks, Purl, Flip, and Dog’s Nose. The first of these + humming compounds was a speciality of the Porters, which, through an + inscription on its door-posts, gently appealed to your feelings as, ‘The + Early Purl House’. For, it would seem that Purl must always be taken + early; though whether for any more distinctly stomachic reason than that, + as the early bird catches the worm, so the early purl catches the + customer, cannot here be resolved. It only remains to add that in the + handle of the flat iron, and opposite the bar, was a very little room like + a three-cornered hat, into which no direct ray of sun, moon, or star, ever + penetrated, but which was superstitiously regarded as a sanctuary replete + with comfort and retirement by gaslight, and on the door of which was + therefore painted its alluring name: Cosy. + </p> +<p> + Miss Potterson, sole proprietor and manager of the Fellowship Porters, + reigned supreme on her throne, the Bar, and a man must have drunk himself + mad drunk indeed if he thought he could contest a point with her. Being + known on her own authority as Miss Abbey Potterson, some water-side heads, + which (like the water) were none of the clearest, harboured muddled + notions that, because of her dignity and firmness, she was named after, or + in some sort related to, the Abbey at Westminster. But, Abbey was only + short for Abigail, by which name Miss Potterson had been christened at + Limehouse Church, some sixty and odd years before. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, you mind, you Riderhood,’ said Miss Abbey Potterson, with emphatic + forefinger over the half-door, ‘the Fellowship don’t want you at all, and + would rather by far have your room than your company; but if you were as + welcome here as you are not, you shouldn’t even then have another drop of + drink here this night, after this present pint of beer. So make the most + of it.’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0070m " src="images/0070m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0070m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0070.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7322145013327978520"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘But you know, Miss Potterson,’ this was suggested very meekly though, ‘if + I behave myself, you can’t help serving me, miss.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Can’t I!</i>’ said Abbey, with infinite expression. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Miss Potterson; because, you see, the law—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am the law here, my man,’ returned Miss Abbey, ‘and I’ll soon convince + you of that, if you doubt it at all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never said I did doubt it at all, Miss Abbey.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So much the better for you.’ + </p> +<p> + Abbey the supreme threw the customer’s halfpence into the till, and, + seating herself in her fireside-chair, resumed the newspaper she had been + reading. She was a tall, upright, well-favoured woman, though severe of + countenance, and had more of the air of a schoolmistress than mistress of + the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters. The man on the other side of the + half-door, was a waterside-man with a squinting leer, and he eyed her as + if he were one of her pupils in disgrace. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re cruel hard upon me, Miss Potterson.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Potterson read her newspaper with contracted brows, and took no + notice until he whispered: + </p> +<p> + ‘Miss Potterson! Ma’am! Might I have half a word with you?’ + </p> +<p> + Deigning then to turn her eyes sideways towards the suppliant, Miss + Potterson beheld him knuckling his low forehead, and ducking at her with + his head, as if he were asking leave to fling himself head foremost over + the half-door and alight on his feet in the bar. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well?’ said Miss Potterson, with a manner as short as she herself was + long, ‘say your half word. Bring it out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Miss Potterson! Ma’am! Would you ’sxcuse me taking the liberty of asking, + is it my character that you take objections to?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly,’ said Miss Potterson. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it that you’re afraid of—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not afraid <i>of</i> <i>you</i>,’ interposed Miss Potterson, ‘if you mean that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I humbly don’t mean that, Miss Abbey.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then what do you mean?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You really are so cruel hard upon me! What I was going to make inquiries + was no more than, might you have any apprehensions—leastways beliefs + or suppositions—that the company’s property mightn’t be altogether + to be considered safe, if I used the house too regular?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you want to know for?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Miss Abbey, respectfully meaning no offence to you, it would be + some satisfaction to a man’s mind, to understand why the Fellowship + Porters is not to be free to such as me, and is to be free to such as + Gaffer.’ + </p> +<p> + The face of the hostess darkened with some shadow of perplexity, as she + replied: ‘Gaffer has never been where you have been.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Signifying in Quod, Miss? Perhaps not. But he may have merited it. He may + be suspected of far worse than ever I was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who suspects him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Many, perhaps. One, beyond all doubts. I do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>You </i>are not much,’ said Miss Abbey Potterson, knitting her brows again + with disdain. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I was his pardner. Mind you, Miss Abbey, I was his pardner. As such I + know more of the ins and outs of him than any person living does. Notice + this! I am the man that was his pardner, and I am the man that suspects + him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ suggested Miss Abbey, though with a deeper shade of perplexity + than before, ‘you criminate yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No I don’t, Miss Abbey. For how does it stand? It stands this way. When I + was his pardner, I couldn’t never give him satisfaction. Why couldn’t I + never give him satisfaction? Because my luck was bad; because I couldn’t + find many enough of ’em. How was his luck? Always good. Notice this! + Always good! Ah! There’s a many games, Miss Abbey, in which there’s + chance, but there’s a many others in which there’s skill too, mixed along + with it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That Gaffer has a skill in finding what he finds, who doubts, man?’ asked + Miss Abbey. + </p> +<p> + ‘A skill in purwiding what he finds, perhaps,’ said Riderhood, shaking his + evil head. + </p> +<p> + Miss Abbey knitted her brow at him, as he darkly leered at her. ‘If you’re + out upon the river pretty nigh every tide, and if you want to find a man + or woman in the river, you’ll greatly help your luck, Miss Abbey, by + knocking a man or woman on the head aforehand and pitching ’em in.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gracious Lud!’ was the involuntary exclamation of Miss Potterson. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mind you!’ returned the other, stretching forward over the half door to + throw his words into the bar; for his voice was as if the head of his + boat’s mop were down his throat; ‘I say so, Miss Abbey! And mind you! I’ll + follow him up, Miss Abbey! And mind you! I’ll bring him to hook at last, + if it’s twenty year hence, I will! Who’s he, to be favoured along of his + daughter? Ain’t I got a daughter of my own!’ + </p> +<p> + With that flourish, and seeming to have talked himself rather more drunk + and much more ferocious than he had begun by being, Mr Riderhood took up + his pint pot and swaggered off to the taproom. + </p> +<p> + Gaffer was not there, but a pretty strong muster of Miss Abbey’s pupils + were, who exhibited, when occasion required, the greatest docility. On the + clock’s striking ten, and Miss Abbey’s appearing at the door, and + addressing a certain person in a faded scarlet jacket, with ‘George Jones, + your time’s up! I told your wife you should be punctual,’ Jones + submissively rose, gave the company good-night, and retired. At half-past + ten, on Miss Abbey’s looking in again, and saying, ‘William Williams, Bob + Glamour, and Jonathan, you are all due,’ Williams, Bob, and Jonathan with + similar meekness took their leave and evaporated. Greater wonder than + these, when a bottle-nosed person in a glazed hat had after some + considerable hesitation ordered another glass of gin and water of the + attendant potboy, and when Miss Abbey, instead of sending it, appeared in + person, saying, ‘Captain Joey, you have had as much as will do you good,’ + not only did the captain feebly rub his knees and contemplate the fire + without offering a word of protest, but the rest of the company murmured, + ‘Ay, ay, Captain! Miss Abbey’s right; you be guided by Miss Abbey, + Captain.’ Nor, was Miss Abbey’s vigilance in anywise abated by this + submission, but rather sharpened; for, looking round on the deferential + faces of her school, and descrying two other young persons in need of + admonition, she thus bestowed it: ‘Tom Tootle, it’s time for a young + fellow who’s going to be married next month, to be at home and asleep. And + you needn’t nudge him, Mr Jack Mullins, for I know your work begins early + tomorrow, and I say the same to you. So come! Good-night, like good lads!’ + Upon which, the blushing Tootle looked to Mullins, and the blushing + Mullins looked to Tootle, on the question who should rise first, and + finally both rose together and went out on the broad grin, followed by + Miss Abbey; in whose presence the company did not take the liberty of + grinning likewise. + </p> +<p> + In such an establishment, the white-aproned pot-boy with his shirt-sleeves + arranged in a tight roll on each bare shoulder, was a mere hint of the + possibility of physical force, thrown out as a matter of state and form. + Exactly at the closing hour, all the guests who were left, filed out in + the best order: Miss Abbey standing at the half door of the bar, to hold a + ceremony of review and dismissal. All wished Miss Abbey good-night and + Miss Abbey wished good-night to all, except Riderhood. The sapient + pot-boy, looking on officially, then had the conviction borne in upon his + soul, that the man was evermore outcast and excommunicate from the Six + Jolly Fellowship Porters. + </p> +<p> + ‘You Bob Gliddery,’ said Miss Abbey to this pot-boy, ‘run round to Hexam’s + and tell his daughter Lizzie that I want to speak to her.’ + </p> +<p> + With exemplary swiftness Bob Gliddery departed, and returned. Lizzie, + following him, arrived as one of the two female domestics of the + Fellowship Porters arranged on the snug little table by the bar fire, Miss + Potterson’s supper of hot sausages and mashed potatoes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come in and sit ye down, girl,’ said Miss Abbey. ‘Can you eat a bit?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No thank you, Miss. I have had my supper.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have had mine too, I think,’ said Miss Abbey, pushing away the untasted + dish, ‘and more than enough of it. I am put out, Lizzie.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very sorry for it, Miss.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then why, in the name of Goodness,’ quoth Miss Abbey, sharply, ‘do you do + it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do it, Miss!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There, there. Don’t look astonished. I ought to have begun with a word of + explanation, but it’s my way to make short cuts at things. I always was a + pepperer. You Bob Gliddery there, put the chain upon the door and get ye + down to your supper.’ + </p> +<p> + With an alacrity that seemed no less referable to the pepperer fact than + to the supper fact, Bob obeyed, and his boots were heard descending + towards the bed of the river. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie Hexam, Lizzie Hexam,’ then began Miss Potterson, ‘how often have I + held out to you the opportunity of getting clear of your father, and doing + well?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very often, Miss.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very often? Yes! And I might as well have spoken to the iron funnel of + the strongest sea-going steamer that passes the Fellowship Porters.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Miss,’ Lizzie pleaded; ‘because that would not be thankful, and I + am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I vow and declare I am half ashamed of myself for taking such an interest + in you,’ said Miss Abbey, pettishly, ‘for I don’t believe I should do it + if you were not good-looking. Why ain’t you ugly?’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie merely answered this difficult question with an apologetic glance. + </p> +<p> + ‘However, you ain’t,’ resumed Miss Potterson, ‘so it’s no use going into + that. I must take you as I find you. Which indeed is what I’ve done. And + you mean to say you are still obstinate?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not obstinate, Miss, I hope.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Firm (I suppose you call it) then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Miss. Fixed like.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never was an obstinate person yet, who would own to the word!’ remarked + Miss Potterson, rubbing her vexed nose; ‘I’m sure I would, if I was + obstinate; but I am a pepperer, which is different. Lizzie Hexam, Lizzie + Hexam, think again. Do you know the worst of your father?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I know the worst of father!’ she repeated, opening her eyes.</p> +<p> ‘Do you + know the suspicions to which your father makes himself liable? Do you know + the suspicions that are actually about, against him?’ + </p> +<p> + The consciousness of what he habitually did, oppressed the girl heavily, + and she slowly cast down her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Say, Lizzie. Do you know?’ urged Miss Abbey. + </p> +<p> + ‘Please to tell me what the suspicions are, Miss,’ she asked after a + silence, with her eyes upon the ground. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not an easy thing to tell a daughter, but it must be told. It is + thought by some, then, that your father helps to their death a few of + those that he finds dead.’ + </p> +<p> + The relief of hearing what she felt sure was a false suspicion, in place + of the expected real and true one, so lightened Lizzie’s breast for the + moment, that Miss Abbey was amazed at her demeanour. She raised her eyes + quickly, shook her head, and, in a kind of triumph, almost laughed. + </p> +<p> + ‘They little know father who talk like that!’ + </p> +<p> + (‘She takes it,’ thought Miss Abbey, ‘very quietly. She takes it with + extraordinary quietness!’) + </p> +<p> + ‘And perhaps,’ said Lizzie, as a recollection flashed upon her, ‘it is + some one who has a grudge against father; some one who has threatened + father! Is it Riderhood, Miss?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well; yes it is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes! He was father’s partner, and father broke with him, and now he + revenges himself. Father broke with him when I was by, and he was very + angry at it. And besides, Miss Abbey!—Will you never, without strong + reason, let pass your lips what I am going to say?’ + </p> +<p> + She bent forward to say it in a whisper. + </p> +<p> + ‘I promise,’ said Miss Abbey. + </p> +<p> + ‘It was on the night when the Harmon murder was found out, through father, + just above bridge. And just below bridge, as we were sculling home, + Riderhood crept out of the dark in his boat. And many and many times + afterwards, when such great pains were taken to come to the bottom of the + crime, and it never could be come near, I thought in my own thoughts, + could Riderhood himself have done the murder, and did he purposely let + father find the body? It seemed a’most wicked and cruel to so much as + think such a thing; but now that he tries to throw it upon father, I go + back to it as if it was a truth. Can it be a truth? That was put into my + mind by the dead?’ + </p> +<p> + She asked this question, rather of the fire than of the hostess of the + Fellowship Porters, and looked round the little bar with troubled eyes. + </p> +<p> + But, Miss Potterson, as a ready schoolmistress accustomed to bring her + pupils to book, set the matter in a light that was essentially of this + world. + </p> +<p> + ‘You poor deluded girl,’ she said, ‘don’t you see that you can’t open your + mind to particular suspicions of one of the two, without opening your mind + to general suspicions of the other? They had worked together. Their + goings-on had been going on for some time. Even granting that it was as + you have had in your thoughts, what the two had done together would come + familiar to the mind of one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t know father, Miss, when you talk like that. Indeed, indeed, you + don’t know father.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie, Lizzie,’ said Miss Potterson. ‘Leave him. You needn’t break with + him altogether, but leave him. Do well away from him; not because of what + I have told you to-night—we’ll pass no judgment upon that, and we’ll + hope it may not be—but because of what I have urged on you before. + No matter whether it’s owing to your good looks or not, I like you and I + want to serve you. Lizzie, come under my direction. Don’t fling yourself + away, my girl, but be persuaded into being respectable and happy.’ + </p> +<p> + In the sound good feeling and good sense of her entreaty, Miss Abbey had + softened into a soothing tone, and had even drawn her arm round the girl’s + waist. But, she only replied, ‘Thank you, thank you! I can’t. I won’t. I + must not think of it. The harder father is borne upon, the more he needs + me to lean on.’ + </p> +<p> + And then Miss Abbey, who, like all hard people when they do soften, felt + that there was considerable compensation owing to her, underwent reaction + and became frigid. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have done what I can,’ she said, ‘and you must go your way. You make + your bed, and you must lie on it. But tell your father one thing: he must + not come here any more.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Miss, will you forbid him the house where I know he’s safe?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The Fellowships,’ returned Miss Abbey, ‘has itself to look to, as well as + others. It has been hard work to establish order here, and make the + Fellowships what it is, and it is daily and nightly hard work to keep it + so. The Fellowships must not have a taint upon it that may give it a bad + name. I forbid the house to Riderhood, and I forbid the house to Gaffer. I + forbid both, equally. I find from Riderhood and you together, that there + are suspicions against both men, and I’m not going to take upon myself to + decide betwixt them. They are both tarred with a dirty brush, and I can’t + have the Fellowships tarred with the same brush. That’s all I know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-night, Miss!’ said Lizzie Hexam, sorrowfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah!—Good-night!’ returned Miss Abbey with a shake of her head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Believe me, Miss Abbey, I am truly grateful all the same.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can believe a good deal,’ returned the stately Abbey, ‘so I’ll try to + believe that too, Lizzie.’ + </p> +<p> + No supper did Miss Potterson take that night, and only half her usual + tumbler of hot Port Negus. And the female domestics—two robust + sisters, with staring black eyes, shining flat red faces, blunt noses, and + strong black curls, like dolls—interchanged the sentiment that + Missis had had her hair combed the wrong way by somebody. And the pot-boy + afterwards remarked, that he hadn’t been ‘so rattled to bed’, since his + late mother had systematically accelerated his retirement to rest with a + poker. + </p> +<p> + The chaining of the door behind her, as she went forth, disenchanted + Lizzie Hexam of that first relief she had felt. The night was black and + shrill, the river-side wilderness was melancholy, and there was a sound of + casting-out, in the rattling of the iron-links, and the grating of the + bolts and staples under Miss Abbey’s hand. As she came beneath the + lowering sky, a sense of being involved in a murky shade of Murder dropped + upon her; and, as the tidal swell of the river broke at her feet without + her seeing how it gathered, so, her thoughts startled her by rushing out + of an unseen void and striking at her heart. + </p> +<p> + Of her father’s being groundlessly suspected, she felt sure. Sure. Sure. + And yet, repeat the word inwardly as often as she would, the attempt to + reason out and prove that she was sure, always came after it and failed. + Riderhood had done the deed, and entrapped her father. Riderhood had not + done the deed, but had resolved in his malice to turn against her father, + the appearances that were ready to his hand to distort. Equally and + swiftly upon either putting of the case, followed the frightful + possibility that her father, being innocent, yet might come to be believed + guilty. She had heard of people suffering Death for bloodshed of which + they were afterwards proved pure, and those ill-fated persons were not, + first, in that dangerous wrong in which her father stood. Then at the + best, the beginning of his being set apart, whispered against, and + avoided, was a certain fact. It dated from that very night. And as the + great black river with its dreary shores was soon lost to her view in the + gloom, so, she stood on the river’s brink unable to see into the vast + blank misery of a life suspected, and fallen away from by good and bad, + but knowing that it lay there dim before her, stretching away to the great + ocean, Death. + </p> +<p> + One thing only, was clear to the girl’s mind. Accustomed from her very + babyhood promptly to do the thing that could be done—whether to keep + out weather, to ward off cold, to postpone hunger, or what not—she + started out of her meditation, and ran home. + </p> +<p> + The room was quiet, and the lamp burnt on the table. In the bunk in the + corner, her brother lay asleep. She bent over him softly, kissed him, and + came to the table. + </p> +<p> + ‘By the time of Miss Abbey’s closing, and by the run of the tide, it must + be one. Tide’s running up. Father at Chiswick, wouldn’t think of coming + down, till after the turn, and that’s at half after four. I’ll call + Charley at six. I shall hear the church-clocks strike, as I sit here.’ + </p> +<p> + Very quietly, she placed a chair before the scanty fire, and sat down in + it, drawing her shawl about her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley’s hollow down by the flare is not there now. Poor Charley!’ + </p> +<p> + The clock struck two, and the clock struck three, and the clock struck + four, and she remained there, with a woman’s patience and her own purpose. + When the morning was well on between four and five, she slipped off her + shoes (that her going about might not wake Charley), trimmed the fire + sparingly, put water on to boil, and set the table for breakfast. Then she + went up the ladder, lamp in hand, and came down again, and glided about + and about, making a little bundle. Lastly, from her pocket, and from the + chimney-piece, and from an inverted basin on the highest shelf she brought + halfpence, a few sixpences, fewer shillings, and fell to laboriously and + noiselessly counting them, and setting aside one little heap. She was + still so engaged, when she was startled by: + </p> +<p> + ‘Hal-loa!’ From her brother, sitting up in bed. + </p> +<p> + ‘You made me jump, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Jump! Didn’t you make <i>me</i> jump, when I opened my eyes a moment ago, and + saw you sitting there, like the ghost of a girl miser, in the dead of the + night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not the dead of the night, Charley. It’s nigh six in the morning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it though? But what are you up to, Liz?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Still telling your fortune, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It seems to be a precious small one, if that’s it,’ said the boy. ‘What + are you putting that little pile of money by itself for?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For you, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Get out of bed, Charley, and get washed and dressed, and then I’ll tell + you.’ + </p> +<p> + Her composed manner, and her low distinct voice, always had an influence + over him. His head was soon in a basin of water, and out of it again, and + staring at her through a storm of towelling. + </p> +<p> + ‘I never,’ towelling at himself as if he were his bitterest enemy, ‘saw + such a girl as you are. What <i>is</i> the move, Liz?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you almost ready for breakfast, Charley?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You can pour it out. Hal-loa! I say? And a bundle?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And a bundle, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t mean it’s for me, too?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Charley; I do; indeed.’ + </p> +<p> + More serious of face, and more slow of action, than he had been, the boy + completed his dressing, and came and sat down at the little + breakfast-table, with his eyes amazedly directed to her face. + </p> +<p> + ‘You see, Charley dear, I have made up my mind that this is the right time + for your going away from us. Over and above all the blessed change of + by-and-bye, you’ll be much happier, and do much better, even so soon as + next month. Even so soon as next week.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you know I shall?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t quite know how, Charley, but I do.’ In spite of her unchanged + manner of speaking, and her unchanged appearance of composure, she + scarcely trusted herself to look at him, but kept her eyes employed on the + cutting and buttering of his bread, and on the mixing of his tea, and + other such little preparations. ‘You must leave father to me, Charley—I + will do what I can with him—but you must go.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t stand upon ceremony, I think,’ grumbled the boy, throwing his + bread and butter about, in an ill-humour. + </p> +<p> + She made him no answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you what,’ said the boy, then, bursting out into an angry + whimpering, ‘you’re a selfish jade, and you think there’s not enough for + three of us, and you want to get rid of me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you believe so, Charley,—yes, then I believe too, that I am a + selfish jade, and that I think there’s not enough for three of us, and + that I want to get rid of you.’ + </p> +<p> + It was only when the boy rushed at her, and threw his arms round her neck, + that she lost her self-restraint. But she lost it then, and wept over him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry! I am satisfied to go, Liz; I am satisfied to go. I + know you send me away for my good.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O, Charley, Charley, Heaven above us knows I do!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes yes. Don’t mind what I said. Don’t remember it. Kiss me.’ + </p> +<p> + After a silence, she loosed him, to dry her eyes and regain her strong + quiet influence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now listen, Charley dear. We both know it must be done, and I alone know + there is good reason for its being done at once. Go straight to the + school, and say that you and I agreed upon it—that we can’t overcome + father’s opposition—that father will never trouble them, but will + never take you back. You are a credit to the school, and you will be a + greater credit to it yet, and they will help you to get a living. Show + what clothes you have brought, and what money, and say that I will send + some more money. If I can get some in no other way, I will ask a little + help of those two gentlemen who came here that night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say!’ cried her brother, quickly. ‘Don’t you have it of that chap that + took hold of me by the chin! Don’t you have it of that Wrayburn one!’ + </p> +<p> + Perhaps a slight additional tinge of red flushed up into her face and + brow, as with a nod she laid a hand upon his lips to keep him silently + attentive. + </p> +<p> + ‘And above all things mind this, Charley! Be sure you always speak well of + father. Be sure you always give father his full due. You can’t deny that + because father has no learning himself he is set against it in you; but + favour nothing else against him, and be sure you say—as you know—that + your sister is devoted to him. And if you should ever happen to hear + anything said against father that is new to you, it will not be true. + Remember, Charley! It will not be true.’ + </p> +<p> + The boy looked at her with some doubt and surprise, but she went on again + without heeding it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Above all things remember! It will not be true. I have nothing more to + say, Charley dear, except, be good, and get learning, and only think of + some things in the old life here, as if you had dreamed them in a dream + last night. Good-bye, my Darling!’ + </p> +<p> + Though so young, she infused in these parting words a love that was far + more like a mother’s than a sister’s, and before which the boy was quite + bowed down. After holding her to his breast with a passionate cry, he took + up his bundle and darted out at the door, with an arm across his eyes. + </p> +<p> + The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty + mist; and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black + substances; and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark + masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on + fire. Lizzie, looking for her father, saw him coming, and stood upon the + causeway that he might see her. + </p> +<p> + He had nothing with him but his boat, and came on apace. A knot of those + amphibious human-creatures who appear to have some mysterious power of + extracting a subsistence out of tidal water by looking at it, were + gathered together about the causeway. As her father’s boat grounded, they + became contemplative of the mud, and dispersed themselves. She saw that + the mute avoidance had begun. + </p> +<p> + Gaffer saw it, too, in so far as that he was moved when he set foot on + shore, to stare around him. But, he promptly set to work to haul up his + boat, and make her fast, and take the sculls and rudder and rope out of + her. Carrying these with Lizzie’s aid, he passed up to his dwelling. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sit close to the fire, father, dear, while I cook your breakfast. It’s + all ready for cooking, and only been waiting for you. You must be frozen.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Lizzie, I ain’t of a glow; that’s certain. And my hands seem nailed + through to the sculls. See how dead they are!’ Something suggestive in + their colour, and perhaps in her face, struck him as he held them up; he + turned his shoulder and held them down to the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘You were not out in the perishing night, I hope, father?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my dear. Lay aboard a barge, by a blazing coal-fire.—Where’s + that boy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s a drop of brandy for your tea, father, if you’ll put it in while + I turn this bit of meat. If the river was to get frozen, there would be a + deal of distress; wouldn’t there, father?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! there’s always enough of that,’ said Gaffer, dropping the liquor into + his cup from a squat black bottle, and dropping it slowly that it might + seem more; ‘distress is for ever a going about, like sut in the air—Ain’t + that boy up yet?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The meat’s ready now, father. Eat it while it’s hot and comfortable. + After you have finished, we’ll turn round to the fire and talk.’ + </p> +<p> + But, he perceived that he was evaded, and, having thrown a hasty angry + glance towards the bunk, plucked at a corner of her apron and asked: + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s gone with that boy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Father, if you’ll begin your breakfast, I’ll sit by and tell you.’ He + looked at her, stirred his tea and took two or three gulps, then cut at + his piece of hot steak with his case-knife, and said, eating: + </p> +<p> + ‘Now then. What’s gone with that boy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be angry, dear. It seems, father, that he has quite a gift of + learning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Unnat’ral young beggar!’ said the parent, shaking his knife in the air. + </p> +<p> + ‘And that having this gift, and not being equally good at other things, he + has made shift to get some schooling.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Unnat’ral young beggar!’ said the parent again, with his former action. + </p> +<p> + ‘—And that knowing you have nothing to spare, father, and not + wishing to be a burden on you, he gradually made up his mind to go seek + his fortune out of learning. He went away this morning, father, and he + cried very much at going, and he hoped you would forgive him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let him never come a nigh me to ask me my forgiveness,’ said the father, + again emphasizing his words with the knife. ‘Let him never come within + sight of my eyes, nor yet within reach of my arm. His own father ain’t + good enough for him. He’s disowned his own father. His own father + therefore, disowns him for ever and ever, as a unnat’ral young beggar.’ + </p> +<p> + He had pushed away his plate. With the natural need of a strong rough man + in anger, to do something forcible, he now clutched his knife overhand, + and struck downward with it at the end of every succeeding sentence. As he + would have struck with his own clenched fist if there had chanced to be + nothing in it. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s welcome to go. He’s more welcome to go than to stay. But let him + never come back. Let him never put his head inside that door. And let you + never speak a word more in his favour, or you’ll disown your own father, + likewise, and what your father says of him he’ll have to come to say of + you. Now I see why them men yonder held aloof from me. They says to one + another, “Here comes the man as ain’t good enough for his own son!” Lizzie—!’ + </p> +<p> + But, she stopped him with a cry. Looking at her he saw her, with a face + quite strange to him, shrinking back against the wall, with her hands + before her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Father, don’t! I can’t bear to see you striking with it. Put it down!’ + </p> +<p> + He looked at the knife; but in his astonishment still held it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Father, it’s too horrible. O put it down, put it down!’ + </p> +<p> + Confounded by her appearance and exclamation, he tossed it away, and stood + up with his open hands held out before him. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s come to you, Liz? Can you think I would strike at you with a + knife?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, father, no; you would never hurt me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What should I hurt?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing, dear father. On my knees, I am certain, in my heart and soul I + am certain, nothing! But it was too dreadful to bear; for it looked—’ + her hands covering her face again, ‘O it looked—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What did it look like?’ + </p> +<p> + The recollection of his murderous figure, combining with her trial of last + night, and her trial of the morning, caused her to drop at his feet, + without having answered. + </p> +<p> + He had never seen her so before. He raised her with the utmost tenderness, + calling her the best of daughters, and ‘my poor pretty creetur’, and laid + her head upon his knee, and tried to restore her. But failing, he laid her + head gently down again, got a pillow and placed it under her dark hair, + and sought on the table for a spoonful of brandy. There being none left, + he hurriedly caught up the empty bottle, and ran out at the door. + </p> +<p> + He returned as hurriedly as he had gone, with the bottle still empty. He + kneeled down by her, took her head on his arm, and moistened her lips with + a little water into which he dipped his fingers: saying, fiercely, as he + looked around, now over this shoulder, now over that: + </p> +<p> + ‘Have we got a pest in the house? Is there summ’at deadly sticking to my + clothes? What’s let loose upon us? Who loosed it?’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> +<h3> + MR WEGG LOOKS AFTER HIMSELF + </h3> +<p> + Silas Wegg, being on his road to the Roman Empire, approaches it by way of + Clerkenwell. The time is early in the evening; the weather moist and raw. + Mr Wegg finds leisure to make a little circuit, by reason that he folds + his screen early, now that he combines another source of income with it, + and also that he feels it due to himself to be anxiously expected at the + Bower. ‘Boffin will get all the eagerer for waiting a bit,’ says Silas, + screwing up, as he stumps along, first his right eye, and then his left. + Which is something superfluous in him, for Nature has already screwed both + pretty tight. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I get on with him as I expect to get on,’ Silas pursues, stumping and + meditating, ‘it wouldn’t become me to leave it here. It wouldn’t be + respectable.’ Animated by this reflection, he stumps faster, and looks a + long way before him, as a man with an ambitious project in abeyance often + will do. + </p> +<p> + Aware of a working-jeweller population taking sanctuary about the church + in Clerkenwell, Mr Wegg is conscious of an interest in, and a respect for, + the neighbourhood. But, his sensations in this regard halt as to their + strict morality, as he halts in his gait; for, they suggest the delights + of a coat of invisibility in which to walk off safely with the precious + stones and watch-cases, but stop short of any compunction for the people + who would lose the same. + </p> +<p> + Not, however, towards the ‘shops’ where cunning artificers work in pearls + and diamonds and gold and silver, making their hands so rich, that the + enriched water in which they wash them is bought for the refiners;—not + towards these does Mr Wegg stump, but towards the poorer shops of small + retail traders in commodities to eat and drink and keep folks warm, and of + Italian frame-makers, and of barbers, and of brokers, and of dealers in + dogs and singing-birds. From these, in a narrow and a dirty street devoted + to such callings, Mr Wegg selects one dark shop-window with a tallow + candle dimly burning in it, surrounded by a muddle of objects vaguely + resembling pieces of leather and dry stick, but among which nothing is + resolvable into anything distinct, save the candle itself in its old tin + candlestick, and two preserved frogs fighting a small-sword duel. Stumping + with fresh vigour, he goes in at the dark greasy entry, pushes a little + greasy dark reluctant side-door, and follows the door into the little dark + greasy shop. It is so dark that nothing can be made out in it, over a + little counter, but another tallow candle in another old tin candlestick, + close to the face of a man stooping low in a chair. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg nods to the face, ‘Good evening.’ + </p> +<p> + The face looking up is a sallow face with weak eyes, surmounted by a + tangle of reddish-dusty hair. The owner of the face has no cravat on, and + has opened his tumbled shirt-collar to work with the more ease. For the + same reason he has no coat on: only a loose waistcoat over his yellow + linen. His eyes are like the over-tried eyes of an engraver, but he is not + that; his expression and stoop are like those of a shoemaker, but he is + not that. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good evening, Mr Venus. Don’t you remember?’ + </p> +<p> + With slowly dawning remembrance, Mr Venus rises, and holds his candle over + the little counter, and holds it down towards the legs, natural and + artificial, of Mr Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘To be <i>sure</i>!’ he says, then. ‘How do you do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Wegg, you know,’ that gentleman explains. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, yes,’ says the other. ‘Hospital amputation?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Just so,’ says Mr Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, yes,’ quoth Venus. ‘How do you do? Sit down by the fire, and warm + your—your other one.’ + </p> +<p> + The little counter being so short a counter that it leaves the fireplace, + which would have been behind it if it had been longer, accessible, Mr Wegg + sits down on a box in front of the fire, and inhales a warm and + comfortable smell which is not the smell of the shop. ‘For that,’ Mr Wegg + inwardly decides, as he takes a corrective sniff or two, ‘is musty, + leathery, feathery, cellary, gluey, gummy, and,’ with another sniff, ‘as + it might be, strong of old pairs of bellows.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My tea is drawing, and my muffin is on the hob, Mr Wegg; will you + partake?’ + </p> +<p> + It being one of Mr Wegg’s guiding rules in life always to partake, he says + he will. But, the little shop is so excessively dark, is stuck so full of + black shelves and brackets and nooks and corners, that he sees Mr Venus’s + cup and saucer only because it is close under the candle, and does not see + from what mysterious recess Mr Venus produces another for himself until it + is under his nose. Concurrently, Wegg perceives a pretty little dead bird + lying on the counter, with its head drooping on one side against the rim + of Mr Venus’s saucer, and a long stiff wire piercing its breast. As if it + were Cock Robin, the hero of the ballad, and Mr Venus were the sparrow + with his bow and arrow, and Mr Wegg were the fly with his little eye. + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus dives, and produces another muffin, yet untoasted; taking the + arrow out of the breast of Cock Robin, he proceeds to toast it on the end + of that cruel instrument. When it is brown, he dives again and produces + butter, with which he completes his work. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg, as an artful man who is sure of his supper by-and-bye, presses + muffin on his host to soothe him into a compliant state of mind, or, as + one might say, to grease his works. As the muffins disappear, little by + little, the black shelves and nooks and corners begin to appear, and Mr + Wegg gradually acquires an imperfect notion that over against him on the + chimney-piece is a Hindoo baby in a bottle, curved up with his big head + tucked under him, as he would instantly throw a summersault if the bottle + were large enough. + </p> +<p> + When he deems Mr Venus’s wheels sufficiently lubricated, Mr Wegg + approaches his object by asking, as he lightly taps his hands together, to + express an undesigning frame of mind: + </p> +<p> + ‘And how have I been going on, this long time, Mr Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very bad,’ says Mr Venus, uncompromisingly. + </p> +<p> + ‘What? Am I still at home?’ asks Wegg, with an air of surprise. + </p> +<p> + ‘Always at home.’ + </p> +<p> + This would seem to be secretly agreeable to Wegg, but he veils his + feelings, and observes, ‘Strange. To what do you attribute it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know,’ replies Venus, who is a haggard melancholy man, speaking + in a weak voice of querulous complaint, ‘to what to attribute it, Mr Wegg. + I can’t work you into a miscellaneous one, no how. Do what I will, you + can’t be got to fit. Anybody with a passable knowledge would pick you out + at a look, and say,—“No go! Don’t match!”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, but hang it, Mr Venus,’ Wegg expostulates with some little + irritation, ‘that can’t be personal and peculiar in <i>me</i>. It must often + happen with miscellaneous ones.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With ribs (I grant you) always. But not else. When I prepare a + miscellaneous one, I know beforehand that I can’t keep to nature, and be + miscellaneous with ribs, because every man has his own ribs, and no other + man’s will go with them; but elseways I can be miscellaneous. I have just + sent home a Beauty—a perfect Beauty—to a school of art. One + leg Belgian, one leg English, and the pickings of eight other people in + it. Talk of not being qualified to be miscellaneous! By rights you <i>ought</i> + to be, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas looks as hard at his one leg as he can in the dim light, and after a + pause sulkily opines ‘that it must be the fault of the other people. Or + how do you mean to say it comes about?’ he demands impatiently. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know how it comes about. Stand up a minute. Hold the light.’ Mr + Venus takes from a corner by his chair, the bones of a leg and foot, + beautifully pure, and put together with exquisite neatness. These he + compares with Mr Wegg’s leg; that gentleman looking on, as if he were + being measured for a riding-boot. ‘No, I don’t know how it is, but so it + is. You have got a twist in that bone, to the best of my belief. I never + saw the likes of you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg having looked distrustfully at his own limb, and suspiciously at + the pattern with which it has been compared, makes the point: + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll bet a pound that ain’t an English one!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘An easy wager, when we run so much into foreign! No, it belongs to that + French gentleman.’ + </p> +<p> + As he nods towards a point of darkness behind Mr Wegg, the latter, with a + slight start, looks round for ‘that French gentleman,’ whom he at length + descries to be represented (in a very workmanlike manner) by his ribs + only, standing on a shelf in another corner, like a piece of armour or a + pair of stays. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ says Mr Wegg, with a sort of sense of being introduced; ‘I dare say + you were all right enough in your own country, but I hope no objections + will be taken to my saying that the Frenchman was never yet born as I + should wish to match.’ + </p> +<p> + At this moment the greasy door is violently pushed inward, and a boy + follows it, who says, after having let it slam: + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0086m " src="images/0086m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0086m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0086.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6726913723869886086"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Come for the stuffed canary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s three and ninepence,’ returns Venus; ‘have you got the money?’ + </p> +<p> + The boy produces four shillings. Mr Venus, always in exceedingly low + spirits and making whimpering sounds, peers about for the stuffed canary. + On his taking the candle to assist his search, Mr Wegg observes that he + has a convenient little shelf near his knees, exclusively appropriated to + skeleton hands, which have very much the appearance of wanting to lay hold + of him. From these Mr Venus rescues the canary in a glass case, and shows + it to the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ he whimpers. ‘There’s animation! On a twig, making up his mind to + hop! Take care of him; he’s a lovely specimen.—And three is four.’ + </p> +<p> + The boy gathers up his change and has pulled the door open by a leather + strap nailed to it for the purpose, when Venus cries out: + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop him! Come back, you young villain! You’ve got a tooth among them + halfpence.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How was I to know I’d got it? You giv it me. I don’t want none of your + teeth; I’ve got enough of my own.’ So the boy pipes, as he selects it from + his change, and throws it on the counter. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t sauce <i>me</i>, in the wicious pride of your youth,’ Mr Venus retorts + pathetically. ‘Don’t hit <i>me</i> because you see I’m down. I’m low enough + without that. It dropped into the till, I suppose. They drop into + everything. There was two in the coffee-pot at breakfast time. Molars.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well, then,’ argues the boy, ‘what do you call names for?’ + </p> +<p> + To which Mr Venus only replies, shaking his shock of dusty hair, and + winking his weak eyes, ‘Don’t sauce <i>me</i>, in the wicious pride of your + youth; don’t hit <i>me</i>, because you see I’m down. You’ve no idea how small + you’d come out, if I had the articulating of you.’ + </p> +<p> + This consideration seems to have its effect on the boy, for he goes out + grumbling. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh dear me, dear me!’ sighs Mr Venus, heavily, snuffing the candle, ‘the + world that appeared so flowery has ceased to blow! You’re casting your eye + round the shop, Mr Wegg. Let me show you a light. My working bench. My + young man’s bench. A Wice. Tools. Bones, warious. Skulls, warious. + Preserved Indian baby. African ditto. Bottled preparations, warious. + Everything within reach of your hand, in good preservation. The mouldy + ones a-top. What’s in those hampers over them again, I don’t quite + remember. Say, human warious. Cats. Articulated English baby. Dogs. Ducks. + Glass eyes, warious. Mummied bird. Dried cuticle, warious. Oh, dear me! + That’s the general panoramic view.’ + </p> +<p> + Having so held and waved the candle as that all these heterogeneous + objects seemed to come forward obediently when they were named, and then + retire again, Mr Venus despondently repeats, ‘Oh dear me, dear me!’ + resumes his seat, and with drooping despondency upon him, falls to pouring + himself out more tea. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where am I?’ asks Mr Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re somewhere in the back shop across the yard, sir; and speaking + quite candidly, I wish I’d never bought you of the Hospital Porter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, look here, what did you give for me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ replies Venus, blowing his tea: his head and face peering out of + the darkness, over the smoke of it, as if he were modernizing the old + original rise in his family: ‘you were one of a warious lot, and I don’t + know.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas puts his point in the improved form of ‘What will you take for me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ replies Venus, still blowing his tea, ‘I’m not prepared, at a + moment’s notice, to tell you, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come! According to your own account I’m not worth much,’ Wegg reasons + persuasively. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not for miscellaneous working in, I grant you, Mr Wegg; but you might + turn out valuable yet, as a—’ here Mr Venus takes a gulp of tea, so + hot that it makes him choke, and sets his weak eyes watering; ‘as a + Monstrosity, if you’ll excuse me.’ + </p> +<p> + Repressing an indignant look, indicative of anything but a disposition to + excuse him, Silas pursues his point. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think you know me, Mr Venus, and I think you know I never bargain.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus takes gulps of hot tea, shutting his eyes at every gulp, and + opening them again in a spasmodic manner; but does not commit himself to + assent. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have a prospect of getting on in life and elevating myself by my own + independent exertions,’ says Wegg, feelingly, ‘and I shouldn’t like—I + tell you openly I should <i>not </i>like—under such circumstances, to be + what I may call dispersed, a part of me here, and a part of me there, but + should wish to collect myself like a genteel person.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s a prospect at present, is it, Mr Wegg? Then you haven’t got the + money for a deal about you? Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you; I’ll + hold you over. I am a man of my word, and you needn’t be afraid of my + disposing of you. I’ll hold you over. That’s a promise. Oh dear me, dear + me!’ + </p> +<p> + Fain to accept his promise, and wishing to propitiate him, Mr Wegg looks + on as he sighs and pours himself out more tea, and then says, trying to + get a sympathetic tone into his voice: + </p> +<p> + ‘You seem very low, Mr Venus. Is business bad?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never was so good.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is your hand out at all?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never was so well in. Mr Wegg, I’m not only first in the trade, but I’m + <i>the </i>trade. You may go and buy a skeleton at the West End if you like, and + pay the West End price, but it’ll be my putting together. I’ve as much to + do as I can possibly do, with the assistance of my young man, and I take a + pride and a pleasure in it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus thus delivers himself, his right hand extended, his smoking + saucer in his left hand, protesting as though he were going to burst into + a flood of tears. + </p> +<p> + ‘That ain’t a state of things to make you low, Mr Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg, I know it ain’t. Mr Wegg, not to name myself as a workman + without an equal, I’ve gone on improving myself in my knowledge of + Anatomy, till both by sight and by name I’m perfect. Mr Wegg, if you was + brought here loose in a bag to be articulated, I’d name your smallest + bones blindfold equally with your largest, as fast as I could pick ’em + out, and I’d sort ’em all, and sort your wertebrae, in a manner that would + equally surprise and charm you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ remarks Silas (though not quite so readily as last time), ‘<i>that</i> + ain’t a state of things to be low about.—Not for <i>you </i>to be low + about, leastways.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg, I know it ain’t; Mr Wegg, I know it ain’t. But it’s the heart + that lowers me, it is the heart! Be so good as take and read that card out + loud.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas receives one from his hand, which Venus takes from a wonderful + litter in a drawer, and putting on his spectacles, reads: + </p> +<p> + ‘“Mr Venus,”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Go on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘“Preserver of Animals and Birds,”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Go on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘“Articulator of human bones.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s it,’ with a groan. ‘That’s it! Mr Wegg, I’m thirty-two, and a + bachelor. Mr Wegg, I love her. Mr Wegg, she is worthy of being loved by a + Potentate!’ Here Silas is rather alarmed by Mr Venus’s springing to his + feet in the hurry of his spirits, and haggardly confronting him with his + hand on his coat collar; but Mr Venus, begging pardon, sits down again, + saying, with the calmness of despair, ‘She objects to the business.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Does she know the profits of it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She knows the profits of it, but she don’t appreciate the art of it, and + she objects to it. “I do not wish,” she writes in her own handwriting, “to + regard myself, nor yet to be regarded, in that boney light”.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus pours himself out more tea, with a look and in an attitude of the + deepest desolation. + </p> +<p> + ‘And so a man climbs to the top of the tree, Mr Wegg, only to see that + there’s no look-out when he’s up there! I sit here of a night surrounded + by the lovely trophies of my art, and what have they done for me? Ruined + me. Brought me to the pass of being informed that “she does not wish to + regard herself, nor yet to be regarded, in that boney light”!’ Having + repeated the fatal expressions, Mr Venus drinks more tea by gulps, and + offers an explanation of his doing so. + </p> +<p> + ‘It lowers me. When I’m equally lowered all over, lethargy sets in. By + sticking to it till one or two in the morning, I get oblivion. Don’t let + me detain you, Mr Wegg. I’m not company for any one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not on that account,’ says Silas, rising, ‘but because I’ve got an + appointment. It’s time I was at Harmon’s.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ said Mr Venus. ‘Harmon’s, up Battle Bridge way?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg admits that he is bound for that port. + </p> +<p> + ‘You ought to be in a good thing, if you’ve worked yourself in there. + There’s lots of money going, there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To think,’ says Silas, ‘that you should catch it up so quick, and know + about it. Wonderful!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, Mr Wegg. The old gentleman wanted to know the nature and + worth of everything that was found in the dust; and many’s the bone, and + feather, and what not, that he’s brought to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Really, now!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. (Oh dear me, dear me!) And he’s buried quite in this neighbourhood, + you know. Over yonder.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg does not know, but he makes as if he did, by responsively nodding + his head. He also follows with his eyes, the toss of Venus’s head: as if + to seek a direction to over yonder. + </p> +<p> + ‘I took an interest in that discovery in the river,’ says Venus. ‘(She + hadn’t written her cutting refusal at that time.) I’ve got up there—never + mind, though.’ + </p> +<p> + He had raised the candle at arm’s length towards one of the dark shelves, + and Mr Wegg had turned to look, when he broke off. + </p> +<p> + ‘The old gentleman was well known all round here. There used to be stories + about his having hidden all kinds of property in those dust mounds. I + suppose there was nothing in ’em. Probably you know, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing in ’em,’ says Wegg, who has never heard a word of this before. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t let me detain you. Good night!’ + </p> +<p> + The unfortunate Mr Venus gives him a shake of the hand with a shake of his + own head, and drooping down in his chair, proceeds to pour himself out + more tea. Mr Wegg, looking back over his shoulder as he pulls the door + open by the strap, notices that the movement so shakes the crazy shop, and + so shakes a momentary flare out of the candle, as that the babies—Hindoo, + African, and British—the ‘human warious’, the French gentleman, the + green glass-eyed cats, the dogs, the ducks, and all the rest of the + collection, show for an instant as if paralytically animated; while even + poor little Cock Robin at Mr Venus’s elbow turns over on his innocent + side. Next moment, Mr Wegg is stumping under the gaslights and through the + mud. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> +<h3> + MR BOFFIN IN CONSULTATION + </h3> +<p> + Whosoever had gone out of Fleet Street into the Temple at the date of this + history, and had wandered disconsolate about the Temple until he stumbled + on a dismal churchyard, and had looked up at the dismal windows commanding + that churchyard until at the most dismal window of them all he saw a + dismal boy, would in him have beheld, at one grand comprehensive swoop of + the eye, the managing clerk, junior clerk, common-law clerk, conveyancing + clerk, chancery clerk, every refinement and department of clerk, of Mr + Mortimer Lightwood, erewhile called in the newspapers eminent solicitor. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin having been several times in communication with this clerkly + essence, both on its own ground and at the Bower, had no difficulty in + identifying it when he saw it up in its dusty eyrie. To the second floor + on which the window was situated, he ascended, much pre-occupied in mind + by the uncertainties besetting the Roman Empire, and much regretting the + death of the amiable Pertinax: who only last night had left the Imperial + affairs in a state of great confusion, by falling a victim to the fury of + the praetorian guards. + </p> +<p> + ‘Morning, morning, morning!’ said Mr Boffin, with a wave of his hand, as + the office door was opened by the dismal boy, whose appropriate name was + Blight. ‘Governor in?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Lightwood gave you an appointment, sir, I think?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want him to give it, you know,’ returned Mr Boffin; ‘I’ll pay my + way, my boy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No doubt, sir. Would you walk in? Mr Lightwood ain’t in at the present + moment, but I expect him back very shortly. Would you take a seat in Mr + Lightwood’s room, sir, while I look over our Appointment Book?’ Young + Blight made a great show of fetching from his desk a long thin manuscript + volume with a brown paper cover, and running his finger down the day’s + appointments, murmuring, ‘Mr Aggs, Mr Baggs, Mr Caggs, Mr Daggs, Mr Faggs, + Mr Gaggs, Mr Boffin. Yes, sir; quite right. You are a little before your + time, sir. Mr Lightwood will be in directly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m not in a hurry,’ said Mr Boffin + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll take the opportunity, if you please, of entering + your name in our Callers’ Book for the day.’ Young Blight made another + great show of changing the volume, taking up a pen, sucking it, dipping + it, and running over previous entries before he wrote. As, ‘Mr Alley, Mr + Balley, Mr Calley, Mr Dalley, Mr Falley, Mr Galley, Mr Halley, Mr Lalley, + Mr Malley. And Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Strict system here; eh, my lad?’ said Mr Boffin, as he was booked. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir,’ returned the boy. ‘I couldn’t get on without it.’ + </p> +<p> + By which he probably meant that his mind would have been shattered to + pieces without this fiction of an occupation. Wearing in his solitary + confinement no fetters that he could polish, and being provided with no + drinking-cup that he could carve, he had fallen on the device of ringing + alphabetical changes into the two volumes in question, or of entering vast + numbers of persons out of the Directory as transacting business with Mr + Lightwood. It was the more necessary for his spirits, because, being of a + sensitive temperament, he was apt to consider it personally disgraceful to + himself that his master had no clients. + </p> +<p> + ‘How long have you been in the law, now?’ asked Mr Boffin, with a pounce, + in his usual inquisitive way. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ve been in the law, now, sir, about three years.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Must have been as good as born in it!’ said Mr Boffin, with admiration. + ‘Do you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mind it much,’ returned Young Blight, heaving a sigh, as if its + bitterness were past. + </p> +<p> + ‘What wages do you get?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Half what I could wish,’ replied young Blight. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the whole that you could wish?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Fifteen shillings a week,’ said the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘About how long might it take you now, at a average rate of going, to be a + Judge?’ asked Mr Boffin, after surveying his small stature in silence. + </p> +<p> + The boy answered that he had not yet quite worked out that little + calculation. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose there’s nothing to prevent your going in for it?’ said Mr + Boffin. + </p> +<p> + The boy virtually replied that as he had the honour to be a Briton who + never never never, there was nothing to prevent his going in for it. Yet + he seemed inclined to suspect that there might be something to prevent his + coming out with it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would a couple of pound help you up at all?’ asked Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + On this head, young Blight had no doubt whatever, so Mr Boffin made him a + present of that sum of money, and thanked him for his attention to his (Mr + Boffin’s) affairs; which, he added, were now, he believed, as good as + settled. + </p> +<p> + Then Mr Boffin, with his stick at his ear, like a Familiar Spirit + explaining the office to him, sat staring at a little bookcase of Law + Practice and Law Reports, and at a window, and at an empty blue bag, and + at a stick of sealing-wax, and a pen, and a box of wafers, and an apple, + and a writing-pad—all very dusty—and at a number of inky + smears and blots, and at an imperfectly-disguised gun-case pretending to + be something legal, and at an iron box labelled <i>HARMON ESTATE</i>, until Mr + Lightwood appeared. + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood explained that he came from the proctor’s, with whom he had + been engaged in transacting Mr Boffin’s affairs. + </p> +<p> + ‘And they seem to have taken a deal out of you!’ said Mr Boffin, with + commiseration. + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood, without explaining that his weariness was chronic, proceeded + with his exposition that, all forms of law having been at length complied + with, will of Harmon deceased having been proved, death of Harmon next + inheriting having been proved, &c., and so forth, Court of Chancery + having been moved, &c. and so forth, he, Mr Lightwood, had now the + gratification, honour, and happiness, again &c. and so forth, of + congratulating Mr Boffin on coming into possession as residuary legatee, + of upwards of one hundred thousand pounds, standing in the books of the + Governor and Company of the Bank of England, again &c. and so forth. + </p> +<p> + ‘And what is particularly eligible in the property Mr Boffin, is, that it + involves no trouble. There are no estates to manage, no rents to return so + much per cent upon in bad times (which is an extremely dear way of getting + your name into the newspapers), no voters to become parboiled in hot water + with, no agents to take the cream off the milk before it comes to table. + You could put the whole in a cash-box to-morrow morning, and take it with + you to—say, to the Rocky Mountains. Inasmuch as every man,’ + concluded Mr Lightwood, with an indolent smile, ‘appears to be under a + fatal spell which obliges him, sooner or later, to mention the Rocky + Mountains in a tone of extreme familiarity to some other man, I hope + you’ll excuse my pressing you into the service of that gigantic range of + geographical bores.’ + </p> +<p> + Without following this last remark very closely, Mr Boffin cast his + perplexed gaze first at the ceiling, and then at the carpet. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ he remarked, ‘I don’t know what to say about it, I am sure. I was + a’most as well as I was. It’s a great lot to take care of.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mr Boffin, then <i>don’t</i> take care of it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ said that gentleman. + </p> +<p> + ‘Speaking now,’ returned Mortimer, ‘with the irresponsible imbecility of a + private individual, and not with the profundity of a professional adviser, + I should say that if the circumstance of its being too much, weighs upon + your mind, you have the haven of consolation open to you that you can + easily make it less. And if you should be apprehensive of the trouble of + doing so, there is the further haven of consolation that any number of + people will take the trouble off your hands.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! I don’t quite see it,’ retorted Mr Boffin, still perplexed. ‘That’s + not satisfactory, you know, what you’re a-saying.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is Anything satisfactory, Mr Boffin?’ asked Mortimer, raising his + eyebrows. + </p> +<p> + ‘I used to find it so,’ answered Mr Boffin, with a wistful look. ‘While I + was foreman at the Bower—afore it <i>was </i>the Bower—I considered + the business very satisfactory. The old man was a awful Tartar (saying it, + I’m sure, without disrespect to his memory) but the business was a + pleasant one to look after, from before daylight to past dark. It’s a’most + a pity,’ said Mr Boffin, rubbing his ear, ‘that he ever went and made so + much money. It would have been better for him if he hadn’t so given + himself up to it. You may depend upon it,’ making the discovery all of a + sudden, ‘that <i>he</i> found it a great lot to take care of!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood coughed, not convinced. + </p> +<p> + ‘And speaking of satisfactory,’ pursued Mr Boffin, ‘why, Lord save us! + when we come to take it to pieces, bit by bit, where’s the + satisfactoriness of the money as yet? When the old man does right the poor + boy after all, the poor boy gets no good of it. He gets made away with, at + the moment when he’s lifting (as one may say) the cup and sarser to his + lips. Mr Lightwood, I will now name to you, that on behalf of the poor + dear boy, me and Mrs Boffin have stood out against the old man times out + of number, till he has called us every name he could lay his tongue to. I + have seen him, after Mrs Boffin has given him her mind respecting the + claims of the nat’ral affections, catch off Mrs Boffin’s bonnet (she wore, + in general, a black straw, perched as a matter of convenience on the top + of her head), and send it spinning across the yard. I have indeed. And + once, when he did this in a manner that amounted to personal, I should + have given him a rattler for himself, if Mrs Boffin hadn’t thrown herself + betwixt us, and received flush on the temple. Which dropped her, Mr + Lightwood. Dropped her.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood murmured ‘Equal honour—Mrs Boffin’s head and heart.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You understand; I name this,’ pursued Mr Boffin, ‘to show you, now the + affairs are wound up, that me and Mrs Boffin have ever stood as we were in + Christian honour bound, the children’s friend. Me and Mrs Boffin stood the + poor girl’s friend; me and Mrs Boffin stood the poor boy’s friend; me and + Mrs Boffin up and faced the old man when we momently expected to be turned + out for our pains. As to Mrs Boffin,’ said Mr Boffin lowering his voice, + ‘she mightn’t wish it mentioned now she’s Fashionable, but she went so far + as to tell him, in my presence, he was a flinty-hearted rascal.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lightwood murmured ‘Vigorous Saxon spirit—Mrs Boffin’s ancestors—bowmen—Agincourt + and Cressy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The last time me and Mrs Boffin saw the poor boy,’ said Mr Boffin, + warming (as fat usually does) with a tendency to melt, ‘he was a child of + seven year old. For when he came back to make intercession for his sister, + me and Mrs Boffin were away overlooking a country contract which was to be + sifted before carted, and he was come and gone in a single hour. I say he + was a child of seven year old. He was going away, all alone and forlorn, + to that foreign school, and he come into our place, situate up the yard of + the present Bower, to have a warm at our fire. There was his little scanty + travelling clothes upon him. There was his little scanty box outside in + the shivering wind, which I was going to carry for him down to the + steamboat, as the old man wouldn’t hear of allowing a sixpence + coach-money. Mrs Boffin, then quite a young woman and pictur of a + full-blown rose, stands him by her, kneels down at the fire, warms her two + open hands, and falls to rubbing his cheeks; but seeing the tears come + into the child’s eyes, the tears come fast into her own, and she holds him + round the neck, like as if she was protecting him, and cries to me, “I’d + give the wide wide world, I would, to run away with him!” I don’t say but + what it cut me, and but what it at the same time heightened my feelings of + admiration for Mrs Boffin. The poor child clings to her for awhile, as she + clings to him, and then, when the old man calls, he says “I must go! God + bless you!” and for a moment rests his heart against her bosom, and looks + up at both of us, as if it was in pain—in agony. Such a look! I went + aboard with him (I gave him first what little treat I thought he’d like), + and I left him when he had fallen asleep in his berth, and I came back to + Mrs Boffin. But tell her what I would of how I had left him, it all went + for nothing, for, according to her thoughts, he never changed that look + that he had looked up at us two. But it did one piece of good. Mrs Boffin + and me had no child of our own, and had sometimes wished that how we had + one. But not now. “We might both of us die,” says Mrs Boffin, “and other + eyes might see that lonely look in our child.” So of a night, when it was + very cold, or when the wind roared, or the rain dripped heavy, she would + wake sobbing, and call out in a fluster, “Don’t you see the poor child’s + face? O shelter the poor child!”—till in course of years it gently + wore out, as many things do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mr Boffin, everything wears to rags,’ said Mortimer, with a light + laugh. + </p> +<p> + ‘I won’t go so far as to say everything,’ returned Mr Boffin, on whom his + manner seemed to grate, ‘because there’s some things that I never found + among the dust. Well, sir. So Mrs Boffin and me grow older and older in + the old man’s service, living and working pretty hard in it, till the old + man is discovered dead in his bed. Then Mrs Boffin and me seal up his box, + always standing on the table at the side of his bed, and having frequently + heerd tell of the Temple as a spot where lawyer’s dust is contracted for, + I come down here in search of a lawyer to advise, and I see your young man + up at this present elevation, chopping at the flies on the window-sill + with his penknife, and I give him a Hoy! not then having the pleasure of + your acquaintance, and by that means come to gain the honour. Then you, + and the gentleman in the uncomfortable neck-cloth under the little archway + in Saint Paul’s Churchyard—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Doctors’ Commons,’ observed Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I understood it was another name,’ said Mr Boffin, pausing, ‘but you know + best. Then you and Doctor Scommons, you go to work, and you do the thing + that’s proper, and you and Doctor S. take steps for finding out the poor + boy, and at last you do find out the poor boy, and me and Mrs Boffin often + exchange the observation, “We shall see him again, under happy + circumstances.” But it was never to be; and the want of satisfactoriness + is, that after all the money never gets to him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But it gets,’ remarked Lightwood, with a languid inclination of the head, + ‘into excellent hands.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It gets into the hands of me and Mrs Boffin only this very day and hour, + and that’s what I am working round to, having waited for this day and hour + a’ purpose. Mr Lightwood, here has been a wicked cruel murder. By that + murder me and Mrs Boffin mysteriously profit. For the apprehension and + conviction of the murderer, we offer a reward of one tithe of the property—a + reward of Ten Thousand Pound.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin, it’s too much.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Lightwood, me and Mrs Boffin have fixed the sum together, and we stand + to it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But let me represent to you,’ returned Lightwood, ‘speaking now with + professional profundity, and not with individual imbecility, that the + offer of such an immense reward is a temptation to forced suspicion, + forced construction of circumstances, strained accusation, a whole + tool-box of edged tools.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Mr Boffin, a little staggered, ‘that’s the sum we put o’ one + side for the purpose. Whether it shall be openly declared in the new + notices that must now be put about in our names—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In your name, Mr Boffin; in your name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well; in my name, which is the same as Mrs Boffin’s, and means both + of us, is to be considered in drawing ’em up. But this is the first + instruction that I, as the owner of the property, give to my lawyer on + coming into it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your lawyer, Mr Boffin,’ returned Lightwood, making a very short note of + it with a very rusty pen, ‘has the gratification of taking the + instruction. There is another?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is just one other, and no more. Make me as compact a little will as + can be reconciled with tightness, leaving the whole of the property to “my + beloved wife, Henerietty Boffin, sole executrix”. Make it as short as you + can, using those words; but make it tight.’ + </p> +<p> + At some loss to fathom Mr Boffin’s notions of a tight will, Lightwood felt + his way. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, but professional profundity must be exact. When you + say tight—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean tight,’ Mr Boffin explained. + </p> +<p> + ‘Exactly so. And nothing can be more laudable. But is the tightness to + bind Mrs Boffin to any and what conditions?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bind Mrs Boffin?’ interposed her husband. ‘No! What are you thinking of! + What I want is, to make it all hers so tight as that her hold of it can’t + be loosed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hers freely, to do what she likes with? Hers absolutely?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Absolutely?’ repeated Mr Boffin, with a short sturdy laugh. ‘Hah! I + should think so! It would be handsome in me to begin to bind Mrs Boffin at + this time of day!’ + </p> +<p> + So that instruction, too, was taken by Mr Lightwood; and Mr Lightwood, + having taken it, was in the act of showing Mr Boffin out, when Mr Eugene + Wrayburn almost jostled him in the door-way. Consequently Mr Lightwood + said, in his cool manner, ‘Let me make you two known to one another,’ and + further signified that Mr Wrayburn was counsel learned in the law, and + that, partly in the way of business and partly in the way of pleasure, he + had imparted to Mr Wrayburn some of the interesting facts of Mr Boffin’s + biography. + </p> +<p> + ‘Delighted,’ said Eugene—though he didn’t look so—‘to know Mr + Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee, sir, thankee,’ returned that gentleman. ‘And how do <i>you </i>like the + law?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A—not particularly,’ returned Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Too dry for you, eh? Well, I suppose it wants some years of sticking to, + before you master it. But there’s nothing like work. Look at the bees.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ returned Eugene, with a reluctant smile, ‘but will + you excuse my mentioning that I always protest against being referred to + the bees?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you!’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I object on principle,’ said Eugene, ‘as a biped—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As a what?’ asked Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘As a two-footed creature;—I object on principle, as a two-footed + creature, to being constantly referred to insects and four-footed + creatures. I object to being required to model my proceedings according to + the proceedings of the bee, or the dog, or the spider, or the camel. I + fully admit that the camel, for instance, is an excessively temperate + person; but he has several stomachs to entertain himself with, and I have + only one. Besides, I am not fitted up with a convenient cool cellar to + keep my drink in.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I said, you know,’ urged Mr Boffin, rather at a loss for an answer, + ‘the bee.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Exactly. And may I represent to you that it’s injudicious to say the bee? + For the whole case is assumed. Conceding for a moment that there is any + analogy between a bee, and a man in a shirt and pantaloons (which I deny), + and that it is settled that the man is to learn from the bee (which I also + deny), the question still remains, what is he to learn? To imitate? Or to + avoid? When your friends the bees worry themselves to that highly + fluttered extent about their sovereign, and become perfectly distracted + touching the slightest monarchical movement, are we men to learn the + greatness of Tuft-hunting, or the littleness of the Court Circular? I am + not clear, Mr Boffin, but that the hive may be satirical.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At all events, they work,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ye-es,’ returned Eugene, disparagingly, ‘they work; but don’t you think + they overdo it? They work so much more than they need—they make so + much more than they can eat—they are so incessantly boring and + buzzing at their one idea till Death comes upon them—that don’t you + think they overdo it? And are human labourers to have no holidays, because + of the bees? And am I never to have change of air, because the bees don’t? + Mr Boffin, I think honey excellent at breakfast; but, regarded in the + light of my conventional schoolmaster and moralist, I protest against the + tyrannical humbug of your friend the bee. With the highest respect for + you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Morning, morning!’ + </p> +<p> + But, the worthy Mr Boffin jogged away with a comfortless impression he + could have dispensed with, that there was a deal of unsatisfactoriness in + the world, besides what he had recalled as appertaining to the Harmon + property. And he was still jogging along Fleet Street in this condition of + mind, when he became aware that he was closely tracked and observed by a + man of genteel appearance. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now then?’ said Mr Boffin, stopping short, with his meditations brought + to an abrupt check, ‘what’s the next article?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My name too, eh? How did you come by it? I don’t know you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir, you don’t know me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin looked full at the man, and the man looked full at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Boffin, after a glance at the pavement, as if it were made + of faces and he were trying to match the man’s, ‘I <i>don’t</i> know you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am nobody,’ said the stranger, ‘and not likely to be known; but Mr + Boffin’s wealth—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! that’s got about already, has it?’ muttered Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘—And his romantic manner of acquiring it, make him conspicuous. You + were pointed out to me the other day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘I should say I was a disappintment to you when I + <i>was </i>pinted out, if your politeness would allow you to confess it, for I am + well aware I am not much to look at. What might you want with me? Not in + the law, are you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No information to give, for a reward?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + There may have been a momentary mantling in the face of the man as he made + the last answer, but it passed directly. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I don’t mistake, you have followed me from my lawyer’s and tried to + fix my attention. Say out! Have you? Or haven’t you?’ demanded Mr Boffin, + rather angry. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why have you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you will allow me to walk beside you, Mr Boffin, I will tell you. + Would you object to turn aside into this place—I think it is called + Clifford’s Inn—where we can hear one another better than in the + roaring street?’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Now,’ thought Mr Boffin, ‘if he proposes a game at skittles, or meets a + country gentleman just come into property, or produces any article of + jewellery he has found, I’ll knock him down!’ With this discreet + reflection, and carrying his stick in his arms much as Punch carries his, + Mr Boffin turned into Clifford’s Inn aforesaid.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin, I happened to be in Chancery Lane this morning, when I saw you + going along before me. I took the liberty of following you, trying to make + up my mind to speak to you, till you went into your lawyer’s. Then I + waited outside till you came out.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Don’t quite sound like skittles, nor yet country gentleman, nor yet + jewellery,’ thought Mr Boffin, ‘but there’s no knowing.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘I am afraid my object is a bold one, I am afraid it has little of the + usual practical world about it, but I venture it. If you ask me, or if you + ask yourself—which is more likely—what emboldens me, I answer, + I have been strongly assured, that you are a man of rectitude and plain + dealing, with the soundest of sound hearts, and that you are blessed in a + wife distinguished by the same qualities.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your information is true of Mrs Boffin, anyhow,’ was Mr Boffin’s answer, + as he surveyed his new friend again. There was something repressed in the + strange man’s manner, and he walked with his eyes on the ground—though + conscious, for all that, of Mr Boffin’s observation—and he spoke in + a subdued voice. But his words came easily, and his voice was agreeable in + tone, albeit constrained. + </p> +<p> + ‘When I add, I can discern for myself what the general tongue says of you—that + you are quite unspoiled by Fortune, and not uplifted—I trust you + will not, as a man of an open nature, suspect that I mean to flatter you, + but will believe that all I mean is to excuse myself, these being my only + excuses for my present intrusion.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘How much?’ thought Mr Boffin. ‘It must be coming to money. How much?’) + </p> +<p> + ‘You will probably change your manner of living, Mr Boffin, in your + changed circumstances. You will probably keep a larger house, have many + matters to arrange, and be beset by numbers of correspondents. If you + would try me as your Secretary—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As <i>what</i>?’ cried Mr Boffin, with his eyes wide open. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your Secretary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Mr Boffin, under his breath, ‘that’s a queer thing!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Or,’ pursued the stranger, wondering at Mr Boffin’s wonder, ‘if you would + try me as your man of business under any name, I know you would find me + faithful and grateful, and I hope you would find me useful. You may + naturally think that my immediate object is money. Not so, for I would + willingly serve you a year—two years—any term you might + appoint—before that should begin to be a consideration between us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where do you come from?’ asked Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I come,’ returned the other, meeting his eye, ‘from many countries.’ + </p> +<p> + Boffin’s acquaintances with the names and situations of foreign lands + being limited in extent and somewhat confused in quality, he shaped his + next question on an elastic model. + </p> +<p> + ‘From—any particular place?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been in many places.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What have you been?’ asked Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + Here again he made no great advance, for the reply was, ‘I have been a + student and a traveller.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But if it ain’t a liberty to plump it out,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘what do you + do for your living?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have mentioned,’ returned the other, with another look at him, and a + smile, ‘what I aspire to do. I have been superseded as to some slight + intentions I had, and I may say that I have now to begin life.’ + </p> +<p> + Not very well knowing how to get rid of this applicant, and feeling the + more embarrassed because his manner and appearance claimed a delicacy in + which the worthy Mr Boffin feared he himself might be deficient, that + gentleman glanced into the mouldy little plantation or cat-preserve, of + Clifford’s Inn, as it was that day, in search of a suggestion. Sparrows + were there, cats were there, dry-rot and wet-rot were there, but it was + not otherwise a suggestive spot. + </p> +<p> + ‘All this time,’ said the stranger, producing a little pocket-book and + taking out a card, ‘I have not mentioned my name. My name is Rokesmith. I + lodge at one Mr Wilfer’s, at Holloway.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin stared again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?’ said he. + </p> +<p> + ‘My landlord has a daughter named Bella. Yes; no doubt.’ + </p> +<p> + Now, this name had been more or less in Mr Boffin’s thoughts all the + morning, and for days before; therefore he said: + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s singular, too!’ unconsciously staring again, past all bounds of + good manners, with the card in his hand. ‘Though, by-the-bye, I suppose it + was one of that family that pinted me out?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I have never been in the streets with one of them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Heard me talked of among ’em, though?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I occupy my own rooms, and have held scarcely any communication with + them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Odder and odder!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I + don’t know what to say to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Say nothing,’ returned Mr Rokesmith; ‘allow me to call on you in a few + days. I am not so unconscionable as to think it likely that you would + accept me on trust at first sight, and take me out of the very street. Let + me come to you for your further opinion, at your leisure.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s fair, and I don’t object,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘but it must be on + condition that it’s fully understood that I no more know that I shall ever + be in want of any gentleman as Secretary—it <i>was </i>Secretary you said; + wasn’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + Again Mr Boffin’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at the applicant from + head to foot, repeating ‘Queer!—You’re sure it was Secretary? Are + you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure I said so.’ + </p> +<p> + —‘As Secretary,’ repeated Mr Boffin, meditating upon the word; ‘I no + more know that I may ever want a Secretary, or what not, than I do that I + shall ever be in want of the man in the moon. Me and Mrs Boffin have not + even settled that we shall make any change in our way of life. Mrs + Boffin’s inclinations certainly do tend towards Fashion; but, being + already set up in a fashionable way at the Bower, she may not make further + alterations. However, sir, as you don’t press yourself, I wish to meet you + so far as saying, by all means call at the Bower if you like. Call in the + course of a week or two. At the same time, I consider that I ought to + name, in addition to what I have already named, that I have in my + employment a literary man—<i>with </i>a wooden leg—as I have no + thoughts of parting from.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I regret to hear I am in some sort anticipated,’ Mr Rokesmith answered, + evidently having heard it with surprise; ‘but perhaps other duties might + arise?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You see,’ returned Mr Boffin, with a confidential sense of dignity, ‘as + to my literary man’s duties, they’re clear. Professionally he declines and + he falls, and as a friend he drops into poetry.’ + </p> +<p> + Without observing that these duties seemed by no means clear to Mr + Rokesmith’s astonished comprehension, Mr Boffin went on: + </p> +<p> + ‘And now, sir, I’ll wish you good-day. You can call at the Bower any time + in a week or two. It’s not above a mile or so from you, and your landlord + can direct you to it. But as he may not know it by its new name of + Boffin’s Bower, say, when you inquire of him, it’s Harmon’s; will you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Harmoon’s,’ repeated Mr Rokesmith, seeming to have caught the sound + imperfectly, ‘Harmarn’s. How do you spell it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, as to the spelling of it,’ returned Mr Boffin, with great presence + of mind, ‘that’s <i>your </i>look out. Harmon’s is all you’ve got to say to <i>him</i>. + Morning, morning, morning!’ And so departed, without looking back. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 9 + </h2> +<h3> + MR AND MRS BOFFIN IN CONSULTATION + </h3> +<p> + Betaking himself straight homeward, Mr Boffin, without further let or + hindrance, arrived at the Bower, and gave Mrs Boffin (in a walking dress + of black velvet and feathers, like a mourning coach-horse) an account of + all he had said and done since breakfast. + </p> +<p> + ‘This brings us round, my dear,’ he then pursued, ‘to the question we left + unfinished: namely, whether there’s to be any new go-in for Fashion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I’ll tell you what I want, Noddy,’ said Mrs Boffin, smoothing her + dress with an air of immense enjoyment, ‘I want Society.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Fashionable Society, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes!’ cried Mrs Boffin, laughing with the glee of a child. ‘Yes! It’s no + good my being kept here like Wax-Work; is it now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘People have to pay to see Wax-Work, my dear,’ returned her husband, + ‘whereas (though you’d be cheap at the same money) the neighbours is + welcome to see <i>you </i>for nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But it don’t answer,’ said the cheerful Mrs Boffin. ‘When we worked like + the neighbours, we suited one another. Now we have left work off; we have + left off suiting one another.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What, do you think of beginning work again?’ Mr Boffin hinted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Out of the question! We have come into a great fortune, and we must do + what’s right by our fortune; we must act up to it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, who had a deep respect for his wife’s intuitive wisdom, + replied, though rather pensively: ‘I suppose we must.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s never been acted up to yet, and, consequently, no good has come of + it,’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘True, to the present time,’ Mr Boffin assented, with his former + pensiveness, as he took his seat upon his settle. ‘I hope good may be + coming of it in the future time. Towards which, what’s your views, old + lady?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin, a smiling creature, broad of figure and simple of nature, with + her hands folded in her lap, and with buxom creases in her throat, + proceeded to expound her views. + </p> +<p> + ‘I say, a good house in a good neighbourhood, good things about us, good + living, and good society. I say, live like our means, without + extravagance, and be happy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I say be happy, too,’ assented the still pensive Mr Boffin. + ‘Lor-a-mussy!’ exclaimed Mrs Boffin, laughing and clapping her hands, and + gaily rocking herself to and fro, ‘when I think of me in a light yellow + chariot and pair, with silver boxes to the wheels—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! you was thinking of that, was you, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes!’ cried the delighted creature. ‘And with a footman up behind, with a + bar across, to keep his legs from being poled! And with a coachman up in + front, sinking down into a seat big enough for three of him, all covered + with upholstery in green and white! And with two bay horses tossing their + heads and stepping higher than they trot long-ways! And with you and me + leaning back inside, as grand as ninepence! Oh-h-h-h My! Ha ha ha ha ha!’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin clapped her hands again, rocked herself again, beat her feet + upon the floor, and wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘And what, my old lady,’ inquired Mr Boffin, when he also had + sympathetically laughed: ‘what’s your views on the subject of the Bower?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shut it up. Don’t part with it, but put somebody in it, to keep it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Any other views?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Noddy,’ said Mrs Boffin, coming from her fashionable sofa to his side on + the plain settle, and hooking her comfortable arm through his, ‘Next I + think—and I really have been thinking early and late—of the + disappointed girl; her that was so cruelly disappointed, you know, both of + her husband and his riches. Don’t you think we might do something for her? + Have her to live with us? Or something of that sort?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ne-ver once thought of the way of doing it!’ cried Mr Boffin, smiting the + table in his admiration. ‘What a thinking steam-ingein this old lady is. + And she don’t know how she does it. Neither does the ingein!’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin pulled his nearest ear, in acknowledgment of this piece of + philosophy, and then said, gradually toning down to a motherly strain: + ‘Last, and not least, I have taken a fancy. You remember dear little John + Harmon, before he went to school? Over yonder across the yard, at our + fire? Now that he is past all benefit of the money, and it’s come to us, I + should like to find some orphan child, and take the boy and adopt him and + give him John’s name, and provide for him. Somehow, it would make me + easier, I fancy. Say it’s only a whim—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I don’t say so,’ interposed her husband. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, but deary, if you did—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be a Beast if I did,’ her husband interposed again. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s as much as to say you agree? Good and kind of you, and like you, + deary! And don’t you begin to find it pleasant now,’ said Mrs Boffin, once + more radiant in her comely way from head to foot, and once more smoothing + her dress with immense enjoyment, ‘don’t you begin to find it pleasant + already, to think that a child will be made brighter, and better, and + happier, because of that poor sad child that day? And isn’t it pleasant to + know that the good will be done with the poor sad child’s own money?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes; and it’s pleasant to know that you are Mrs Boffin,’ said her + husband, ‘and it’s been a pleasant thing to know this many and many a + year!’ It was ruin to Mrs Boffin’s aspirations, but, having so spoken, + they sat side by side, a hopelessly Unfashionable pair. + </p> +<p> + These two ignorant and unpolished people had guided themselves so far on + in their journey of life, by a religious sense of duty and desire to do + right. Ten thousand weaknesses and absurdities might have been detected in + the breasts of both; ten thousand vanities additional, possibly, in the + breast of the woman. But the hard wrathful and sordid nature that had + wrung as much work out of them as could be got in their best days, for as + little money as could be paid to hurry on their worst, had never been so + warped but that it knew their moral straightness and respected it. In its + own despite, in a constant conflict with itself and them, it had done so. + And this is the eternal law. For, Evil often stops short at itself and + dies with the doer of it; but Good, never. + </p> +<p> + Through his most inveterate purposes, the dead Jailer of Harmony Jail had + known these two faithful servants to be honest and true. While he raged at + them and reviled them for opposing him with the speech of the honest and + true, it had scratched his stony heart, and he had perceived the + powerlessness of all his wealth to buy them if he had addressed himself to + the attempt. So, even while he was their griping taskmaster and never gave + them a good word, he had written their names down in his will. So, even + while it was his daily declaration that he mistrusted all mankind—and + sorely indeed he did mistrust all who bore any resemblance to himself—he + was as certain that these two people, surviving him, would be trustworthy + in all things from the greatest to the least, as he was that he must + surely die. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Boffin, sitting side by side, with Fashion withdrawn to an + immeasurable distance, fell to discussing how they could best find their + orphan. Mrs Boffin suggested advertisement in the newspapers, requesting + orphans answering annexed description to apply at the Bower on a certain + day; but Mr Boffin wisely apprehending obstruction of the neighbouring + thoroughfares by orphan swarms, this course was negatived. Mrs Boffin next + suggested application to their clergyman for a likely orphan. Mr Boffin + thinking better of this scheme, they resolved to call upon the reverend + gentleman at once, and to take the same opportunity of making acquaintance + with Miss Bella Wilfer. In order that these visits might be visits of + state, Mrs Boffin’s equipage was ordered out. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0106m " src="images/0106m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0106m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0106.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-2383652616741579533"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + This consisted of a long hammer-headed old horse, formerly used in the + business, attached to a four-wheeled chaise of the same period, which had + long been exclusively used by the Harmony Jail poultry as the favourite + laying-place of several discreet hens. An unwonted application of corn to + the horse, and of paint and varnish to the carriage, when both fell in as + a part of the Boffin legacy, had made what Mr Boffin considered a neat + turn-out of the whole; and a driver being added, in the person of a long + hammer-headed young man who was a very good match for the horse, left + nothing to be desired. He, too, had been formerly used in the business, + but was now entombed by an honest jobbing tailor of the district in a + perfect Sepulchre of coat and gaiters, sealed with ponderous buttons. + </p> +<p> + Behind this domestic, Mr and Mrs Boffin took their seats in the back + compartment of the vehicle: which was sufficiently commodious, but had an + undignified and alarming tendency, in getting over a rough crossing, to + hiccup itself away from the front compartment. On their being descried + emerging from the gates of the Bower, the neighbourhood turned out at door + and window to salute the Boffins. Among those who were ever and again left + behind, staring after the equipage, were many youthful spirits, who hailed + it in stentorian tones with such congratulations as ‘Nod-dy Bof-fin!’ + ‘Bof-fin’s mon-ey!’ ‘Down with the dust, Bof-fin!’ and other similar + compliments. These, the hammer-headed young man took in such ill part that + he often impaired the majesty of the progress by pulling up short, and + making as though he would alight to exterminate the offenders; a purpose + from which he only allowed himself to be dissuaded after long and lively + arguments with his employers. + </p> +<p> + At length the Bower district was left behind, and the peaceful dwelling of + the Reverend Frank Milvey was gained. The Reverend Frank Milvey’s abode + was a very modest abode, because his income was a very modest income. He + was officially accessible to every blundering old woman who had + incoherence to bestow upon him, and readily received the Boffins. He was + quite a young man, expensively educated and wretchedly paid, with quite a + young wife and half a dozen quite young children. He was under the + necessity of teaching and translating from the classics, to eke out his + scanty means, yet was generally expected to have more time to spare than + the idlest person in the parish, and more money than the richest. He + accepted the needless inequalities and inconsistencies of his life, with a + kind of conventional submission that was almost slavish; and any daring + layman who would have adjusted such burdens as his, more decently and + graciously, would have had small help from him. + </p> +<p> + With a ready patient face and manner, and yet with a latent smile that + showed a quick enough observation of Mrs Boffin’s dress, Mr Milvey, in his + little book-room—charged with sounds and cries as though the six + children above were coming down through the ceiling, and the roasting leg + of mutton below were coming up through the floor—listened to Mrs + Boffin’s statement of her want of an orphan. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think,’ said Mr Milvey, ‘that you have never had a child of your own, + Mr and Mrs Boffin?’ + </p> +<p> + Never. + </p> +<p> + ‘But, like the Kings and Queens in the Fairy Tales, I suppose you have + wished for one?’ + </p> +<p> + In a general way, yes. + </p> +<p> + Mr Milvey smiled again, as he remarked to himself ‘Those kings and queens + were always wishing for children.’ It occurring to him, perhaps, that if + they had been Curates, their wishes might have tended in the opposite + direction. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think,’ he pursued, ‘we had better take Mrs Milvey into our Council. + She is indispensable to me. If you please, I’ll call her.’ + </p> +<p> + So, Mr Milvey called, ‘Margaretta, my dear!’ and Mrs Milvey came down. A + pretty, bright little woman, something worn by anxiety, who had repressed + many pretty tastes and bright fancies, and substituted in their stead, + schools, soup, flannel, coals, and all the week-day cares and Sunday + coughs of a large population, young and old. As gallantly had Mr Milvey + repressed much in himself that naturally belonged to his old studies and + old fellow-students, and taken up among the poor and their children with + the hard crumbs of life. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr and Mrs Boffin, my dear, whose good fortune you have heard of.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Milvey, with the most unaffected grace in the world, congratulated + them, and was glad to see them. Yet her engaging face, being an open as + well as a perceptive one, was not without her husband’s latent smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Boffin wishes to adopt a little boy, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Milvey, looking rather alarmed, her husband added: + </p> +<p> + ‘An orphan, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Mrs Milvey, reassured for her own little boys. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I was thinking, Margaretta, that perhaps old Mrs Goody’s grandchild + might answer the purpose. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my <i>Dear </i>Frank! I <i>don’t</i> think that would do!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh <i>no</i>!’ + </p> +<p> + The smiling Mrs Boffin, feeling it incumbent on her to take part in the + conversation, and being charmed with the emphatic little wife and her + ready interest, here offered her acknowledgments and inquired what there + was against him? + </p> +<p> + ‘I <i>don’t</i> think,’ said Mrs Milvey, glancing at the Reverend Frank, ‘—and + I believe my husband will agree with me when he considers it again—that + you could possibly keep that orphan clean from snuff. Because his + grandmother takes so <i>many </i>ounces, and drops it over him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But he would not be living with his grandmother then, Margaretta,’ said + Mr Milvey. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Frank, but it would be impossible to keep her from Mrs Boffin’s + house; and the <i>more </i>there was to eat and drink there, the oftener she + would go. And she IS an inconvenient woman. I <i>hope </i>it’s not uncharitable + to remember that last Christmas Eve she drank eleven cups of tea, and + grumbled all the time. And she is <i>not </i>a grateful woman, Frank. You + recollect her addressing a crowd outside this house, about her wrongs, + when, one night after we had gone to bed, she brought back the petticoat + of new flannel that had been given her, because it was too short.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s true,’ said Mr Milvey. ‘I don’t think that would do. Would little + Harrison—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, <i>Frank</i>!’ remonstrated his emphatic wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘He has no grandmother, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, but I <i>don’t</i> think Mrs Boffin would like an orphan who squints so + <i>much</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s true again,’ said Mr Milvey, becoming haggard with perplexity. ‘If + a little girl would do—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, my <i>dear </i>Frank, Mrs Boffin wants a boy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s true again,’ said Mr Milvey. ‘Tom Bocker is a nice boy’ + (thoughtfully). + </p> +<p> + ‘But I <i>doubt</i>, Frank,’ Mrs Milvey hinted, after a little hesitation, ‘if + Mrs Boffin wants an orphan <i>quite </i>nineteen, who drives a cart and waters + the roads.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Milvey referred the point to Mrs Boffin in a look; on that smiling + lady’s shaking her black velvet bonnet and bows, he remarked, in lower + spirits, ‘that’s true again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure,’ said Mrs Boffin, concerned at giving so much trouble, ‘that + if I had known you would have taken so much pains, sir—and you too, + ma’ am—I don’t think I would have come.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Pray </i>don’t say that!’ urged Mrs Milvey. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, don’t say that,’ assented Mr Milvey, ‘because we are so much obliged + to you for giving us the preference.’ Which Mrs Milvey confirmed; and + really the kind, conscientious couple spoke, as if they kept some + profitable orphan warehouse and were personally patronized. ‘But it is a + responsible trust,’ added Mr Milvey, ‘and difficult to discharge. At the + same time, we are naturally very unwilling to lose the chance you so + kindly give us, and if you could afford us a day or two to look about us,—you + know, Margaretta, we might carefully examine the workhouse, and the Infant + School, and your District.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To be <i>sure</i>!’ said the emphatic little wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘We have orphans, I know,’ pursued Mr Milvey, quite with the air as if he + might have added, ‘in stock,’ and quite as anxiously as if there were + great competition in the business and he were afraid of losing an order, + ‘over at the clay-pits; but they are employed by relations or friends, and + I am afraid it would come at last to a transaction in the way of barter. + And even if you exchanged blankets for the child—or books and firing—it + would be impossible to prevent their being turned into liquor.’ + </p> +<p> + Accordingly, it was resolved that Mr and Mrs Milvey should search for an + orphan likely to suit, and as free as possible from the foregoing + objections, and should communicate again with Mrs Boffin. Then, Mr Boffin + took the liberty of mentioning to Mr Milvey that if Mr Milvey would do him + the kindness to be perpetually his banker to the extent of ‘a twenty-pound + note or so,’ to be expended without any reference to him, he would be + heartily obliged. At this, both Mr Milvey and Mrs Milvey were quite as + much pleased as if they had no wants of their own, but only knew what + poverty was, in the persons of other people; and so the interview + terminated with satisfaction and good opinion on all sides. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, old lady,’ said Mr Boffin, as they resumed their seats behind the + hammer-headed horse and man: ‘having made a very agreeable visit there, + we’ll try Wilfer’s.’ + </p> +<p> + It appeared, on their drawing up at the family gate, that to try Wilfer’s + was a thing more easily projected than done, on account of the extreme + difficulty of getting into that establishment; three pulls at the bell + producing no external result; though each was attended by audible sounds + of scampering and rushing within. At the fourth tug—vindictively + administered by the hammer-headed young man—Miss Lavinia appeared, + emerging from the house in an accidental manner, with a bonnet and + parasol, as designing to take a contemplative walk. The young lady was + astonished to find visitors at the gate, and expressed her feelings in + appropriate action. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here’s Mr and Mrs Boffin!’ growled the hammer-headed young man through + the bars of the gate, and at the same time shaking it, as if he were on + view in a Menagerie; ‘they’ve been here half an hour.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who did you say?’ asked Miss Lavinia. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr and Mrs <i>Boffin</i>’ returned the young man, rising into a roar. + </p> +<p> + Miss Lavinia tripped up the steps to the house-door, tripped down the + steps with the key, tripped across the little garden, and opened the gate. + ‘Please to walk in,’ said Miss Lavinia, haughtily. ‘Our servant is out.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Boffin complying, and pausing in the little hall until Miss + Lavinia came up to show them where to go next, perceived three pairs of + listening legs upon the stairs above. Mrs Wilfer’s legs, Miss Bella’s + legs, Mr George Sampson’s legs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr and Mrs Boffin, I think?’ said Lavinia, in a warning voice. Strained + attention on the part of Mrs Wilfer’s legs, of Miss Bella’s legs, of Mr + George Sampson’s legs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Miss.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you’ll step this way—down these stairs—I’ll let Ma know.’ + Excited flight of Mrs Wilfer’s legs, of Miss Bella’s legs, of Mr George + Sampson’s legs. + </p> +<p> + After waiting some quarter of an hour alone in the family sitting-room, + which presented traces of having been so hastily arranged after a meal, + that one might have doubted whether it was made tidy for visitors, or + cleared for blindman’s buff, Mr and Mrs Boffin became aware of the + entrance of Mrs Wilfer, majestically faint, and with a condescending + stitch in her side: which was her company manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ said Mrs Wilfer, after the first salutations, and as soon as + she had adjusted the handkerchief under her chin, and waved her gloved + hands, ‘to what am I indebted for this honour?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To make short of it, ma’am,’ returned Mr Boffin, ‘perhaps you may be + acquainted with the names of me and Mrs Boffin, as having come into a + certain property.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have heard, sir,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, with a dignified bend of her + head, ‘of such being the case.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I dare say, ma’am,’ pursued Mr Boffin, while Mrs Boffin added + confirmatory nods and smiles, ‘you are not very much inclined to take + kindly to us?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ said Mrs Wilfer. ‘’Twere unjust to visit upon Mr and Mrs + Boffin, a calamity which was doubtless a dispensation.’ These words were + rendered the more effective by a serenely heroic expression of suffering. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s fairly meant, I am sure,’ remarked the honest Mr Boffin; ‘Mrs + Boffin and me, ma’am, are plain people, and we don’t want to pretend to + anything, nor yet to go round and round at anything because there’s always + a straight way to everything. Consequently, we make this call to say, that + we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure of your daughter’s + acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your daughter will come to + consider our house in the light of her home equally with this. In short, + we want to cheer your daughter, and to give her the opportunity of sharing + such pleasures as we are a going to take ourselves. We want to brisk her + up, and brisk her about, and give her a change.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s it!’ said the open-hearted Mrs Boffin. ‘Lor! Let’s be + comfortable.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer bent her head in a distant manner to her lady visitor, and with + majestic monotony replied to the gentleman: + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me. I have several daughters. Which of my daughters am I to + understand is thus favoured by the kind intentions of Mr Boffin and his + lady?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you see?’ the ever-smiling Mrs Boffin put in. ‘Naturally, Miss + Bella, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh-h!’ said Mrs Wilfer, with a severely unconvinced look. ‘My daughter + Bella is accessible and shall speak for herself.’ Then opening the door a + little way, simultaneously with a sound of scuttling outside it, the good + lady made the proclamation, ‘Send Miss Bella to me!’ which proclamation, + though grandly formal, and one might almost say heraldic, to hear, was in + fact enunciated with her maternal eyes reproachfully glaring on that young + lady in the flesh—and in so much of it that she was retiring with + difficulty into the small closet under the stairs, apprehensive of the + emergence of Mr and Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘The avocations of R. W., my husband,’ Mrs Wilfer explained, on resuming + her seat, ‘keep him fully engaged in the City at this time of the day, or + he would have had the honour of participating in your reception beneath + our humble roof.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very pleasant premises!’ said Mr Boffin, cheerfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me, sir,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, correcting him, ‘it is the abode of + conscious though independent Poverty.’ + </p> +<p> + Finding it rather difficult to pursue the conversation down this road, Mr + and Mrs Boffin sat staring at mid-air, and Mrs Wilfer sat silently giving + them to understand that every breath she drew required to be drawn with a + self-denial rarely paralleled in history, until Miss Bella appeared: whom + Mrs Wilfer presented, and to whom she explained the purpose of the + visitors. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am much obliged to you, I am sure,’ said Miss Bella, coldly shaking her + curls, ‘but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bella!’ Mrs Wilfer admonished her; ‘Bella, you must conquer this.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, do what your Ma says, and conquer it, my dear,’ urged Mrs Boffin, + ‘because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too + pretty to keep yourself shut up.’ With that, the pleasant creature gave + her a kiss, and patted her on her dimpled shoulders; Mrs Wilfer sitting + stiffly by, like a functionary presiding over an interview previous to an + execution. + </p> +<p> + ‘We are going to move into a nice house,’ said Mrs Boffin, who was woman + enough to compromise Mr Boffin on that point, when he couldn’t very well + contest it; ‘and we are going to set up a nice carriage, and we’ll go + everywhere and see everything. And you mustn’t,’ seating Bella beside her, + and patting her hand, ‘you mustn’t feel a dislike to us to begin with, + because we couldn’t help it, you know, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + With the natural tendency of youth to yield to candour and sweet temper, + Miss Bella was so touched by the simplicity of this address that she + frankly returned Mrs Boffin’s kiss. Not at all to the satisfaction of that + good woman of the world, her mother, who sought to hold the advantageous + ground of obliging the Boffins instead of being obliged. + </p> +<p> + ‘My youngest daughter, Lavinia,’ said Mrs Wilfer, glad to make a + diversion, as that young lady reappeared. ‘Mr George Sampson, a friend of + the family.’ + </p> +<p> + The friend of the family was in that stage of tender passion which bound + him to regard everybody else as the foe of the family. He put the round + head of his cane in his mouth, like a stopper, when he sat down. As if he + felt himself full to the throat with affronting sentiments. And he eyed + the Boffins with implacable eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you like to bring your sister with you when you come to stay with us,’ + said Mrs Boffin, ‘of course we shall be glad. The better you please + yourself, Miss Bella, the better you’ll please us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, my consent is of no consequence at all, I suppose?’ cried Miss + Lavinia. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lavvy,’ said her sister, in a low voice, ‘have the goodness to be seen + and not heard.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I won’t,’ replied the sharp Lavinia. ‘I’m not a child, to be taken + notice of by strangers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You <i>are </i>a child.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m not a child, and I won’t be taken notice of. “Bring your sister,” + indeed!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lavinia!’ said Mrs Wilfer. ‘Hold! I will not allow you to utter in my + presence the absurd suspicion that any strangers—I care not what + their names—can patronize my child. Do you dare to suppose, you + ridiculous girl, that Mr and Mrs Boffin would enter these doors upon a + patronizing errand; or, if they did, would remain within them, only for + one single instant, while your mother had the strength yet remaining in + her vital frame to request them to depart? You little know your mother if + you presume to think so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s all very fine,’ Lavinia began to grumble, when Mrs Wilfer repeated: + </p> +<p> + ‘Hold! I will not allow this. Do you not know what is due to guests? Do + you not comprehend that in presuming to hint that this lady and gentleman + could have any idea of patronizing any member of your family—I care + not which—you accuse them of an impertinence little less than + insane?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never mind me and Mrs Boffin, ma’am,’ said Mr Boffin, smilingly: ‘we + don’t care.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me, but I do,’ returned Mrs Wilfer. + </p> +<p> + Miss Lavinia laughed a short laugh as she muttered, ‘Yes, to be sure.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I require my audacious child,’ proceeded Mrs Wilfer, with a withering + look at her youngest, on whom it had not the slightest effect, ‘to please + to be just to her sister Bella; to remember that her sister Bella is much + sought after; and that when her sister Bella accepts an attention, she + considers herself to be conferring qui-i-ite as much honour,’—this + with an indignant shiver,—‘as she receives.’ + </p> +<p> + But, here Miss Bella repudiated, and said quietly, ‘I can speak for + myself; you know, ma. You needn’t bring <i>me</i> in, please.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And it’s all very well aiming at others through convenient me,’ said the + irrepressible Lavinia, spitefully; ‘but I should like to ask George + Sampson what he says to it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Sampson,’ proclaimed Mrs Wilfer, seeing that young gentleman take his + stopper out, and so darkly fixing him with her eyes as that he put it in + again: ‘Mr Sampson, as a friend of this family and a frequenter of this + house, is, I am persuaded, far too well-bred to interpose on such an + invitation.’ + </p> +<p> + This exaltation of the young gentleman moved the conscientious Mrs Boffin + to repentance for having done him an injustice in her mind, and + consequently to saying that she and Mr Boffin would at any time be glad to + see him; an attention which he handsomely acknowledged by replying, with + his stopper unremoved, ‘Much obliged to you, but I’m always engaged, day + and night.’ + </p> +<p> + However, Bella compensating for all drawbacks by responding to the + advances of the Boffins in an engaging way, that easy pair were on the + whole well satisfied, and proposed to the said Bella that as soon as they + should be in a condition to receive her in a manner suitable to their + desires, Mrs Boffin should return with notice of the fact. This + arrangement Mrs Wilfer sanctioned with a stately inclination of her head + and wave of her gloves, as who should say, ‘Your demerits shall be + overlooked, and you shall be mercifully gratified, poor people.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By-the-bye, ma’am,’ said Mr Boffin, turning back as he was going, ‘you + have a lodger?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A gentleman,’ Mrs Wilfer answered, qualifying the low expression, + ‘undoubtedly occupies our first floor.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I may call him Our Mutual Friend,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘What sort of a fellow + <i>is</i> Our Mutual Friend, now? Do you like him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet, a very eligible inmate.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because,’ Mr Boffin explained, ‘you must know that I’m not particularly + well acquainted with Our Mutual Friend, for I have only seen him once. You + give a good account of him. Is he at home?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith is at home,’ said Mrs Wilfer; ‘indeed,’ pointing through the + window, ‘there he stands at the garden gate. Waiting for you, perhaps?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps so,’ replied Mr Boffin. ‘Saw me come in, maybe.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella had closely attended to this short dialogue. Accompanying Mrs Boffin + to the gate, she as closely watched what followed. + </p> +<p> + ‘How are you, sir, how are you?’ said Mr Boffin. ‘This is Mrs Boffin. Mr + Rokesmith, that I told you of; my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + She gave him good day, and he bestirred himself and helped her to her + seat, and the like, with a ready hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-bye for the present, Miss Bella,’ said Mrs Boffin, calling out a + hearty parting. ‘We shall meet again soon! And then I hope I shall have my + little John Harmon to show you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith, who was at the wheel adjusting the skirts of her dress, + suddenly looked behind him, and around him, and then looked up at her, + with a face so pale that Mrs Boffin cried: + </p> +<p> + ‘Gracious!’ And after a moment, ‘What’s the matter, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How can you show her the Dead?’ returned Mr Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s only an adopted child. One I have told her of. One I’m going to give + the name to!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You took me by surprise,’ said Mr Rokesmith, ‘and it sounded like an + omen, that you should speak of showing the Dead to one so young and + blooming.’ + </p> +<p> + Now, Bella suspected by this time that Mr Rokesmith admired her. Whether + the knowledge (for it was rather that than suspicion) caused her to + incline to him a little more, or a little less, than she had done at + first; whether it rendered her eager to find out more about him, because + she sought to establish reason for her distrust, or because she sought to + free him from it; was as yet dark to her own heart. But at most times he + occupied a great amount of her attention, and she had set her attention + closely on this incident. + </p> +<p> + That he knew it as well as she, she knew as well as he, when they were + left together standing on the path by the garden gate. + </p> +<p> + ‘Those are worthy people, Miss Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you know them well?’ asked Bella. + </p> +<p> + He smiled, reproaching her, and she coloured, reproaching herself—both, + with the knowledge that she had meant to entrap him into an answer not + true—when he said ‘I know <i>of</i> them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, he told us he had seen you but once.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, I supposed he did.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella was nervous now, and would have been glad to recall her question. + </p> +<p> + ‘You thought it strange that, feeling much interested in you, I should + start at what sounded like a proposal to bring you into contact with the + murdered man who lies in his grave. I might have known—of course in + a moment should have known—that it could not have that meaning. But + my interest remains.’ + </p> +<p> + Re-entering the family-room in a meditative state, Miss Bella was received + by the irrepressible Lavinia with: + </p> +<p> + ‘There, Bella! At last I hope you have got your wishes realized—by + your Boffins. You’ll be rich enough now—with your Boffins. You can + have as much flirting as you like—at your Boffins. But you won’t + take <i>me</i> to your Boffins, I can tell you—you and your Boffins too!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If,’ quoth Mr George Sampson, moodily pulling his stopper out, ‘Miss + Bella’s Mr Boffin comes any more of his nonsense to <i>me</i>, I only wish him to + understand, as betwixt man and man, that he does it at his per—’ and + was going to say peril; but Miss Lavinia, having no confidence in his + mental powers, and feeling his oration to have no definite application to + any circumstances, jerked his stopper in again, with a sharpness that made + his eyes water. + </p> +<p> + And now the worthy Mrs Wilfer, having used her youngest daughter as a + lay-figure for the edification of these Boffins, became bland to her, and + proceeded to develop her last instance of force of character, which was + still in reserve. This was, to illuminate the family with her remarkable + powers as a physiognomist; powers that terrified R. W. when ever let + loose, as being always fraught with gloom and evil which no inferior + prescience was aware of. And this Mrs Wilfer now did, be it observed, in + jealousy of these Boffins, in the very same moments when she was already + reflecting how she would flourish these very same Boffins and the state + they kept, over the heads of her Boffinless friends. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of their manners,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘I say nothing. Of their appearance, + I say nothing. Of the disinterestedness of their intentions towards Bella, + I say nothing. But the craft, the secrecy, the dark deep underhanded + plotting, written in Mrs Boffin’s countenance, make me shudder.’ + </p> +<p> + As an incontrovertible proof that those baleful attributes were all there, + Mrs Wilfer shuddered on the spot. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 10 + </h2> +<h3> + A MARRIAGE CONTRACT + </h3> +<p> + There is excitement in the Veneering mansion. The mature young lady is + going to be married (powder and all) to the mature young gentleman, and + she is to be married from the Veneering house, and the Veneerings are to + give the breakfast. The Analytical, who objects as a matter of principle + to everything that occurs on the premises, necessarily objects to the + match; but his consent has been dispensed with, and a spring-van is + delivering its load of greenhouse plants at the door, in order that + to-morrow’s feast may be crowned with flowers. + </p> +<p> + The mature young lady is a lady of property. The mature young gentleman is + a gentleman of property. He invests his property. He goes, in a + condescending amateurish way, into the City, attends meetings of + Directors, and has to do with traffic in Shares. As is well known to the + wise in their generation, traffic in Shares is the one thing to have to do + with in this world. Have no antecedents, no established character, no + cultivation, no ideas, no manners; have Shares. Have Shares enough to be + on Boards of Direction in capital letters, oscillate on mysterious + business between London and Paris, and be great. Where does he come from? + Shares. Where is he going to? Shares. What are his tastes? Shares. Has he + any principles? Shares. What squeezes him into Parliament? Shares. Perhaps + he never of himself achieved success in anything, never originated + anything, never produced anything? Sufficient answer to all; Shares. O + mighty Shares! To set those blaring images so high, and to cause us + smaller vermin, as under the influence of henbane or opium, to cry out, + night and day, ‘Relieve us of our money, scatter it for us, buy us and + sell us, ruin us, only we beseech ye take rank among the powers of the + earth, and fatten on us’! + </p> +<p> + While the Loves and Graces have been preparing this torch for Hymen, which + is to be kindled to-morrow, Mr Twemlow has suffered much in his mind. It + would seem that both the mature young lady and the mature young gentleman + must indubitably be Veneering’s oldest friends. Wards of his, perhaps? Yet + that can scarcely be, for they are older than himself. Veneering has been + in their confidence throughout, and has done much to lure them to the + altar. He has mentioned to Twemlow how he said to Mrs Veneering, + ‘Anastatia, this must be a match.’ He has mentioned to Twemlow how he + regards Sophronia Akershem (the mature young lady) in the light of a + sister, and Alfred Lammle (the mature young gentleman) in the light of a + brother. Twemlow has asked him whether he went to school as a junior with + Alfred? He has answered, ‘Not exactly.’ Whether Sophronia was adopted by + his mother? He has answered, ‘Not precisely so.’ Twemlow’s hand has gone + to his forehead with a lost air. + </p> +<p> + But, two or three weeks ago, Twemlow, sitting over his newspaper, and over + his dry-toast and weak tea, and over the stable-yard in Duke Street, St + James’s, received a highly-perfumed cocked-hat and monogram from Mrs + Veneering, entreating her dearest Mr T., if not particularly engaged that + day, to come like a charming soul and make a fourth at dinner with dear Mr + Podsnap, for the discussion of an interesting family topic; the last three + words doubly underlined and pointed with a note of admiration. And Twemlow + replying, ‘Not engaged, and more than delighted,’ goes, and this takes + place: + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Twemlow,’ says Veneering, ‘your ready response to Anastatia’s + unceremonious invitation is truly kind, and like an old, old friend. You + know our dear friend Podsnap?’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow ought to know the dear friend Podsnap who covered him with so much + confusion, and he says he does know him, and Podsnap reciprocates. + Apparently, Podsnap has been so wrought upon in a short time, as to + believe that he has been intimate in the house many, many, many years. In + the friendliest manner he is making himself quite at home with his back to + the fire, executing a statuette of the Colossus at Rhodes. Twemlow has + before noticed in his feeble way how soon the Veneering guests become + infected with the Veneering fiction. Not, however, that he has the least + notion of its being his own case. + </p> +<p> + ‘Our friends, Alfred and Sophronia,’ pursues Veneering the veiled prophet: + ‘our friends Alfred and Sophronia, you will be glad to hear, my dear + fellows, are going to be married. As my wife and I make it a family affair + the entire direction of which we take upon ourselves, of course our first + step is to communicate the fact to our family friends.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Oh!’ thinks Twemlow, with his eyes on Podsnap, ‘then there are only two + of us, and he’s the other.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘I did hope,’ Veneering goes on, ‘to have had Lady Tippins to meet you; + but she is always in request, and is unfortunately engaged.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Oh!’ thinks Twemlow, with his eyes wandering, ‘then there are three of + us, and <i>she’s</i> the other.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘Mortimer Lightwood,’ resumes Veneering, ‘whom you both know, is out of + town; but he writes, in his whimsical manner, that as we ask him to be + bridegroom’s best man when the ceremony takes place, he will not refuse, + though he doesn’t see what he has to do with it.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Oh!’ thinks Twemlow, with his eyes rolling, ‘then there are four of us, + and <i>he’s</i> the other.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘Boots and Brewer,’ observes Veneering, ‘whom you also know, I have not + asked to-day; but I reserve them for the occasion.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Then,’ thinks Twemlow, with his eyes shut, ‘there are si—’ But + here collapses and does not completely recover until dinner is over and + the Analytical has been requested to withdraw.) + </p> +<p> + ‘We now come,’ says Veneering, ‘to the point, the real point, of our + little family consultation. Sophronia, having lost both father and mother, + has no one to give her away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give her away yourself,’ says Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Podsnap, no. For three reasons. Firstly, because I couldn’t take + so much upon myself when I have respected family friends to remember. + Secondly, because I am not so vain as to think that I look the part. + Thirdly, because Anastatia is a little superstitious on the subject and + feels averse to my giving away anybody until baby is old enough to be + married.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What would happen if he did?’ Podsnap inquires of Mrs Veneering. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mr Podsnap, it’s very foolish I know, but I have an instinctive + presentiment that if Hamilton gave away anybody else first, he would never + give away baby.’ Thus Mrs Veneering; with her open hands pressed together, + and each of her eight aquiline fingers looking so very like her one + aquiline nose that the bran-new jewels on them seem necessary for + distinction’s sake. + </p> +<p> + ‘But, my dear Podsnap,’ quoth Veneering, ‘there <i>is</i> a tried friend of our + family who, I think and hope you will agree with me, Podsnap, is the + friend on whom this agreeable duty almost naturally devolves. That + friend,’ saying the words as if the company were about a hundred and fifty + in number, ‘is now among us. That friend is Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly!’ from Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘That friend,’ Veneering repeats with greater firmness, ‘is our dear good + Twemlow. And I cannot sufficiently express to you, my dear Podsnap, the + pleasure I feel in having this opinion of mine and Anastatia’s so readily + confirmed by you, that other equally familiar and tried friend who stands + in the proud position—I mean who proudly stands in the position—or + I ought rather to say, who places Anastatia and myself in the proud + position of himself standing in the simple position—of baby’s + godfather.’ And, indeed, Veneering is much relieved in mind to find that + Podsnap betrays no jealousy of Twemlow’s elevation. + </p> +<p> + So, it has come to pass that the spring-van is strewing flowers on the + rosy hours and on the staircase, and that Twemlow is surveying the ground + on which he is to play his distinguished part to-morrow. He has already + been to the church, and taken note of the various impediments in the + aisle, under the auspices of an extremely dreary widow who opens the pews, + and whose left hand appears to be in a state of acute rheumatism, but is + in fact voluntarily doubled up to act as a money-box. + </p> +<p> + And now Veneering shoots out of the Study wherein he is accustomed, when + contemplative, to give his mind to the carving and gilding of the Pilgrims + going to Canterbury, in order to show Twemlow the little flourish he has + prepared for the trumpets of fashion, describing how that on the + seventeenth instant, at St James’s Church, the Reverend Blank Blank, + assisted by the Reverend Dash Dash, united in the bonds of matrimony, + Alfred Lammle Esquire, of Sackville Street, Piccadilly, to Sophronia, only + daughter of the late Horatio Akershem, Esquire, of Yorkshire. Also how the + fair bride was married from the house of Hamilton Veneering, Esquire, of + Stucconia, and was given away by Melvin Twemlow, Esquire, of Duke Street, + St James’s, second cousin to Lord Snigsworth, of Snigsworthy Park. While + perusing which composition, Twemlow makes some opaque approach to + perceiving that if the Reverend Blank Blank and the Reverend Dash Dash + fail, after this introduction, to become enrolled in the list of + Veneering’s dearest and oldest friends, they will have none but themselves + to thank for it. + </p> +<p> + After which, appears Sophronia (whom Twemlow has seen twice in his + lifetime), to thank Twemlow for counterfeiting the late Horatio Akershem + Esquire, broadly of Yorkshire. And after her, appears Alfred (whom Twemlow + has seen once in his lifetime), to do the same and to make a pasty sort of + glitter, as if he were constructed for candle-light only, and had been let + out into daylight by some grand mistake. And after that, comes Mrs + Veneering, in a pervadingly aquiline state of figure, and with transparent + little knobs on her temper, like the little transparent knob on the bridge + of her nose, ‘Worn out by worry and excitement,’ as she tells her dear Mr + Twemlow, and reluctantly revived with curacoa by the Analytical. And after + that, the bridesmaids begin to come by rail-road from various parts of the + country, and to come like adorable recruits enlisted by a sergeant not + present; for, on arriving at the Veneering depot, they are in a barrack of + strangers. + </p> +<p> + So, Twemlow goes home to Duke Street, St James’s, to take a plate of + mutton broth with a chop in it, and a look at the marriage-service, in + order that he may cut in at the right place to-morrow; and he is low, and + feels it dull over the livery stable-yard, and is distinctly aware of a + dint in his heart, made by the most adorable of the adorable bridesmaids. + For, the poor little harmless gentleman once had his fancy, like the rest + of us, and she didn’t answer (as she often does not), and he thinks the + adorable bridesmaid is like the fancy as she was then (which she is not at + all), and that if the fancy had not married some one else for money, but + had married him for love, he and she would have been happy (which they + wouldn’t have been), and that she has a tenderness for him still (whereas + her toughness is a proverb). Brooding over the fire, with his dried little + head in his dried little hands, and his dried little elbows on his dried + little knees, Twemlow is melancholy. ‘No Adorable to bear me company + here!’ thinks he. ‘No Adorable at the club! A waste, a waste, a waste, my + Twemlow!’ And so drops asleep, and has galvanic starts all over him. + </p> +<p> + Betimes next morning, that horrible old Lady Tippins (relict of the late + Sir Thomas Tippins, knighted in mistake for somebody else by His Majesty + King George the Third, who, while performing the ceremony, was graciously + pleased to observe, ‘What, what, what? Who, who, who? Why, why, why?’) + begins to be dyed and varnished for the interesting occasion. She has a + reputation for giving smart accounts of things, and she must be at these + people’s early, my dear, to lose nothing of the fun. Whereabout in the + bonnet and drapery announced by her name, any fragment of the real woman + may be concealed, is perhaps known to her maid; but you could easily buy + all you see of her, in Bond Street; or you might scalp her, and peel her, + and scrape her, and make two Lady Tippinses out of her, and yet not + penetrate to the genuine article. She has a large gold eye-glass, has Lady + Tippins, to survey the proceedings with. If she had one in each eye, it + might keep that other drooping lid up, and look more uniform. But + perennial youth is in her artificial flowers, and her list of lovers is + full. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mortimer, you wretch,’ says Lady Tippins, turning the eyeglass about and + about, ‘where is your charge, the bridegroom?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give you my honour,’ returns Mortimer, ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Miserable! Is that the way you do your duty?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Beyond an impression that he is to sit upon my knee and be seconded at + some point of the solemnities, like a principal at a prizefight, I assure + you I have no notion what my duty is,’ returns Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + Eugene is also in attendance, with a pervading air upon him of having + presupposed the ceremony to be a funeral, and of being disappointed. The + scene is the Vestry-room of St James’s Church, with a number of leathery + old registers on shelves, that might be bound in Lady Tippinses. + </p> +<p> + But, hark! A carriage at the gate, and Mortimer’s man arrives, looking + rather like a spurious Mephistopheles and an unacknowledged member of that + gentleman’s family. Whom Lady Tippins, surveying through her eye-glass, + considers a fine man, and quite a catch; and of whom Mortimer remarks, in + the lowest spirits, as he approaches, ‘I believe this is my fellow, + confound him!’ More carriages at the gate, and lo the rest of the + characters. Whom Lady Tippins, standing on a cushion, surveying through + the eye-glass, thus checks off. ‘Bride; five-and-forty if a day, thirty + shillings a yard, veil fifteen pound, pocket-handkerchief a present. + Bridesmaids; kept down for fear of outshining bride, consequently not + girls, twelve and sixpence a yard, Veneering’s flowers, snub-nosed one + rather pretty but too conscious of her stockings, bonnets three pound ten. + Twemlow; blessed release for the dear man if she really was his daughter, + nervous even under the pretence that she is, well he may be. Mrs + Veneering; never saw such velvet, say two thousand pounds as she stands, + absolute jeweller’s window, father must have been a pawnbroker, or how + could these people do it? Attendant unknowns; pokey.’ + </p> +<p> + Ceremony performed, register signed, Lady Tippins escorted out of sacred + edifice by Veneering, carriages rolling back to Stucconia, servants with + favours and flowers, Veneering’s house reached, drawing-rooms most + magnificent. Here, the Podsnaps await the happy party; Mr Podsnap, with + his hair-brushes made the most of; that imperial rocking-horse, Mrs + Podsnap, majestically skittish. Here, too, are Boots and Brewer, and the + two other Buffers; each Buffer with a flower in his button-hole, his hair + curled, and his gloves buttoned on tight, apparently come prepared, if + anything had happened to the bridegroom, to be married instantly. Here, + too, the bride’s aunt and next relation; a widowed female of a Medusa + sort, in a stoney cap, glaring petrifaction at her fellow-creatures. Here, + too, the bride’s trustee; an oilcake-fed style of business-gentleman with + mooney spectacles, and an object of much interest. Veneering launching + himself upon this trustee as his oldest friend (which makes seven, Twemlow + thought), and confidentially retiring with him into the conservatory, it + is understood that Veneering is his co-trustee, and that they are + arranging about the fortune. Buffers are even overheard to whisper Thir-ty + Thou-sand Pou-nds! with a smack and a relish suggestive of the very finest + oysters. Pokey unknowns, amazed to find how intimately they know + Veneering, pluck up spirit, fold their arms, and begin to contradict him + before breakfast. What time Mrs Veneering, carrying baby dressed as a + bridesmaid, flits about among the company, emitting flashes of + many-coloured lightning from diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. + </p> +<p> + The Analytical, in course of time achieving what he feels to be due to + himself in bringing to a dignified conclusion several quarrels he has on + hand with the pastrycook’s men, announces breakfast. Dining-room no less + magnificent than drawing-room; tables superb; all the camels out, and all + laden. Splendid cake, covered with Cupids, silver, and true-lovers’ knots. + Splendid bracelet, produced by Veneering before going down, and clasped + upon the arm of bride. Yet nobody seems to think much more of the + Veneerings than if they were a tolerable landlord and landlady doing the + thing in the way of business at so much a head. The bride and bridegroom + talk and laugh apart, as has always been their manner; and the Buffers + work their way through the dishes with systematic perseverance, as has + always been <i>their </i>manner; and the pokey unknowns are exceedingly + benevolent to one another in invitations to take glasses of champagne; but + Mrs Podsnap, arching her mane and rocking her grandest, has a far more + deferential audience than Mrs Veneering; and Podsnap all but does the + honours. + </p> +<p> + Another dismal circumstance is, that Veneering, having the captivating + Tippins on one side of him and the bride’s aunt on the other, finds it + immensely difficult to keep the peace. For, Medusa, besides unmistakingly + glaring petrifaction at the fascinating Tippins, follows every lively + remark made by that dear creature, with an audible snort: which may be + referable to a chronic cold in the head, but may also be referable to + indignation and contempt. And this snort being regular in its + reproduction, at length comes to be expected by the company, who make + embarrassing pauses when it is falling due, and by waiting for it, render + it more emphatic when it comes. The stoney aunt has likewise an injurious + way of rejecting all dishes whereof Lady Tippins partakes: saying aloud + when they are proffered to her, ‘No, no, no, not for me. Take it away!’ As + with a set purpose of implying a misgiving that if nourished upon similar + meats, she might come to be like that charmer, which would be a fatal + consummation. Aware of her enemy, Lady Tippins tries a youthful sally or + two, and tries the eye-glass; but, from the impenetrable cap and snorting + armour of the stoney aunt all weapons rebound powerless. + </p> +<p> + Another objectionable circumstance is, that the pokey unknowns support + each other in being unimpressible. They persist in not being frightened by + the gold and silver camels, and they are banded together to defy the + elaborately chased ice-pails. They even seem to unite in some vague + utterance of the sentiment that the landlord and landlady will make a + pretty good profit out of this, and they almost carry themselves like + customers. Nor is there compensating influence in the adorable + bridesmaids; for, having very little interest in the bride, and none at + all in one another, those lovely beings become, each one of her own + account, depreciatingly contemplative of the millinery present; while the + bridegroom’s man, exhausted, in the back of his chair, appears to be + improving the occasion by penitentially contemplating all the wrong he has + ever done; the difference between him and his friend Eugene, being, that + the latter, in the back of <i>his </i>chair, appears to be contemplating all the + wrong he would like to do—particularly to the present company. + </p> +<p> + In which state of affairs, the usual ceremonies rather droop and flag, and + the splendid cake when cut by the fair hand of the bride has but an + indigestible appearance. However, all the things indispensable to be said + are said, and all the things indispensable to be done are done (including + Lady Tippins’s yawning, falling asleep, and waking insensible), and there + is hurried preparation for the nuptial journey to the Isle of Wight, and + the outer air teems with brass bands and spectators. In full sight of + whom, the malignant star of the Analytical has pre-ordained that pain and + ridicule shall befall him. For he, standing on the doorsteps to grace the + departure, is suddenly caught a most prodigious thump on the side of his + head with a heavy shoe, which a Buffer in the hall, champagne-flushed and + wild of aim, has borrowed on the spur of the moment from the pastrycook’s + porter, to cast after the departing pair as an auspicious omen. + </p> +<p> + So they all go up again into the gorgeous drawing-rooms—all of them + flushed with breakfast, as having taken scarlatina sociably—and + there the combined unknowns do malignant things with their legs to + ottomans, and take as much as possible out of the splendid furniture. And + so, Lady Tippins, quite undetermined whether today is the day before + yesterday, or the day after to-morrow, or the week after next, fades away; + and Mortimer Lightwood and Eugene fade away, and Twemlow fades away, and + the stoney aunt goes away—she declines to fade, proving rock to the + last—and even the unknowns are slowly strained off, and it is all + over. + </p> +<p> + All over, that is to say, for the time being. But, there is another time + to come, and it comes in about a fortnight, and it comes to Mr and Mrs + Lammle on the sands at Shanklin, in the Isle of Wight. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Lammle have walked for some time on the Shanklin sands, and one + may see by their footprints that they have not walked arm in arm, and that + they have not walked in a straight track, and that they have walked in a + moody humour; for, the lady has prodded little spirting holes in the damp + sand before her with her parasol, and the gentleman has trailed his stick + after him. As if he were of the Mephistopheles family indeed, and had + walked with a drooping tail. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you mean to tell me, then, Sophronia—’ + </p> +<p> + Thus he begins after a long silence, when Sophronia flashes fiercely, and + turns upon him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t put it upon <i>me</i>, sir. I ask you, do <i>you </i>mean to tell me?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle falls silent again, and they walk as before. Mrs Lammle opens + her nostrils and bites her under-lip; Mr Lammle takes his gingerous + whiskers in his left hand, and, bringing them together, frowns furtively + at his beloved, out of a thick gingerous bush. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I mean to say!’ Mrs Lammle after a time repeats, with indignation. + ‘Putting it on me! The unmanly disingenuousness!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle stops, releases his whiskers, and looks at her. ‘The what?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle haughtily replies, without stopping, and without looking back. + ‘The meanness.’ + </p> +<p> + He is at her side again in a pace or two, and he retorts, ‘That is not + what you said. You said disingenuousness.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What if I did?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is no “if” in the case. You did.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I did, then. And what of it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What of it?’ says Mr Lammle. ‘Have you the face to utter the word to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The face, too!’ replied Mrs Lammle, staring at him with cold scorn. + ‘Pray, how dare you, sir, utter the word to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never did.’ + </p> +<p> + As this happens to be true, Mrs Lammle is thrown on the feminine resource + of saying, ‘I don’t care what you uttered or did not utter.’ + </p> +<p> + After a little more walking and a little more silence, Mr Lammle breaks + the latter. + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall proceed in your own way. You claim a right to ask me do I mean + to tell you. Do I mean to tell you what?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That you are a man of property?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you married me on false pretences?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So be it. Next comes what you mean to say. Do you mean to say you are a + woman of property?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you married me on false pretences.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you were so dull a fortune-hunter that you deceived yourself, or if + you were so greedy and grasping that you were over-willing to be deceived + by appearances, is it my fault, you adventurer?’ the lady demands, with + great asperity. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0126m " src="images/0126m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0126m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0126.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-8672917595245571835"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘I asked Veneering, and he told me you were rich.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Veneering!’ with great contempt. ‘And what does Veneering know about me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was he not your trustee?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I have no trustee, but the one you saw on the day when you + fraudulently married me. And his trust is not a very difficult one, for it + is only an annuity of a hundred and fifteen pounds. I think there are some + odd shillings or pence, if you are very particular.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle bestows a by no means loving look upon the partner of his joys + and sorrows, and he mutters something; but checks himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Question for question. It is my turn again, Mrs Lammle. What made you + suppose me a man of property?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You made me suppose you so. Perhaps you will deny that you always + presented yourself to me in that character?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you asked somebody, too. Come, Mrs Lammle, admission for admission. + You asked somebody?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I asked Veneering.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And Veneering knew as much of me as he knew of you, or as anybody knows + of him.’ + </p> +<p> + After more silent walking, the bride stops short, to say in a passionate + manner: + </p> +<p> + ‘I never will forgive the Veneerings for this!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Neither will I,’ returns the bridegroom. + </p> +<p> + With that, they walk again; she, making those angry spirts in the sand; + he, dragging that dejected tail. The tide is low, and seems to have thrown + them together high on the bare shore. A gull comes sweeping by their heads + and flouts them. There was a golden surface on the brown cliffs but now, + and behold they are only damp earth. A taunting roar comes from the sea, + and the far-out rollers mount upon one another, to look at the entrapped + impostors, and to join in impish and exultant gambols. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you pretend to believe,’ Mrs Lammle resumes, sternly, ‘when you talk + of my marrying you for worldly advantages, that it was within the bounds + of reasonable probability that I would have married you for yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Again there are two sides to the question, Mrs Lammle. What do you + pretend to believe?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So you first deceive me and then insult me!’ cries the lady, with a + heaving bosom. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all. I have originated nothing. The double-edged question was + yours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was mine!’ the bride repeats, and her parasol breaks in her angry hand. + </p> +<p> + His colour has turned to a livid white, and ominous marks have come to + light about his nose, as if the finger of the very devil himself had, + within the last few moments, touched it here and there. But he has + repressive power, and she has none. + </p> +<p> + ‘Throw it away,’ he coolly recommends as to the parasol; ‘you have made it + useless; you look ridiculous with it.’ + </p> +<p> + Whereupon she calls him in her rage, ‘A deliberate villain,’ and so casts + the broken thing from her as that it strikes him in falling. The + finger-marks are something whiter for the instant, but he walks on at her + side. + </p> +<p> + She bursts into tears, declaring herself the wretchedest, the most + deceived, the worst-used, of women. Then she says that if she had the + courage to kill herself, she would do it. Then she calls him vile + impostor. Then she asks him, why, in the disappointment of his base + speculation, he does not take her life with his own hand, under the + present favourable circumstances. Then she cries again. Then she is + enraged again, and makes some mention of swindlers. Finally, she sits down + crying on a block of stone, and is in all the known and unknown humours of + her sex at once. Pending her changes, those aforesaid marks in his face + have come and gone, now here now there, like white steps of a pipe on + which the diabolical performer has played a tune. Also his livid lips are + parted at last, as if he were breathless with running. Yet he is not. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, get up, Mrs Lammle, and let us speak reasonably.’ + </p> +<p> + She sits upon her stone, and takes no heed of him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Get up, I tell you.’ + </p> +<p> + Raising her head, she looks contemptuously in his face, and repeats, ‘You + tell me! Tell me, forsooth!’ + </p> +<p> + She affects not to know that his eyes are fastened on her as she droops + her head again; but her whole figure reveals that she knows it uneasily. + </p> +<p> + ‘Enough of this. Come! Do you hear? Get up.’ + </p> +<p> + Yielding to his hand, she rises, and they walk again; but this time with + their faces turned towards their place of residence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Lammle, we have both been deceiving, and we have both been deceived. + We have both been biting, and we have both been bitten. In a nut-shell, + there’s the state of the case.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You sought me out—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tut! Let us have done with that. <i>We</i> know very well how it was. Why should + you and I talk about it, when you and I can’t disguise it? To proceed. I + am disappointed and cut a poor figure.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Am I no one?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Some one—and I was coming to you, if you had waited a moment. You, + too, are disappointed and cut a poor figure.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘An injured figure!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are now cool enough, Sophronia, to see that you can’t be injured + without my being equally injured; and that therefore the mere word is not + to the purpose. When I look back, I wonder how I can have been such a fool + as to take you to so great an extent upon trust.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And when I look back—’ the bride cries, interrupting. + </p> +<p> + ‘And when you look back, you wonder how you can have been—you’ll + excuse the word?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Most certainly, with so much reason.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—Such a fool as to take <i>me</i> to so great an extent upon trust. But + the folly is committed on both sides. I cannot get rid of you; you cannot + get rid of me. What follows?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shame and misery,’ the bride bitterly replies. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know. A mutual understanding follows, and I think it may carry us + through. Here I split my discourse (give me your arm, Sophronia), into + three heads, to make it shorter and plainer. Firstly, it’s enough to have + been done, without the mortification of being known to have been done. So + we agree to keep the fact to ourselves. You agree?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If it is possible, I do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Possible! We have pretended well enough to one another. Can’t we, united, + pretend to the world? Agreed. Secondly, we owe the Veneerings a grudge, + and we owe all other people the grudge of wishing them to be taken in, as + we ourselves have been taken in. Agreed?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Agreed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We come smoothly to thirdly. You have called me an adventurer, Sophronia. + So I am. In plain uncomplimentary English, so I am. So are you, my dear. + So are many people. We agree to keep our own secret, and to work together + in furtherance of our own schemes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What schemes?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Any scheme that will bring us money. By our own schemes, I mean our joint + interest. Agreed?’ + </p> +<p> + She answers, after a little hesitation, ‘I suppose so. Agreed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Carried at once, you see! Now, Sophronia, only half a dozen words more. + We know one another perfectly. Don’t be tempted into twitting me with the + past knowledge that you have of me, because it is identical with the past + knowledge that I have of you, and in twitting me, you twit yourself, and I + don’t want to hear you do it. With this good understanding established + between us, it is better never done. To wind up all:—You have shown + temper today, Sophronia. Don’t be betrayed into doing so again, because I + have a Devil of a temper myself.’ + </p> +<p> + So, the happy pair, with this hopeful marriage contract thus signed, + sealed, and delivered, repair homeward. If, when those infernal + finger-marks were on the white and breathless countenance of Alfred + Lammle, Esquire, they denoted that he conceived the purpose of subduing + his dear wife Mrs Alfred Lammle, by at once divesting her of any lingering + reality or pretence of self-respect, the purpose would seem to have been + presently executed. The mature young lady has mighty little need of + powder, now, for her downcast face, as he escorts her in the light of the + setting sun to their abode of bliss. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 11 + </h2> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0131m " src="images/0131m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0131m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0131.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-5814558001189863120"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<h3> + PODSNAPPERY + </h3> +<p> + Mr Podsnap was well to do, and stood very high in Mr Podsnap’s opinion. + Beginning with a good inheritance, he had married a good inheritance, and + had thriven exceedingly in the Marine Insurance way, and was quite + satisfied. He never could make out why everybody was not quite satisfied, + and he felt conscious that he set a brilliant social example in being + particularly well satisfied with most things, and, above all other things, + with himself. + </p> +<p> + Thus happily acquainted with his own merit and importance, Mr Podsnap + settled that whatever he put behind him he put out of existence. There was + a dignified conclusiveness—not to add a grand convenience—in + this way of getting rid of disagreeables which had done much towards + establishing Mr Podsnap in his lofty place in Mr Podsnap’s satisfaction. + ‘I don’t want to know about it; I don’t choose to discuss it; I don’t + admit it!’ Mr Podsnap had even acquired a peculiar flourish of his right + arm in often clearing the world of its most difficult problems, by + sweeping them behind him (and consequently sheer away) with those words + and a flushed face. For they affronted him. + </p> +<p> + Mr Podsnap’s world was not a very large world, morally; no, nor even + geographically: seeing that although his business was sustained upon + commerce with other countries, he considered other countries, with that + important reservation, a mistake, and of their manners and customs would + conclusively observe, ‘Not English!’ when, <i>presto</i>! with a flourish of the + arm, and a flush of the face, they were swept away. Elsewise, the world + got up at eight, shaved close at a quarter-past, breakfasted at nine, went + to the City at ten, came home at half-past five, and dined at seven. Mr + Podsnap’s notions of the Arts in their integrity might have been stated + thus. Literature; large print, respectfully descriptive of getting up at + eight, shaving close at a quarter past, breakfasting at nine, going to the + City at ten, coming home at half-past five, and dining at seven. Painting + and Sculpture; models and portraits representing Professors of getting up + at eight, shaving close at a quarter past, breakfasting at nine, going to + the City at ten, coming home at half-past five, and dining at seven. + Music; a respectable performance (without variations) on stringed and wind + instruments, sedately expressive of getting up at eight, shaving close at + a quarter past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City at ten, coming + home at half-past five, and dining at seven. Nothing else to be permitted + to those same vagrants the Arts, on pain of excommunication. Nothing else + To Be—anywhere! + </p> +<p> + As a so eminently respectable man, Mr Podsnap was sensible of its being + required of him to take Providence under his protection. Consequently he + always knew exactly what Providence meant. Inferior and less respectable + men might fall short of that mark, but Mr Podsnap was always up to it. And + it was very remarkable (and must have been very comfortable) that what + Providence meant, was invariably what Mr Podsnap meant. + </p> +<p> + These may be said to have been the articles of a faith and school which + the present chapter takes the liberty of calling, after its representative + man, Podsnappery. They were confined within close bounds, as Mr Podsnap’s + own head was confined by his shirt-collar; and they were enunciated with a + sounding pomp that smacked of the creaking of Mr Podsnap’s own boots. + </p> +<p> + There was a Miss Podsnap. And this young rocking-horse was being trained + in her mother’s art of prancing in a stately manner without ever getting + on. But the high parental action was not yet imparted to her, and in truth + she was but an undersized damsel, with high shoulders, low spirits, + chilled elbows, and a rasped surface of nose, who seemed to take + occasional frosty peeps out of childhood into womanhood, and to shrink + back again, overcome by her mother’s head-dress and her father from head + to foot—crushed by the mere dead-weight of Podsnappery. + </p> +<p> + A certain institution in Mr Podsnap’s mind which he called ‘the young + person’ may be considered to have been embodied in Miss Podsnap, his + daughter. It was an inconvenient and exacting institution, as requiring + everything in the universe to be filed down and fitted to it. The question + about everything was, would it bring a blush into the cheek of the young + person? And the inconvenience of the young person was, that, according to + Mr Podsnap, she seemed always liable to burst into blushes when there was + no need at all. There appeared to be no line of demarcation between the + young person’s excessive innocence, and another person’s guiltiest + knowledge. Take Mr Podsnap’s word for it, and the soberest tints of drab, + white, lilac, and grey, were all flaming red to this troublesome Bull of a + young person. + </p> +<p> + The Podsnaps lived in a shady angle adjoining Portman Square. They were a + kind of people certain to dwell in the shade, wherever they dwelt. Miss + Podsnap’s life had been, from her first appearance on this planet, + altogether of a shady order; for, Mr Podsnap’s young person was likely to + get little good out of association with other young persons, and had + therefore been restricted to companionship with not very congenial older + persons, and with massive furniture. Miss Podsnap’s early views of life + being principally derived from the reflections of it in her father’s + boots, and in the walnut and rosewood tables of the dim drawing-rooms, and + in their swarthy giants of looking-glasses, were of a sombre cast; and it + was not wonderful that now, when she was on most days solemnly tooled + through the Park by the side of her mother in a great tall + custard-coloured phaeton, she showed above the apron of that vehicle like + a dejected young person sitting up in bed to take a startled look at + things in general, and very strongly desiring to get her head under the + counterpane again. + </p> +<p> + Said Mr Podsnap to Mrs Podsnap, ‘Georgiana is almost eighteen.’ + </p> +<p> + Said Mrs Podsnap to Mr Podsnap, assenting, ‘Almost eighteen.’ + </p> +<p> + Said Mr Podsnap then to Mrs Podsnap, ‘Really I think we should have some + people on Georgiana’s birthday.’ + </p> +<p> + Said Mrs Podsnap then to Mr Podsnap, ‘Which will enable us to clear off + all those people who are due.’ + </p> +<p> + So it came to pass that Mr and Mrs Podsnap requested the honour of the + company of seventeen friends of their souls at dinner; and that they + substituted other friends of their souls for such of the seventeen + original friends of their souls as deeply regretted that a prior + engagement prevented their having the honour of dining with Mr and Mrs + Podsnap, in pursuance of their kind invitation; and that Mrs Podsnap said + of all these inconsolable personages, as she checked them off with a + pencil in her list, ‘Asked, at any rate, and got rid of;’ and that they + successfully disposed of a good many friends of their souls in this way, + and felt their consciences much lightened. + </p> +<p> + There were still other friends of their souls who were not entitled to be + asked to dinner, but had a claim to be invited to come and take a haunch + of mutton vapour-bath at half-past nine. For the clearing off of these + worthies, Mrs Podsnap added a small and early evening to the dinner, and + looked in at the music-shop to bespeak a well-conducted automaton to come + and play quadrilles for a carpet dance. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Veneering, and Mr and Mrs Veneering’s bran-new bride and + bridegroom, were of the dinner company; but the Podsnap establishment had + nothing else in common with the Veneerings. Mr Podsnap could tolerate + taste in a mushroom man who stood in need of that sort of thing, but was + far above it himself. Hideous solidity was the characteristic of the + Podsnap plate. Everything was made to look as heavy as it could, and to + take up as much room as possible. Everything said boastfully, ‘Here you + have as much of me in my ugliness as if I were only lead; but I am so many + ounces of precious metal worth so much an ounce;—wouldn’t you like + to melt me down?’ A corpulent straddling epergne, blotched all over as if + it had broken out in an eruption rather than been ornamented, delivered + this address from an unsightly silver platform in the centre of the table. + Four silver wine-coolers, each furnished with four staring heads, each + head obtrusively carrying a big silver ring in each of its ears, conveyed + the sentiment up and down the table, and handed it on to the pot-bellied + silver salt-cellars. All the big silver spoons and forks widened the + mouths of the company expressly for the purpose of thrusting the sentiment + down their throats with every morsel they ate. + </p> +<p> + The majority of the guests were like the plate, and included several heavy + articles weighing ever so much. But there was a foreign gentleman among + them: whom Mr Podsnap had invited after much debate with himself—believing + the whole European continent to be in mortal alliance against the young + person—and there was a droll disposition, not only on the part of Mr + Podsnap but of everybody else, to treat him as if he were a child who was + hard of hearing. + </p> +<p> + As a delicate concession to this unfortunately-born foreigner, Mr Podsnap, + in receiving him, had presented his wife as ‘Madame Podsnap;’ also his + daughter as ‘Mademoiselle Podsnap,’ with some inclination to add ‘ma + fille,’ in which bold venture, however, he checked himself. The Veneerings + being at that time the only other arrivals, he had added (in a + condescendingly explanatory manner), ‘Monsieur Vey-nair-reeng,’ and had + then subsided into English. + </p> +<p> + ‘How Do You Like London?’ Mr Podsnap now inquired from his station of + host, as if he were administering something in the nature of a powder or + potion to the deaf child; ‘London, Londres, London?’ + </p> +<p> + The foreign gentleman admired it. + </p> +<p> + ‘You find it Very Large?’ said Mr Podsnap, spaciously. + </p> +<p> + The foreign gentleman found it very large. + </p> +<p> + ‘And Very Rich?’ + </p> +<p> + The foreign gentleman found it, without doubt, enormement riche. + </p> +<p> + ‘Enormously Rich, We say,’ returned Mr Podsnap, in a condescending manner. + ‘Our English adverbs do Not terminate in Mong, and We Pronounce the “ch” + as if there were a “t” before it. We say Ritch.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Reetch,’ remarked the foreign gentleman. + </p> +<p> + ‘And Do You Find, Sir,’ pursued Mr Podsnap, with dignity, ‘Many Evidences + that Strike You, of our British Constitution in the Streets Of The World’s + Metropolis, London, Londres, London?’ + </p> +<p> + The foreign gentleman begged to be pardoned, but did not altogether + understand. + </p> +<p> + ‘The Constitution Britannique,’ Mr Podsnap explained, as if he were + teaching in an infant school. ‘We Say British, But You Say Britannique, + You Know’ (forgivingly, as if that were not his fault). ‘The Constitution, + Sir.’ + </p> +<p> + The foreign gentleman said, ‘Mais, yees; I know eem.’ + </p> +<p> + A youngish sallowish gentleman in spectacles, with a lumpy forehead, + seated in a supplementary chair at a corner of the table, here caused a + profound sensation by saying, in a raised voice, ‘<i>Esker</i>,’ and then + stopping dead. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mais oui,’ said the foreign gentleman, turning towards him. ‘Est-ce que? + Quoi donc?’ + </p> +<p> + But the gentleman with the lumpy forehead having for the time delivered + himself of all that he found behind his lumps, spake for the time no more. + </p> +<p> + ‘I Was Inquiring,’ said Mr Podsnap, resuming the thread of his discourse, + ‘Whether You Have Observed in our Streets as We should say, Upon our Pavvy + as You would say, any Tokens—’ + </p> +<p> + The foreign gentleman, with patient courtesy entreated pardon; ‘But what + was tokenz?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Marks,’ said Mr Podsnap; ‘Signs, you know, Appearances—Traces.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! Of a Orse?’ inquired the foreign gentleman. + </p> +<p> + ‘We call it Horse,’ said Mr Podsnap, with forbearance. ‘In England, + Angleterre, England, We Aspirate the “H,” and We Say “Horse.” Only our + Lower Classes Say “Orse!”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon,’ said the foreign gentleman; ‘I am alwiz wrong!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Our Language,’ said Mr Podsnap, with a gracious consciousness of being + always right, ‘is Difficult. Ours is a Copious Language, and Trying to + Strangers. I will not Pursue my Question.’ + </p> +<p> + But the lumpy gentleman, unwilling to give it up, again madly said, + ‘<i>Esker</i>,’ and again spake no more. + </p> +<p> + ‘It merely referred,’ Mr Podsnap explained, with a sense of meritorious + proprietorship, ‘to Our Constitution, Sir. We Englishmen are Very Proud of + our Constitution, Sir. It Was Bestowed Upon Us By Providence. No Other + Country is so Favoured as This Country.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And ozer countries?—’ the foreign gentleman was beginning, when Mr + Podsnap put him right again. + </p> +<p> + ‘We do not say Ozer; we say Other: the letters are “T” and “H;” You say + Tay and Aish, You Know; (still with clemency). The sound is “th”—“th!”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And <i>other </i>countries,’ said the foreign gentleman. ‘They do how?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They do, Sir,’ returned Mr Podsnap, gravely shaking his head; ‘they do—I + am sorry to be obliged to say it—<i>as</i> they do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was a little particular of Providence,’ said the foreign gentleman, + laughing; ‘for the frontier is not large.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Undoubtedly,’ assented Mr Podsnap; ‘But So it is. It was the Charter of + the Land. This Island was Blest, Sir, to the Direct Exclusion of such + Other Countries as—as there may happen to be. And if we were all + Englishmen present, I would say,’ added Mr Podsnap, looking round upon his + compatriots, and sounding solemnly with his theme, ‘that there is in the + Englishman a combination of qualities, a modesty, an independence, a + responsibility, a repose, combined with an absence of everything + calculated to call a blush into the cheek of a young person, which one + would seek in vain among the Nations of the Earth.’ + </p> +<p> + Having delivered this little summary, Mr Podsnap’s face flushed, as he + thought of the remote possibility of its being at all qualified by any + prejudiced citizen of any other country; and, with his favourite right-arm + flourish, he put the rest of Europe and the whole of Asia, Africa, and + America nowhere. + </p> +<p> + The audience were much edified by this passage of words; and Mr Podsnap, + feeling that he was in rather remarkable force to-day, became smiling and + conversational. + </p> +<p> + ‘Has anything more been heard, Veneering,’ he inquired, ‘of the lucky + legatee?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing more,’ returned Veneering, ‘than that he has come into possession + of the property. I am told people now call him The Golden Dustman. I + mentioned to you some time ago, I think, that the young lady whose + intended husband was murdered is daughter to a clerk of mine?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, you told me that,’ said Podsnap; ‘and by-the-bye, I wish you would + tell it again here, for it’s a curious coincidence—curious that the + first news of the discovery should have been brought straight to your + table (when I was there), and curious that one of your people should have + been so nearly interested in it. Just relate that, will you?’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering was more than ready to do it, for he had prospered exceedingly + upon the Harmon Murder, and had turned the social distinction it conferred + upon him to the account of making several dozen of bran-new bosom-friends. + Indeed, such another lucky hit would almost have set him up in that way to + his satisfaction. So, addressing himself to the most desirable of his + neighbours, while Mrs Veneering secured the next most desirable, he + plunged into the case, and emerged from it twenty minutes afterwards with + a Bank Director in his arms. In the mean time, Mrs Veneering had dived + into the same waters for a wealthy Ship-Broker, and had brought him up, + safe and sound, by the hair. Then Mrs Veneering had to relate, to a larger + circle, how she had been to see the girl, and how she was really pretty, + and (considering her station) presentable. And this she did with such a + successful display of her eight aquiline fingers and their encircling + jewels, that she happily laid hold of a drifting General Officer, his wife + and daughter, and not only restored their animation which had become + suspended, but made them lively friends within an hour. + </p> +<p> + Although Mr Podsnap would in a general way have highly disapproved of + Bodies in rivers as ineligible topics with reference to the cheek of the + young person, he had, as one may say, a share in this affair which made + him a part proprietor. As its returns were immediate, too, in the way of + restraining the company from speechless contemplation of the wine-coolers, + it paid, and he was satisfied. + </p> +<p> + And now the haunch of mutton vapour-bath having received a gamey infusion, + and a few last touches of sweets and coffee, was quite ready, and the + bathers came; but not before the discreet automaton had got behind the + bars of the piano music-desk, and there presented the appearance of a + captive languishing in a rose-wood jail. And who now so pleasant or so + well assorted as Mr and Mrs Alfred Lammle, he all sparkle, she all + gracious contentment, both at occasional intervals exchanging looks like + partners at cards who played a game against All England. + </p> +<p> + There was not much youth among the bathers, but there was no youth (the + young person always excepted) in the articles of Podsnappery. Bald bathers + folded their arms and talked to Mr Podsnap on the hearthrug; + sleek-whiskered bathers, with hats in their hands, lunged at Mrs Podsnap + and retreated; prowling bathers, went about looking into ornamental boxes + and bowls as if they had suspicions of larceny on the part of the + Podsnaps, and expected to find something they had lost at the bottom; + bathers of the gentler sex sat silently comparing ivory shoulders. All + this time and always, poor little Miss Podsnap, whose tiny efforts (if she + had made any) were swallowed up in the magnificence of her mother’s + rocking, kept herself as much out of sight and mind as she could, and + appeared to be counting on many dismal returns of the day. It was somehow + understood, as a secret article in the state proprieties of Podsnappery + that nothing must be said about the day. Consequently this young damsel’s + nativity was hushed up and looked over, as if it were agreed on all hands + that it would have been better that she had never been born. + </p> +<p> + The Lammles were so fond of the dear Veneerings that they could not for + some time detach themselves from those excellent friends; but at length, + either a very open smile on Mr Lammle’s part, or a very secret elevation + of one of his gingerous eyebrows—certainly the one or the other—seemed + to say to Mrs Lammle, ‘Why don’t you play?’ And so, looking about her, she + saw Miss Podsnap, and seeming to say responsively, ‘That card?’ and to be + answered, ‘Yes,’ went and sat beside Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle was overjoyed to escape into a corner for a little quiet talk. + </p> +<p> + It promised to be a very quiet talk, for Miss Podsnap replied in a + flutter, ‘Oh! Indeed, it’s very kind of you, but I am afraid I <i>don’t</i> + talk.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let us make a beginning,’ said the insinuating Mrs Lammle, with her best + smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! I am afraid you’ll find me very dull. But Ma talks!’ + </p> +<p> + That was plainly to be seen, for Ma was talking then at her usual canter, + with arched head and mane, opened eyes and nostrils. + </p> +<p> + ‘Fond of reading perhaps?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. At least I—don’t mind that so much,’ returned Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘M-m-m-m-music.’ So insinuating was Mrs Lammle that she got half a dozen ms + into the word before she got it out. + </p> +<p> + ‘I haven’t nerve to play even if I could. Ma plays.’ + </p> +<p> + (At exactly the same canter, and with a certain flourishing appearance of + doing something, Ma did, in fact, occasionally take a rock upon the + instrument.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course you like dancing?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh no, I don’t,’ said Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘No? With your youth and attractions? Truly, my dear, you surprise me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t say,’ observed Miss Podsnap, after hesitating considerably, and + stealing several timid looks at Mrs Lammle’s carefully arranged face, ‘how + I might have liked it if I had been a—you won’t mention it, <i>will</i> + you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear! Never!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I am sure you won’t. I can’t say then how I should have liked it, if + I had been a chimney-sweep on May-day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gracious!’ was the exclamation which amazement elicited from Mrs Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘There! I knew you’d wonder. But you won’t mention it, will you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my word, my love,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘you make me ten times more + desirous, now I talk to you, to know you well than I was when I sat over + yonder looking at you. How I wish we could be real friends! Try me as a + real friend. Come! Don’t fancy me a frumpy old married woman, my dear; I + was married but the other day, you know; I am dressed as a bride now, you + see. About the chimney-sweeps?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hush! Ma’ll hear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She can’t hear from where she sits.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you be too sure of that,’ said Miss Podsnap, in a lower voice. + ‘Well, what I mean is, that they seem to enjoy it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And that perhaps you would have enjoyed it, if you had been one of them?’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Podsnap nodded significantly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you don’t enjoy it now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How is it possible?’ said Miss Podsnap. ‘Oh it is such a dreadful thing! + If I was wicked enough—and strong enough—to kill anybody, it + should be my partner.’ + </p> +<p> + This was such an entirely new view of the Terpsichorean art as socially + practised, that Mrs Lammle looked at her young friend in some + astonishment. Her young friend sat nervously twiddling her fingers in a + pinioned attitude, as if she were trying to hide her elbows. But this + latter Utopian object (in short sleeves) always appeared to be the great + inoffensive aim of her existence. + </p> +<p> + ‘It sounds horrid, don’t it?’ said Miss Podsnap, with a penitential face. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle, not very well knowing what to answer, resolved herself into a + look of smiling encouragement. + </p> +<p> + ‘But it is, and it always has been,’ pursued Miss Podsnap, ‘such a trial + to me! I so dread being awful. And it is so awful! No one knows what I + suffered at Madame Sauteuse’s, where I learnt to dance and make + presentation-curtseys, and other dreadful things—or at least where + they tried to teach me. Ma can do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At any rate, my love,’ said Mrs Lammle, soothingly, ‘that’s over.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, it’s over,’ returned Miss Podsnap, ‘but there’s nothing gained by + that. It’s worse here, than at Madame Sauteuse’s. Ma was there, and Ma’s + here; but Pa wasn’t there, and company wasn’t there, and there were not + real partners there. Oh there’s Ma speaking to the man at the piano! Oh + there’s Ma going up to somebody! Oh I know she’s going to bring him to me! + Oh please don’t, please don’t, please don’t! Oh keep away, keep away, keep + away!’ These pious ejaculations Miss Podsnap uttered with her eyes closed, + and her head leaning back against the wall. + </p> +<p> + But the Ogre advanced under the pilotage of Ma, and Ma said, ‘Georgiana, + Mr Grompus,’ and the Ogre clutched his victim and bore her off to his + castle in the top couple. Then the discreet automaton who had surveyed his + ground, played a blossomless tuneless ‘set,’ and sixteen disciples of + Podsnappery went through the figures of - 1, Getting up at eight and + shaving close at a quarter past - 2, Breakfasting at nine - 3, Going to + the City at ten - 4, Coming home at half-past five - 5, Dining at seven, + and the grand chain. + </p> +<p> + While these solemnities were in progress, Mr Alfred Lammle (most loving of + husbands) approached the chair of Mrs Alfred Lammle (most loving of + wives), and bending over the back of it, trifled for some few seconds with + Mrs Lammle’s bracelet. Slightly in contrast with this brief airy toying, + one might have noticed a certain dark attention in Mrs Lammle’s face as + she said some words with her eyes on Mr Lammle’s waistcoat, and seemed in + return to receive some lesson. But it was all done as a breath passes from + a mirror. + </p> +<p> + And now, the grand chain riveted to the last link, the discreet automaton + ceased, and the sixteen, two and two, took a walk among the furniture. And + herein the unconsciousness of the Ogre Grompus was pleasantly conspicuous; + for, that complacent monster, believing that he was giving Miss Podsnap a + treat, prolonged to the utmost stretch of possibility a peripatetic + account of an archery meeting; while his victim, heading the procession of + sixteen as it slowly circled about, like a revolving funeral, never raised + her eyes except once to steal a glance at Mrs Lammle, expressive of + intense despair. + </p> +<p> + At length the procession was dissolved by the violent arrival of a nutmeg, + before which the drawing-room door bounced open as if it were a + cannon-ball; and while that fragrant article, dispersed through several + glasses of coloured warm water, was going the round of society, Miss + Podsnap returned to her seat by her new friend. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Miss Podsnap. ‘<i>that’s</i> over! I hope you didn’t look + at me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, why not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh I know all about myself,’ said Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell you something I know about you, my dear,’ returned Mrs Lammle + in her winning way, ‘and that is, you are most unnecessarily shy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma ain’t,’ said Miss Podsnap. ‘—I detest you! Go along!’ This shot + was levelled under her breath at the gallant Grompus for bestowing an + insinuating smile upon her in passing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me if I scarcely see, my dear Miss Podsnap,’ Mrs Lammle was + beginning when the young lady interposed. + </p> +<p> + ‘If we are going to be real friends (and I suppose we are, for you are the + only person who ever proposed it) don’t let us be awful. It’s awful enough + to <i>be</i> Miss Podsnap, without being called so. Call me Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dearest Georgiana,’ Mrs Lammle began again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ said Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dearest Georgiana, pardon me if I scarcely see, my love, why your mamma’s + not being shy, is a reason why you should be.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you really see that?’ asked Miss Podsnap, plucking at her fingers + in a troubled manner, and furtively casting her eyes now on Mrs Lammle, + now on the ground. ‘Then perhaps it isn’t?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dearest Georgiana, you defer much too readily to my poor opinion. + Indeed it is not even an opinion, darling, for it is only a confession of + my dullness.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh <i>you </i>are not dull,’ returned Miss Podsnap. ‘I am dull, but you couldn’t + have made me talk if you were.’ + </p> +<p> + Some little touch of conscience answering this perception of her having + gained a purpose, called bloom enough into Mrs Lammle’s face to make it + look brighter as she sat smiling her best smile on her dear Georgiana, and + shaking her head with an affectionate playfulness. Not that it meant + anything, but that Georgiana seemed to like it. + </p> +<p> + ‘What I mean is,’ pursued Georgiana, ‘that Ma being so endowed with + awfulness, and Pa being so endowed with awfulness, and there being so much + awfulness everywhere—I mean, at least, everywhere where I am—perhaps + it makes me who am so deficient in awfulness, and frightened at it—I + say it very badly—I don’t know whether you can understand what I + mean?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perfectly, dearest Georgiana!’ Mrs Lammle was proceeding with every + reassuring wile, when the head of that young lady suddenly went back + against the wall again and her eyes closed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh there’s Ma being awful with somebody with a glass in his eye! Oh I + know she’s going to bring him here! Oh don’t bring him, don’t bring him! + Oh he’ll be my partner with his glass in his eye! Oh what shall I do!’ + This time Georgiana accompanied her ejaculations with taps of her feet + upon the floor, and was altogether in quite a desperate condition. But, + there was no escape from the majestic Mrs Podsnap’s production of an + ambling stranger, with one eye screwed up into extinction and the other + framed and glazed, who, having looked down out of that organ, as if he + descried Miss Podsnap at the bottom of some perpendicular shaft, brought + her to the surface, and ambled off with her. And then the captive at the + piano played another ‘set,’ expressive of his mournful aspirations after + freedom, and other sixteen went through the former melancholy motions, and + the ambler took Miss Podsnap for a furniture walk, as if he had struck out + an entirely original conception. + </p> +<p> + In the mean time a stray personage of a meek demeanour, who had wandered + to the hearthrug and got among the heads of tribes assembled there in + conference with Mr Podsnap, eliminated Mr Podsnap’s flush and flourish by + a highly unpolite remark; no less than a reference to the circumstance + that some half-dozen people had lately died in the streets, of starvation. + It was clearly ill-timed after dinner. It was not adapted to the cheek of + the young person. It was not in good taste. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Mr Podsnap, putting it behind him. + </p> +<p> + The meek man was afraid we must take it as proved, because there were the + Inquests and the Registrar’s returns. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then it was their own fault,’ said Mr Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + Veneering and other elders of tribes commended this way out of it. At once + a short cut and a broad road. + </p> +<p> + The man of meek demeanour intimated that truly it would seem from the + facts, as if starvation had been forced upon the culprits in question—as + if, in their wretched manner, they had made their weak protests against it—as + if they would have taken the liberty of staving it off if they could—as + if they would rather not have been starved upon the whole, if perfectly + agreeable to all parties. + </p> +<p> + ‘There is not,’ said Mr Podsnap, flushing angrily, ‘there is not a country + in the world, sir, where so noble a provision is made for the poor as in + this country.’ + </p> +<p> + The meek man was quite willing to concede that, but perhaps it rendered + the matter even worse, as showing that there must be something appallingly + wrong somewhere. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ said Mr Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + The meek man hinted Wouldn’t it be well to try, very seriously, to find + out where? + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Mr Podsnap. ‘Easy to say somewhere; not so easy to say where! + But I see what you are driving at. I knew it from the first. + Centralization. No. Never with my consent. Not English.’ + </p> +<p> + An approving murmur arose from the heads of tribes; as saying, ‘There you + have him! Hold him!’ + </p> +<p> + He was not aware (the meek man submitted of himself) that he was driving + at any ization. He had no favourite ization that he knew of. But he + certainly was more staggered by these terrible occurrences than he was by + names, of howsoever so many syllables. Might he ask, was dying of + destitution and neglect necessarily English? + </p> +<p> + ‘You know what the population of London is, I suppose,’ said Mr Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + The meek man supposed he did, but supposed that had absolutely nothing to + do with it, if its laws were well administered. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you know; at least I hope you know;’ said Mr Podsnap, with severity, + ‘that Providence has declared that you shall have the poor always with + you?’ + </p> +<p> + The meek man also hoped he knew that. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Mr Podsnap with a portentous air. ‘I am glad + to hear it. It will render you cautious how you fly in the face of + Providence.’ + </p> +<p> + In reference to that absurd and irreverent conventional phrase, the meek + man said, for which Mr Podsnap was not responsible, he the meek man had no + fear of doing anything so impossible; but— + </p> +<p> + But Mr Podsnap felt that the time had come for flushing and flourishing + this meek man down for good. So he said: + </p> +<p> + ‘I must decline to pursue this painful discussion. It is not pleasant to + my feelings; it is repugnant to my feelings. I have said that I do not + admit these things. I have also said that if they do occur (not that I + admit it), the fault lies with the sufferers themselves. It is not for <i>me</i>’—Mr + Podsnap pointed ‘me’ forcibly, as adding by implication though it may be + all very well for <i>you</i>—‘it is not for me to impugn the workings of + Providence. I know better than that, I trust, and I have mentioned what + the intentions of Providence are. Besides,’ said Mr Podsnap, flushing high + up among his hair-brushes, with a strong consciousness of personal + affront, ‘the subject is a very disagreeable one. I will go so far as to + say it is an odious one. It is not one to be introduced among our wives + and young persons, and I—’ He finished with that flourish of his arm + which added more expressively than any words, And I remove it from the + face of the earth. + </p> +<p> + Simultaneously with this quenching of the meek man’s ineffectual fire; + Georgiana having left the ambler up a lane of sofa, in a No Thoroughfare + of back drawing-room, to find his own way out, came back to Mrs Lammle. + And who should be with Mrs Lammle, but Mr Lammle. So fond of her! + </p> +<p> + ‘Alfred, my love, here is my friend. Georgiana, dearest girl, you must + like my husband next to me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle was proud to be so soon distinguished by this special + commendation to Miss Podsnap’s favour. But if Mr Lammle were prone to be + jealous of his dear Sophronia’s friendships, he would be jealous of her + feeling towards Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘Say Georgiana, darling,’ interposed his wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘Towards—shall I?—Georgiana.’ Mr Lammle uttered the name, with + a delicate curve of his right hand, from his lips outward. ‘For never have + I known Sophronia (who is not apt to take sudden likings) so attracted and + so captivated as she is by—shall I once more?—Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + The object of this homage sat uneasily enough in receipt of it, and then + said, turning to Mrs Lammle, much embarrassed: + </p> +<p> + ‘I wonder what you like me for! I am sure I can’t think.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dearest Georgiana, for yourself. For your difference from all around + you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! That may be. For I think I like you for your difference from all + around me,’ said Georgiana with a smile of relief. + </p> +<p> + ‘We must be going with the rest,’ observed Mrs Lammle, rising with a show + of unwillingness, amidst a general dispersal. ‘We are real friends, + Georgiana dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Real.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good night, dear girl!’ + </p> +<p> + She had established an attraction over the shrinking nature upon which her + smiling eyes were fixed, for Georgiana held her hand while she answered in + a secret and half-frightened tone: + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t forget me when you are gone away. And come again soon. Good night!’ + </p> +<p> + Charming to see Mr and Mrs Lammle taking leave so gracefully, and going + down the stairs so lovingly and sweetly. Not quite so charming to see + their smiling faces fall and brood as they dropped moodily into separate + corners of their little carriage. But to be sure that was a sight behind + the scenes, which nobody saw, and which nobody was meant to see. + </p> +<p> + Certain big, heavy vehicles, built on the model of the Podsnap plate, took + away the heavy articles of guests weighing ever so much; and the less + valuable articles got away after their various manners; and the Podsnap + plate was put to bed. As Mr Podsnap stood with his back to the + drawing-room fire, pulling up his shirtcollar, like a veritable cock of + the walk literally pluming himself in the midst of his possessions, + nothing would have astonished him more than an intimation that Miss + Podsnap, or any other young person properly born and bred, could not be + exactly put away like the plate, brought out like the plate, polished like + the plate, counted, weighed, and valued like the plate. That such a young + person could possibly have a morbid vacancy in the heart for anything + younger than the plate, or less monotonous than the plate; or that such a + young person’s thoughts could try to scale the region bounded on the + north, south, east, and west, by the plate; was a monstrous imagination + which he would on the spot have flourished into space. This perhaps in + some sort arose from Mr Podsnap’s blushing young person being, so to + speak, all cheek; whereas there is a possibility that there may be young + persons of a rather more complex organization. + </p> +<p> + If Mr Podsnap, pulling up his shirt-collar, could only have heard himself + called ‘that fellow’ in a certain short dialogue, which passed between Mr + and Mrs Lammle in their opposite corners of their little carriage, rolling + home! + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, are you awake?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Am I likely to be asleep, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very likely, I should think, after that fellow’s company. Attend to what + I am going to say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have attended to what you have already said, have I not? What else have + I been doing all to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Attend, I tell you,’ (in a raised voice) ‘to what I am going to say. Keep + close to that idiot girl. Keep her under your thumb. You have her fast, + and you are not to let her go. Do you hear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hear you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I foresee there is money to be made out of this, besides taking that + fellow down a peg. We owe each other money, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle winced a little at the reminder, but only enough to shake her + scents and essences anew into the atmosphere of the little carriage, as + she settled herself afresh in her own dark corner. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 12 + </h2> +<h3> + THE SWEAT OF AN HONEST MAN’S BROW + </h3> +<p> + Mr Mortimer Lightwood and Mr Eugene Wrayburn took a coffee-house dinner + together in Mr Lightwood’s office. They had newly agreed to set up a joint + establishment together. They had taken a bachelor cottage near Hampton, on + the brink of the Thames, with a lawn, and a boat-house; and all things + fitting, and were to float with the stream through the summer and the Long + Vacation. + </p> +<p> + It was not summer yet, but spring; and it was not gentle spring ethereally + mild, as in Thomson’s Seasons, but nipping spring with an easterly wind, + as in Johnson’s, Jackson’s, Dickson’s, Smith’s, and Jones’s Seasons. The + grating wind sawed rather than blew; and as it sawed, the sawdust whirled + about the sawpit. Every street was a sawpit, and there were no + top-sawyers; every passenger was an under-sawyer, with the sawdust + blinding him and choking him. + </p> +<p> + That mysterious paper currency which circulates in London when the wind + blows, gyrated here and there and everywhere. Whence can it come, whither + can it go? It hangs on every bush, flutters in every tree, is caught + flying by the electric wires, haunts every enclosure, drinks at every + pump, cowers at every grating, shudders upon every plot of grass, seeks + rest in vain behind the legions of iron rails. In Paris, where nothing is + wasted, costly and luxurious city though it be, but where wonderful human + ants creep out of holes and pick up every scrap, there is no such thing. + There, it blows nothing but dust. There, sharp eyes and sharp stomachs + reap even the east wind, and get something out of it. + </p> +<p> + The wind sawed, and the sawdust whirled. The shrubs wrung their many + hands, bemoaning that they had been over-persuaded by the sun to bud; the + young leaves pined; the sparrows repented of their early marriages, like + men and women; the colours of the rainbow were discernible, not in floral + spring, but in the faces of the people whom it nibbled and pinched. And + ever the wind sawed, and the sawdust whirled. + </p> +<p> + When the spring evenings are too long and light to shut out, and such + weather is rife, the city which Mr Podsnap so explanatorily called London, + Londres, London, is at its worst. Such a black shrill city, combining the + qualities of a smoky house and a scolding wife; such a gritty city; such a + hopeless city, with no rent in the leaden canopy of its sky; such a + beleaguered city, invested by the great Marsh Forces of Essex and Kent. So + the two old schoolfellows felt it to be, as, their dinner done, they + turned towards the fire to smoke. Young Blight was gone, the coffee-house + waiter was gone, the plates and dishes were gone, the wine was going—but + not in the same direction. + </p> +<p> + ‘The wind sounds up here,’ quoth Eugene, stirring the fire, ‘as if we were + keeping a lighthouse. I wish we were.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you think it would bore us?’ Lightwood asked. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not more than any other place. And there would be no Circuit to go. But + that’s a selfish consideration, personal to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And no clients to come,’ added Lightwood. ‘Not that that’s a selfish + consideration at all personal to <i>me</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If we were on an isolated rock in a stormy sea,’ said Eugene, smoking + with his eyes on the fire, ‘Lady Tippins couldn’t put off to visit us, or, + better still, might put off and get swamped. People couldn’t ask one to + wedding breakfasts. There would be no Precedents to hammer at, except the + plain-sailing Precedent of keeping the light up. It would be exciting to + look out for wrecks.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But otherwise,’ suggested Lightwood, ‘there might be a degree of sameness + in the life.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have thought of that also,’ said Eugene, as if he really had been + considering the subject in its various bearings with an eye to the + business; ‘but it would be a defined and limited monotony. It would not + extend beyond two people. Now, it’s a question with me, Mortimer, whether + a monotony defined with that precision and limited to that extent, might + not be more endurable than the unlimited monotony of one’s + fellow-creatures.’ + </p> +<p> + As Lightwood laughed and passed the wine, he remarked, ‘We shall have an + opportunity, in our boating summer, of trying the question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘An imperfect one,’ Eugene acquiesced, with a sigh, ‘but so we shall. I + hope we may not prove too much for one another.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, regarding your respected father,’ said Lightwood, bringing him to a + subject they had expressly appointed to discuss: always the most slippery + eel of eels of subjects to lay hold of. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, regarding my respected father,’ assented Eugene, settling himself in + his arm-chair. ‘I would rather have approached my respected father by + candlelight, as a theme requiring a little artificial brilliancy; but we + will take him by twilight, enlivened with a glow of Wallsend.’ + </p> +<p> + He stirred the fire again as he spoke, and having made it blaze, resumed. + </p> +<p> + ‘My respected father has found, down in the parental neighbourhood, a wife + for his not-generally-respected son.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With some money, of course?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With some money, of course, or he would not have found her. My respected + father—let me shorten the dutiful tautology by substituting in + future M. R. F., which sounds military, and rather like the Duke of + Wellington.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What an absurd fellow you are, Eugene!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, I assure you. M. R. F. having always in the clearest manner + provided (as he calls it) for his children by pre-arranging from the hour + of the birth of each, and sometimes from an earlier period, what the + devoted little victim’s calling and course in life should be, M. R. F. + pre-arranged for myself that I was to be the barrister I am (with the + slight addition of an enormous practice, which has not accrued), and also + the married man I am not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The first you have often told me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The first I have often told you. Considering myself sufficiently + incongruous on my legal eminence, I have until now suppressed my domestic + destiny. You know M. R. F., but not as well as I do. If you knew him as + well as I do, he would amuse you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Filially spoken, Eugene!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perfectly so, believe me; and with every sentiment of affectionate + deference towards M. R. F. But if he amuses me, I can’t help it. When my + eldest brother was born, of course the rest of us knew (I mean the rest of + us would have known, if we had been in existence) that he was heir to the + Family Embarrassments—we call it before the company the Family + Estate. But when my second brother was going to be born by-and-by, “this,” + says M. R. F., “is a little pillar of the church.” <i>Was </i>born, and became a + pillar of the church; a very shaky one. My third brother appeared, + considerably in advance of his engagement to my mother; but M. R. F., not + at all put out by surprise, instantly declared him a Circumnavigator. Was + pitch-forked into the Navy, but has not circumnavigated. I announced + myself and was disposed of with the highly satisfactory results embodied + before you. When my younger brother was half an hour old, it was settled + by M. R. F. that he should have a mechanical genius. And so on. Therefore + I say that M. R. F. amuses me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Touching the lady, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There M. R. F. ceases to be amusing, because my intentions are opposed to + touching the lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you know her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not in the least.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hadn’t you better see her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mortimer, you have studied my character. Could I possibly go down + there, labelled “<i>ELIGIBLE. ON VIEW,</i>” and meet the lady, similarly + labelled? Anything to carry out M. R. F.’s arrangements, I am sure, with + the greatest pleasure—except matrimony. Could I possibly support it? + I, so soon bored, so constantly, so fatally?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you are not a consistent fellow, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In susceptibility to boredom,’ returned that worthy, ‘I assure you I am + the most consistent of mankind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, it was but now that you were dwelling in the advantages of a + monotony of two.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In a lighthouse. Do me the justice to remember the condition. In a + lighthouse.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer laughed again, and Eugene, having laughed too for the first time, + as if he found himself on reflection rather entertaining, relapsed into + his usual gloom, and drowsily said, as he enjoyed his cigar, ‘No, there is + no help for it; one of the prophetic deliveries of M. R. F. must for ever + remain unfulfilled. With every disposition to oblige him, he must submit + to a failure.’ + </p> +<p> + It had grown darker as they talked, and the wind was sawing and the + sawdust was whirling outside paler windows. The underlying churchyard was + already settling into deep dim shade, and the shade was creeping up to the + housetops among which they sat. ‘As if,’ said Eugene, ‘as if the + churchyard ghosts were rising.’ + </p> +<p> + He had walked to the window with his cigar in his mouth, to exalt its + flavour by comparing the fireside with the outside, when he stopped midway + on his return to his arm-chair, and said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Apparently one of the ghosts has lost its way, and dropped in to be + directed. Look at this phantom!’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood, whose back was towards the door, turned his head, and there, in + the darkness of the entry, stood a something in the likeness of a man: to + whom he addressed the not irrelevant inquiry, ‘Who the devil are you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I ask your pardons, Governors,’ replied the ghost, in a hoarse + double-barrelled whisper, ‘but might either on you be Lawyer Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean by not knocking at the door?’ demanded Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘I ask your pardons, Governors,’ replied the ghost, as before, ‘but + probable you was not aware your door stood open.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you want?’ + </p> +<p> + Hereunto the ghost again hoarsely replied, in its double-barrelled manner, + ‘I ask your pardons, Governors, but might one on you be Lawyer Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘One of us is,’ said the owner of that name. + </p> +<p> + ‘All right, Governors Both,’ returned the ghost, carefully closing the + room door; ‘’tickler business.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer lighted the candles. They showed the visitor to be an ill-looking + visitor with a squinting leer, who, as he spoke, fumbled at an old sodden + fur cap, formless and mangey, that looked like a furry animal, dog or cat, + puppy or kitten, drowned and decaying. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Mortimer, ‘what is it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Governors Both,’ returned the man, in what he meant to be a wheedling + tone, ‘which on you might be Lawyer Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lawyer Lightwood,’ ducking at him with a servile air, ‘I am a man as gets + my living, and as seeks to get my living, by the sweat of my brow. Not to + risk being done out of the sweat of my brow, by any chances, I should wish + afore going further to be swore in.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not a swearer in of people, man.’ + </p> +<p> + The visitor, clearly anything but reliant on this assurance, doggedly + muttered ‘Alfred David.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is that your name?’ asked Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘My name?’ returned the man. ‘No; I want to take a Alfred David.’ + </p> +<p> + (Which Eugene, smoking and contemplating him, interpreted as meaning + Affidavit.) + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you, my good fellow,’ said Lightwood, with his indolent laugh, + ‘that I have nothing to do with swearing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He can swear <i>at</i> you,’ Eugene explained; ‘and so can I. But we can’t do + more for you.’ + </p> +<p> + Much discomfited by this information, the visitor turned the drowned dog + or cat, puppy or kitten, about and about, and looked from one of the + Governors Both to the other of the Governors Both, while he deeply + considered within himself. At length he decided: + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I must be took down.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ asked Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here,’ said the man. ‘In pen and ink.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘First, let us know what your business is about.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s about,’ said the man, taking a step forward, dropping his hoarse + voice, and shading it with his hand, ‘it’s about from five to ten thousand + pound reward. That’s what it’s about. It’s about Murder. That’s what it’s + about.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come nearer the table. Sit down. Will you have a glass of wine?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I will,’ said the man; ‘and I don’t deceive you, Governors.’ + </p> +<p> + It was given him. Making a stiff arm to the elbow, he poured the wine into + his mouth, tilted it into his right cheek, as saying, ‘What do you think + of it?’ tilted it into his left cheek, as saying, ‘What do <i>you </i>think of + it?’ jerked it into his stomach, as saying, ‘What do <i>you </i>think of it?’ To + conclude, smacked his lips, as if all three replied, ‘We think well of + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you have another?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I will,’ he repeated, ‘and I don’t deceive you, Governors.’ And also + repeated the other proceedings. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ began Lightwood, ‘what’s your name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, there you’re rather fast, Lawyer Lightwood,’ he replied, in a + remonstrant manner. ‘Don’t you see, Lawyer Lightwood? There you’re a + little bit fast. I’m going to earn from five to ten thousand pound by the + sweat of my brow; and as a poor man doing justice to the sweat of my brow, + is it likely I can afford to part with so much as my name without its + being took down?’ + </p> +<p> + Deferring to the man’s sense of the binding powers of pen and ink and + paper, Lightwood nodded acceptance of Eugene’s nodded proposal to take + those spells in hand. Eugene, bringing them to the table, sat down as + clerk or notary. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Lightwood, ‘what’s your name?’ + </p> +<p> + But further precaution was still due to the sweat of this honest fellow’s + brow. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should wish, Lawyer Lightwood,’ he stipulated, ‘to have that T’other + Governor as my witness that what I said I said. Consequent, will the + T’other Governor be so good as chuck me his name and where he lives?’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene, cigar in mouth and pen in hand, tossed him his card. After + spelling it out slowly, the man made it into a little roll, and tied it up + in an end of his neckerchief still more slowly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Lightwood, for the third time, ‘if you have quite completed + your various preparations, my friend, and have fully ascertained that your + spirits are cool and not in any way hurried, what’s your name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Roger Riderhood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dwelling-place?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lime’us Hole.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Calling or occupation?’ + </p> +<p> + Not quite so glib with this answer as with the previous two, Mr Riderhood + gave in the definition, ‘Waterside character.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Anything against you?’ Eugene quietly put in, as he wrote. + </p> +<p> + Rather baulked, Mr Riderhood evasively remarked, with an innocent air, + that he believed the T’other Governor had asked him summa’t. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ever in trouble?’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Once.’ (Might happen to any man, Mr Riderhood added incidentally.) + </p> +<p> + ‘On suspicion of—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of seaman’s pocket,’ said Mr Riderhood. ‘Whereby I was in reality the + man’s best friend, and tried to take care of him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With the sweat of your brow?’ asked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Till it poured down like rain,’ said Roger Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + Eugene leaned back in his chair, and smoked with his eyes negligently + turned on the informer, and his pen ready to reduce him to more writing. + Lightwood also smoked, with his eyes negligently turned on the informer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now let me be took down again,’ said Riderhood, when he had turned the + drowned cap over and under, and had brushed it the wrong way (if it had a + right way) with his sleeve. ‘I give information that the man that done the + Harmon Murder is Gaffer Hexam, the man that found the body. The hand of + Jesse Hexam, commonly called Gaffer on the river and along shore, is the + hand that done that deed. His hand and no other.’ + </p> +<p> + The two friends glanced at one another with more serious faces than they + had shown yet. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell us on what grounds you make this accusation,’ said Mortimer + Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘On the grounds,’ answered Riderhood, wiping his face with his sleeve, + ‘that I was Gaffer’s pardner, and suspected of him many a long day and + many a dark night. On the grounds that I knowed his ways. On the grounds + that I broke the pardnership because I see the danger; which I warn you + his daughter may tell you another story about that, for anythink I can + say, but you know what it’ll be worth, for she’d tell you lies, the world + round and the heavens broad, to save her father. On the grounds that it’s + well understood along the cause’ays and the stairs that he done it. On the + grounds that he’s fell off from, because he done it. On the grounds that I + will swear he done it. On the grounds that you may take me where you will, + and get me sworn to it. I don’t want to back out of the consequences. I + have made up <i>my</i> mind. Take me anywheres.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘All this is nothing,’ said Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing?’ repeated Riderhood, indignantly and amazedly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Merely nothing. It goes to no more than that you suspect this man of the + crime. You may do so with some reason, or you may do so with no reason, + but he cannot be convicted on your suspicion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Haven’t I said—I appeal to the T’other Governor as my witness—haven’t + I said from the first minute that I opened my mouth in this here + world-without-end-everlasting chair’ (he evidently used that form of words + as next in force to an affidavit), ‘that I was willing to swear that he + done it? Haven’t I said, Take me and get me sworn to it? Don’t I say so + now? You won’t deny it, Lawyer Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Surely not; but you only offer to swear to your suspicion, and I tell you + it is not enough to swear to your suspicion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not enough, ain’t it, Lawyer Lightwood?’ he cautiously demanded. + </p> +<p> + ‘Positively not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And did I say it <i>was </i>enough? Now, I appeal to the T’other Governor. Now, + fair! Did I say so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He certainly has not said that he had no more to tell,’ Eugene observed + in a low voice without looking at him, ‘whatever he seemed to imply.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah!’ cried the informer, triumphantly perceiving that the remark was + generally in his favour, though apparently not closely understanding it. + ‘Fort’nate for me I had a witness!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go on, then,’ said Lightwood. ‘Say out what you have to say. No + after-thought.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me be took down then!’ cried the informer, eagerly and anxiously. + ‘Let me be took down, for by George and the Draggin I’m a coming to it + now! Don’t do nothing to keep back from a honest man the fruits of the + sweat of his brow! I give information, then, that he told me that he done + it. Is <i>that </i>enough?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take care what you say, my friend,’ returned Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lawyer Lightwood, take care, you, what I say; for I judge you’ll be + answerable for follering it up!’ Then, slowly and emphatically beating it + all out with his open right hand on the palm of his left; ‘I, Roger + Riderhood, Lime’us Hole, Waterside character, tell you, Lawyer Lightwood, + that the man Jesse Hexam, commonly called upon the river and along-shore + Gaffer, told me that he done the deed. What’s more, he told me with his + own lips that he done the deed. What’s more, he said that he done the + deed. And I’ll swear it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where did he tell you so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Outside,’ replied Riderhood, always beating it out, with his head + determinedly set askew, and his eyes watchfully dividing their attention + between his two auditors, ‘outside the door of the Six Jolly Fellowships, + towards a quarter after twelve o’clock at midnight—but I will not in + my conscience undertake to swear to so fine a matter as five minutes—on + the night when he picked up the body. The Six Jolly Fellowships won’t run + away. If it turns out that he warn’t at the Six Jolly Fellowships that + night at midnight, I’m a liar.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What did he say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell you (take me down, T’other Governor, I ask no better). He come + out first; I come out last. I might be a minute arter him; I might be half + a minute, I might be a quarter of a minute; I cannot swear to that, and + therefore I won’t. That’s knowing the obligations of a Alfred David, ain’t + it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I found him a waiting to speak to me. He says to me, “Rogue Riderhood”—for + that’s the name I’m mostly called by—not for any meaning in it, for + meaning it has none, but because of its being similar to Roger.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never mind that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘’Scuse <i>me</i>, Lawyer Lightwood, it’s a part of the truth, and as such I do + mind it, and I must mind it and I will mind it. “Rogue Riderhood,” he + says, “words passed betwixt us on the river tonight.” Which they had; ask + his daughter! “I threatened you,” he says, “to chop you over the fingers + with my boat’s stretcher, or take a aim at your brains with my boathook. I + did so on accounts of your looking too hard at what I had in tow, as if + you was suspicious, and on accounts of your holding on to the gunwale of + my boat.” I says to him, “Gaffer, I know it.” He says to me, “Rogue + Riderhood, you are a man in a dozen”—I think he said in a score, but + of that I am not positive, so take the lowest figure, for precious be the + obligations of a Alfred David. “And,” he says, “when your fellow-men is + up, be it their lives or be it their watches, sharp is ever the word with + you. Had you suspicions?” I says, “Gaffer, I had; and what’s more, I + have.” He falls a shaking, and he says, “Of what?” I says, “Of foul play.” + He falls a shaking worse, and he says, “There <i>was </i>foul play then. I done + it for his money. Don’t betray me!” Those were the words as ever he used.’ + </p> +<p> + There was a silence, broken only by the fall of the ashes in the grate. An + opportunity which the informer improved by smearing himself all over the + head and neck and face with his drowned cap, and not at all improving his + own appearance. + </p> +<p> + ‘What more?’ asked Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of him, d’ye mean, Lawyer Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of anything to the purpose.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I’m blest if I understand you, Governors Both,’ said the informer, + in a creeping manner: propitiating both, though only one had spoken. + ‘What? Ain’t <i>that </i>enough?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you ask him how he did it, where he did it, when he did it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Far be it from me, Lawyer Lightwood! I was so troubled in my mind, that I + wouldn’t have knowed more, no, not for the sum as I expect to earn from + you by the sweat of my brow, twice told! I had put an end to the + pardnership. I had cut the connexion. I couldn’t undo what was done; and + when he begs and prays, “Old pardner, on my knees, don’t split upon me!” I + only makes answer “Never speak another word to Roger Riderhood, nor look + him in the face!” and I shuns that man.’ + </p> +<p> + Having given these words a swing to make them mount the higher and go the + further, Rogue Riderhood poured himself out another glass of wine + unbidden, and seemed to chew it, as, with the half-emptied glass in his + hand, he stared at the candles. + </p> +<p> + Mortimer glanced at Eugene, but Eugene sat glowering at his paper, and + would give him no responsive glance. Mortimer again turned to the + informer, to whom he said: + </p> +<p> + ‘You have been troubled in your mind a long time, man?’ + </p> +<p> + Giving his wine a final chew, and swallowing it, the informer answered in + a single word: + </p> +<p> + ‘Hages!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When all that stir was made, when the Government reward was offered, when + the police were on the alert, when the whole country rang with the crime!’ + said Mortimer, impatiently. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah!’ Mr Riderhood very slowly and hoarsely chimed in, with several + retrospective nods of his head. ‘Warn’t I troubled in my mind then!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When conjecture ran wild, when the most extravagant suspicions were + afloat, when half a dozen innocent people might have been laid by the + heels any hour in the day!’ said Mortimer, almost warming. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah!’ Mr Riderhood chimed in, as before. ‘Warn’t I troubled in my mind + through it all!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But he hadn’t,’ said Eugene, drawing a lady’s head upon his + writing-paper, and touching it at intervals, ‘the opportunity then of + earning so much money, you see.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The T’other Governor hits the nail, Lawyer Lightwood! It was that as + turned me. I had many times and again struggled to relieve myself of the + trouble on my mind, but I couldn’t get it off. I had once very nigh got it + off to Miss Abbey Potterson which keeps the Six Jolly Fellowships—there + is the ’ouse, it won’t run away,—there lives the lady, she ain’t + likely to be struck dead afore you get there—ask her!—but I + couldn’t do it. At last, out comes the new bill with your own lawful name, + Lawyer Lightwood, printed to it, and then I asks the question of my own + intellects, Am I to have this trouble on my mind for ever? Am I never to + throw it off? Am I always to think more of Gaffer than of my own self? If + he’s got a daughter, ain’t I got a daughter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And echo answered—?’ Eugene suggested. + </p> +<p> + ‘“You have,”’ said Mr Riderhood, in a firm tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Incidentally mentioning, at the same time, her age?’ inquired Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, governor. Two-and-twenty last October. And then I put it to myself, + “Regarding the money. It is a pot of money.” For it <i>is</i> a pot,’ said Mr + Riderhood, with candour, ‘and why deny it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hear!’ from Eugene as he touched his drawing. + </p> +<p> + ‘“It is a pot of money; but is it a sin for a labouring man that moistens + every crust of bread he earns, with his tears—or if not with them, + with the colds he catches in his head—is it a sin for that man to + earn it? Say there is anything again earning it.” This I put to myself + strong, as in duty bound; “how can it be said without blaming Lawyer + Lightwood for offering it to be earned?” And was it for <i>me</i> to blame Lawyer + Lightwood? No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly not, Governor,’ Mr Riderhood acquiesced. ‘So I made up my mind + to get my trouble off my mind, and to earn by the sweat of my brow what + was held out to me. And what’s more,’ he added, suddenly turning + bloodthirsty, ‘I mean to have it! And now I tell you, once and away, + Lawyer Lightwood, that Jesse Hexam, commonly called Gaffer, his hand and + no other, done the deed, on his own confession to me. And I give him up to + you, and I want him took. This night!’ + </p> +<p> + After another silence, broken only by the fall of the ashes in the grate, + which attracted the informer’s attention as if it were the chinking of + money, Mortimer Lightwood leaned over his friend, and said in a whisper: + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose I must go with this fellow to our imperturbable friend at the + police-station.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose,’ said Eugene, ‘there is no help for it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you believe him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I believe him to be a thorough rascal. But he may tell the truth, for his + own purpose, and for this occasion only.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It doesn’t look like it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>He</i> doesn’t,’ said Eugene. ‘But neither is his late partner, whom he + denounces, a prepossessing person. The firm are cut-throat Shepherds both, + in appearance. I should like to ask him one thing.’ + </p> +<p> + The subject of this conference sat leering at the ashes, trying with all + his might to overhear what was said, but feigning abstraction as the + ‘Governors Both’ glanced at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘You mentioned (twice, I think) a daughter of this Hexam’s,’ said Eugene, + aloud. ‘You don’t mean to imply that she had any guilty knowledge of the + crime?’ + </p> +<p> + The honest man, after considering—perhaps considering how his answer + might affect the fruits of the sweat of his brow—replied, + unreservedly, ‘No, I don’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you implicate no other person?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It ain’t what I implicate, it’s what Gaffer implicated,’ was the dogged + and determined answer. ‘I don’t pretend to know more than that his words + to me was, “I done it.” Those was his words.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must see this out, Mortimer,’ whispered Eugene, rising. ‘How shall we + go?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let us walk,’ whispered Lightwood, ‘and give this fellow time to think of + it.’ + </p> +<p> + Having exchanged the question and answer, they prepared themselves for + going out, and Mr Riderhood rose. While extinguishing the candles, + Lightwood, quite as a matter of course took up the glass from which that + honest gentleman had drunk, and coolly tossed it under the grate, where it + fell shivering into fragments. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, if you will take the lead,’ said Lightwood, ‘Mr Wrayburn and I will + follow. You know where to go, I suppose?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose I do, Lawyer Lightwood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take the lead, then.’ + </p> +<p> + The waterside character pulled his drowned cap over his ears with both + hands, and making himself more round-shouldered than nature had made him, + by the sullen and persistent slouch with which he went, went down the + stairs, round by the Temple Church, across the Temple into Whitefriars, + and so on by the waterside streets. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look at his hang-dog air,’ said Lightwood, following. + </p> +<p> + ‘It strikes me rather as a hang-<i>man</i> air,’ returned Eugene. ‘He has + undeniable intentions that way.’ + </p> +<p> + They said little else as they followed. He went on before them as an ugly + Fate might have done, and they kept him in view, and would have been glad + enough to lose sight of him. But on he went before them, always at the + same distance, and the same rate. Aslant against the hard implacable + weather and the rough wind, he was no more to be driven back than hurried + forward, but held on like an advancing Destiny. There came, when they were + about midway on their journey, a heavy rush of hail, which in a few + minutes pelted the streets clear, and whitened them. It made no difference + to him. A man’s life being to be taken and the price of it got, the + hailstones to arrest the purpose must lie larger and deeper than those. He + crashed through them, leaving marks in the fast-melting slush that were + mere shapeless holes; one might have fancied, following, that the very + fashion of humanity had departed from his feet. + </p> +<p> + The blast went by, and the moon contended with the fast-flying clouds, and + the wild disorder reigning up there made the pitiful little tumults in the + streets of no account. It was not that the wind swept all the brawlers + into places of shelter, as it had swept the hail still lingering in heaps + wherever there was refuge for it; but that it seemed as if the streets + were absorbed by the sky, and the night were all in the air. + </p> +<p> + ‘If he has had time to think of it,’ said Eugene, ‘he has not had time to + think better of it—or differently of it, if that’s better. There is + no sign of drawing back in him; and as I recollect this place, we must be + close upon the corner where we alighted that night.’ + </p> +<p> + In fact, a few abrupt turns brought them to the river side, where they had + slipped about among the stones, and where they now slipped more; the wind + coming against them in slants and flaws, across the tide and the windings + of the river, in a furious way. With that habit of getting under the lee + of any shelter which waterside characters acquire, the waterside character + at present in question led the way to the leeside of the Six Jolly + Fellowship Porters before he spoke. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look round here, Lawyer Lightwood, at them red curtains. It’s the + Fellowships, the ’ouse as I told you wouldn’t run away. And has it run + away?’ + </p> +<p> + Not showing himself much impressed by this remarkable confirmation of the + informer’s evidence, Lightwood inquired what other business they had + there? + </p> +<p> + ‘I wished you to see the Fellowships for yourself, Lawyer Lightwood, that + you might judge whether I’m a liar; and now I’ll see Gaffer’s window for + myself, that we may know whether he’s at home.’ + </p> +<p> + With that, he crept away. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’ll come back, I suppose?’ murmured Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay! and go through with it,’ murmured Eugene. + </p> +<p> + He came back after a very short interval indeed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Gaffer’s out, and his boat’s out. His daughter’s at home, sitting + a-looking at the fire. But there’s some supper getting ready, so Gaffer’s + expected. I can find what move he’s upon, easy enough, presently.’ + </p> +<p> + Then he beckoned and led the way again, and they came to the + police-station, still as clean and cool and steady as before, saving that + the flame of its lamp—being but a lamp-flame, and only attached to + the Force as an outsider—flickered in the wind. + </p> +<p> + Also, within doors, Mr Inspector was at his studies as of yore. He + recognized the friends the instant they reappeared, but their reappearance + had no effect on his composure. Not even the circumstance that Riderhood + was their conductor moved him, otherwise than that as he took a dip of ink + he seemed, by a settlement of his chin in his stock, to propound to that + personage, without looking at him, the question, ‘What have <i>you </i>been up + to, last?’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer Lightwood asked him, would he be so good as look at those notes? + Handing him Eugene’s. + </p> +<p> + Having read the first few lines, Mr Inspector mounted to that (for him) + extraordinary pitch of emotion that he said, ‘Does either of you two + gentlemen happen to have a pinch of snuff about him?’ Finding that neither + had, he did quite as well without it, and read on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you heard these read?’ he then demanded of the honest man. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you had better hear them.’ And so read them aloud, in an official + manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Are these notes correct, now, as to the information you bring here and + the evidence you mean to give?’ he asked, when he had finished reading. + </p> +<p> + ‘They are. They are as correct,’ returned Mr Riderhood, ‘as I am. I can’t + say more than that for ’em.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll take this man myself, sir,’ said Mr Inspector to Lightwood. Then to + Riderhood, ‘Is he at home? Where is he? What’s he doing? You have made it + your business to know all about him, no doubt.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood said what he did know, and promised to find out in a few minutes + what he didn’t know. + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop,’ said Mr Inspector; ‘not till I tell you: We mustn’t look like + business. Would you two gentlemen object to making a pretence of taking a + glass of something in my company at the Fellowships? Well-conducted house, + and highly respectable landlady.’ + </p> +<p> + They replied that they would be happy to substitute a reality for the + pretence, which, in the main, appeared to be as one with Mr Inspector’s + meaning. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good,’ said he, taking his hat from its peg, and putting a pair of + handcuffs in his pocket as if they were his gloves. ‘Reserve!’ Reserve + saluted. ‘You know where to find me?’ Reserve again saluted. ‘Riderhood, + when you have found out concerning his coming home, come round to the + window of Cosy, tap twice at it, and wait for me. Now, gentlemen.’ + </p> +<p> + As the three went out together, and Riderhood slouched off from under the + trembling lamp his separate way, Lightwood asked the officer what he + thought of this? + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector replied, with due generality and reticence, that it was + always more likely that a man had done a bad thing than that he hadn’t. + That he himself had several times ‘reckoned up’ Gaffer, but had never been + able to bring him to a satisfactory criminal total. That if this story was + true, it was only in part true. That the two men, very shy characters, + would have been jointly and pretty equally ‘in it;’ but that this man had + ‘spotted’ the other, to save himself and get the money. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I think,’ added Mr Inspector, in conclusion, ‘that if all goes well + with him, he’s in a tolerable way of getting it. But as this is the + Fellowships, gentlemen, where the lights are, I recommend dropping the + subject. You can’t do better than be interested in some lime works + anywhere down about Northfleet, and doubtful whether some of your lime + don’t get into bad company as it comes up in barges.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You hear Eugene?’ said Lightwood, over his shoulder. ‘You are deeply + interested in lime.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Without lime,’ returned that unmoved barrister-at-law, ‘my existence + would be unilluminated by a ray of hope.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 13 + </h2> +<h3> + TRACKING THE BIRD OF PREY + </h3> +<p> + The two lime merchants, with their escort, entered the dominions of Miss + Abbey Potterson, to whom their escort (presenting them and their pretended + business over the half-door of the bar, in a confidential way) preferred + his figurative request that ‘a mouthful of fire’ might be lighted in Cosy. + Always well disposed to assist the constituted authorities, Miss Abbey + bade Bob Gliddery attend the gentlemen to that retreat, and promptly + enliven it with fire and gaslight. Of this commission the bare-armed Bob, + leading the way with a flaming wisp of paper, so speedily acquitted + himself, that Cosy seemed to leap out of a dark sleep and embrace them + warmly, the moment they passed the lintels of its hospitable door. + </p> +<p> + ‘They burn sherry very well here,’ said Mr Inspector, as a piece of local + intelligence. ‘Perhaps you gentlemen might like a bottle?’ + </p> +<p> + The answer being By all means, Bob Gliddery received his instructions from + Mr Inspector, and departed in a becoming state of alacrity engendered by + reverence for the majesty of the law. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s a certain fact,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘that this man we have received + our information from,’ indicating Riderhood with his thumb over his + shoulder, ‘has for some time past given the other man a bad name arising + out of your lime barges, and that the other man has been avoided in + consequence. I don’t say what it means or proves, but it’s a certain fact. + I had it first from one of the opposite sex of my acquaintance,’ vaguely + indicating Miss Abbey with his thumb over his shoulder, ‘down away at a + distance, over yonder.’ + </p> +<p> + Then probably Mr Inspector was not quite unprepared for their visit that + evening? Lightwood hinted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well you see,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘it was a question of making a move. + It’s of no use moving if you don’t know what your move is. You had better + by far keep still. In the matter of this lime, I certainly had an idea + that it might lie betwixt the two men; I always had that idea. Still I was + forced to wait for a start, and I wasn’t so lucky as to get a start. This + man that we have received our information from, has got a start, and if he + don’t meet with a check he may make the running and come in first. There + may turn out to be something considerable for him that comes in second, + and I don’t mention who may or who may not try for that place. There’s + duty to do, and I shall do it, under any circumstances; to the best of my + judgment and ability.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Speaking as a shipper of lime—’ began Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Which no man has a better right to do than yourself, you know,’ said Mr + Inspector. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope not,’ said Eugene; ‘my father having been a shipper of lime before + me, and my grandfather before him—in fact we having been a family + immersed to the crowns of our heads in lime during several generations—I + beg to observe that if this missing lime could be got hold of without any + young female relative of any distinguished gentleman engaged in the lime + trade (which I cherish next to my life) being present, I think it might be + a more agreeable proceeding to the assisting bystanders, that is to say, + lime-burners.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I also,’ said Lightwood, pushing his friend aside with a laugh, ‘should + much prefer that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It shall be done, gentlemen, if it can be done conveniently,’ said Mr + Inspector, with coolness. ‘There is no wish on my part to cause any + distress in that quarter. Indeed, I am sorry for that quarter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There was a boy in that quarter,’ remarked Eugene. ‘He is still there?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Inspector. ‘He has quitted those works. He is otherwise + disposed of.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will she be left alone then?’ asked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘She will be left,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘alone.’ + </p> +<p> + Bob’s reappearance with a steaming jug broke off the conversation. But + although the jug steamed forth a delicious perfume, its contents had not + received that last happy touch which the surpassing finish of the Six + Jolly Fellowship Porters imparted on such momentous occasions. Bob carried + in his left hand one of those iron models of sugar-loaf hats, before + mentioned, into which he emptied the jug, and the pointed end of which he + thrust deep down into the fire, so leaving it for a few moments while he + disappeared and reappeared with three bright drinking-glasses. Placing + these on the table and bending over the fire, meritoriously sensible of + the trying nature of his duty, he watched the wreaths of steam, until at + the special instant of projection he caught up the iron vessel and gave it + one delicate twirl, causing it to send forth one gentle hiss. Then he + restored the contents to the jug; held over the steam of the jug, each of + the three bright glasses in succession; finally filled them all, and with + a clear conscience awaited the applause of his fellow-creatures. + </p> +<p> + It was bestowed (Mr Inspector having proposed as an appropriate sentiment + ‘The lime trade!’) and Bob withdrew to report the commendations of the + guests to Miss Abbey in the bar. It may be here in confidence admitted + that, the room being close shut in his absence, there had not appeared to + be the slightest reason for the elaborate maintenance of this same lime + fiction. Only it had been regarded by Mr Inspector as so uncommonly + satisfactory, and so fraught with mysterious virtues, that neither of his + clients had presumed to question it. + </p> +<p> + Two taps were now heard on the outside of the window. Mr Inspector, + hastily fortifying himself with another glass, strolled out with a + noiseless foot and an unoccupied countenance. As one might go to survey + the weather and the general aspect of the heavenly bodies. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is becoming grim, Mortimer,’ said Eugene, in a low voice. ‘I don’t + like this.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor I’ said Lightwood. ‘Shall we go?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Being here, let us stay. You ought to see it out, and I won’t leave you. + Besides, that lonely girl with the dark hair runs in my head. It was + little more than a glimpse we had of her that last time, and yet I almost + see her waiting by the fire to-night. Do you feel like a dark combination + of traitor and pickpocket when you think of that girl?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Rather,’ returned Lightwood. ‘Do you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very much so.’ + </p> +<p> + Their escort strolled back again, and reported. Divested of its various + lime-lights and shadows, his report went to the effect that Gaffer was + away in his boat, supposed to be on his old look-out; that he had been + expected last high-water; that having missed it for some reason or other, + he was not, according to his usual habits at night, to be counted on + before next high-water, or it might be an hour or so later; that his + daughter, surveyed through the window, would seem to be so expecting him, + for the supper was not cooking, but set out ready to be cooked; that it + would be high-water at about one, and that it was now barely ten; that + there was nothing to be done but watch and wait; that the informer was + keeping watch at the instant of that present reporting, but that two heads + were better than one (especially when the second was Mr Inspector’s); and + that the reporter meant to share the watch. And forasmuch as crouching + under the lee of a hauled-up boat on a night when it blew cold and strong, + and when the weather was varied with blasts of hail at times, might be + wearisome to amateurs, the reporter closed with the recommendation that + the two gentlemen should remain, for a while at any rate, in their present + quarters, which were weather-tight and warm. + </p> +<p> + They were not inclined to dispute this recommendation, but they wanted to + know where they could join the watchers when so disposed. Rather than + trust to a verbal description of the place, which might mislead, Eugene + (with a less weighty sense of personal trouble on him than he usually had) + would go out with Mr Inspector, note the spot, and come back. + </p> +<p> + On the shelving bank of the river, among the slimy stones of a causeway—not + the special causeway of the Six Jolly Fellowships, which had a + landing-place of its own, but another, a little removed, and very near to + the old windmill which was the denounced man’s dwelling-place—were a + few boats; some, moored and already beginning to float; others, hauled up + above the reach of the tide. Under one of these latter, Eugene’s companion + disappeared. And when Eugene had observed its position with reference to + the other boats, and had made sure that he could not miss it, he turned + his eyes upon the building where, as he had been told, the lonely girl + with the dark hair sat by the fire. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0162m " src="images/0162m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0162m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0162.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4420539277265789468"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + He could see the light of the fire shining through the window. Perhaps it + drew him on to look in. Perhaps he had come out with the express + intention. That part of the bank having rank grass growing on it, there + was no difficulty in getting close, without any noise of footsteps: it was + but to scramble up a ragged face of pretty hard mud some three or four + feet high and come upon the grass and to the window. He came to the window + by that means. + </p> +<p> + She had no other light than the light of the fire. The unkindled lamp + stood on the table. She sat on the ground, looking at the brazier, with + her face leaning on her hand. There was a kind of film or flicker on her + face, which at first he took to be the fitful firelight; but, on a second + look, he saw that she was weeping. A sad and solitary spectacle, as shown + him by the rising and the falling of the fire. + </p> +<p> + It was a little window of but four pieces of glass, and was not curtained; + he chose it because the larger window near it was. It showed him the room, + and the bills upon the wall respecting the drowned people starting out and + receding by turns. But he glanced slightly at them, though he looked long + and steadily at her. A deep rich piece of colour, with the brown flush of + her cheek and the shining lustre of her hair, though sad and solitary, + weeping by the rising and the falling of the fire. + </p> +<p> + She started up. He had been so very still that he felt sure it was not he + who had disturbed her, so merely withdrew from the window and stood near + it in the shadow of the wall. She opened the door, and said in an alarmed + tone, ‘Father, was that you calling me?’ And again, ‘Father!’ And once + again, after listening, ‘Father! I thought I heard you call me twice + before!’ + </p> +<p> + No response. As she re-entered at the door, he dropped over the bank and + made his way back, among the ooze and near the hiding-place, to Mortimer + Lightwood: to whom he told what he had seen of the girl, and how this was + becoming very grim indeed. + </p> +<p> + ‘If the real man feels as guilty as I do,’ said Eugene, ‘he is remarkably + uncomfortable.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Influence of secrecy,’ suggested Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not at all obliged to it for making me Guy Fawkes in the vault and a + Sneak in the area both at once,’ said Eugene. ‘Give me some more of that + stuff.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood helped him to some more of that stuff, but it had been cooling, + and didn’t answer now. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pooh,’ said Eugene, spitting it out among the ashes. ‘Tastes like the + wash of the river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you so familiar with the flavour of the wash of the river?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I seem to be to-night. I feel as if I had been half drowned, and + swallowing a gallon of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Influence of locality,’ suggested Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are mighty learned to-night, you and your influences,’ returned + Eugene. ‘How long shall we stay here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How long do you think?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I could choose, I should say a minute,’ replied Eugene, ‘for the Jolly + Fellowship Porters are not the jolliest dogs I have known. But I suppose + we are best here until they turn us out with the other suspicious + characters, at midnight.’ + </p> +<p> + Thereupon he stirred the fire, and sat down on one side of it. It struck + eleven, and he made believe to compose himself patiently. But gradually he + took the fidgets in one leg, and then in the other leg, and then in one + arm, and then in the other arm, and then in his chin, and then in his + back, and then in his forehead, and then in his hair, and then in his + nose; and then he stretched himself recumbent on two chairs, and groaned; + and then he started up. + </p> +<p> + ‘Invisible insects of diabolical activity swarm in this place. I am + tickled and twitched all over. Mentally, I have now committed a burglary + under the meanest circumstances, and the myrmidons of justice are at my + heels.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am quite as bad,’ said Lightwood, sitting up facing him, with a tumbled + head; after going through some wonderful evolutions, in which his head had + been the lowest part of him. ‘This restlessness began with me, long ago. + All the time you were out, I felt like Gulliver with the Lilliputians + firing upon him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It won’t do, Mortimer. We must get into the air; we must join our dear + friend and brother, Riderhood. And let us tranquillize ourselves by making + a compact. Next time (with a view to our peace of mind) we’ll commit the + crime, instead of taking the criminal. You swear it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sworn! Let Tippins look to it. Her life’s in danger.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer rang the bell to pay the score, and Bob appeared to transact that + business with him: whom Eugene, in his careless extravagance, asked if he + would like a situation in the lime-trade? + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee sir, no sir,’ said Bob. ‘I’ve a good sitiwation here, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you change your mind at any time,’ returned Eugene, ‘come to me at my + works, and you’ll always find an opening in the lime-kiln.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee sir,’ said Bob. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is my partner,’ said Eugene, ‘who keeps the books and attends to the + wages. A fair day’s wages for a fair day’s work is ever my partner’s + motto.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And a very good ’un it is, gentlemen,’ said Bob, receiving his fee, and + drawing a bow out of his head with his right hand, very much as he would + have drawn a pint of beer out of the beer engine. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene,’ Mortimer apostrophized him, laughing quite heartily when they + were alone again, ‘how <i>can </i>you be so ridiculous?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am in a ridiculous humour,’ quoth Eugene; ‘I am a ridiculous fellow. + Everything is ridiculous. Come along!’ + </p> +<p> + It passed into Mortimer Lightwood’s mind that a change of some sort, best + expressed perhaps as an intensification of all that was wildest and most + negligent and reckless in his friend, had come upon him in the last + half-hour or so. Thoroughly used to him as he was, he found something new + and strained in him that was for the moment perplexing. This passed into + his mind, and passed out again; but he remembered it afterwards. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s where she sits, you see,’ said Eugene, when they were standing + under the bank, roared and riven at by the wind. ‘There’s the light of her + fire.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll take a peep through the window,’ said Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, don’t!’ Eugene caught him by the arm. ‘Best, not make a show of her. + Come to our honest friend.’ + </p> +<p> + He led him to the post of watch, and they both dropped down and crept + under the lee of the boat; a better shelter than it had seemed before, + being directly contrasted with the blowing wind and the bare night. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Inspector at home?’ whispered Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here I am, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And our friend of the perspiring brow is at the far corner there? Good. + Anything happened?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘His daughter has been out, thinking she heard him calling, unless it was + a sign to him to keep out of the way. It might have been.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It might have been Rule Britannia,’ muttered Eugene, ‘but it wasn’t. + Mortimer!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here!’ (On the other side of Mr Inspector.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Two burglaries now, and a forgery!’ + </p> +<p> + With this indication of his depressed state of mind, Eugene fell silent. + </p> +<p> + They were all silent for a long while. As it got to be flood-tide, and the + water came nearer to them, noises on the river became more frequent, and + they listened more. To the turning of steam-paddles, to the clinking of + iron chain, to the creaking of blocks, to the measured working of oars, to + the occasional violent barking of some passing dog on shipboard, who + seemed to scent them lying in their hiding-place. The night was not so + dark but that, besides the lights at bows and mastheads gliding to and + fro, they could discern some shadowy bulk attached; and now and then a + ghostly lighter with a large dark sail, like a warning arm, would start up + very near them, pass on, and vanish. At this time of their watch, the + water close to them would be often agitated by some impulsion given it + from a distance. Often they believed this beat and plash to be the boat + they lay in wait for, running in ashore; and again and again they would + have started up, but for the immobility with which the informer, well used + to the river, kept quiet in his place. + </p> +<p> + The wind carried away the striking of the great multitude of city church + clocks, for those lay to leeward of them; but there were bells to windward + that told them of its being One—Two—Three. Without that aid + they would have known how the night wore, by the falling of the tide, + recorded in the appearance of an ever-widening black wet strip of shore, + and the emergence of the paved causeway from the river, foot by foot. + </p> +<p> + As the time so passed, this slinking business became a more and more + precarious one. It would seem as if the man had had some intimation of + what was in hand against him, or had taken fright? His movements might + have been planned to gain for him, in getting beyond their reach, twelve + hours’ advantage? The honest man who had expended the sweat of his brow + became uneasy, and began to complain with bitterness of the proneness of + mankind to cheat him—him invested with the dignity of Labour! + </p> +<p> + Their retreat was so chosen that while they could watch the river, they + could watch the house. No one had passed in or out, since the daughter + thought she heard the father calling. No one could pass in or out without + being seen. + </p> +<p> + ‘But it will be light at five,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘and then <i>we</i> shall be + seen.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here,’ said Riderhood, ‘what do you say to this? He may have been + lurking in and out, and just holding his own betwixt two or three bridges, + for hours back.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you make of that?’ said Mr Inspector. Stoical, but contradictory. + </p> +<p> + ‘He may be doing so at this present time.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you make of that?’ said Mr Inspector. + </p> +<p> + ‘My boat’s among them boats here at the cause’ay.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And what do you make of your boat?’ said Mr Inspector. + </p> +<p> + ‘What if I put off in her and take a look round? I know his ways, and the + likely nooks he favours. I know where he’d be at such a time of the tide, + and where he’d be at such another time. Ain’t I been his pardner? None of + you need show. None of you need stir. I can shove her off without help; + and as to me being seen, I’m about at all times.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You might have given a worse opinion,’ said Mr Inspector, after brief + consideration. ‘Try it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop a bit. Let’s work it out. If I want you, I’ll drop round under the + Fellowships and tip you a whistle.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I might so far presume as to offer a suggestion to my honourable and + gallant friend, whose knowledge of naval matters far be it from me to + impeach,’ Eugene struck in with great deliberation, ‘it would be, that to + tip a whistle is to advertise mystery and invite speculation. My + honourable and gallant friend will, I trust, excuse me, as an independent + member, for throwing out a remark which I feel to be due to this house and + the country.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was that the T’other Governor, or Lawyer Lightwood?’ asked Riderhood. + For, they spoke as they crouched or lay, without seeing one another’s + faces. + </p> +<p> + ‘In reply to the question put by my honourable and gallant friend,’ said + Eugene, who was lying on his back with his hat on his face, as an attitude + highly expressive of watchfulness, ‘I can have no hesitation in replying + (it not being inconsistent with the public service) that those accents + were the accents of the T’other Governor.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ve tolerable good eyes, ain’t you, Governor? You’ve all tolerable + good eyes, ain’t you?’ demanded the informer. + </p> +<p> + All. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then if I row up under the Fellowship and lay there, no need to whistle. + You’ll make out that there’s a speck of something or another there, and + you’ll know it’s me, and you’ll come down that cause’ay to me. Understood + all?’ + </p> +<p> + Understood all. + </p> +<p> + ‘Off she goes then!’ + </p> +<p> + In a moment, with the wind cutting keenly at him sideways, he was + staggering down to his boat; in a few moments he was clear, and creeping + up the river under their own shore. + </p> +<p> + Eugene had raised himself on his elbow to look into the darkness after + him. ‘I wish the boat of my honourable and gallant friend,’ he murmured, + lying down again and speaking into his hat, ‘may be endowed with + philanthropy enough to turn bottom-upward and extinguish him!—Mortimer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My honourable friend.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Three burglaries, two forgeries, and a midnight assassination.’ Yet in + spite of having those weights on his conscience, Eugene was somewhat + enlivened by the late slight change in the circumstances of affairs. So + were his two companions. Its being a change was everything. The suspense + seemed to have taken a new lease, and to have begun afresh from a recent + date. There was something additional to look for. They were all three more + sharply on the alert, and less deadened by the miserable influences of the + place and time. + </p> +<p> + More than an hour had passed, and they were even dozing, when one of the + three—each said it was he, and he had <i>not </i>dozed—made out + Riderhood in his boat at the spot agreed on. They sprang up, came out from + their shelter, and went down to him. When he saw them coming, he dropped + alongside the causeway; so that they, standing on the causeway, could + speak with him in whispers, under the shadowy mass of the Six Jolly + Fellowship Porters fast asleep. + </p> +<p> + ‘Blest if I can make it out!’ said he, staring at them. + </p> +<p> + ‘Make what out? Have you seen him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What <i>have </i>you seen?’ asked Lightwood. For, he was staring at them in the + strangest way. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ve seen his boat.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not empty?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, empty. And what’s more,—adrift. And what’s more,—with + one scull gone. And what’s more,—with t’other scull jammed in the + thowels and broke short off. And what’s more,—the boat’s drove tight + by the tide ’atwixt two tiers of barges. And what’s more,—he’s in + luck again, by George if he ain’t!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 14 + </h2> +<h3> + THE BIRD OF PREY BROUGHT DOWN + </h3> +<p> + Cold on the shore, in the raw cold of that leaden crisis in the + four-and-twenty hours when the vital force of all the noblest and + prettiest things that live is at its lowest, the three watchers looked + each at the blank faces of the other two, and all at the blank face of + Riderhood in his boat. + </p> +<p> + ‘Gaffer’s boat, Gaffer in luck again, and yet no Gaffer!’ So spake + Riderhood, staring disconsolate. + </p> +<p> + As if with one accord, they all turned their eyes towards the light of the + fire shining through the window. It was fainter and duller. Perhaps fire, + like the higher animal and vegetable life it helps to sustain, has its + greatest tendency towards death, when the night is dying and the day is + not yet born. + </p> +<p> + ‘If it was me that had the law of this here job in hand,’ growled + Riderhood with a threatening shake of his head, ‘blest if I wouldn’t lay + hold of <i>her</i>, at any rate!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, but it is not you,’ said Eugene. With something so suddenly fierce in + him that the informer returned submissively; ‘Well, well, well, t’other + governor, I didn’t say it was. A man may speak.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And vermin may be silent,’ said Eugene. ‘Hold your tongue, you + water-rat!’ + </p> +<p> + Astonished by his friend’s unusual heat, Lightwood stared too, and then + said: ‘What can have become of this man?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Can’t imagine. Unless he dived overboard.’ The informer wiped his brow + ruefully as he said it, sitting in his boat and always staring + disconsolate. + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you make his boat fast?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She’s fast enough till the tide runs back. I couldn’t make her faster + than she is. Come aboard of mine, and see for your own-selves.’ + </p> +<p> + There was a little backwardness in complying, for the freight looked too + much for the boat; but on Riderhood’s protesting ‘that he had had half a + dozen, dead and alive, in her afore now, and she was nothing deep in the + water nor down in the stern even then, to speak of;’ they carefully took + their places, and trimmed the crazy thing. While they were doing so, + Riderhood still sat staring disconsolate. + </p> +<p> + ‘All right. Give way!’ said Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Give way, by George!’ repeated Riderhood, before shoving off. ‘If he’s + gone and made off any how Lawyer Lightwood, it’s enough to make me give + way in a different manner. But he always <i>was </i>a cheat, con-found him! He + always was a infernal cheat, was Gaffer. Nothing straightfor’ard, nothing + on the square. So mean, so underhanded. Never going through with a thing, + nor carrying it out like a man!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hallo! Steady!’ cried Eugene (he had recovered immediately on embarking), + as they bumped heavily against a pile; and then in a lower voice reversed + his late apostrophe by remarking (‘I wish the boat of my honourable and + gallant friend may be endowed with philanthropy enough not to turn + bottom-upward and extinguish us!) Steady, steady! Sit close, Mortimer. + Here’s the hail again. See how it flies, like a troop of wild cats, at Mr + Riderhood’s eyes!’ + </p> +<p> + Indeed he had the full benefit of it, and it so mauled him, though he bent + his head low and tried to present nothing but the mangy cap to it, that he + dropped under the lee of a tier of shipping, and they lay there until it + was over. The squall had come up, like a spiteful messenger before the + morning; there followed in its wake a ragged tear of light which ripped + the dark clouds until they showed a great grey hole of day. + </p> +<p> + They were all shivering, and everything about them seemed to be shivering; + the river itself; craft, rigging, sails, such early smoke as there yet was + on the shore. Black with wet, and altered to the eye by white patches of + hail and sleet, the huddled buildings looked lower than usual, as if they + were cowering, and had shrunk with the cold. Very little life was to be + seen on either bank, windows and doors were shut, and the staring black + and white letters upon wharves and warehouses ‘looked,’ said Eugene to + Mortimer, ‘like inscriptions over the graves of dead businesses.’ + </p> +<p> + As they glided slowly on, keeping under the shore and sneaking in and out + among the shipping by back-alleys of water, in a pilfering way that seemed + to be their boatman’s normal manner of progression, all the objects among + which they crept were so huge in contrast with their wretched boat, as to + threaten to crush it. Not a ship’s hull, with its rusty iron links of + cable run out of hawse-holes long discoloured with the iron’s rusty tears, + but seemed to be there with a fell intention. Not a figure-head but had + the menacing look of bursting forward to run them down. Not a sluice gate, + or a painted scale upon a post or wall, showing the depth of water, but + seemed to hint, like the dreadfully facetious Wolf in bed in Grandmamma’s + cottage, ‘That’s to drown <i>you </i>in, my dears!’ Not a lumbering black barge, + with its cracked and blistered side impending over them, but seemed to + suck at the river with a thirst for sucking them under. And everything so + vaunted the spoiling influences of water—discoloured copper, rotten + wood, honey-combed stone, green dank deposit—that the + after-consequences of being crushed, sucked under, and drawn down, looked + as ugly to the imagination as the main event. + </p> +<p> + Some half-hour of this work, and Riderhood unshipped his sculls, stood + holding on to a barge, and hand over hand long-wise along the barge’s side + gradually worked his boat under her head into a secret little nook of + scummy water. And driven into that nook, and wedged as he had described, + was Gaffer’s boat; that boat with the stain still in it, bearing some + resemblance to a muffled human form. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now tell me I’m a liar!’ said the honest man. + </p> +<p> + (‘With a morbid expectation,’ murmured Eugene to Lightwood, ‘that somebody + is always going to tell him the truth.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘This is Hexam’s boat,’ said Mr Inspector. ‘I know her well.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Look at the broken scull. Look at the t’other scull gone. <i>Now </i>tell me I + am a liar!’ said the honest man. + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector stepped into the boat. Eugene and Mortimer looked on. + </p> +<p> + ‘And see now!’ added Riderhood, creeping aft, and showing a stretched rope + made fast there and towing overboard. ‘Didn’t I tell you he was in luck + again?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Haul in,’ said Mr Inspector. + </p> +<p> + ‘Easy to say haul in,’ answered Riderhood. ‘Not so easy done. His luck’s + got fouled under the keels of the barges. I tried to haul in last time, + but I couldn’t. See how taut the line is!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must have it up,’ said Mr Inspector. ‘I am going to take this boat + ashore, and his luck along with it. Try easy now.’ + </p> +<p> + He tried easy now; but the luck resisted; wouldn’t come. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean to have it, and the boat too,’ said Mr Inspector, playing the + line. + </p> +<p> + But still the luck resisted; wouldn’t come. + </p> +<p> + ‘Take care,’ said Riderhood. ‘You’ll disfigure. Or pull asunder perhaps.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not going to do either, not even to your Grandmother,’ said Mr + Inspector; ‘but I mean to have it. Come!’ he added, at once persuasively + and with authority to the hidden object in the water, as he played the + line again; ‘it’s no good this sort of game, you know. You <i>must </i>come up. I + mean to have you.’ + </p> +<p> + There was so much virtue in this distinctly and decidedly meaning to have + it, that it yielded a little, even while the line was played. + </p> +<p> + ‘I told you so,’ quoth Mr Inspector, pulling off his outer coat, and + leaning well over the stern with a will. ‘Come!’ + </p> +<p> + It was an awful sort of fishing, but it no more disconcerted Mr Inspector + than if he had been fishing in a punt on a summer evening by some soothing + weir high up the peaceful river. After certain minutes, and a few + directions to the rest to ‘ease her a little for’ard,’ and ‘now ease her a + trifle aft,’ and the like, he said composedly, ‘All clear!’ and the line + and the boat came free together. + </p> +<p> + Accepting Lightwood’s proffered hand to help him up, he then put on his + coat, and said to Riderhood, ‘Hand me over those spare sculls of yours, + and I’ll pull this in to the nearest stairs. Go ahead you, and keep out in + pretty open water, that I mayn’t get fouled again.’ + </p> +<p> + His directions were obeyed, and they pulled ashore directly; two in one + boat, two in the other. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Mr Inspector, again to Riderhood, when they were all on the + slushy stones; ‘you have had more practice in this than I have had, and + ought to be a better workman at it. Undo the tow-rope, and we’ll help you + haul in.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood got into the boat accordingly. It appeared as if he had scarcely + had a moment’s time to touch the rope or look over the stern, when he came + scrambling back, as pale as the morning, and gasped out: + </p> +<p> + ‘By the Lord, he’s done me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean?’ they all demanded. + </p> +<p> + He pointed behind him at the boat, and gasped to that degree that he + dropped upon the stones to get his breath. + </p> +<p> + ‘Gaffer’s done me. It’s Gaffer!’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0173m " src="images/0173m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0173m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0173.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4546877733543483622"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + They ran to the rope, leaving him gasping there. Soon, the form of the + bird of prey, dead some hours, lay stretched upon the shore, with a new + blast storming at it and clotting the wet hair with hail-stones. + </p> +<p> + Father, was that you calling me? Father! I thought I heard you call me + twice before! Words never to be answered, those, upon the earth-side of + the grave. The wind sweeps jeeringly over Father, whips him with the + frayed ends of his dress and his jagged hair, tries to turn him where he + lies stark on his back, and force his face towards the rising sun, that he + may be shamed the more. A lull, and the wind is secret and prying with + him; lifts and lets falls a rag; hides palpitating under another rag; runs + nimbly through his hair and beard. Then, in a rush, it cruelly taunts him. + Father, was that you calling me? Was it you, the voiceless and the dead? + Was it you, thus buffeted as you lie here in a heap? Was it you, thus + baptized unto Death, with these flying impurities now flung upon your + face? Why not speak, Father? Soaking into this filthy ground as you lie + here, is your own shape. Did you never see such a shape soaked into your + boat? Speak, Father. Speak to us, the winds, the only listeners left you! + </p> +<p> + ‘Now see,’ said Mr Inspector, after mature deliberation: kneeling on one + knee beside the body, when they had stood looking down on the drowned man, + as he had many a time looked down on many another man: ‘the way of it was + this. Of course you gentlemen hardly failed to observe that he was towing + by the neck and arms.’ + </p> +<p> + They had helped to release the rope, and of course not. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you will have observed before, and you will observe now, that this + knot, which was drawn chock-tight round his neck by the strain of his own + arms, is a slip-knot’: holding it up for demonstration. + </p> +<p> + Plain enough. + </p> +<p> + ‘Likewise you will have observed how he had run the other end of this rope + to his boat.’ + </p> +<p> + It had the curves and indentations in it still, where it had been twined + and bound. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now see,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘see how it works round upon him. It’s a + wild tempestuous evening when this man that was,’ stooping to wipe some + hailstones out of his hair with an end of his own drowned jacket, ‘—there! + Now he’s more like himself; though he’s badly bruised,—when this man + that was, rows out upon the river on his usual lay. He carries with him + this coil of rope. He always carries with him this coil of rope. It’s as + well known to me as he was himself. Sometimes it lay in the bottom of his + boat. Sometimes he hung it loose round his neck. He was a light-dresser + was this man;—you see?’ lifting the loose neckerchief over his + breast, and taking the opportunity of wiping the dead lips with it—‘and + when it was wet, or freezing, or blew cold, he would hang this coil of + line round his neck. Last evening he does this. Worse for him! He dodges + about in his boat, does this man, till he gets chilled. His hands,’ taking + up one of them, which dropped like a leaden weight, ‘get numbed. He sees + some object that’s in his way of business, floating. He makes ready to + secure that object. He unwinds the end of his coil that he wants to take + some turns on in his boat, and he takes turns enough on it to secure that + it shan’t run out. He makes it too secure, as it happens. He is a little + longer about this than usual, his hands being numbed. His object drifts + up, before he is quite ready for it. He catches at it, thinks he’ll make + sure of the contents of the pockets anyhow, in case he should be parted + from it, bends right over the stern, and in one of these heavy squalls, or + in the cross-swell of two steamers, or in not being quite prepared, or + through all or most or some, gets a lurch, overbalances and goes + head-foremost overboard. Now see! He can swim, can this man, and instantly + he strikes out. But in such striking-out he tangles his arms, pulls strong + on the slip-knot, and it runs home. The object he had expected to take in + tow, floats by, and his own boat tows him dead, to where we found him, all + entangled in his own line. You’ll ask me how I make out about the pockets? + First, I’ll tell you more; there was silver in ’em. How do I make that + out? Simple and satisfactory. Because he’s got it here.’ The lecturer held + up the tightly clenched right hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is to be done with the remains?’ asked Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you wouldn’t object to standing by him half a minute, sir,’ was the + reply, ‘I’ll find the nearest of our men to come and take charge of him;—I + still call it <i>him</i>, you see,’ said Mr Inspector, looking back as he went, + with a philosophical smile upon the force of habit. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene,’ said Lightwood and was about to add ‘we may wait at a little + distance,’ when turning his head he found that no Eugene was there. + </p> +<p> + He raised his voice and called ‘Eugene! Holloa!’ But no Eugene replied. + </p> +<p> + It was broad daylight now, and he looked about. But no Eugene was in all + the view. + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector speedily returning down the wooden stairs, with a police + constable, Lightwood asked him if he had seen his friend leave them? Mr + Inspector could not exactly say that he had seen him go, but had noticed + that he was restless. + </p> +<p> + ‘Singular and entertaining combination, sir, your friend.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish it had not been a part of his singular entertaining combination to + give me the slip under these dreary circumstances at this time of the + morning,’ said Lightwood. ‘Can we get anything hot to drink?’ + </p> +<p> + We could, and we did. In a public-house kitchen with a large fire. We got + hot brandy and water, and it revived us wonderfully. Mr Inspector having + to Mr Riderhood announced his official intention of ‘keeping his eye upon + him’, stood him in a corner of the fireplace, like a wet umbrella, and + took no further outward and visible notice of that honest man, except + ordering a separate service of brandy and water for him: apparently out of + the public funds. + </p> +<p> + As Mortimer Lightwood sat before the blazing fire, conscious of drinking + brandy and water then and there in his sleep, and yet at one and the same + time drinking burnt sherry at the Six Jolly Fellowships, and lying under + the boat on the river shore, and sitting in the boat that Riderhood rowed, + and listening to the lecture recently concluded, and having to dine in the + Temple with an unknown man, who described himself as M. H. F. Eugene + Gaffer Harmon, and said he lived at Hailstorm,—as he passed through + these curious vicissitudes of fatigue and slumber, arranged upon the scale + of a dozen hours to the second, he became aware of answering aloud a + communication of pressing importance that had never been made to him, and + then turned it into a cough on beholding Mr Inspector. For, he felt, with + some natural indignation, that that functionary might otherwise suspect + him of having closed his eyes, or wandered in his attention. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here just before us, you see,’ said Mr Inspector. + </p> +<p> + ‘I see,’ said Lightwood, with dignity. + </p> +<p> + ‘And had hot brandy and water too, you see,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘and then + cut off at a great rate.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who?’ said Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your friend, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know,’ he replied, again with dignity. + </p> +<p> + After hearing, in a mist through which Mr Inspector loomed vague and + large, that the officer took upon himself to prepare the dead man’s + daughter for what had befallen in the night, and generally that he took + everything upon himself, Mortimer Lightwood stumbled in his sleep to a + cab-stand, called a cab, and had entered the army and committed a capital + military offence and been tried by court martial and found guilty and had + arranged his affairs and been marched out to be shot, before the door + banged. + </p> +<p> + Hard work rowing the cab through the City to the Temple, for a cup of from + five to ten thousand pounds value, given by Mr Boffin; and hard work + holding forth at that immeasurable length to Eugene (when he had been + rescued with a rope from the running pavement) for making off in that + extraordinary manner! But he offered such ample apologies, and was so very + penitent, that when Lightwood got out of the cab, he gave the driver a + particular charge to be careful of him. Which the driver (knowing there + was no other fare left inside) stared at prodigiously. + </p> +<p> + In short, the night’s work had so exhausted and worn out this actor in it, + that he had become a mere somnambulist. He was too tired to rest in his + sleep, until he was even tired out of being too tired, and dropped into + oblivion. Late in the afternoon he awoke, and in some anxiety sent round + to Eugene’s lodging hard by, to inquire if he were up yet? + </p> +<p> + Oh yes, he was up. In fact, he had not been to bed. He had just come home. + And here he was, close following on the heels of the message. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why what bloodshot, draggled, dishevelled spectacle is this!’ cried + Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Are my feathers so very much rumpled?’ said Eugene, coolly going up to + the looking-glass. They <i>are </i>rather out of sorts. But consider. Such a + night for plumage!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Such a night?’ repeated Mortimer. ‘What became of you in the morning?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow,’ said Eugene, sitting on his bed, ‘I felt that we had + bored one another so long, that an unbroken continuance of those relations + must inevitably terminate in our flying to opposite points of the earth. I + also felt that I had committed every crime in the Newgate Calendar. So, + for mingled considerations of friendship and felony, I took a walk.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 15 + </h2> +<h3> + TWO NEW SERVANTS + </h3> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Boffin sat after breakfast, in the Bower, a prey to prosperity. + Mr Boffin’s face denoted Care and Complication. Many disordered papers + were before him, and he looked at them about as hopefully as an innocent + civilian might look at a crowd of troops whom he was required at five + minutes’ notice to manoeuvre and review. He had been engaged in some + attempts to make notes of these papers; but being troubled (as men of his + stamp often are) with an exceedingly distrustful and corrective thumb, + that busy member had so often interposed to smear his notes, that they + were little more legible than the various impressions of itself; which + blurred his nose and forehead. It is curious to consider, in such a case + as Mr Boffin’s, what a cheap article ink is, and how far it may be made to + go. As a grain of musk will scent a drawer for many years, and still lose + nothing appreciable of its original weight, so a halfpenny-worth of ink + would blot Mr Boffin to the roots of his hair and the calves of his legs, + without inscribing a line on the paper before him, or appearing to + diminish in the inkstand. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin was in such severe literary difficulties that his eyes were + prominent and fixed, and his breathing was stertorous, when, to the great + relief of Mrs Boffin, who observed these symptoms with alarm, the yard + bell rang. + </p> +<p> + ‘Who’s that, I wonder!’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin drew a long breath, laid down his pen, looked at his notes as + doubting whether he had the pleasure of their acquaintance, and appeared, + on a second perusal of their countenances, to be confirmed in his + impression that he had not, when there was announced by the hammer-headed + young man: + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Oh indeed! Our and the Wilfers’ Mutual Friend, my + dear. Yes. Ask him to come in.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith appeared. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sit down, sir,’ said Mr Boffin, shaking hands with him. ‘Mrs Boffin + you’re already acquainted with. Well, sir, I am rather unprepared to see + you, for, to tell you the truth, I’ve been so busy with one thing and + another, that I’ve not had time to turn your offer over.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s apology for both of us: for Mr Boffin, and for me as well,’ said + the smiling Mrs Boffin. ‘But Lor! we can talk it over now; can’t us?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith bowed, thanked her, and said he hoped so. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me see then,’ resumed Mr Boffin, with his hand to his chin. ‘It was + Secretary that you named; wasn’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I said Secretary,’ assented Mr Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘It rather puzzled me at the time,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘and it rather puzzled + me and Mrs Boffin when we spoke of it afterwards, because (not to make a + mystery of our belief) we have always believed a Secretary to be a piece + of furniture, mostly of mahogany, lined with green baize or leather, with + a lot of little drawers in it. Now, you won’t think I take a liberty when + I mention that you certainly ain’t <i>that</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + Certainly not, said Mr Rokesmith. But he had used the word in the sense of + Steward. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, as to Steward, you see,’ returned Mr Boffin, with his hand still to + his chin, ‘the odds are that Mrs Boffin and me may never go upon the + water. Being both bad sailors, we should want a Steward if we did; but + there’s generally one provided.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith again explained; defining the duties he sought to undertake, + as those of general superintendent, or manager, or overlooker, or man of + business. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, for instance—come!’ said Mr Boffin, in his pouncing way. ‘If + you entered my employment, what would you do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I would keep exact accounts of all the expenditure you sanctioned, Mr + Boffin. I would write your letters, under your direction. I would transact + your business with people in your pay or employment. I would,’ with a + glance and a half-smile at the table, ‘arrange your papers—’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin rubbed his inky ear, and looked at his wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘—And so arrange them as to have them always in order for immediate + reference, with a note of the contents of each outside it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you what,’ said Mr Boffin, slowly crumpling his own blotted note + in his hand; ‘if you’ll turn to at these present papers, and see what you + can make of ’em, I shall know better what I can make of you.’ + </p> +<p> + No sooner said than done. Relinquishing his hat and gloves, Mr Rokesmith + sat down quietly at the table, arranged the open papers into an orderly + heap, cast his eyes over each in succession, folded it, docketed it on the + outside, laid it in a second heap, and, when that second heap was complete + and the first gone, took from his pocket a piece of string and tied it + together with a remarkably dexterous hand at a running curve and a loop. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Very good! Now let us hear what they’re all + about; will you be so good?’ + </p> +<p> + John Rokesmith read his abstracts aloud. They were all about the new + house. Decorator’s estimate, so much. Furniture estimate, so much. + Estimate for furniture of offices, so much. Coach-maker’s estimate, so + much. Horse-dealer’s estimate, so much. Harness-maker’s estimate, so much. + Goldsmith’s estimate, so much. Total, so very much. Then came + correspondence. Acceptance of Mr Boffin’s offer of such a date, and to + such an effect. Rejection of Mr Boffin’s proposal of such a date and to + such an effect. Concerning Mr Boffin’s scheme of such another date to such + another effect. All compact and methodical. + </p> +<p> + ‘Apple-pie order!’ said Mr Boffin, after checking off each inscription + with his hand, like a man beating time. ‘And whatever you do with your + ink, I can’t think, for you’re as clean as a whistle after it. Now, as to + a letter. Let’s,’ said Mr Boffin, rubbing his hands in his pleasantly + childish admiration, ‘let’s try a letter next.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To whom shall it be addressed, Mr Boffin?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Anyone. Yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith quickly wrote, and then read aloud: + </p> +<p> + ‘“Mr Boffin presents his compliments to Mr John Rokesmith, and begs to say + that he has decided on giving Mr John Rokesmith a trial in the capacity he + desires to fill. Mr Boffin takes Mr John Rokesmith at his word, in + postponing to some indefinite period, the consideration of salary. It is + quite understood that Mr Boffin is in no way committed on that point. Mr + Boffin has merely to add, that he relies on Mr John Rokesmith’s assurance + that he will be faithful and serviceable. Mr John Rokesmith will please + enter on his duties immediately.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! Now, Noddy!’ cried Mrs Boffin, clapping her hands, ‘That <i>is</i> a good + one!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin was no less delighted; indeed, in his own bosom, he regarded + both the composition itself and the device that had given birth to it, as + a very remarkable monument of human ingenuity. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I tell you, my deary,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘that if you don’t close with + Mr Rokesmith now at once, and if you ever go a muddling yourself again + with things never meant nor made for you, you’ll have an apoplexy—besides + iron-moulding your linen—and you’ll break my heart.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin embraced his spouse for these words of wisdom, and then, + congratulating John Rokesmith on the brilliancy of his achievements, gave + him his hand in pledge of their new relations. So did Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Mr Boffin, who, in his frankness, felt that it did not become + him to have a gentleman in his employment five minutes, without reposing + some confidence in him, ‘you must be let a little more into our affairs, + Rokesmith. I mentioned to you, when I made your acquaintance, or I might + better say when you made mine, that Mrs Boffin’s inclinations was setting + in the way of Fashion, but that I didn’t know how fashionable we might or + might not grow. Well! Mrs Boffin has carried the day, and we’re going in + neck and crop for Fashion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I rather inferred that, sir,’ replied John Rokesmith, ‘from the scale on + which your new establishment is to be maintained.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘it’s to be a Spanker. The fact is, my literary man + named to me that a house with which he is, as I may say, connected—in + which he has an interest—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As property?’ inquired John Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why no,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘not exactly that; a sort of a family tie.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Association?’ the Secretary suggested. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Perhaps. Anyhow, he named to me that the house had + a board up, “This Eminently Aristocratic Mansion to be let or sold.” Me + and Mrs Boffin went to look at it, and finding it beyond a doubt Eminently + Aristocratic (though a trifle high and dull, which after all may be part + of the same thing) took it. My literary man was so friendly as to drop + into a charming piece of poetry on that occasion, in which he complimented + Mrs Boffin on coming into possession of—how did it go, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin replied: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + ‘“The gay, the gay and festive scene,<br> + The halls, the halls of dazzling light.”’ +</p> +<p> + ‘That’s it! And it was made neater by there really being two halls in the + house, a front ’un and a back ’un, besides the servants’. He likewise + dropped into a very pretty piece of poetry to be sure, respecting the + extent to which he would be willing to put himself out of the way to bring + Mrs Boffin round, in case she should ever get low in her spirits in the + house. Mrs Boffin has a wonderful memory. Will you repeat it, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin complied, by reciting the verses in which this obliging offer + had been made, exactly as she had received them. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + ‘“I’ll tell thee how the maiden wept, Mrs Boffin,<br> + When her true love was slain ma’am,<br> + And how her broken spirit slept, Mrs Boffin,<br> + And never woke again ma’am.<br> + I’ll tell thee (if agreeable to Mr Boffin) how the steed drew nigh,<br> + And left his lord afar;<br> + And if my tale (which I hope Mr Boffin might excuse) should make you sigh,<br> + I’ll strike the light guitar.”’ +</p> +<p> + ‘Correct to the letter!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘And I consider that the poetry + brings us both in, in a beautiful manner.’ + </p> +<p> + The effect of the poem on the Secretary being evidently to astonish him, + Mr Boffin was confirmed in his high opinion of it, and was greatly + pleased. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, you see, Rokesmith,’ he went on, ‘a literary man—<i>with </i>a wooden + leg—is liable to jealousy. I shall therefore cast about for + comfortable ways and means of not calling up Wegg’s jealousy, but of + keeping you in your department, and keeping him in his.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lor!’ cried Mrs Boffin. ‘What I say is, the world’s wide enough for all + of us!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So it is, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘when not literary. But when so, not + so. And I am bound to bear in mind that I took Wegg on, at a time when I + had no thought of being fashionable or of leaving the Bower. To let him + feel himself anyways slighted now, would be to be guilty of a meanness, + and to act like having one’s head turned by the halls of dazzling light. + Which Lord forbid! Rokesmith, what shall we say about your living in the + house?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In this house?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no. I have got other plans for this house. In the new house?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That will be as you please, Mr Boffin. I hold myself quite at your + disposal. You know where I live at present.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ said Mr Boffin, after considering the point; ‘suppose you keep as + you are for the present, and we’ll decide by-and-by. You’ll begin to take + charge at once, of all that’s going on in the new house, will you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Most willingly. I will begin this very day. Will you give me the + address?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin repeated it, and the Secretary wrote it down in his pocket-book. + Mrs Boffin took the opportunity of his being so engaged, to get a better + observation of his face than she had yet taken. It impressed her in his + favour, for she nodded aside to Mr Boffin, ‘I like him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will see directly that everything is in train, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank’ee. Being here, would you care at all to look round the Bower?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should greatly like it. I have heard so much of its story.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come!’ said Mr Boffin. And he and Mrs Boffin led the way. + </p> +<p> + A gloomy house the Bower, with sordid signs on it of having been, through + its long existence as Harmony Jail, in miserly holding. Bare of paint, + bare of paper on the walls, bare of furniture, bare of experience of human + life. Whatever is built by man for man’s occupation, must, like natural + creations, fulfil the intention of its existence, or soon perish. This old + house had wasted—more from desuetude than it would have wasted from + use, twenty years for one. + </p> +<p> + A certain leanness falls upon houses not sufficiently imbued with life (as + if they were nourished upon it), which was very noticeable here. The + staircase, balustrades, and rails, had a spare look—an air of being + denuded to the bone—which the panels of the walls and the jambs of + the doors and windows also bore. The scanty moveables partook of it; save + for the cleanliness of the place, the dust into which they were all + resolving would have lain thick on the floors; and those, both in colour + and in grain, were worn like old faces that had kept much alone. + </p> +<p> + The bedroom where the clutching old man had lost his grip on life, was + left as he had left it. There was the old grisly four-post bedstead, + without hangings, and with a jail-like upper rim of iron and spikes; and + there was the old patch-work counterpane. There was the tight-clenched old + bureau, receding atop like a bad and secret forehead; there was the + cumbersome old table with twisted legs, at the bed-side; and there was the + box upon it, in which the will had lain. A few old chairs with patch-work + covers, under which the more precious stuff to be preserved had slowly + lost its quality of colour without imparting pleasure to any eye, stood + against the wall. A hard family likeness was on all these things. + </p> +<p> + ‘The room was kept like this, Rokesmith,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘against the + son’s return. In short, everything in the house was kept exactly as it + came to us, for him to see and approve. Even now, nothing is changed but + our own room below-stairs that you have just left. When the son came home + for the last time in his life, and for the last time in his life saw his + father, it was most likely in this room that they met.’ + </p> +<p> + As the Secretary looked all round it, his eyes rested on a side door in a + corner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Another staircase,’ said Mr Boffin, unlocking the door, ‘leading down + into the yard. We’ll go down this way, as you may like to see the yard, + and it’s all in the road. When the son was a little child, it was up and + down these stairs that he mostly came and went to his father. He was very + timid of his father. I’ve seen him sit on these stairs, in his shy way, + poor child, many a time. Mr and Mrs Boffin have comforted him, sitting + with his little book on these stairs, often.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! And his poor sister too,’ said Mrs Boffin. ‘And here’s the sunny + place on the white wall where they one day measured one another. Their own + little hands wrote up their names here, only with a pencil; but the names + are here still, and the poor dears gone for ever.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We must take care of the names, old lady,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘We must take + care of the names. They shan’t be rubbed out in our time, nor yet, if we + can help it, in the time after us. Poor little children!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, poor little children!’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + They had opened the door at the bottom of the staircase giving on the + yard, and they stood in the sunlight, looking at the scrawl of the two + unsteady childish hands two or three steps up the staircase. There was + something in this simple memento of a blighted childhood, and in the + tenderness of Mrs Boffin, that touched the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin then showed his new man of business the Mounds, and his own + particular Mound which had been left him as his legacy under the will + before he acquired the whole estate. + </p> +<p> + ‘It would have been enough for us,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘in case it had + pleased God to spare the last of those two young lives and sorrowful + deaths. We didn’t want the rest.’ + </p> +<p> + At the treasures of the yard, and at the outside of the house, and at the + detached building which Mr Boffin pointed out as the residence of himself + and his wife during the many years of their service, the Secretary looked + with interest. It was not until Mr Boffin had shown him every wonder of + the Bower twice over, that he remembered his having duties to discharge + elsewhere. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have no instructions to give me, Mr Boffin, in reference to this + place?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not any, Rokesmith. No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Might I ask, without seeming impertinent, whether you have any intention + of selling it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly not. In remembrance of our old master, our old master’s + children, and our old service, me and Mrs Boffin mean to keep it up as it + stands.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary’s eyes glanced with so much meaning in them at the Mounds, + that Mr Boffin said, as if in answer to a remark: + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, ay, that’s another thing. I may sell <i>them</i>, though I should be sorry + to see the neighbourhood deprived of ’em too. It’ll look but a poor dead + flat without the Mounds. Still I don’t say that I’m going to keep ’em + always there, for the sake of the beauty of the landscape. There’s no + hurry about it; that’s all I say at present. I ain’t a scholar in much, + Rokesmith, but I’m a pretty fair scholar in dust. I can price the Mounds + to a fraction, and I know how they can be best disposed of; and likewise + that they take no harm by standing where they do. You’ll look in + to-morrow, will you be so kind?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Every day. And the sooner I can get you into your new house, complete, + the better you will be pleased, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, it ain’t that I’m in a mortal hurry,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘only when + you <i>do</i> pay people for looking alive, it’s as well to know that they <i>are</i> + looking alive. Ain’t that your opinion?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite!’ replied the Secretary; and so withdrew. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Mr Boffin to himself; subsiding into his regular series of + turns in the yard, ‘if I can make it comfortable with Wegg, my affairs + will be going smooth.’ + </p> +<p> + The man of low cunning had, of course, acquired a mastery over the man of + high simplicity. The mean man had, of course, got the better of the + generous man. How long such conquests last, is another matter; that they + are achieved, is every-day experience, not even to be flourished away by + Podsnappery itself. The undesigning Boffin had become so far immeshed by + the wily Wegg that his mind misgave him he was a very designing man indeed + in purposing to do more for Wegg. It seemed to him (so skilful was Wegg) + that he was plotting darkly, when he was contriving to do the very thing + that Wegg was plotting to get him to do. And thus, while he was mentally + turning the kindest of kind faces on Wegg this morning, he was not + absolutely sure but that he might somehow deserve the charge of turning + his back on him. + </p> +<p> + For these reasons Mr Boffin passed but anxious hours until evening came, + and with it Mr Wegg, stumping leisurely to the Roman Empire. At about this + period Mr Boffin had become profoundly interested in the fortunes of a + great military leader known to him as Bully Sawyers, but perhaps better + known to fame and easier of identification by the classical student, under + the less Britannic name of Belisarius. Even this general’s career paled in + interest for Mr Boffin before the clearing of his conscience with Wegg; + and hence, when that literary gentleman had according to custom eaten and + drunk until he was all a-glow, and when he took up his book with the usual + chirping introduction, ‘And now, Mr Boffin, sir, we’ll decline and we’ll + fall!’ Mr Boffin stopped him. + </p> +<p> + ‘You remember, Wegg, when I first told you that I wanted to make a sort of + offer to you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me get on my considering cap, sir,’ replied that gentleman, turning + the open book face downward. ‘When you first told me that you wanted to + make a sort of offer to me? Now let me think.’ (as if there were the least + necessity) ‘Yes, to be sure I do, Mr Boffin. It was at my corner. To be + sure it was! You had first asked me whether I liked your name, and Candour + had compelled a reply in the negative case. I little thought then, sir, + how familiar that name would come to be!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope it will be more familiar still, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you, Mr Boffin? Much obliged to you, I’m sure. Is it your pleasure, + sir, that we decline and we fall?’ with a feint of taking up the book. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not just yet awhile, Wegg. In fact, I have got another offer to make + you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg (who had had nothing else in his mind for several nights) took off + his spectacles with an air of bland surprise. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I hope you’ll like it, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, sir,’ returned that reticent individual. ‘I hope it may prove + so. On all accounts, I am sure.’ (This, as a philanthropic aspiration.) + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you think,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘of not keeping a stall, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, sir,’ replied Wegg, ‘that I should like to be shown the + gentleman prepared to make it worth my while!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here he is,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg was going to say, My Benefactor, and had said My Bene, when a + grandiloquent change came over him. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Mr Boffin, not you sir. Anybody but you. Do not fear, Mr Boffin, that + I shall contaminate the premises which your gold has bought, with <i>my</i> lowly + pursuits. I am aware, sir, that it would not become me to carry on my + little traffic under the windows of your mansion. I have already thought + of that, and taken my measures. No need to be bought out, sir. Would + Stepney Fields be considered intrusive? If not remote enough, I can go + remoter. In the words of the poet’s song, which I do not quite remember: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Thrown on the wide world, doom’d to wander and roam,<br> + Bereft of my parents, bereft of a home,<br> + A stranger to something and what’s his name joy,<br> + Behold little Edmund the poor Peasant boy. + </p> +<p> + —And equally,’ said Mr Wegg, repairing the want of direct + application in the last line, ‘behold myself on a similar footing!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Wegg, Wegg, Wegg,’ remonstrated the excellent Boffin. ‘You are too + sensitive.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know I am, sir,’ returned Wegg, with obstinate magnanimity. ‘I am + acquainted with my faults. I always was, from a child, too sensitive.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But listen,’ pursued the Golden Dustman; ‘hear me out, Wegg. You have + taken it into your head that I mean to pension you off.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘True, sir,’ returned Wegg, still with an obstinate magnanimity. ‘I am + acquainted with my faults. Far be it from me to deny them. I <i>have </i>taken it + into my head.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I <i>don’t</i> mean it.’ + </p> +<p> + The assurance seemed hardly as comforting to Mr Wegg, as Mr Boffin + intended it to be. Indeed, an appreciable elongation of his visage might + have been observed as he replied: + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you, indeed, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ pursued Mr Boffin; ‘because that would express, as I understand it, + that you were not going to do anything to deserve your money. But you are; + you are.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That, sir,’ replied Mr Wegg, cheering up bravely, ‘is quite another pair + of shoes. Now, my independence as a man is again elevated. Now, I no + longer + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Weep for the hour,<br> + When to Boffinses bower,<br> + The Lord of the valley with offers came;<br> + Neither does the moon hide her light<br> + From the heavens to-night,<br> + And weep behind her clouds o’er any individual in the present<br> + Company’s shame. + </p> +<p> + —Please to proceed, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank’ee, Wegg, both for your confidence in me and for your frequent + dropping into poetry; both of which is friendly. Well, then; my idea is, + that you should give up your stall, and that I should put you into the + Bower here, to keep it for us. It’s a pleasant spot; and a man with coals + and candles and a pound a week might be in clover here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hem! Would that man, sir—we will say that man, for the purposes of + argueyment;’ Mr Wegg made a smiling demonstration of great perspicuity + here; ‘would that man, sir, be expected to throw any other capacity in, or + would any other capacity be considered extra? Now let us (for the purposes + of argueyment) suppose that man to be engaged as a reader: say (for the + purposes of argueyment) in the evening. Would that man’s pay as a reader + in the evening, be added to the other amount, which, adopting your + language, we will call clover; or would it merge into that amount, or + clover?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘I suppose it would be added.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose it would, sir. You are right, sir. Exactly my own views, Mr + Boffin.’ Here Wegg rose, and balancing himself on his wooden leg, + fluttered over his prey with extended hand. ‘Mr Boffin, consider it done. + Say no more, sir, not a word more. My stall and I are for ever parted. The + collection of ballads will in future be reserved for private study, with + the object of making poetry tributary’—Wegg was so proud of having + found this word, that he said it again, with a capital letter—‘Tributary, + to friendship. Mr Boffin, don’t allow yourself to be made uncomfortable by + the pang it gives me to part from my stock and stall. Similar emotion was + undergone by my own father when promoted for his merits from his + occupation as a waterman to a situation under Government. His Christian + name was Thomas. His words at the time (I was then an infant, but so deep + was their impression on me, that I committed them to memory) were: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Then farewell, my trim-built wherry,<br> + Oars and coat and badge farewell!<br> + Never more at Chelsea Ferry,<br> + Shall your Thomas take a spell! + </p> +<p> + —My father got over it, Mr Boffin, and so shall I.’ + </p> +<p> + While delivering these valedictory observations, Wegg continually + disappointed Mr Boffin of his hand by flourishing it in the air. He now + darted it at his patron, who took it, and felt his mind relieved of a + great weight: observing that as they had arranged their joint affairs so + satisfactorily, he would now be glad to look into those of Bully Sawyers. + Which, indeed, had been left over-night in a very unpromising posture, and + for whose impending expedition against the Persians the weather had been + by no means favourable all day. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg resumed his spectacles therefore. But Sawyers was not to be of the + party that night; for, before Wegg had found his place, Mrs Boffin’s tread + was heard upon the stairs, so unusually heavy and hurried, that Mr Boffin + would have started up at the sound, anticipating some occurrence much out + of the common course, even though she had not also called to him in an + agitated tone. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin hurried out, and found her on the dark staircase, panting, with + a lighted candle in her hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the matter, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know; I don’t know; but I wish you’d come up-stairs.’ + </p> +<p> + Much surprised, Mr Boffin went up stairs and accompanied Mrs Boffin into + their own room: a second large room on the same floor as the room in which + the late proprietor had died. Mr Boffin looked all round him, and saw + nothing more unusual than various articles of folded linen on a large + chest, which Mrs Boffin had been sorting. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is it, my dear? Why, you’re frightened! <i>You </i>frightened?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not one of that sort certainly,’ said Mrs Boffin, as she sat down in + a chair to recover herself, and took her husband’s arm; ‘but it’s very + strange!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What is, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Noddy, the faces of the old man and the two children are all over the + house to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear?’ exclaimed Mr Boffin. But not without a certain uncomfortable + sensation gliding down his back. + </p> +<p> + ‘I know it must sound foolish, and yet it is so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where did you think you saw them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know that I think I saw them anywhere. I felt them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Touched them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Felt them in the air. I was sorting those things on the chest, and + not thinking of the old man or the children, but singing to myself, when + all in a moment I felt there was a face growing out of the dark.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What face?’ asked her husband, looking about him. + </p> +<p> + ‘For a moment it was the old man’s, and then it got younger. For a moment + it was both the children’s, and then it got older. For a moment it was a + strange face, and then it was all the faces.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And then it was gone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes; and then it was gone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where were you then, old lady?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here, at the chest. Well; I got the better of it, and went on sorting, + and went on singing to myself. “Lor!” I says, “I’ll think of something + else—something comfortable—and put it out of my head.” So I + thought of the new house and Miss Bella Wilfer, and was thinking at a + great rate with that sheet there in my hand, when all of a sudden, the + faces seemed to be hidden in among the folds of it and I let it drop.’ + </p> +<p> + As it still lay on the floor where it had fallen, Mr Boffin picked it up + and laid it on the chest. + </p> +<p> + ‘And then you ran down stairs?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I thought I’d try another room, and shake it off. I says to myself, + “I’ll go and walk slowly up and down the old man’s room three times, from + end to end, and then I shall have conquered it.” I went in with the candle + in my hand; but the moment I came near the bed, the air got thick with + them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With the faces?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and I even felt that they were in the dark behind the side-door, and + on the little staircase, floating away into the yard. Then, I called you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, lost in amazement, looked at Mrs Boffin. Mrs Boffin, lost in + her own fluttered inability to make this out, looked at Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, my dear,’ said the Golden Dustman, ‘I’ll at once get rid of Wegg + for the night, because he’s coming to inhabit the Bower, and it might be + put into his head or somebody else’s, if he heard this and it got about + that the house is haunted. Whereas we know better. Don’t we?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never had the feeling in the house before,’ said Mrs Boffin; ‘and I + have been about it alone at all hours of the night. I have been in the + house when Death was in it, and I have been in the house when Murder was a + new part of its adventures, and I never had a fright in it yet.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And won’t again, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Depend upon it, it comes of + thinking and dwelling on that dark spot.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes; but why didn’t it come before?’ asked Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + This draft on Mr Boffin’s philosophy could only be met by that gentleman + with the remark that everything that is at all, must begin at some time. + Then, tucking his wife’s arm under his own, that she might not be left by + herself to be troubled again, he descended to release Wegg. Who, being + something drowsy after his plentiful repast, and constitutionally of a + shirking temperament, was well enough pleased to stump away, without doing + what he had come to do, and was paid for doing. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin then put on his hat, and Mrs Boffin her shawl; and the pair, + further provided with a bunch of keys and a lighted lantern, went all over + the dismal house—dismal everywhere, but in their own two rooms—from + cellar to cock-loft. Not resting satisfied with giving that much chace to + Mrs Boffin’s fancies, they pursued them into the yard and outbuildings, + and under the Mounds. And setting the lantern, when all was done, at the + foot of one of the Mounds, they comfortably trotted to and fro for an + evening walk, to the end that the murky cobwebs in Mrs Boffin’s brain + might be blown away. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, my dear!’ said Mr Boffin when they came in to supper. ‘That was the + treatment, you see. Completely worked round, haven’t you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, deary,’ said Mrs Boffin, laying aside her shawl. ‘I’m not nervous + any more. I’m not a bit troubled now. I’d go anywhere about the house the + same as ever. But—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh!’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I’ve only to shut my eyes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And what then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why then,’ said Mrs Boffin, speaking with her eyes closed, and her left + hand thoughtfully touching her brow, ‘then, there they are! The old man’s + face, and it gets younger. The two children’s faces, and they get older. A + face that I don’t know. And then all the faces!’ + </p> +<p> + Opening her eyes again, and seeing her husband’s face across the table, + she leaned forward to give it a pat on the cheek, and sat down to supper, + declaring it to be the best face in the world. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 16 + </h2> +<h3> + MINDERS AND RE-MINDERS + </h3> +<p> + The Secretary lost no time in getting to work, and his vigilance and + method soon set their mark on the Golden Dustman’s affairs. His + earnestness in determining to understand the length and breadth and depth + of every piece of work submitted to him by his employer, was as special as + his despatch in transacting it. He accepted no information or explanation + at second hand, but made himself the master of everything confided to him. + </p> +<p> + One part of the Secretary’s conduct, underlying all the rest, might have + been mistrusted by a man with a better knowledge of men than the Golden + Dustman had. The Secretary was as far from being inquisitive or intrusive + as Secretary could be, but nothing less than a complete understanding of + the whole of the affairs would content him. It soon became apparent (from + the knowledge with which he set out) that he must have been to the office + where the Harmon will was registered, and must have read the will. He + anticipated Mr Boffin’s consideration whether he should be advised with on + this or that topic, by showing that he already knew of it and understood + it. He did this with no attempt at concealment, seeming to be satisfied + that it was part of his duty to have prepared himself at all attainable + points for its utmost discharge. + </p> +<p> + This might—let it be repeated—have awakened some little vague + mistrust in a man more worldly-wise than the Golden Dustman. On the other + hand, the Secretary was discerning, discreet, and silent, though as + zealous as if the affairs had been his own. He showed no love of patronage + or the command of money, but distinctly preferred resigning both to Mr + Boffin. If, in his limited sphere, he sought power, it was the power of + knowledge; the power derivable from a perfect comprehension of his + business. + </p> +<p> + As on the Secretary’s face there was a nameless cloud, so on his manner + there was a shadow equally indefinable. It was not that he was + embarrassed, as on that first night with the Wilfer family; he was + habitually unembarrassed now, and yet the something remained. It was not + that his manner was bad, as on that occasion; it was now very good, as + being modest, gracious, and ready. Yet the something never left it. It has + been written of men who have undergone a cruel captivity, or who have + passed through a terrible strait, or who in self-preservation have killed + a defenceless fellow-creature, that the record thereof has never faded + from their countenances until they died. Was there any such record here? + </p> +<p> + He established a temporary office for himself in the new house, and all + went well under his hand, with one singular exception. He manifestly + objected to communicate with Mr Boffin’s solicitor. Two or three times, + when there was some slight occasion for his doing so, he transferred the + task to Mr Boffin; and his evasion of it soon became so curiously + apparent, that Mr Boffin spoke to him on the subject of his reluctance. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is so,’ the Secretary admitted. ‘I would rather not.’ + </p> +<p> + Had he any personal objection to Mr Lightwood? + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know him.’ + </p> +<p> + Had he suffered from law-suits? + </p> +<p> + ‘Not more than other men,’ was his short answer. + </p> +<p> + Was he prejudiced against the race of lawyers? + </p> +<p> + ‘No. But while I am in your employment, sir, I would rather be excused + from going between the lawyer and the client. Of course if you press it, + Mr Boffin, I am ready to comply. But I should take it as a great favour if + you would not press it without urgent occasion.’ + </p> +<p> + Now, it could not be said that there <i>was </i>urgent occasion, for Lightwood + retained no other affairs in his hands than such as still lingered and + languished about the undiscovered criminal, and such as arose out of the + purchase of the house. Many other matters that might have travelled to + him, now stopped short at the Secretary, under whose administration they + were far more expeditiously and satisfactorily disposed of than they would + have been if they had got into Young Blight’s domain. This the Golden + Dustman quite understood. Even the matter immediately in hand was of very + little moment as requiring personal appearance on the Secretary’s part, + for it amounted to no more than this:—The death of Hexam rendering + the sweat of the honest man’s brow unprofitable, the honest man had + shufflingly declined to moisten his brow for nothing, with that severe + exertion which is known in legal circles as swearing your way through a + stone wall. Consequently, that new light had gone sputtering out. But, the + airing of the old facts had led some one concerned to suggest that it + would be well before they were reconsigned to their gloomy shelf—now + probably for ever—to induce or compel that Mr Julius Handford to + reappear and be questioned. And all traces of Mr Julius Handford being + lost, Lightwood now referred to his client for authority to seek him + through public advertisement. + </p> +<p> + ‘Does your objection go to writing to Lightwood, Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not in the least, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then perhaps you’ll write him a line, and say he is free to do what he + likes. I don’t think it promises.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t think it promises,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘Still, he may do what he likes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will write immediately. Let me thank you for so considerately yielding + to my disinclination. It may seem less unreasonable, if I avow to you that + although I don’t know Mr Lightwood, I have a disagreeable association + connected with him. It is not his fault; he is not at all to blame for it, + and does not even know my name.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin dismissed the matter with a nod or two. The letter was written, + and next day Mr Julius Handford was advertised for. He was requested to + place himself in communication with Mr Mortimer Lightwood, as a possible + means of furthering the ends of justice, and a reward was offered to any + one acquainted with his whereabout who would communicate the same to the + said Mr Mortimer Lightwood at his office in the Temple. Every day for six + weeks this advertisement appeared at the head of all the newspapers, and + every day for six weeks the Secretary, when he saw it, said to himself; in + the tone in which he had said to his employer,—‘I don’t think it + promises!’ + </p> +<p> + Among his first occupations the pursuit of that orphan wanted by Mrs + Boffin held a conspicuous place. From the earliest moment of his + engagement he showed a particular desire to please her, and, knowing her + to have this object at heart, he followed it up with unwearying alacrity + and interest. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Milvey had found their search a difficult one. Either an + eligible orphan was of the wrong sex (which almost always happened) or was + too old, or too young, or too sickly, or too dirty, or too much accustomed + to the streets, or too likely to run away; or, it was found impossible to + complete the philanthropic transaction without buying the orphan. For, the + instant it became known that anybody wanted the orphan, up started some + affectionate relative of the orphan who put a price upon the orphan’s + head. The suddenness of an orphan’s rise in the market was not to be + paralleled by the maddest records of the Stock Exchange. He would be at + five thousand per cent discount out at nurse making a mud pie at nine in + the morning, and (being inquired for) would go up to five thousand per + cent premium before noon. The market was ‘rigged’ in various artful ways. + Counterfeit stock got into circulation. Parents boldly represented + themselves as dead, and brought their orphans with them. Genuine + orphan-stock was surreptitiously withdrawn from the market. It being + announced, by emissaries posted for the purpose, that Mr and Mrs Milvey + were coming down the court, orphan scrip would be instantly concealed, and + production refused, save on a condition usually stated by the brokers as + ‘a gallon of beer’. Likewise, fluctuations of a wild and South-Sea nature + were occasioned, by orphan-holders keeping back, and then rushing into the + market a dozen together. But, the uniform principle at the root of all + these various operations was bargain and sale; and that principle could + not be recognized by Mr and Mrs Milvey. + </p> +<p> + At length, tidings were received by the Reverend Frank of a charming + orphan to be found at Brentford. One of the deceased parents (late his + parishioners) had a poor widowed grandmother in that agreeable town, and + she, Mrs Betty Higden, had carried off the orphan with maternal care, but + could not afford to keep him. + </p> +<p> + The Secretary proposed to Mrs Boffin, either to go down himself and take a + preliminary survey of this orphan, or to drive her down, that she might at + once form her own opinion. Mrs Boffin preferring the latter course, they + set off one morning in a hired phaeton, conveying the hammer-headed young + man behind them. + </p> +<p> + The abode of Mrs Betty Higden was not easy to find, lying in such + complicated back settlements of muddy Brentford that they left their + equipage at the sign of the Three Magpies, and went in search of it on + foot. After many inquiries and defeats, there was pointed out to them in a + lane, a very small cottage residence, with a board across the open + doorway, hooked on to which board by the armpits was a young gentleman of + tender years, angling for mud with a headless wooden horse and line. In + this young sportsman, distinguished by a crisply curling auburn head and a + bluff countenance, the Secretary descried the orphan. + </p> +<p> + It unfortunately happened as they quickened their pace, that the orphan, + lost to considerations of personal safety in the ardour of the moment, + overbalanced himself and toppled into the street. Being an orphan of a + chubby conformation, he then took to rolling, and had rolled into the + gutter before they could come up. From the gutter he was rescued by John + Rokesmith, and thus the first meeting with Mrs Higden was inaugurated by + the awkward circumstance of their being in possession—one would say + at first sight unlawful possession—of the orphan, upside down and + purple in the countenance. The board across the doorway too, acting as a + trap equally for the feet of Mrs Higden coming out, and the feet of Mrs + Boffin and John Rokesmith going in, greatly increased the difficulty of + the situation: to which the cries of the orphan imparted a lugubrious and + inhuman character. + </p> +<p> + At first, it was impossible to explain, on account of the orphan’s + ‘holding his breath’: a most terrific proceeding, super-inducing in the + orphan lead-colour rigidity and a deadly silence, compared with which his + cries were music yielding the height of enjoyment. But as he gradually + recovered, Mrs Boffin gradually introduced herself; and smiling peace was + gradually wooed back to Mrs Betty Higden’s home. + </p> +<p> + It was then perceived to be a small home with a large mangle in it, at the + handle of which machine stood a very long boy, with a very little head, + and an open mouth of disproportionate capacity that seemed to assist his + eyes in staring at the visitors. In a corner below the mangle, on a couple + of stools, sat two very little children: a boy and a girl; and when the + very long boy, in an interval of staring, took a turn at the mangle, it + was alarming to see how it lunged itself at those two innocents, like a + catapult designed for their destruction, harmlessly retiring when within + an inch of their heads. The room was clean and neat. It had a brick floor, + and a window of diamond panes, and a flounce hanging below the + chimney-piece, and strings nailed from bottom to top outside the window on + which scarlet-beans were to grow in the coming season if the Fates were + propitious. However propitious they might have been in the seasons that + were gone, to Betty Higden in the matter of beans, they had not been very + favourable in the matter of coins; for it was easy to see that she was + poor. + </p> +<p> + She was one of those old women, was Mrs Betty Higden, who by dint of an + indomitable purpose and a strong constitution fight out many years, though + each year has come with its new knock-down blows fresh to the fight + against her, wearied by it; an active old woman, with a bright dark eye + and a resolute face, yet quite a tender creature too; not a + logically-reasoning woman, but God is good, and hearts may count in Heaven + as high as heads. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes sure!’ said she, when the business was opened, ‘Mrs Milvey had the + kindness to write to me, ma’am, and I got Sloppy to read it. It was a + pretty letter. But she’s an affable lady.’ + </p> +<p> + The visitors glanced at the long boy, who seemed to indicate by a broader + stare of his mouth and eyes that in him Sloppy stood confessed. + </p> +<p> + ‘For I aint, you must know,’ said Betty, ‘much of a hand at reading + writing-hand, though I can read my Bible and most print. And I do love a + newspaper. You mightn’t think it, but Sloppy is a beautiful reader of a + newspaper. He do the Police in different voices.’ + </p> +<p> + The visitors again considered it a point of politeness to look at Sloppy, + who, looking at them, suddenly threw back his head, extended his mouth to + its utmost width, and laughed loud and long. At this the two innocents, + with their brains in that apparent danger, laughed, and Mrs Higden + laughed, and the orphan laughed, and then the visitors laughed. Which was + more cheerful than intelligible. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0193m " src="images/0193m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0193m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0193.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7255627769054019826"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + Then Sloppy seeming to be seized with an industrious mania or fury, turned + to at the mangle, and impelled it at the heads of the innocents with such + a creaking and rumbling, that Mrs Higden stopped him. + </p> +<p> + ‘The gentlefolks can’t hear themselves speak, Sloppy. Bide a bit, bide a + bit!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is that the dear child in your lap?’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, ma’am, this is Johnny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Johnny, too!’ cried Mrs Boffin, turning to the Secretary; ‘already + Johnny! Only one of the two names left to give him! He’s a pretty boy.’ + </p> +<p> + With his chin tucked down in his shy childish manner, he was looking + furtively at Mrs Boffin out of his blue eyes, and reaching his fat dimpled + hand up to the lips of the old woman, who was kissing it by times. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, ma’am, he’s a pretty boy, he’s a dear darling boy, he’s the child of + my own last left daughter’s daughter. But she’s gone the way of all the + rest.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Those are not his brother and sister?’ said Mrs Boffin.</p> +<p>‘Oh, dear no, ma’am. Those are Minders.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Minders?’ the Secretary repeated. + </p> +<p> + ‘Left to be Minded, sir. I keep a Minding-School. I can take only three, + on account of the Mangle. But I love children, and Four-pence a week is + Four-pence. Come here, Toddles and Poddles.’ + </p> +<p> + Toddles was the pet-name of the boy; Poddles of the girl. At their little + unsteady pace, they came across the floor, hand-in-hand, as if they were + traversing an extremely difficult road intersected by brooks, and, when + they had had their heads patted by Mrs Betty Higden, made lunges at the + orphan, dramatically representing an attempt to bear him, crowing, into + captivity and slavery. All the three children enjoyed this to a delightful + extent, and the sympathetic Sloppy again laughed long and loud. When it + was discreet to stop the play, Betty Higden said ‘Go to your seats Toddles + and Poddles,’ and they returned hand-in-hand across country, seeming to + find the brooks rather swollen by late rains. + </p> +<p> + ‘And Master—or Mister—Sloppy?’ said the Secretary, in doubt + whether he was man, boy, or what. + </p> +<p> + ‘A love-child,’ returned Betty Higden, dropping her voice; ‘parents never + known; found in the street. He was brought up in the—’ with a shiver + of repugnance, ‘—the House.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The Poor-house?’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Higden set that resolute old face of hers, and darkly nodded yes. + </p> +<p> + ‘You dislike the mention of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dislike the mention of it?’ answered the old woman. ‘Kill me sooner than + take me there. Throw this pretty child under cart-horses feet and a loaded + waggon, sooner than take him there. Come to us and find us all a-dying, + and set a light to us all where we lie and let us all blaze away with the + house into a heap of cinders sooner than move a corpse of us there!’ + </p> +<p> + A surprising spirit in this lonely woman after so many years of hard + working, and hard living, my Lords and Gentlemen and Honourable Boards! + What is it that we call it in our grandiose speeches? British + independence, rather perverted? Is that, or something like it, the ring of + the cant? + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I never read in the newspapers,’ said the dame, fondling the child—‘God + help me and the like of me!—how the worn-out people that do come + down to that, get driven from post to pillar and pillar to post, a-purpose + to tire them out! Do I never read how they are put off, put off, put off—how + they are grudged, grudged, grudged, the shelter, or the doctor, or the + drop of physic, or the bit of bread? Do I never read how they grow + heartsick of it and give it up, after having let themselves drop so low, + and how they after all die out for want of help? Then I say, I hope I can + die as well as another, and I’ll die without that disgrace.’ + </p> +<p> + Absolutely impossible my Lords and Gentlemen and Honourable Boards, by any + stretch of legislative wisdom to set these perverse people right in their + logic? + </p> +<p> + ‘Johnny, my pretty,’ continued old Betty, caressing the child, and rather + mourning over it than speaking to it, ‘your old Granny Betty is nigher + fourscore year than threescore and ten. She never begged nor had a penny + of the Union money in all her life. She paid scot and she paid lot when + she had money to pay; she worked when she could, and she starved when she + must. You pray that your Granny may have strength enough left her at the + last (she’s strong for an old one, Johnny), to get up from her bed and run + and hide herself and swown to death in a hole, sooner than fall into the + hands of those Cruel Jacks we read of that dodge and drive, and worry and + weary, and scorn and shame, the decent poor.’ + </p> +<p> + A brilliant success, my Lords and Gentlemen and Honourable Boards to have + brought it to this in the minds of the best of the poor! Under submission, + might it be worth thinking of at any odd time? + </p> +<p> + The fright and abhorrence that Mrs Betty Higden smoothed out of her strong + face as she ended this diversion, showed how seriously she had meant it. + </p> +<p> + ‘And does he work for you?’ asked the Secretary, gently bringing the + discourse back to Master or Mister Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Betty with a good-humoured smile and nod of the head. ‘And + well too.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Does he live here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He lives more here than anywhere. He was thought to be no better than a + Natural, and first come to me as a Minder. I made interest with Mr Blogg + the Beadle to have him as a Minder, seeing him by chance up at church, and + thinking I might do something with him. For he was a weak ricketty creetur + then.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is he called by his right name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you see, speaking quite correctly, he has no right name. I always + understood he took his name from being found on a Sloppy night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He seems an amiable fellow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless you, sir, there’s not a bit of him,’ returned Betty, ‘that’s not + amiable. So you may judge how amiable he is, by running your eye along his + heighth.’ + </p> +<p> + Of an ungainly make was Sloppy. Too much of him longwise, too little of + him broadwise, and too many sharp angles of him angle-wise. One of those + shambling male human creatures, born to be indiscreetly candid in the + revelation of buttons; every button he had about him glaring at the public + to a quite preternatural extent. A considerable capital of knee and elbow + and wrist and ankle, had Sloppy, and he didn’t know how to dispose of it + to the best advantage, but was always investing it in wrong securities, + and so getting himself into embarrassed circumstances. Full-Private Number + One in the Awkward Squad of the rank and file of life, was Sloppy, and yet + had his glimmering notions of standing true to the Colours. + </p> +<p> + ‘And now,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘concerning Johnny.’ + </p> +<p> + As Johnny, with his chin tucked in and lips pouting, reclined in Betty’s + lap, concentrating his blue eyes on the visitors and shading them from + observation with a dimpled arm, old Betty took one of his fresh fat hands + in her withered right, and fell to gently beating it on her withered left. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, ma’am. Concerning Johnny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you trust the dear child to me,’ said Mrs Boffin, with a face inviting + trust, ‘he shall have the best of homes, the best of care, the best of + education, the best of friends. Please God I will be a true good mother to + him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am thankful to you, ma’am, and the dear child would be thankful if he + was old enough to understand.’ Still lightly beating the little hand upon + her own. ‘I wouldn’t stand in the dear child’s light, not if I had all my + life before me instead of a very little of it. But I hope you won’t take + it ill that I cleave to the child closer than words can tell, for he’s the + last living thing left me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take it ill, my dear soul? Is it likely? And you so tender of him as to + bring him home here!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have seen,’ said Betty, still with that light beat upon her hard rough + hand, ‘so many of them on my lap. And they are all gone but this one! I am + ashamed to seem so selfish, but I don’t really mean it. It’ll be the + making of his fortune, and he’ll be a gentleman when I am dead. I—I—don’t + know what comes over me. I—try against it. Don’t notice me!’ The + light beat stopped, the resolute mouth gave way, and the fine strong old + face broke up into weakness and tears. + </p> +<p> + Now, greatly to the relief of the visitors, the emotional Sloppy no sooner + beheld his patroness in this condition, than, throwing back his head and + throwing open his mouth, he lifted up his voice and bellowed. This + alarming note of something wrong instantly terrified Toddles and Poddles, + who were no sooner heard to roar surprisingly, than Johnny, curving + himself the wrong way and striking out at Mrs Boffin with a pair of + indifferent shoes, became a prey to despair. The absurdity of the + situation put its pathos to the rout. Mrs Betty Higden was herself in a + moment, and brought them all to order with that speed, that Sloppy, + stopping short in a polysyllabic bellow, transferred his energy to the + mangle, and had taken several penitential turns before he could be + stopped. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, there, there!’ said Mrs Boffin, almost regarding her kind self as + the most ruthless of women. ‘Nothing is going to be done. Nobody need be + frightened. We’re all comfortable; ain’t we, Mrs Higden?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sure and certain we are,’ returned Betty. + </p> +<p> + ‘And there really is no hurry, you know,’ said Mrs Boffin in a lower + voice. ‘Take time to think of it, my good creature!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you fear <i>me</i> no more, ma’am,’ said Betty; ‘I thought of it for good + yesterday. I don’t know what come over me just now, but it’ll never come + again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, then, Johnny shall have more time to think of it,’ returned Mrs + Boffin; ‘the pretty child shall have time to get used to it. And you’ll + get him more used to it, if you think well of it; won’t you?’ + </p> +<p> + Betty undertook that, cheerfully and readily. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lor,’ cried Mrs Boffin, looking radiantly about her, ‘we want to make + everybody happy, not dismal!—And perhaps you wouldn’t mind letting + me know how used to it you begin to get, and how it all goes on?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll send Sloppy,’ said Mrs Higden. + </p> +<p> + ‘And this gentleman who has come with me will pay him for his trouble,’ + said Mrs Boffin. ‘And Mr Sloppy, whenever you come to my house, be sure + you never go away without having had a good dinner of meat, beer, + vegetables, and pudding.’ + </p> +<p> + This still further brightened the face of affairs; for, the highly + sympathetic Sloppy, first broadly staring and grinning, and then roaring + with laughter, Toddles and Poddles followed suit, and Johnny trumped the + trick. T and P considering these favourable circumstances for the + resumption of that dramatic descent upon Johnny, again came across-country + hand-in-hand upon a buccaneering expedition; and this having been fought + out in the chimney corner behind Mrs Higden’s chair, with great valour on + both sides, those desperate pirates returned hand-in-hand to their stools, + across the dry bed of a mountain torrent. + </p> +<p> + ‘You must tell me what I can do for you, Betty my friend,’ said Mrs Boffin + confidentially, ‘if not to-day, next time.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you all the same, ma’am, but I want nothing for myself. I can work. + I’m strong. I can walk twenty mile if I’m put to it.’ Old Betty was proud, + and said it with a sparkle in her bright eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, but there are some little comforts that you wouldn’t be the worse + for,’ returned Mrs Boffin. ‘Bless ye, I wasn’t born a lady any more than + you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It seems to me,’ said Betty, smiling, ‘that you were born a lady, and a + true one, or there never was a lady born. But I couldn’t take anything + from you, my dear. I never did take anything from any one. It ain’t that + I’m not grateful, but I love to earn it better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, well!’ returned Mrs Boffin. ‘I only spoke of little things, or I + wouldn’t have taken the liberty.’ + </p> +<p> + Betty put her visitor’s hand to her lips, in acknowledgment of the + delicate answer. Wonderfully upright her figure was, and wonderfully + self-reliant her look, as, standing facing her visitor, she explained + herself further. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I could have kept the dear child, without the dread that’s always upon + me of his coming to that fate I have spoken of, I could never have parted + with him, even to you. For I love him, I love him, I love him! I love my + husband long dead and gone, in him; I love my children dead and gone, in + him; I love my young and hopeful days dead and gone, in him. I couldn’t + sell that love, and look you in your bright kind face. It’s a free gift. I + am in want of nothing. When my strength fails me, if I can but die out + quick and quiet, I shall be quite content. I have stood between my dead + and that shame I have spoken of; and it has been kept off from every one + of them. Sewed into my gown,’ with her hand upon her breast, ‘is just + enough to lay me in the grave. Only see that it’s rightly spent, so as I + may rest free to the last from that cruelty and disgrace, and you’ll have + done much more than a little thing for me, and all that in this present + world my heart is set upon.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Betty Higden’s visitor pressed her hand. There was no more breaking up + of the strong old face into weakness. My Lords and Gentlemen and + Honourable Boards, it really was as composed as our own faces, and almost + as dignified. + </p> +<p> + And now, Johnny was to be inveigled into occupying a temporary position on + Mrs Boffin’s lap. It was not until he had been piqued into competition + with the two diminutive Minders, by seeing them successively raised to + that post and retire from it without injury, that he could be by any means + induced to leave Mrs Betty Higden’s skirts; towards which he exhibited, + even when in Mrs Boffin’s embrace, strong yearnings, spiritual and bodily; + the former expressed in a very gloomy visage, the latter in extended arms. + However, a general description of the toy-wonders lurking in Mr Boffin’s + house, so far conciliated this worldly-minded orphan as to induce him to + stare at her frowningly, with a fist in his mouth, and even at length to + chuckle when a richly-caparisoned horse on wheels, with a miraculous gift + of cantering to cake-shops, was mentioned. This sound being taken up by + the Minders, swelled into a rapturous trio which gave general + satisfaction. + </p> +<p> + So, the interview was considered very successful, and Mrs Boffin was + pleased, and all were satisfied. Not least of all, Sloppy, who undertook + to conduct the visitors back by the best way to the Three Magpies, and + whom the hammer-headed young man much despised. + </p> +<p> + This piece of business thus put in train, the Secretary drove Mrs Boffin + back to the Bower, and found employment for himself at the new house until + evening. Whether, when evening came, he took a way to his lodgings that + led through fields, with any design of finding Miss Bella Wilfer in those + fields, is not so certain as that she regularly walked there at that hour. + </p> +<p> + And, moreover, it is certain that there she was. + </p> +<p> + No longer in mourning, Miss Bella was dressed in as pretty colours as she + could muster. There is no denying that she was as pretty as they, and that + she and the colours went very prettily together. She was reading as she + walked, and of course it is to be inferred, from her showing no knowledge + of Mr Rokesmith’s approach, that she did not know he was approaching. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ said Miss Bella, raising her eyes from her book, when he stopped + before her. ‘Oh! It’s you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only I. A fine evening!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it?’ said Bella, looking coldly round. ‘I suppose it is, now you + mention it. I have not been thinking of the evening.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So intent upon your book?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ye-e-es,’ replied Bella, with a drawl of indifference. + </p> +<p> + ‘A love story, Miss Wilfer?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh dear no, or I shouldn’t be reading it. It’s more about money than + anything else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And does it say that money is better than anything?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my word,’ returned Bella, ‘I forget what it says, but you can find + out for yourself if you like, Mr Rokesmith. I don’t want it any more.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary took the book—she had fluttered the leaves as if it + were a fan—and walked beside her. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am charged with a message for you, Miss Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Impossible, I think!’ said Bella, with another drawl. + </p> +<p> + ‘From Mrs Boffin. She desired me to assure you of the pleasure she has in + finding that she will be ready to receive you in another week or two at + furthest.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella turned her head towards him, with her prettily-insolent eyebrows + raised, and her eyelids drooping. As much as to say, ‘How did <i>you </i>come by + the message, pray?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been waiting for an opportunity of telling you that I am Mr + Boffin’s Secretary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am as wise as ever,’ said Miss Bella, loftily, ‘for I don’t know what a + Secretary is. Not that it signifies.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all.’ + </p> +<p> + A covert glance at her face, as he walked beside her, showed him that she + had not expected his ready assent to that proposition. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then are you going to be always there, Mr Rokesmith?’ she inquired, as if + that would be a drawback. + </p> +<p> + ‘Always? No. Very much there? Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear me!’ drawled Bella, in a tone of mortification. + </p> +<p> + ‘But my position there as Secretary, will be very different from yours as + guest. You will know little or nothing about me. I shall transact the + business: you will transact the pleasure. I shall have my salary to earn; + you will have nothing to do but to enjoy and attract.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Attract, sir?’ said Bella, again with her eyebrows raised, and her + eyelids drooping. ‘I don’t understand you.’ + </p> +<p> + Without replying on this point, Mr Rokesmith went on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Excuse me; when I first saw you in your black dress—’ + </p> +<p> + (‘There!’ was Miss Bella’s mental exclamation. ‘What did I say to them at + home? Everybody noticed that ridiculous mourning.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘When I first saw you in your black dress, I was at a loss to account for + that distinction between yourself and your family. I hope it was not + impertinent to speculate upon it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope not, I am sure,’ said Miss Bella, haughtily. ‘But you ought to + know best how you speculated upon it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith inclined his head in a deprecatory manner, and went on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Since I have been entrusted with Mr Boffin’s affairs, I have necessarily + come to understand the little mystery. I venture to remark that I feel + persuaded that much of your loss may be repaired. I speak, of course, + merely of wealth, Miss Wilfer. The loss of a perfect stranger, whose + worth, or worthlessness, I cannot estimate—nor you either—is + beside the question. But this excellent gentleman and lady are so full of + simplicity, so full of generosity, so inclined towards you, and so + desirous to—how shall I express it?—to make amends for their + good fortune, that you have only to respond.’ + </p> +<p> + As he watched her with another covert look, he saw a certain ambitious + triumph in her face which no assumed coldness could conceal. + </p> +<p> + ‘As we have been brought under one roof by an accidental combination of + circumstances, which oddly extends itself to the new relations before us, + I have taken the liberty of saying these few words. You don’t consider + them intrusive I hope?’ said the Secretary with deference. + </p> +<p> + ‘Really, Mr Rokesmith, I can’t say what I consider them,’ returned the + young lady. ‘They are perfectly new to me, and may be founded altogether + on your own imagination.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You will see.’ + </p> +<p> + These same fields were opposite the Wilfer premises. The discreet Mrs + Wilfer now looking out of window and beholding her daughter in conference + with her lodger, instantly tied up her head and came out for a casual + walk. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been telling Miss Wilfer,’ said John Rokesmith, as the majestic + lady came stalking up, ‘that I have become, by a curious chance, Mr + Boffin’s Secretary or man of business.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have not,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, waving her gloves in her chronic state + of dignity, and vague ill-usage, ‘the honour of any intimate acquaintance + with Mr Boffin, and it is not for me to congratulate that gentleman on the + acquisition he has made.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A poor one enough,’ said Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, ‘the merits of Mr Boffin may be highly + distinguished—may be more distinguished than the countenance of Mrs + Boffin would imply—but it were the insanity of humility to deem him + worthy of a better assistant.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are very good. I have also been telling Miss Wilfer that she is + expected very shortly at the new residence in town.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Having tacitly consented,’ said Mrs Wilfer, with a grand shrug of her + shoulders, and another wave of her gloves, ‘to my child’s acceptance of + the proffered attentions of Mrs Boffin, I interpose no objection.’ + </p> +<p> + Here Miss Bella offered the remonstrance: ‘Don’t talk nonsense, ma, + please.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Peace!’ said Mrs Wilfer. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, ma, I am not going to be made so absurd. Interposing objections!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say,’ repeated Mrs Wilfer, with a vast access of grandeur, ‘that I am + <i>not </i>going to interpose objections. If Mrs Boffin (to whose countenance no + disciple of Lavater could possibly for a single moment subscribe),’ with a + shiver, ‘seeks to illuminate her new residence in town with the + attractions of a child of mine, I am content that she should be favoured + by the company of a child of mine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You use the word, ma’am, I have myself used,’ said Rokesmith, with a + glance at Bella, ‘when you speak of Miss Wilfer’s attractions there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, with dreadful solemnity, ‘but I had not + finished.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray excuse me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was about to say,’ pursued Mrs Wilfer, who clearly had not had the + faintest idea of saying anything more: ‘that when I use the term + attractions, I do so with the qualification that I do not mean it in any + way whatever.’ + </p> +<p> + The excellent lady delivered this luminous elucidation of her views with + an air of greatly obliging her hearers, and greatly distinguishing + herself. Whereat Miss Bella laughed a scornful little laugh and said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite enough about this, I am sure, on all sides. Have the goodness, Mr + Rokesmith, to give my love to Mrs Boffin—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me!’ cried Mrs Wilfer. ‘Compliments.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Love!’ repeated Bella, with a little stamp of her foot. + </p> +<p> + ‘No!’ said Mrs Wilfer, monotonously. ‘Compliments.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Say Miss Wilfer’s love, and Mrs Wilfer’s compliments,’ the Secretary + proposed, as a compromise.) + </p> +<p> + ‘And I shall be very glad to come when she is ready for me. The sooner, + the better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘One last word, Bella,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘before descending to the family + apartment. I trust that as a child of mine you will ever be sensible that + it will be graceful in you, when associating with Mr and Mrs Boffin upon + equal terms, to remember that the Secretary, Mr Rokesmith, as your + father’s lodger, has a claim on your good word.’ + </p> +<p> + The condescension with which Mrs Wilfer delivered this proclamation of + patronage, was as wonderful as the swiftness with which the lodger had + lost caste in the Secretary. He smiled as the mother retired down stairs; + but his face fell, as the daughter followed. + </p> +<p> + ‘So insolent, so trivial, so capricious, so mercenary, so careless, so + hard to touch, so hard to turn!’ he said, bitterly. + </p> +<p> + And added as he went upstairs. ‘And yet so pretty, so pretty!’ + </p> +<p> + And added presently, as he walked to and fro in his room. ‘And if she + knew!’ + </p> +<p> + She knew that he was shaking the house by his walking to and fro; and she + declared it another of the miseries of being poor, that you couldn’t get + rid of a haunting Secretary, stump—stump—stumping overhead in + the dark, like a Ghost. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 17 + </h2> +<h3> + A DISMAL SWAMP + </h3> +<p> + And now, in the blooming summer days, behold Mr and Mrs Boffin established + in the eminently aristocratic family mansion, and behold all manner of + crawling, creeping, fluttering, and buzzing creatures, attracted by the + gold dust of the Golden Dustman! + </p> +<p> + Foremost among those leaving cards at the eminently aristocratic door + before it is quite painted, are the Veneerings: out of breath, one might + imagine, from the impetuosity of their rush to the eminently aristocratic + steps. One copper-plate Mrs Veneering, two copper-plate Mr Veneerings, and + a connubial copper-plate Mr and Mrs Veneering, requesting the honour of Mr + and Mrs Boffin’s company at dinner with the utmost Analytical solemnities. + The enchanting Lady Tippins leaves a card. Twemlow leaves cards. A tall + custard-coloured phaeton tooling up in a solemn manner leaves four cards, + to wit, a couple of Mr Podsnaps, a Mrs Podsnap, and a Miss Podsnap. All + the world and his wife and daughter leave cards. Sometimes the world’s + wife has so many daughters, that her card reads rather like a + Miscellaneous Lot at an Auction; comprising Mrs Tapkins, Miss Tapkins, + Miss Frederica Tapkins, Miss Antonina Tapkins, Miss Malvina Tapkins, and + Miss Euphemia Tapkins; at the same time, the same lady leaves the card of + Mrs Henry George Alfred Swoshle, <i>nee </i>Tapkins; also, a card, Mrs Tapkins at + Home, Wednesdays, Music, Portland Place. + </p> +<p> + Miss Bella Wilfer becomes an inmate, for an indefinite period, of the + eminently aristocratic dwelling. Mrs Boffin bears Miss Bella away to her + Milliner’s and Dressmaker’s, and she gets beautifully dressed. The + Veneerings find with swift remorse that they have omitted to invite Miss + Bella Wilfer. One Mrs Veneering and one Mr and Mrs Veneering requesting + that additional honour, instantly do penance in white cardboard on the + hall table. Mrs Tapkins likewise discovers her omission, and with + promptitude repairs it; for herself; for Miss Tapkins, for Miss Frederica + Tapkins, for Miss Antonina Tapkins, for Miss Malvina Tapkins, and for Miss + Euphemia Tapkins. Likewise, for Mrs Henry George Alfred Swoshle <i>nee</i> + Tapkins. Likewise, for Mrs Tapkins at Home, Wednesdays, Music, Portland + Place. + </p> +<p> + Tradesmen’s books hunger, and tradesmen’s mouths water, for the gold dust + of the Golden Dustman. As Mrs Boffin and Miss Wilfer drive out, or as Mr + Boffin walks out at his jog-trot pace, the fishmonger pulls off his hat + with an air of reverence founded on conviction. His men cleanse their + fingers on their woollen aprons before presuming to touch their foreheads + to Mr Boffin or Lady. The gaping salmon and the golden mullet lying on the + slab seem to turn up their eyes sideways, as they would turn up their + hands if they had any, in worshipping admiration. The butcher, though a + portly and a prosperous man, doesn’t know what to do with himself; so + anxious is he to express humility when discovered by the passing Boffins + taking the air in a mutton grove. Presents are made to the Boffin + servants, and bland strangers with business-cards meeting said servants in + the street, offer hypothetical corruption. As, ‘Supposing I was to be + favoured with an order from Mr Boffin, my dear friend, it would be worth + my while’—to do a certain thing that I hope might not prove wholly + disagreeable to your feelings. + </p> +<p> + But no one knows so well as the Secretary, who opens and reads the + letters, what a set is made at the man marked by a stroke of notoriety. Oh + the varieties of dust for ocular use, offered in exchange for the gold + dust of the Golden Dustman! Fifty-seven churches to be erected with + half-crowns, forty-two parsonage houses to be repaired with shillings, + seven-and-twenty organs to be built with halfpence, twelve hundred + children to be brought up on postage stamps. Not that a half-crown, + shilling, halfpenny, or postage stamp, would be particularly acceptable + from Mr Boffin, but that it is so obvious he is the man to make up the + deficiency. And then the charities, my Christian brother! And mostly in + difficulties, yet mostly lavish, too, in the expensive articles of print + and paper. Large fat private double letter, sealed with ducal coronet. + ‘Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire. My Dear Sir,—Having consented to preside + at the forthcoming Annual Dinner of the Family Party Fund, and feeling + deeply impressed with the immense usefulness of that noble Institution and + the great importance of its being supported by a List of Stewards that + shall prove to the public the interest taken in it by popular and + distinguished men, I have undertaken to ask you to become a Steward on + that occasion. Soliciting your favourable reply before the 14th instant, I + am, My Dear Sir, Your faithful Servant, <i>Linseed</i>. P.S. The Steward’s fee is + limited to three Guineas.’ Friendly this, on the part of the Duke of + Linseed (and thoughtful in the postscript), only lithographed by the + hundred and presenting but a pale individuality of an address to Nicodemus + Boffin, Esquire, in quite another hand. It takes two noble Earls and a + Viscount, combined, to inform Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire, in an equally + flattering manner, that an estimable lady in the West of England has + offered to present a purse containing twenty pounds, to the Society for + Granting Annuities to Unassuming Members of the Middle Classes, if twenty + individuals will previously present purses of one hundred pounds each. And + those benevolent noblemen very kindly point out that if Nicodemus Boffin, + Esquire, should wish to present two or more purses, it will not be + inconsistent with the design of the estimable lady in the West of England, + provided each purse be coupled with the name of some member of his + honoured and respected family. + </p> +<p> + These are the corporate beggars. But there are, besides, the individual + beggars; and how does the heart of the Secretary fail him when he has to + cope with <i>them!</i> And they must be coped with to some extent, because they + all enclose documents (they call their scraps documents; but they are, as + to papers deserving the name, what minced veal is to a calf), the + non-return of which would be their ruin. That is to say, they are utterly + ruined now, but they would be more utterly ruined then. Among these + correspondents are several daughters of general officers, long accustomed + to every luxury of life (except spelling), who little thought, when their + gallant fathers waged war in the Peninsula, that they would ever have to + appeal to those whom Providence, in its inscrutable wisdom, has blessed + with untold gold, and from among whom they select the name of Nicodemus + Boffin, Esquire, for a maiden effort in this wise, understanding that he + has such a heart as never was. The Secretary learns, too, that confidence + between man and wife would seem to obtain but rarely when virtue is in + distress, so numerous are the wives who take up their pens to ask Mr + Boffin for money without the knowledge of their devoted husbands, who + would never permit it; while, on the other hand, so numerous are the + husbands who take up their pens to ask Mr Boffin for money without the + knowledge of their devoted wives, who would instantly go out of their + senses if they had the least suspicion of the circumstance. There are the + inspired beggars, too. These were sitting, only yesterday evening, musing + over a fragment of candle which must soon go out and leave them in the + dark for the rest of their nights, when surely some Angel whispered the + name of Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire, to their souls, imparting rays of hope, + nay confidence, to which they had long been strangers! Akin to these are + the suggestively-befriended beggars. They were partaking of a cold potato + and water by the flickering and gloomy light of a lucifer-match, in their + lodgings (rent considerably in arrear, and heartless landlady threatening + expulsion ‘like a dog’ into the streets), when a gifted friend happening + to look in, said, ‘Write immediately to Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire,’ and + would take no denial. There are the nobly independent beggars too. These, + in the days of their abundance, ever regarded gold as dross, and have not + yet got over that only impediment in the way of their amassing wealth, but + they want no dross from Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire; No, Mr Boffin; the + world may term it pride, paltry pride if you will, but they wouldn’t take + it if you offered it; a loan, sir—for fourteen weeks to the day, + interest calculated at the rate of five per cent per annum, to be bestowed + upon any charitable institution you may name—is all they want of + you, and if you have the meanness to refuse it, count on being despised by + these great spirits. There are the beggars of punctual business-habits + too. These will make an end of themselves at a quarter to one P.M. on + Tuesday, if no Post-office order is in the interim received from Nicodemus + Boffin, Esquire; arriving after a quarter to one P.M. on Tuesday, it need + not be sent, as they will then (having made an exact memorandum of the + heartless circumstances) be ‘cold in death.’ There are the beggars on + horseback too, in another sense from the sense of the proverb. These are + mounted and ready to start on the highway to affluence. The goal is before + them, the road is in the best condition, their spurs are on, the steed is + willing, but, at the last moment, for want of some special thing—a + clock, a violin, an astronomical telescope, an electrifying machine—they + must dismount for ever, unless they receive its equivalent in money from + Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire. Less given to detail are the beggars who make + sporting ventures. These, usually to be addressed in reply under initials + at a country post-office, inquire in feminine hands, Dare one who cannot + disclose herself to Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire, but whose name might + startle him were it revealed, solicit the immediate advance of two hundred + pounds from unexpected riches exercising their noblest privilege in the + trust of a common humanity? + </p> +<p> + In such a Dismal Swamp does the new house stand, and through it does the + Secretary daily struggle breast-high. Not to mention all the people alive + who have made inventions that won’t act, and all the jobbers who job in + all the jobberies jobbed; though these may be regarded as the Alligators + of the Dismal Swamp, and are always lying by to drag the Golden Dustman + under. + </p> +<p> + But the old house. There are no designs against the Golden Dustman there? + There are no fish of the shark tribe in the Bower waters? Perhaps not. + Still, Wegg is established there, and would seem, judged by his secret + proceedings, to cherish a notion of making a discovery. For, when a man + with a wooden leg lies prone on his stomach to peep under bedsteads; and + hops up ladders, like some extinct bird, to survey the tops of presses and + cupboards; and provides himself an iron rod which he is always poking and + prodding into dust-mounds; the probability is that he expects to find + something. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2H_4_0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + BOOK THE SECOND — BIRDS OF A FEATHER + </h2> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> +<h3> + OF AN EDUCATIONAL CHARACTER + </h3> +<p> + The school at which young Charley Hexam had first learned from a book—the + streets being, for pupils of his degree, the great Preparatory + Establishment in which very much that is never unlearned is learned + without and before book—was a miserable loft in an unsavoury yard. + Its atmosphere was oppressive and disagreeable; it was crowded, noisy, and + confusing; half the pupils dropped asleep, or fell into a state of waking + stupefaction; the other half kept them in either condition by maintaining + a monotonous droning noise, as if they were performing, out of time and + tune, on a ruder sort of bagpipe. The teachers, animated solely by good + intentions, had no idea of execution, and a lamentable jumble was the + upshot of their kind endeavours. + </p> +<p> + It was a school for all ages, and for both sexes. The latter were kept + apart, and the former were partitioned off into square assortments. But, + all the place was pervaded by a grimly ludicrous pretence that every pupil + was childish and innocent. This pretence, much favoured by the + lady-visitors, led to the ghastliest absurdities. Young women old in the + vices of the commonest and worst life, were expected to profess themselves + enthralled by the good child’s book, the Adventures of Little Margery, who + resided in the village cottage by the mill; severely reproved and morally + squashed the miller, when she was five and he was fifty; divided her + porridge with singing birds; denied herself a new nankeen bonnet, on the + ground that the turnips did not wear nankeen bonnets, neither did the + sheep who ate them; who plaited straw and delivered the dreariest orations + to all comers, at all sorts of unseasonable times. So, unwieldy young + dredgers and hulking mudlarks were referred to the experiences of Thomas + Twopence, who, having resolved not to rob (under circumstances of uncommon + atrocity) his particular friend and benefactor, of eighteenpence, + presently came into supernatural possession of three and sixpence, and + lived a shining light ever afterwards. (Note, that the benefactor came to + no good.) Several swaggering sinners had written their own biographies in + the same strain; it always appearing from the lessons of those very + boastful persons, that you were to do good, not because it <i>was </i>good, but + because you were to make a good thing of it. Contrariwise, the adult + pupils were taught to read (if they could learn) out of the New Testament; + and by dint of stumbling over the syllables and keeping their bewildered + eyes on the particular syllables coming round to their turn, were as + absolutely ignorant of the sublime history, as if they had never seen or + heard of it. An exceedingly and confoundingly perplexing jumble of a + school, in fact, where black spirits and grey, red spirits and white, + jumbled jumbled jumbled jumbled, jumbled every night. And particularly + every Sunday night. For then, an inclined plane of unfortunate infants + would be handed over to the prosiest and worst of all the teachers with + good intentions, whom nobody older would endure. Who, taking his stand on + the floor before them as chief executioner, would be attended by a + conventional volunteer boy as executioner’s assistant. When and where it + first became the conventional system that a weary or inattentive infant in + a class must have its face smoothed downward with a hot hand, or when and + where the conventional volunteer boy first beheld such system in + operation, and became inflamed with a sacred zeal to administer it, + matters not. It was the function of the chief executioner to hold forth, + and it was the function of the acolyte to dart at sleeping infants, + yawning infants, restless infants, whimpering infants, and smooth their + wretched faces; sometimes with one hand, as if he were anointing them for + a whisker; sometimes with both hands, applied after the fashion of + blinkers. And so the jumble would be in action in this department for a + mortal hour; the exponent drawling on to My Dearert Childerrenerr, let us + say, for example, about the beautiful coming to the Sepulchre; and + repeating the word Sepulchre (commonly used among infants) five hundred + times, and never once hinting what it meant; the conventional boy + smoothing away right and left, as an infallible commentary; the whole + hot-bed of flushed and exhausted infants exchanging measles, rashes, + whooping-cough, fever, and stomach disorders, as if they were assembled in + High Market for the purpose. + </p> +<p> + Even in this temple of good intentions, an exceptionally sharp boy + exceptionally determined to learn, could learn something, and, having + learned it, could impart it much better than the teachers; as being more + knowing than they, and not at the disadvantage in which they stood towards + the shrewder pupils. In this way it had come about that Charley Hexam had + risen in the jumble, taught in the jumble, and been received from the + jumble into a better school. + </p> +<p> + ‘So you want to go and see your sister, Hexam?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you please, Mr Headstone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have half a mind to go with you. Where does your sister live?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, she is not settled yet, Mr Headstone. I’d rather you didn’t see her + till she is settled, if it was all the same to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here, Hexam.’ Mr Bradley Headstone, highly certificated stipendiary + schoolmaster, drew his right forefinger through one of the buttonholes of + the boy’s coat, and looked at it attentively. ‘I hope your sister may be + good company for you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why do you doubt it, Mr Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I did not say I doubted it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir; you didn’t say so.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone looked at his finger again, took it out of the + buttonhole and looked at it closer, bit the side of it and looked at it + again. + </p> +<p> + ‘You see, Hexam, you will be one of us. In good time you are sure to pass + a creditable examination and become one of us. Then the question is—’ + </p> +<p> + The boy waited so long for the question, while the schoolmaster looked at + a new side of his finger, and bit it, and looked at it again, that at + length the boy repeated: + </p> +<p> + ‘The question is, sir—?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Whether you had not better leave well alone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it well to leave my sister alone, Mr Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do not say so, because I do not know. I put it to you. I ask you to + think of it. I want you to consider. You know how well you are doing + here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘After all, she got me here,’ said the boy, with a struggle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Perceiving the necessity of it,’ acquiesced the schoolmaster, ‘and making + up her mind fully to the separation. Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + The boy, with a return of that former reluctance or struggle or whatever + it was, seemed to debate with himself. At length he said, raising his eyes + to the master’s face: + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish you’d come with me and see her, Mr Headstone, though she is not + settled. I wish you’d come with me, and take her in the rough, and judge + her for yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are sure you would not like,’ asked the schoolmaster, ‘to prepare + her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My sister Lizzie,’ said the boy, proudly, ‘wants no preparing, Mr + Headstone. What she is, she is, and shows herself to be. There’s no + pretending about my sister.’ + </p> +<p> + His confidence in her, sat more easily upon him than the indecision with + which he had twice contended. It was his better nature to be true to her, + if it were his worse nature to be wholly selfish. And as yet the better + nature had the stronger hold. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, I can spare the evening,’ said the schoolmaster. ‘I am ready to + walk with you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Mr Headstone. And I am ready to go.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone, in his decent black coat and waistcoat, and decent + white shirt, and decent formal black tie, and decent pantaloons of pepper + and salt, with his decent silver watch in his pocket and its decent + hair-guard round his neck, looked a thoroughly decent young man of + six-and-twenty. He was never seen in any other dress, and yet there was a + certain stiffness in his manner of wearing this, as if there were a want + of adaptation between him and it, recalling some mechanics in their + holiday clothes. He had acquired mechanically a great store of teacher’s + knowledge. He could do mental arithmetic mechanically, sing at sight + mechanically, blow various wind instruments mechanically, even play the + great church organ mechanically. From his early childhood up, his mind had + been a place of mechanical stowage. The arrangement of his wholesale + warehouse, so that it might be always ready to meet the demands of retail + dealers—history here, geography there, astronomy to the right, political + economy to the left—natural history, the physical sciences, figures, + music, the lower mathematics, and what not, all in their several places—this + care had imparted to his countenance a look of care; while the habit of + questioning and being questioned had given him a suspicious manner, or a + manner that would be better described as one of lying in wait. There was a + kind of settled trouble in the face. It was the face belonging to a + naturally slow or inattentive intellect that had toiled hard to get what + it had won, and that had to hold it now that it was gotten. He always + seemed to be uneasy lest anything should be missing from his mental + warehouse, and taking stock to assure himself. + </p> +<p> + Suppression of so much to make room for so much, had given him a + constrained manner, over and above. Yet there was enough of what was + animal, and of what was fiery (though smouldering), still visible in him, + to suggest that if young Bradley Headstone, when a pauper lad, had chanced + to be told off for the sea, he would not have been the last man in a + ship’s crew. Regarding that origin of his, he was proud, moody, and + sullen, desiring it to be forgotten. And few people knew of it. + </p> +<p> + In some visits to the Jumble his attention had been attracted to this boy + Hexam. An undeniable boy for a pupil-teacher; an undeniable boy to do + credit to the master who should bring him on. Combined with this + consideration, there may have been some thought of the pauper lad now + never to be mentioned. Be that how it might, he had with pains gradually + worked the boy into his own school, and procured him some offices to + discharge there, which were repaid with food and lodging. Such were the + circumstances that had brought together, Bradley Headstone and young + Charley Hexam that autumn evening. Autumn, because full half a year had + come and gone since the bird of prey lay dead upon the river-shore. + </p> +<p> + The schools—for they were twofold, as the sexes—were down in + that district of the flat country tending to the Thames, where Kent and + Surrey meet, and where the railways still bestride the market-gardens that + will soon die under them. The schools were newly built, and there were so + many like them all over the country, that one might have thought the whole + were but one restless edifice with the locomotive gift of Aladdin’s + palace. They were in a neighbourhood which looked like a toy neighbourhood + taken in blocks out of a box by a child of particularly incoherent mind, + and set up anyhow; here, one side of a new street; there, a large solitary + public-house facing nowhere; here, another unfinished street already in + ruins; there, a church; here, an immense new warehouse; there, a + dilapidated old country villa; then, a medley of black ditch, sparkling + cucumber-frame, rank field, richly cultivated kitchen-garden, brick + viaduct, arch-spanned canal, and disorder of frowziness and fog. As if the + child had given the table a kick, and gone to sleep. + </p> +<p> + But, even among school-buildings, school-teachers, and school-pupils, all + according to pattern and all engendered in the light of the latest Gospel + according to Monotony, the older pattern into which so many fortunes have + been shaped for good and evil, comes out. It came out in Miss Peecher the + schoolmistress, watering her flowers, as Mr Bradley Headstone walked + forth. It came out in Miss Peecher the schoolmistress, watering the + flowers in the little dusty bit of garden attached to her small official + residence, with little windows like the eyes in needles, and little doors + like the covers of school-books. + </p> +<p> + Small, shining, neat, methodical, and buxom was Miss Peecher; + cherry-cheeked and tuneful of voice. A little pincushion, a little + housewife, a little book, a little workbox, a little set of tables and + weights and measures, and a little woman, all in one. She could write a + little essay on any subject, exactly a slate long, beginning at the + left-hand top of one side and ending at the right-hand bottom of the + other, and the essay should be strictly according to rule. If Mr Bradley + Headstone had addressed a written proposal of marriage to her, she would + probably have replied in a complete little essay on the theme exactly a + slate long, but would certainly have replied Yes. For she loved him. The + decent hair-guard that went round his neck and took care of his decent + silver watch was an object of envy to her. So would Miss Peecher have gone + round his neck and taken care of him. Of him, insensible. Because he did + not love Miss Peecher. + </p> +<p> + Miss Peecher’s favourite pupil, who assisted her in her little household, + was in attendance with a can of water to replenish her little + watering-pot, and sufficiently divined the state of Miss Peecher’s + affections to feel it necessary that she herself should love young Charley + Hexam. So, there was a double palpitation among the double stocks and + double wall-flowers, when the master and the boy looked over the little + gate. + </p> +<p> + ‘A fine evening, Miss Peecher,’ said the Master. + </p> +<p> + ‘A very fine evening, Mr Headstone,’ said Miss Peecher. ‘Are you taking a + walk?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hexam and I are going to take a long walk.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charming weather,’ remarked Miss Peecher, ‘<i>for </i>a long walk.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ours is rather on business than mere pleasure,’ said the Master. Miss + Peecher inverting her watering-pot, and very carefully shaking out the few + last drops over a flower, as if there were some special virtue in them + which would make it a Jack’s beanstalk before morning, called for + replenishment to her pupil, who had been speaking to the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-night, Miss Peecher,’ said the Master. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-night, Mr Headstone,’ said the Mistress. + </p> +<p> + The pupil had been, in her state of pupilage, so imbued with the + class-custom of stretching out an arm, as if to hail a cab or omnibus, + whenever she found she had an observation on hand to offer to Miss + Peecher, that she often did it in their domestic relations; and she did it + now. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Mary Anne?’ said Miss Peecher. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you please, ma’am, Hexam said they were going to see his sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But that can’t be, I think,’ returned Miss Peecher: ‘because Mr Headstone + can have no business with <i>her</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne again hailed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you please, ma’am, perhaps it’s Hexam’s business?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That may be,’ said Miss Peecher. ‘I didn’t think of that. Not that it + matters at all.’ + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne again hailed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They say she’s very handsome.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Mary Anne, Mary Anne!’ returned Miss Peecher, slightly colouring and + shaking her head, a little out of humour; ‘how often have I told you not + to use that vague expression, not to speak in that general way? When you + say <i>they </i>say, what do you mean? Part of speech They?’ + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne hooked her right arm behind her in her left hand, as being under + examination, and replied: + </p> +<p> + ‘Personal pronoun.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Person, They?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Third person.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Number, They?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Plural number.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then how many do you mean, Mary Anne? Two? Or more?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ said Mary Anne, disconcerted now she came to + think of it; ‘but I don’t know that I mean more than her brother himself.’ + As she said it, she unhooked her arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘I felt convinced of it,’ returned Miss Peecher, smiling again. ‘Now pray, + Mary Anne, be careful another time. He says is very different from they + say, remember. Difference between he says and they say? Give it me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne immediately hooked her right arm behind her in her left hand—an + attitude absolutely necessary to the situation—and replied: ‘One is + indicative mood, present tense, third person singular, verb active to say. + Other is indicative mood, present tense, third person plural, verb active + to say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why verb active, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because it takes a pronoun after it in the objective case, Miss Peecher.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good indeed,’ remarked Miss Peecher, with encouragement. ‘In fact, + could not be better. Don’t forget to apply it, another time, Mary Anne.’ + This said, Miss Peecher finished the watering of her flowers, and went + into her little official residence, and took a refresher of the principal + rivers and mountains of the world, their breadths, depths, and heights, + before settling the measurements of the body of a dress for her own + personal occupation. + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone and Charley Hexam duly got to the Surrey side of + Westminster Bridge, and crossed the bridge, and made along the Middlesex + shore towards Millbank. In this region are a certain little street called + Church Street, and a certain little blind square, called Smith Square, in + the centre of which last retreat is a very hideous church with four towers + at the four corners, generally resembling some petrified monster, + frightful and gigantic, on its back with its legs in the air. They found a + tree near by in a corner, and a blacksmith’s forge, and a timber yard, and + a dealer’s in old iron. What a rusty portion of a boiler and a great iron + wheel or so meant by lying half-buried in the dealer’s fore-court, nobody + seemed to know or to want to know. Like the Miller of questionable jollity + in the song, They cared for Nobody, no not they, and Nobody cared for + them. + </p> +<p> + After making the round of this place, and noting that there was a deadly + kind of repose on it, more as though it had taken laudanum than fallen + into a natural rest, they stopped at the point where the street and the + square joined, and where there were some little quiet houses in a row. To + these Charley Hexam finally led the way, and at one of these stopped. + </p> +<p> + ‘This must be where my sister lives, sir. This is where she came for a + temporary lodging, soon after father’s death.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How often have you seen her since?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, only twice, sir,’ returned the boy, with his former reluctance; ‘but + that’s as much her doing as mine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How does she support herself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She was always a fair needlewoman, and she keeps the stockroom of a + seaman’s outfitter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Does she ever work at her own lodging here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sometimes; but her regular hours and regular occupation are at their + place of business, I believe, sir. This is the number.’ + </p> +<p> + The boy knocked at a door, and the door promptly opened with a spring and + a click. A parlour door within a small entry stood open, and disclosed a + child—a dwarf—a girl—a something—sitting on a + little low old-fashioned arm-chair, which had a kind of little working + bench before it. + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t get up,’ said the child, ‘because my back’s bad, and my legs are + queer. But I’m the person of the house.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who else is at home?’ asked Charley Hexam, staring. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nobody’s at home at present,’ returned the child, with a glib assertion + of her dignity, ‘except the person of the house. What did you want, young + man?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wanted to see my sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Many young men have sisters,’ returned the child. ‘Give me your name, + young man?’ + </p> +<p> + The queer little figure, and the queer but not ugly little face, with its + bright grey eyes, were so sharp, that the sharpness of the manner seemed + unavoidable. As if, being turned out of that mould, it must be sharp. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hexam is my name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, indeed?’ said the person of the house. ‘I thought it might be. Your + sister will be in, in about a quarter of an hour. I am very fond of your + sister. She’s my particular friend. Take a seat. And this gentleman’s + name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone, my schoolmaster.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take a seat. And would you please to shut the street door first? I can’t + very well do it myself; because my back’s so bad, and my legs are so + queer.’ + </p> +<p> + They complied in silence, and the little figure went on with its work of + gumming or gluing together with a camel’s-hair brush certain pieces of + cardboard and thin wood, previously cut into various shapes. The scissors + and knives upon the bench showed that the child herself had cut them; and + the bright scraps of velvet and silk and ribbon also strewn upon the bench + showed that when duly stuffed (and stuffing too was there), she was to + cover them smartly. The dexterity of her nimble fingers was remarkable, + and, as she brought two thin edges accurately together by giving them a + little bite, she would glance at the visitors out of the corners of her + grey eyes with a look that out-sharpened all her other sharpness. + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t tell me the name of my trade, I’ll be bound,’ she said, after + taking several of these observations. + </p> +<p> + ‘You make pincushions,’ said Charley. + </p> +<p> + ‘What else do I make?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pen-wipers,’ said Bradley Headstone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha! ha! What else do I make? You’re a schoolmaster, but you can’t tell + me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You do something,’ he returned, pointing to a corner of the little bench, + ‘with straw; but I don’t know what.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well done you!’ cried the person of the house. ‘I only make pincushions + and pen-wipers, to use up my waste. But my straw really does belong to my + business. Try again. What do I make with my straw?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dinner-mats?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats! I’ll give you a clue to my trade, + in a game of forfeits. I love my love with a B because she’s Beautiful; I + hate my love with a B because she is Brazen; I took her to the sign of the + Blue Boar, and I treated her with Bonnets; her name’s Bouncer, and she + lives in Bedlam.—Now, what do I make with my straw?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ladies’ bonnets?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Fine ladies’,’ said the person of the house, nodding assent. ‘Dolls’. I’m + a Doll’s Dressmaker.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope it’s a good business?’ + </p> +<p> + The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. ‘No. + Poorly paid. And I’m often so pressed for time! I had a doll married, last + week, and was obliged to work all night. And it’s not good for me, on + account of my back being so bad and my legs so queer.’ + </p> +<p> + They looked at the little creature with a wonder that did not diminish, + and the schoolmaster said: ‘I am sorry your fine ladies are so + inconsiderate.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s the way with them,’ said the person of the house, shrugging her + shoulders again. ‘And they take no care of their clothes, and they never + keep to the same fashions a month. I work for a doll with three daughters. + Bless you, she’s enough to ruin her husband!’ The person of the house gave + a weird little laugh here, and gave them another look out of the corners + of her eyes. She had an elfin chin that was capable of great expression; + and whenever she gave this look, she hitched this chin up. As if her eyes + and her chin worked together on the same wires. + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you always as busy as you are now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Busier. I’m slack just now. I finished a large mourning order the day + before yesterday. Doll I work for, lost a canary-bird.’ The person of the + house gave another little laugh, and then nodded her head several times, + as who should moralize, ‘Oh this world, this world!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you alone all day?’ asked Bradley Headstone. ‘Don’t any of the + neighbouring children—?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, lud!’ cried the person of the house, with a little scream, as if the + word had pricked her. ‘Don’t talk of children. I can’t bear children. I + know their tricks and their manners.’ She said this with an angry little + shake of her tight fist close before her eyes. + </p> +<p> + Perhaps it scarcely required the teacher-habit, to perceive that the + doll’s dressmaker was inclined to be bitter on the difference between + herself and other children. But both master and pupil understood it so. + </p> +<p> + ‘Always running about and screeching, always playing and fighting, always + skip-skip-skipping on the pavement and chalking it for their games! Oh! I + know their tricks and their manners!’ Shaking the little fist as before. + ‘And that’s not all. Ever so often calling names in through a person’s + keyhole, and imitating a person’s back and legs. Oh! I know their tricks + and their manners. And I’ll tell you what I’d do, to punish ’em. There’s + doors under the church in the Square—black doors, leading into black + vaults. Well! I’d open one of those doors, and I’d cram ’em all in, and + then I’d lock the door and through the keyhole I’d blow in pepper.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What would be the good of blowing in pepper?’ asked Charley Hexam. + </p> +<p> + ‘To set ’em sneezing,’ said the person of the house, ‘and make their eyes + water. And when they were all sneezing and inflamed, I’d mock ’em through + the keyhole. Just as they, with their tricks and their manners, mock a + person through a person’s keyhole!’ + </p> +<p> + An uncommonly emphatic shake of her little fist close before her eyes, + seemed to ease the mind of the person of the house; for she added with + recovered composure, ‘No, no, no. No children for me. Give me grown-ups.’ + </p> +<p> + It was difficult to guess the age of this strange creature, for her poor + figure furnished no clue to it, and her face was at once so young and so + old. Twelve, or at the most thirteen, might be near the mark. + </p> +<p> + ‘I always did like grown-ups,’ she went on, ‘and always kept company with + them. So sensible. Sit so quiet. Don’t go prancing and capering about! And + I mean always to keep among none but grown-ups till I marry. I suppose I + must make up my mind to marry, one of these days.’ + </p> +<p> + She listened to a step outside that caught her ear, and there was a soft + knock at the door. Pulling at a handle within her reach, she said, with a + pleased laugh: ‘Now here, for instance, is a grown-up that’s my particular + friend!’ and Lizzie Hexam in a black dress entered the room. + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley! You!’ + </p> +<p> + Taking him to her arms in the old way—of which he seemed a little + ashamed—she saw no one else. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, there, there, Liz, all right my dear. See! Here’s Mr Headstone + come with me.’ + </p> +<p> + Her eyes met those of the schoolmaster, who had evidently expected to see + a very different sort of person, and a murmured word or two of salutation + passed between them. She was a little flurried by the unexpected visit, + and the schoolmaster was not at his ease. But he never was, quite. + </p> +<p> + ‘I told Mr Headstone you were not settled, Liz, but he was so kind as to + take an interest in coming, and so I brought him. How well you look!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley seemed to think so. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! Don’t she, don’t she?’ cried the person of the house, resuming her + occupation, though the twilight was falling fast. ‘I believe you she does! + But go on with your chat, one and all: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “You one two three,<br> + My com-pa-nie,<br> + And don’t mind me;”’ + </p> +<p> + —pointing this impromptu rhyme with three points of her thin + fore-finger. + </p> +<p> + ‘I didn’t expect a visit from you, Charley,’ said his sister. ‘I supposed + that if you wanted to see me you would have sent to me, appointing me to + come somewhere near the school, as I did last time. I saw my brother near + the school, sir,’ to Bradley Headstone, ‘because it’s easier for me to go + there, than for him to come here. I work about midway between the two + places.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t see much of one another,’ said Bradley, not improving in + respect of ease. + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ With a rather sad shake of her head. ‘Charley always does well, Mr + Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He could not do better. I regard his course as quite plain before him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hoped so. I am so thankful. So well done of you, Charley dear! It is + better for me not to come (except when he wants me) between him and his + prospects. You think so, Mr Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + Conscious that his pupil-teacher was looking for his answer, that he + himself had suggested the boy’s keeping aloof from this sister, now seen + for the first time face to face, Bradley Headstone stammered: + </p> +<p> + ‘Your brother is very much occupied, you know. He has to work hard. One + cannot but say that the less his attention is diverted from his work, the + better for his future. When he shall have established himself, why then—it + will be another thing then.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie shook her head again, and returned, with a quiet smile: ‘I always + advised him as you advise him. Did I not, Charley?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, never mind that now,’ said the boy. ‘How are you getting on?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well, Charley. I want for nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have your own room here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh yes. Upstairs. And it’s quiet, and pleasant, and airy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And she always has the use of this room for visitors,’ said the person of + the house, screwing up one of her little bony fists, like an opera-glass, + and looking through it, with her eyes and her chin in that quaint + accordance. ‘Always this room for visitors; haven’t you, Lizzie dear?’ + </p> +<p> + It happened that Bradley Headstone noticed a very slight action of Lizzie + Hexam’s hand, as though it checked the doll’s dressmaker. And it happened + that the latter noticed him in the same instant; for she made a double + eyeglass of her two hands, looked at him through it, and cried, with a + waggish shake of her head: ‘Aha! Caught you spying, did I?’ + </p> +<p> + It might have fallen out so, any way; but Bradley Headstone also noticed + that immediately after this, Lizzie, who had not taken off her bonnet, + rather hurriedly proposed that as the room was getting dark they should go + out into the air. They went out; the visitors saying good-night to the + doll’s dressmaker, whom they left, leaning back in her chair with her arms + crossed, singing to herself in a sweet thoughtful little voice. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll saunter on by the river,’ said Bradley. ‘You will be glad to talk + together.’ + </p> +<p> + As his uneasy figure went on before them among the evening shadows, the + boy said to his sister, petulantly: + </p> +<p> + ‘When are you going to settle yourself in some Christian sort of place, + Liz? I thought you were going to do it before now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very well where I am, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well where you are! I am ashamed to have brought Mr Headstone with + me. How came you to get into such company as that little witch’s?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By chance at first, as it seemed, Charley. But I think it must have been + by something more than chance, for that child—You remember the bills + upon the walls at home?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Confound the bills upon the walls at home! I want to forget the bills + upon the walls at home, and it would be better for you to do the same,’ + grumbled the boy. ‘Well; what of them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This child is the grandchild of the old man.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What old man?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The terrible drunken old man, in the list slippers and the night-cap.’ + </p> +<p> + The boy asked, rubbing his nose in a manner that half expressed vexation + at hearing so much, and half curiosity to hear more: ‘How came you to make + that out? What a girl you are!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The child’s father is employed by the house that employs me; that’s how I + came to know it, Charley. The father is like his own father, a weak + wretched trembling creature, falling to pieces, never sober. But a good + workman too, at the work he does. The mother is dead. This poor ailing + little creature has come to be what she is, surrounded by drunken people + from her cradle—if she ever had one, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t see what you have to do with her, for all that,’ said the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you, Charley?’ + </p> +<p> + The boy looked doggedly at the river. They were at Millbank, and the river + rolled on their left. His sister gently touched him on the shoulder, and + pointed to it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Any compensation—restitution—never mind the word, you know my + meaning. Father’s grave.’ + </p> +<p> + But he did not respond with any tenderness. After a moody silence he broke + out in an ill-used tone: + </p> +<p> + ‘It’ll be a very hard thing, Liz, if, when I am trying my best to get up + in the world, you pull me back.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I, Charley?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, you, Liz. Why can’t you let bygones be bygones? Why can’t you, as Mr + Headstone said to me this very evening about another matter, leave well + alone? What we have got to do, is, to turn our faces full in our new + direction, and keep straight on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And never look back? Not even to try to make some amends?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are such a dreamer,’ said the boy, with his former petulance. ‘It was + all very well when we sat before the fire—when we looked into the + hollow down by the flare—but we are looking into the real world, + now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, we were looking into the real world then, Charley!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I understand what you mean by that, but you are not justified in it. I + don’t want, as I raise myself to shake you off, Liz. I want to carry you + up with me. That’s what I want to do, and mean to do. I know what I owe + you. I said to Mr Headstone this very evening, “After all, my sister got + me here.” Well, then. Don’t pull me back, and hold me down. That’s all I + ask, and surely that’s not unconscionable.’ + </p> +<p> + She had kept a steadfast look upon him, and she answered with composure: + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not here selfishly, Charley. To please myself I could not be too far + from that river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor could you be too far from it to please me. Let us get quit of it + equally. Why should you linger about it any more than I? I give it a wide + berth.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t get away from it, I think,’ said Lizzie, passing her hand across + her forehead. ‘It’s no purpose of mine that I live by it still.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There you go, Liz! Dreaming again! You lodge yourself of your own accord + in a house with a drunken—tailor, I suppose—or something of + the sort, and a little crooked antic of a child, or old person, or + whatever it is, and then you talk as if you were drawn or driven there. + Now, do be more practical.’ + </p> +<p> + She had been practical enough with him, in suffering and striving for him; + but she only laid her hand upon his shoulder—not reproachfully—and + tapped it twice or thrice. She had been used to do so, to soothe him when + she carried him about, a child as heavy as herself. Tears started to his + eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my word, Liz,’ drawing the back of his hand across them, ‘I mean to + be a good brother to you, and to prove that I know what I owe you. All I + say is, that I hope you’ll control your fancies a little, on my account. + I’ll get a school, and then you must come and live with me, and you’ll + have to control your fancies then, so why not now? Now, say I haven’t + vexed you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You haven’t, Charley, you haven’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And say I haven’t hurt you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You haven’t, Charley.’ But this answer was less ready. + </p> +<p> + ‘Say you are sure I didn’t mean to. Come! There’s Mr Headstone stopping + and looking over the wall at the tide, to hint that it’s time to go. Kiss + me, and tell me that you know I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ + </p> +<p> + She told him so, and they embraced, and walked on and came up with the + schoolmaster. + </p> +<p> + ‘But we go your sister’s way,’ he remarked, when the boy told him he was + ready. And with his cumbrous and uneasy action he stiffly offered her his + arm. Her hand was just within it, when she drew it back. He looked round + with a start, as if he thought she had detected something that repelled + her, in the momentary touch. + </p> +<p> + ‘I will not go in just yet,’ said Lizzie. ‘And you have a distance before + you, and will walk faster without me.’ + </p> +<p> + Being by this time close to Vauxhall Bridge, they resolved, in + consequence, to take that way over the Thames, and they left her; Bradley + Headstone giving her his hand at parting, and she thanking him for his + care of her brother. + </p> +<p> + The master and the pupil walked on, rapidly and silently. They had nearly + crossed the bridge, when a gentleman came coolly sauntering towards them, + with a cigar in his mouth, his coat thrown back, and his hands behind him. + Something in the careless manner of this person, and in a certain lazily + arrogant air with which he approached, holding possession of twice as much + pavement as another would have claimed, instantly caught the boy’s + attention. As the gentleman passed the boy looked at him narrowly, and + then stood still, looking after him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Who is it that you stare after?’ asked Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why!’ said the boy, with a confused and pondering frown upon his face, + ‘It <i>is</i> that Wrayburn one!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone scrutinized the boy as closely as the boy had + scrutinized the gentleman. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Headstone, but I couldn’t help wondering what in + the world brought <i>him </i>here!’ + </p> +<p> + Though he said it as if his wonder were past—at the same time + resuming the walk—it was not lost upon the master that he looked + over his shoulder after speaking, and that the same perplexed and + pondering frown was heavy on his face. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t appear to like your friend, Hexam?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I <i>don’t</i> like him,’ said the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He took hold of me by the chin in a precious impertinent way, the first + time I ever saw him,’ said the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘Again, why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For nothing. Or—it’s much the same—because something I + happened to say about my sister didn’t happen to please him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then he knows your sister?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He didn’t at that time,’ said the boy, still moodily pondering. + </p> +<p> + ‘Does now?’ + </p> +<p> + The boy had so lost himself that he looked at Mr Bradley Headstone as they + walked on side by side, without attempting to reply until the question had + been repeated; then he nodded and answered, ‘Yes, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Going to see her, I dare say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It can’t be!’ said the boy, quickly. ‘He doesn’t know her well enough. I + should like to catch him at it!’ + </p> +<p> + When they had walked on for a time, more rapidly than before, the master + said, clasping the pupil’s arm between the elbow and the shoulder with his + hand: + </p> +<p> + ‘You were going to tell me something about that person. What did you say + his name was?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Wrayburn. Mr Eugene Wrayburn. He is what they call a barrister, with + nothing to do. The first time he came to our old place was when my father + was alive. He came on business; not that it was <i>his </i>business—<i>he</i> + never had any business—he was brought by a friend of his.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And the other times?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There was only one other time that I know of. When my father was killed + by accident, he chanced to be one of the finders. He was mooning about, I + suppose, taking liberties with people’s chins; but there he was, somehow. + He brought the news home to my sister early in the morning, and brought + Miss Abbey Potterson, a neighbour, to help break it to her. He was mooning + about the house when I was fetched home in the afternoon—they didn’t + know where to find me till my sister could be brought round sufficiently + to tell them—and then he mooned away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And is that all?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s all, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone gradually released the boy’s arm, as if he were + thoughtful, and they walked on side by side as before. After a long + silence between them, Bradley resumed the talk. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose—your sister—’ with a curious break both before and + after the words, ‘has received hardly any teaching, Hexam?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hardly any, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sacrificed, no doubt, to her father’s objections. I remember them in your + case. Yet—your sister—scarcely looks or speaks like an + ignorant person.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie has as much thought as the best, Mr Headstone. Too much, perhaps, + without teaching. I used to call the fire at home, her books, for she was + always full of fancies—sometimes quite wise fancies, considering—when + she sat looking at it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t like that,’ said Bradley Headstone. + </p> +<p> + His pupil was a little surprised by this striking in with so sudden and + decided and emotional an objection, but took it as a proof of the master’s + interest in himself. It emboldened him to say: + </p> +<p> + ‘I have never brought myself to mention it openly to you, Mr Headstone, + and you’re my witness that I couldn’t even make up my mind to take it from + you before we came out to-night; but it’s a painful thing to think that if + I get on as well as you hope, I shall be—I won’t say disgraced, + because I don’t mean disgraced—but—rather put to the blush if it was + known—by a sister who has been very good to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Bradley Headstone in a slurring way, for his mind scarcely + seemed to touch that point, so smoothly did it glide to another, ‘and + there is this possibility to consider. Some man who had worked his way + might come to admire—your sister—and might even in time bring + himself to think of marrying—your sister—and it would be a sad + drawback and a heavy penalty upon him, if; overcoming in his mind other + inequalities of condition and other considerations against it, this + inequality and this consideration remained in full force.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s much my own meaning, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, ay,’ said Bradley Headstone, ‘but you spoke of a mere brother. Now, + the case I have supposed would be a much stronger case; because an + admirer, a husband, would form the connexion voluntarily, besides being + obliged to proclaim it: which a brother is not. After all, you know, it + must be said of you that you couldn’t help yourself: while it would be + said of him, with equal reason, that he could.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s true, sir. Sometimes since Lizzie was left free by father’s death, + I have thought that such a young woman might soon acquire more than enough + to pass muster. And sometimes I have even thought that perhaps Miss + Peecher—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For the purpose, I would advise Not Miss Peecher,’ Bradley Headstone + struck in with a recurrence of his late decision of manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would you be so kind as to think of it for me, Mr Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Hexam, yes. I’ll think of it. I’ll think maturely of it. I’ll think + well of it.’ + </p> +<p> + Their walk was almost a silent one afterwards, until it ended at the + school-house. There, one of neat Miss Peecher’s little windows, like the + eyes in needles, was illuminated, and in a corner near it sat Mary Anne + watching, while Miss Peecher at the table stitched at the neat little body + she was making up by brown paper pattern for her own wearing. N.B. Miss + Peecher and Miss Peecher’s pupils were not much encouraged in the + unscholastic art of needlework, by Government. + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne with her face to the window, held her arm up. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone coming home, ma’am.’ + </p> +<p> + In about a minute, Mary Anne again hailed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gone in and locked his door, ma’am.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Peecher repressed a sigh as she gathered her work together for bed, + and transfixed that part of her dress where her heart would have been if + she had had the dress on, with a sharp, sharp needle. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> +<h3> + STILL EDUCATIONAL + </h3> +<p> + The person of the house, doll’s dressmaker and manufacturer of ornamental + pincushions and pen-wipers, sat in her quaint little low arm-chair, + singing in the dark, until Lizzie came back. The person of the house had + attained that dignity while yet of very tender years indeed, through being + the only trustworthy person <i>in</i> the house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie,’ said she, breaking off in her song, ‘what’s + the news out of doors?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the news in doors?’ returned Lizzie, playfully smoothing the + bright long fair hair which grew very luxuriant and beautiful on the head + of the doll’s dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me see, said the blind man. Why the last news is, that I don’t mean + to marry your brother.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No-o,’ shaking her head and her chin. ‘Don’t like the boy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you say to his master?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say that I think he’s bespoke.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie finished putting the hair carefully back over the misshapen + shoulders, and then lighted a candle. It showed the little parlour to be + dingy, but orderly and clean. She stood it on the mantelshelf, remote from + the dressmaker’s eyes, and then put the room door open, and the house door + open, and turned the little low chair and its occupant towards the outer + air. It was a sultry night, and this was a fine-weather arrangement when + the day’s work was done. To complete it, she seated herself in a chair by + the side of the little chair, and protectingly drew under her arm the + spare hand that crept up to her. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is what your loving Jenny Wren calls the best time in the day and + night,’ said the person of the house. Her real name was Fanny Cleaver; but + she had long ago chosen to bestow upon herself the appellation of Miss + Jenny Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been thinking,’ Jenny went on, ‘as I sat at work to-day, what a + thing it would be, if I should be able to have your company till I am + married, or at least courted. Because when I am courted, I shall make Him + do some of the things that you do for me. He couldn’t brush my hair like + you do, or help me up and down stairs like you do, and he couldn’t do + anything like you do; but he could take my work home, and he could call + for orders in his clumsy way. And he shall too. <i>I’ll</i> trot him about, I can + tell him!’ + </p> +<p> + Jenny Wren had her personal vanities—happily for her—and no + intentions were stronger in her breast than the various trials and + torments that were, in the fulness of time, to be inflicted upon ‘him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Wherever he may happen to be just at present, or whoever he may happen to + be,’ said Miss Wren, ‘I know his tricks and his manners, and I give him + warning to look out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you think you are rather hard upon him?’ asked her friend, smiling, + and smoothing her hair. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a bit,’ replied the sage Miss Wren, with an air of vast experience. + ‘My dear, they don’t care for you, those fellows, if you’re <i>not </i>hard upon + ’em. But I was saying If I should be able to have your company. Ah! What a + large If! Ain’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have no intention of parting company, Jenny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t say that, or you’ll go directly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Am I so little to be relied upon?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re more to be relied upon than silver and gold.’ As she said it, Miss + Wren suddenly broke off, screwed up her eyes and her chin, and looked + prodigiously knowing. ‘Aha! + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Who comes here?<br> + A Grenadier.<br> + What does he want?<br> + A pot of beer. + </p> +<p> + And nothing else in the world, my dear!’ + </p> +<p> + A man’s figure paused on the pavement at the outer door. ‘Mr Eugene + Wrayburn, ain’t it?’ said Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘So I am told,’ was the answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘You may come in, if you’re good.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not good,’ said Eugene, ‘but I’ll come in.’ + </p> +<p> + He gave his hand to Jenny Wren, and he gave his hand to Lizzie, and he + stood leaning by the door at Lizzie’s side. He had been strolling with his + cigar, he said, (it was smoked out and gone by this time,) and he had + strolled round to return in that direction that he might look in as he + passed. Had she not seen her brother to-night? + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Lizzie, whose manner was a little troubled. + </p> +<p> + Gracious condescension on our brother’s part! Mr Eugene Wrayburn thought + he had passed my young gentleman on the bridge yonder. Who was his friend + with him? + </p> +<p> + ‘The schoolmaster.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To be sure. Looked like it.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie sat so still, that one could not have said wherein the fact of her + manner being troubled was expressed; and yet one could not have doubted + it. Eugene was as easy as ever; but perhaps, as she sat with her eyes cast + down, it might have been rather more perceptible that his attention was + concentrated upon her for certain moments, than its concentration upon any + subject for any short time ever was, elsewhere. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have nothing to report, Lizzie,’ said Eugene. ‘But, having promised you + that an eye should be always kept on Mr Riderhood through my friend + Lightwood, I like occasionally to renew my assurance that I keep my + promise, and keep my friend up to the mark.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should not have doubted it, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Generally, I confess myself a man to be doubted,’ returned Eugene, + coolly, ‘for all that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why are you?’ asked the sharp Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘Because, my dear,’ said the airy Eugene, ‘I am a bad idle dog.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then why don’t you reform and be a good dog?’ inquired Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘Because, my dear,’ returned Eugene, ‘there’s nobody who makes it worth my + while. Have you considered my suggestion, Lizzie?’ This in a lower voice, + but only as if it were a graver matter; not at all to the exclusion of the + person of the house. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have thought of it, Mr Wrayburn, but I have not been able to make up my + mind to accept it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘False pride!’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think not, Mr Wrayburn. I hope not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘False pride!’ repeated Eugene. ‘Why, what else is it? The thing is worth + nothing in itself. The thing is worth nothing to me. What can it be worth + to me? You know the most I make of it. I propose to be of some use to + somebody—which I never was in this world, and never shall be on any + other occasion—by paying some qualified person of your own sex and + age, so many (or rather so few) contemptible shillings, to come here, + certain nights in the week, and give you certain instruction which you + wouldn’t want if you hadn’t been a self-denying daughter and sister. You + know that it’s good to have it, or you would never have so devoted + yourself to your brother’s having it. Then why not have it: especially + when our friend Miss Jenny here would profit by it too? If I proposed to + be the teacher, or to attend the lessons—obviously incongruous!—but + as to that, I might as well be on the other side of the globe, or not on + the globe at all. False pride, Lizzie. Because true pride wouldn’t shame, + or be shamed by, your thankless brother. True pride wouldn’t have + schoolmasters brought here, like doctors, to look at a bad case. True + pride would go to work and do it. You know that, well enough, for you know + that your own true pride would do it to-morrow, if you had the ways and + means which false pride won’t let me supply. Very well. I add no more than + this. Your false pride does wrong to yourself and does wrong to your dead + father.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How to my father, Mr Wrayburn?’ she asked, with an anxious face. + </p> +<p> + ‘How to your father? Can you ask! By perpetuating the consequences of his + ignorant and blind obstinacy. By resolving not to set right the wrong he + did you. By determining that the deprivation to which he condemned you, + and which he forced upon you, shall always rest upon his head.’ + </p> +<p> + It chanced to be a subtle string to sound, in her who had so spoken to her + brother within the hour. It sounded far more forcibly, because of the + change in the speaker for the moment; the passing appearance of + earnestness, complete conviction, injured resentment of suspicion, + generous and unselfish interest. All these qualities, in him usually so + light and careless, she felt to be inseparable from some touch of their + opposites in her own breast. She thought, had she, so far below him and so + different, rejected this disinterestedness, because of some vain misgiving + that he sought her out, or heeded any personal attractions that he might + descry in her? The poor girl, pure of heart and purpose, could not bear to + think it. Sinking before her own eyes, as she suspected herself of it, she + drooped her head as though she had done him some wicked and grievous + injury, and broke into silent tears. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be distressed,’ said Eugene, very, very kindly. ‘I hope it is not I + who have distressed you. I meant no more than to put the matter in its + true light before you; though I acknowledge I did it selfishly enough, for + I am disappointed.’ + </p> +<p> + Disappointed of doing her a service. How else <i>could </i>he be disappointed? + </p> +<p> + ‘It won’t break my heart,’ laughed Eugene; ‘it won’t stay by me + eight-and-forty hours; but I am genuinely disappointed. I had set my fancy + on doing this little thing for you and for our friend Miss Jenny. The + novelty of my doing anything in the least useful, had its charms. I see, + now, that I might have managed it better. I might have affected to do it + wholly for our friend Miss J. I might have got myself up, morally, as Sir + Eugene Bountiful. But upon my soul I can’t make flourishes, and I would + rather be disappointed than try.’ + </p> +<p> + If he meant to follow home what was in Lizzie’s thoughts, it was skilfully + done. If he followed it by mere fortuitous coincidence, it was done by an + evil chance. + </p> +<p> + ‘It opened out so naturally before me,’ said Eugene. ‘The ball seemed so + thrown into my hands by accident! I happen to be originally brought into + contact with you, Lizzie, on those two occasions that you know of. I + happen to be able to promise you that a watch shall be kept upon that + false accuser, Riderhood. I happen to be able to give you some little + consolation in the darkest hour of your distress, by assuring you that I + don’t believe him. On the same occasion I tell you that I am the idlest + and least of lawyers, but that I am better than none, in a case I have + noted down with my own hand, and that you may be always sure of my best + help, and incidentally of Lightwood’s too, in your efforts to clear your + father. So, it gradually takes my fancy that I may help you—so + easily!—to clear your father of that other blame which I mentioned a + few minutes ago, and which is a just and real one. I hope I have explained + myself; for I am heartily sorry to have distressed you. I hate to claim to + mean well, but I really did mean honestly and simply well, and I want you + to know it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have never doubted that, Mr Wrayburn,’ said Lizzie; the more repentant, + the less he claimed. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very glad to hear it. Though if you had quite understood my whole + meaning at first, I think you would not have refused. Do you think you + would?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I—don’t know that I should, Mr Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! Then why refuse now you do understand it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not easy for me to talk to you,’ returned Lizzie, in some confusion, + ‘for you see all the consequences of what I say, as soon as I say it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take all the consequences,’ laughed Eugene, ‘and take away my + disappointment. Lizzie Hexam, as I truly respect you, and as I am your + friend and a poor devil of a gentleman, I protest I don’t even now + understand why you hesitate.’ + </p> +<p> + There was an appearance of openness, trustfulness, unsuspecting + generosity, in his words and manner, that won the poor girl over; and not + only won her over, but again caused her to feel as though she had been + influenced by the opposite qualities, with vanity at their head. + </p> +<p> + ‘I will not hesitate any longer, Mr Wrayburn. I hope you will not think + the worse of me for having hesitated at all. For myself and for Jenny—you + let me answer for you, Jenny dear?’ + </p> +<p> + The little creature had been leaning back, attentive, with her elbows + resting on the elbows of her chair, and her chin upon her hands. Without + changing her attitude, she answered, ‘Yes!’ so suddenly that it rather + seemed as if she had chopped the monosyllable than spoken it. + </p> +<p> + ‘For myself and for Jenny, I thankfully accept your kind offer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Agreed! Dismissed!’ said Eugene, giving Lizzie his hand before lightly + waving it, as if he waved the whole subject away. ‘I hope it may not be + often that so much is made of so little!’ + </p> +<p> + Then he fell to talking playfully with Jenny Wren. ‘I think of setting up + a doll, Miss Jenny,’ he said. + </p> +<p> + ‘You had better not,’ replied the dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are sure to break it. All you children do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But that makes good for trade, you know, Miss Wren,’ returned Eugene. + ‘Much as people’s breaking promises and contracts and bargains of all + sorts, makes good for <i>my</i> trade.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know about that,’ Miss Wren retorted; ‘but you had better by half + set up a pen-wiper, and turn industrious, and use it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, if we were all as industrious as you, little Busy-Body, we should + begin to work as soon as we could crawl, and there would be a bad thing!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you mean,’ returned the little creature, with a flush suffusing her + face, ‘bad for your backs and your legs?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no,’ said Eugene; shocked—to do him justice—at the + thought of trifling with her infirmity. ‘Bad for business, bad for + business. If we all set to work as soon as we could use our hands, it + would be all over with the dolls’ dressmakers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s something in that,’ replied Miss Wren; ‘you have a sort of an + idea in your noddle sometimes.’ Then, in a changed tone; ‘Talking of + ideas, my Lizzie,’ they were sitting side by side as they had sat at + first, ‘I wonder how it happens that when I am work, work, working here, + all alone in the summer-time, I smell flowers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As a commonplace individual, I should say,’ Eugene suggested languidly—for + he was growing weary of the person of the house—‘that you smell + flowers because you <i>do</i> smell flowers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No I don’t,’ said the little creature, resting one arm upon the elbow of + her chair, resting her chin upon that hand, and looking vacantly before + her; ‘this is not a flowery neighbourhood. It’s anything but that. And yet + as I sit at work, I smell miles of flowers. I smell roses, till I think I + see the rose-leaves lying in heaps, bushels, on the floor. I smell fallen + leaves, till I put down my hand—so—and expect to make them + rustle. I smell the white and the pink May in the hedges, and all sorts of + flowers that I never was among. For I have seen very few flowers indeed, + in my life.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pleasant fancies to have, Jenny dear!’ said her friend: with a glance + towards Eugene as if she would have asked him whether they were given the + child in compensation for her losses. + </p> +<p> + ‘So I think, Lizzie, when they come to me. And the birds I hear! Oh!’ + cried the little creature, holding out her hand and looking upward, ‘how + they sing!’ + </p> +<p> + There was something in the face and action for the moment, quite inspired + and beautiful. Then the chin dropped musingly upon the hand again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I dare say my birds sing better than other birds, and my flowers smell + better than other flowers. For when I was a little child,’ in a tone as + though it were ages ago, ‘the children that I used to see early in the + morning were very different from any others that I ever saw. They were not + like me; they were not chilled, anxious, ragged, or beaten; they were + never in pain. They were not like the children of the neighbours; they + never made me tremble all over, by setting up shrill noises, and they + never mocked me. Such numbers of them too! All in white dresses, and with + something shining on the borders, and on their heads, that I have never + been able to imitate with my work, though I know it so well. They used to + come down in long bright slanting rows, and say all together, “Who is this + in pain! Who is this in pain!” When I told them who it was, they answered, + “Come and play with us!” When I said “I never play! I can’t play!” they + swept about me and took me up, and made me light. Then it was all + delicious ease and rest till they laid me down, and said, all together, + “Have patience, and we will come again.” Whenever they came back, I used + to know they were coming before I saw the long bright rows, by hearing + them ask, all together a long way off, “Who is this in pain! Who is this + in pain!” And I used to cry out, “O my blessed children, it’s poor me. + Have pity on me. Take me up and make me light!”’ + </p> +<p> + By degrees, as she progressed in this remembrance, the hand was raised, + the late ecstatic look returned, and she became quite beautiful. Having so + paused for a moment, silent, with a listening smile upon her face, she + looked round and recalled herself. + </p> +<p> + ‘What poor fun you think me; don’t you, Mr Wrayburn? You may well look + tired of me. But it’s Saturday night, and I won’t detain you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That is to say, Miss Wren,’ observed Eugene, quite ready to profit by the + hint, ‘you wish me to go?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, it’s Saturday night,’ she returned, ‘and my child’s coming home. And + my child is a troublesome bad child, and costs me a world of scolding. I + would rather you didn’t see my child.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A doll?’ said Eugene, not understanding, and looking for an explanation. + </p> +<p> + But Lizzie, with her lips only, shaping the two words, ‘Her father,’ he + delayed no longer. He took his leave immediately. At the corner of the + street he stopped to light another cigar, and possibly to ask himself what + he was doing otherwise. If so, the answer was indefinite and vague. Who + knows what he is doing, who is careless what he does! + </p> +<p> + A man stumbled against him as he turned away, who mumbled some maudlin + apology. Looking after this man, Eugene saw him go in at the door by which + he himself had just come out. + </p> +<p> + On the man’s stumbling into the room, Lizzie rose to leave it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t go away, Miss Hexam,’ he said in a submissive manner, speaking + thickly and with difficulty. ‘Don’t fly from unfortunate man in shattered + state of health. Give poor invalid honour of your company. It ain’t—ain’t + catching.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie murmured that she had something to do in her own room, and went + away upstairs. + </p> +<p> + ‘How’s my Jenny?’ said the man, timidly. ‘How’s my Jenny Wren, best of + children, object dearest affections broken-hearted invalid?’ + </p> +<p> + To which the person of the house, stretching out her arm in an attitude of + command, replied with irresponsive asperity: ‘Go along with you! Go along + into your corner! Get into your corner directly!’ + </p> +<p> + The wretched spectacle made as if he would have offered some remonstrance; + but not venturing to resist the person of the house, thought better of it, + and went and sat down on a particular chair of disgrace. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh-h-h!’ cried the person of the house, pointing her little finger, ‘You + bad old boy! Oh-h-h you naughty, wicked creature! <i>What </i>do you mean by it?’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0233m " src="images/0233m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0233m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0233.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-8323621452662450084"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + The shaking figure, unnerved and disjointed from head to foot, put out its + two hands a little way, as making overtures of peace and reconciliation. + Abject tears stood in its eyes, and stained the blotched red of its + cheeks. The swollen lead-coloured under lip trembled with a shameful + whine. The whole indecorous threadbare ruin, from the broken shoes to the + prematurely-grey scanty hair, grovelled. Not with any sense worthy to be + called a sense, of this dire reversal of the places of parent and child, + but in a pitiful expostulation to be let off from a scolding. + </p> +<p> + ‘I know your tricks and your manners,’ cried Miss Wren. ‘I know where + you’ve been to!’ (which indeed it did not require discernment to + discover). ‘Oh, you disgraceful old chap!’ + </p> +<p> + The very breathing of the figure was contemptible, as it laboured and + rattled in that operation, like a blundering clock. + </p> +<p> + ‘Slave, slave, slave, from morning to night,’ pursued the person of the + house, ‘and all for this! <i>What </i>do you mean by it?’ + </p> +<p> + There was something in that emphasized ‘What,’ which absurdly frightened + the figure. As often as the person of the house worked her way round to it—even + as soon as he saw that it was coming—he collapsed in an extra + degree. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish you had been taken up, and locked up,’ said the person of the + house. ‘I wish you had been poked into cells and black holes, and run over + by rats and spiders and beetles. I know their tricks and their manners, + and they’d have tickled you nicely. Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear,’ stammered the father. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ said the person of the house, terrifying him by a grand muster of + her spirits and forces before recurring to the emphatic word, ‘<i>What </i>do you + mean by it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Circumstances over which had no control,’ was the miserable creature’s + plea in extenuation. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>I’ll</i> circumstance you and control you too,’ retorted the person of the + house, speaking with vehement sharpness, ‘if you talk in that way. I’ll + give you in charge to the police, and have you fined five shillings when + you can’t pay, and then I won’t pay the money for you, and you’ll be + transported for life. How should you like to be transported for life?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shouldn’t like it. Poor shattered invalid. Trouble nobody long,’ cried + the wretched figure. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come, come!’ said the person of the house, tapping the table near her in + a business-like manner, and shaking her head and her chin; ‘you know what + you’ve got to do. Put down your money this instant.’ + </p> +<p> + The obedient figure began to rummage in its pockets. + </p> +<p> + ‘Spent a fortune out of your wages, I’ll be bound!’ said the person of the + house. ‘Put it here! All you’ve got left! Every farthing!’ + </p> +<p> + Such a business as he made of collecting it from his dogs’-eared pockets; + of expecting it in this pocket, and not finding it; of not expecting it in + that pocket, and passing it over; of finding no pocket where that other + pocket ought to be! + </p> +<p> + ‘Is this all?’ demanded the person of the house, when a confused heap of + pence and shillings lay on the table. + </p> +<p> + ‘Got no more,’ was the rueful answer, with an accordant shake of the head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me make sure. You know what you’ve got to do. Turn all your pockets + inside out, and leave ’em so!’ cried the person of the house. + </p> +<p> + He obeyed. And if anything could have made him look more abject or more + dismally ridiculous than before, it would have been his so displaying + himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here’s but seven and eightpence halfpenny!’ exclaimed Miss Wren, after + reducing the heap to order. ‘Oh, you prodigal old son! Now you shall be + starved.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, don’t starve me,’ he urged, whimpering. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you were treated as you ought to be,’ said Miss Wren, ‘you’d be fed + upon the skewers of cats’ meat;—only the skewers, after the cats had + had the meat. As it is, go to bed.’ + </p> +<p> + When he stumbled out of the corner to comply, he again put out both his + hands, and pleaded: ‘Circumstances over which no control—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Get along with you to bed!’ cried Miss Wren, snapping him up. ‘Don’t + speak to me. I’m not going to forgive you. Go to bed this moment!’ + </p> +<p> + Seeing another emphatic ‘What’ upon its way, he evaded it by complying and + was heard to shuffle heavily up stairs, and shut his door, and throw + himself on his bed. Within a little while afterwards, Lizzie came down. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall we have our supper, Jenny dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! bless us and save us, we need have something to keep us going,’ + returned Miss Jenny, shrugging her shoulders. + </p> +<p> + Lizzie laid a cloth upon the little bench (more handy for the person of + the house than an ordinary table), and put upon it such plain fare as they + were accustomed to have, and drew up a stool for herself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now for supper! What are you thinking of, Jenny darling?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was thinking,’ she returned, coming out of a deep study, ‘what I would + do to Him, if he should turn out a drunkard.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, but he won’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘You’ll take care of that, beforehand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall try to take care of it beforehand, but he might deceive me. Oh, + my dear, all those fellows with their tricks and their manners do + deceive!’ With the little fist in full action. ‘And if so, I tell you what + I think I’d do. When he was asleep, I’d make a spoon red hot, and I’d have + some boiling liquor bubbling in a saucepan, and I’d take it out hissing, + and I’d open his mouth with the other hand—or perhaps he’d sleep + with his mouth ready open—and I’d pour it down his throat, and + blister it and choke him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure you would do no such horrible thing,’ said Lizzie. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shouldn’t I? Well; perhaps I shouldn’t. But I should like to!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am equally sure you would not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not even like to? Well, you generally know best. Only you haven’t always + lived among it as I have lived—and your back isn’t bad and your legs + are not queer.’ + </p> +<p> + As they went on with their supper, Lizzie tried to bring her round to that + prettier and better state. But, the charm was broken. The person of the + house was the person of a house full of sordid shames and cares, with an + upper room in which that abased figure was infecting even innocent sleep + with sensual brutality and degradation. The doll’s dressmaker had become a + little quaint shrew; of the world, worldly; of the earth, earthy. + </p> +<p> + Poor doll’s dressmaker! How often so dragged down by hands that should + have raised her up; how often so misdirected when losing her way on the + eternal road, and asking guidance! Poor, poor little doll’s dressmaker! + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> +<h3> + A PIECE OF WORK + </h3> +<p> + Britannia, sitting meditating one fine day (perhaps in the attitude in + which she is presented on the copper coinage), discovers all of a sudden + that she wants Veneering in Parliament. It occurs to her that Veneering is + ‘a representative man’—which cannot in these times be doubted—and + that Her Majesty’s faithful Commons are incomplete without him. So, + Britannia mentions to a legal gentleman of her acquaintance that if + Veneering will ‘put down’ five thousand pounds, he may write a couple of + initial letters after his name at the extremely cheap rate of two thousand + five hundred per letter. It is clearly understood between Britannia and + the legal gentleman that nobody is to take up the five thousand pounds, + but that being put down they will disappear by magical conjuration and + enchantment. + </p> +<p> + The legal gentleman in Britannia’s confidence going straight from that + lady to Veneering, thus commissioned, Veneering declares himself highly + flattered, but requires breathing time to ascertain ‘whether his friends + will rally round him.’ Above all things, he says, it behoves him to be + clear, at a crisis of this importance, ‘whether his friends will rally + round him.’ The legal gentleman, in the interests of his client cannot + allow much time for this purpose, as the lady rather thinks she knows + somebody prepared to put down six thousand pounds; but he says he will + give Veneering four hours. + </p> +<p> + Veneering then says to Mrs Veneering, ‘We must work,’ and throws himself + into a Hansom cab. Mrs Veneering in the same moment relinquishes baby to + Nurse; presses her aquiline hands upon her brow, to arrange the throbbing + intellect within; orders out the carriage; and repeats in a distracted and + devoted manner, compounded of Ophelia and any self-immolating female of + antiquity you may prefer, ‘We must work.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering having instructed his driver to charge at the Public in the + streets, like the Life-Guards at Waterloo, is driven furiously to Duke + Street, Saint James’s. There, he finds Twemlow in his lodgings, fresh from + the hands of a secret artist who has been doing something to his hair with + yolks of eggs. The process requiring that Twemlow shall, for two hours + after the application, allow his hair to stick upright and dry gradually, + he is in an appropriate state for the receipt of startling intelligence; + looking equally like the Monument on Fish Street Hill, and King Priam on a + certain incendiary occasion not wholly unknown as a neat point from the + classics. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Twemlow,’ says Veneering, grasping both his hands, ‘as the dearest + and oldest of my friends—’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Then there can be no more doubt about it in future,’ thinks Twemlow, + ‘and I <i>am</i>!’) + </p> +<p> + ‘—Are you of opinion that your cousin, Lord Snigsworth, would give + his name as a Member of my Committee? I don’t go so far as to ask for his + lordship; I only ask for his name. Do you think he would give me his + name?’ + </p> +<p> + In sudden low spirits, Twemlow replies, ‘I don’t think he would.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My political opinions,’ says Veneering, not previously aware of having + any, ‘are identical with those of Lord Snigsworth, and perhaps as a matter + of public feeling and public principle, Lord Snigsworth would give me his + name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It might be so,’ says Twemlow; ‘but—’ And perplexedly scratching + his head, forgetful of the yolks of eggs, is the more discomfited by being + reminded how stickey he is. + </p> +<p> + ‘Between such old and intimate friends as ourselves,’ pursues Veneering, + ‘there should in such a case be no reserve. Promise me that if I ask you + to do anything for me which you don’t like to do, or feel the slightest + difficulty in doing, you will freely tell me so.’ + </p> +<p> + This, Twemlow is so kind as to promise, with every appearance of most + heartily intending to keep his word. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would you have any objection to write down to Snigsworthy Park, and ask + this favour of Lord Snigsworth? Of course if it were granted I should know + that I owed it solely to you; while at the same time you would put it to + Lord Snigsworth entirely upon public grounds. Would you have any + objection?’ + </p> +<p> + Says Twemlow, with his hand to his forehead, ‘You have exacted a promise + from me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have, my dear Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you expect me to keep it honourably.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do, my dear Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>On</i> the whole, then;—observe me,’ urges Twemlow with great nicety, + as if; in the case of its having been off the whole, he would have done it + directly—‘<i>on</i> the whole, I must beg you to excuse me from addressing + any communication to Lord Snigsworth.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless you, bless you!’ says Veneering; horribly disappointed, but + grasping him by both hands again, in a particularly fervent manner. + </p> +<p> + It is not to be wondered at that poor Twemlow should decline to inflict a + letter on his noble cousin (who has gout in the temper), inasmuch as his + noble cousin, who allows him a small annuity on which he lives, takes it + out of him, as the phrase goes, in extreme severity; putting him, when he + visits at Snigsworthy Park, under a kind of martial law; ordaining that he + shall hang his hat on a particular peg, sit on a particular chair, talk on + particular subjects to particular people, and perform particular + exercises: such as sounding the praises of the Family Varnish (not to say + Pictures), and abstaining from the choicest of the Family Wines unless + expressly invited to partake. + </p> +<p> + ‘One thing, however, I <i>can </i>do for you,’ says Twemlow; ‘and that is, work + for you.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering blesses him again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll go,’ says Twemlow, in a rising hurry of spirits, ‘to the club;—let + us see now; what o’clock is it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Twenty minutes to eleven.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll be,’ says Twemlow, ‘at the club by ten minutes to twelve, and I’ll + never leave it all day.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering feels that his friends are rallying round him, and says, ‘Thank + you, thank you. I knew I could rely upon you. I said to Anastatia before + leaving home just now to come to you—of course the first friend I + have seen on a subject so momentous to me, my dear Twemlow—I said to + Anastatia, “We must work.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You were right, you were right,’ replies Twemlow. ‘Tell me. Is <i>she</i> + working?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She is,’ says Veneering. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good!’ cries Twemlow, polite little gentleman that he is. ‘A woman’s tact + is invaluable. To have the dear sex with us, is to have everything with + us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you have not imparted to me,’ remarks Veneering, ‘what you think of + my entering the House of Commons?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think,’ rejoins Twemlow, feelingly, ‘that it is the best club in + London.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering again blesses him, plunges down stairs, rushes into his Hansom, + and directs the driver to be up and at the British Public, and to charge + into the City. + </p> +<p> + Meanwhile Twemlow, in an increasing hurry of spirits, gets his hair down + as well as he can—which is not very well; for, after these glutinous + applications it is restive, and has a surface on it somewhat in the nature + of pastry—and gets to the club by the appointed time. At the club he + promptly secures a large window, writing materials, and all the + newspapers, and establishes himself; immoveable, to be respectfully + contemplated by Pall Mall. Sometimes, when a man enters who nods to him, + Twemlow says, ‘Do you know Veneering?’ Man says, ‘No; member of the club?’ + Twemlow says, ‘Yes. Coming in for Pocket-Breaches.’ Man says, ‘Ah! Hope he + may find it worth the money!’ yawns, and saunters out. Towards six o’clock + of the afternoon, Twemlow begins to persuade himself that he is positively + jaded with work, and thinks it much to be regretted that he was not + brought up as a Parliamentary agent. + </p> +<p> + From Twemlow’s, Veneering dashes at Podsnap’s place of business. Finds + Podsnap reading the paper, standing, and inclined to be oratorical over + the astonishing discovery he has made, that Italy is not England. + Respectfully entreats Podsnap’s pardon for stopping the flow of his words + of wisdom, and informs him what is in the wind. Tells Podsnap that their + political opinions are identical. Gives Podsnap to understand that he, + Veneering, formed his political opinions while sitting at the feet of him, + Podsnap. Seeks earnestly to know whether Podsnap ‘will rally round him?’ + </p> +<p> + Says Podsnap, something sternly, ‘Now, first of all, Veneering, do you ask + my advice?’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering falters that as so old and so dear a friend— + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, yes, that’s all very well,’ says Podsnap; ‘but have you made up your + mind to take this borough of Pocket-Breaches on its own terms, or do you + ask my opinion whether you shall take it or leave it alone?’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering repeats that his heart’s desire and his soul’s thirst are, that + Podsnap shall rally round him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I’ll be plain with you, Veneering,’ says Podsnap, knitting his + brows. ‘You will infer that I don’t care about Parliament, from the fact + of my not being there?’ + </p> +<p> + Why, of course Veneering knows that! Of course Veneering knows that if + Podsnap chose to go there, he would be there, in a space of time that + might be stated by the light and thoughtless as a jiffy. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not worth my while,’ pursues Podsnap, becoming handsomely + mollified, ‘and it is the reverse of important to my position. But it is + not my wish to set myself up as law for another man, differently situated. + You think it <i>is</i> worth <i>your </i>while, and IS important to <i>your </i>position. Is + that so?’ + </p> +<p> + Always with the proviso that Podsnap will rally round him, Veneering + thinks it is so. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you don’t ask my advice,’ says Podsnap. ‘Good. Then I won’t give it + you. But you do ask my help. Good. Then I’ll work for you.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering instantly blesses him, and apprises him that Twemlow is already + working. Podsnap does not quite approve that anybody should be already + working—regarding it rather in the light of a liberty—but + tolerates Twemlow, and says he is a well-connected old female who will do + no harm. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have nothing very particular to do to-day,’ adds Podsnap, ‘and I’ll mix + with some influential people. I had engaged myself to dinner, but I’ll + send Mrs Podsnap and get off going myself; and I’ll dine with you at + eight. It’s important we should report progress and compare notes. Now, + let me see. You ought to have a couple of active energetic fellows, of + gentlemanly manners, to go about.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering, after cogitation, thinks of Boots and Brewer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Whom I have met at your house,’ says Podsnap. ‘Yes. They’ll do very well. + Let them each have a cab, and go about.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering immediately mentions what a blessing he feels it, to possess a + friend capable of such grand administrative suggestions, and really is + elated at this going about of Boots and Brewer, as an idea wearing an + electioneering aspect and looking desperately like business. Leaving + Podsnap, at a hand-gallop, he descends upon Boots and Brewer, who + enthusiastically rally round him by at once bolting off in cabs, taking + opposite directions. Then Veneering repairs to the legal gentleman in + Britannia’s confidence, and with him transacts some delicate affairs of + business, and issues an address to the independent electors of + Pocket-Breaches, announcing that he is coming among them for their + suffrages, as the mariner returns to the home of his early childhood: a + phrase which is none the worse for his never having been near the place in + his life, and not even now distinctly knowing where it is. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Veneering, during the same eventful hours, is not idle. No sooner does + the carriage turn out, all complete, than she turns into it, all complete, + and gives the word ‘To Lady Tippins’s.’ That charmer dwells over a + staymaker’s in the Belgravian Borders, with a life-size model in the + window on the ground floor of a distinguished beauty in a blue petticoat, + stay-lace in hand, looking over her shoulder at the town in innocent + surprise. As well she may, to find herself dressing under the + circumstances. + </p> +<p> + Lady Tippins at home? Lady Tippins at home, with the room darkened, and + her back (like the lady’s at the ground-floor window, though for a + different reason) cunningly turned towards the light. Lady Tippins is so + surprised by seeing her dear Mrs Veneering so early—in the middle of + the night, the pretty creature calls it—that her eyelids almost go + up, under the influence of that emotion. + </p> +<p> + To whom Mrs Veneering incoherently communicates, how that Veneering has + been offered Pocket-Breaches; how that it is the time for rallying round; + how that Veneering has said ‘We must work’; how that she is here, as a + wife and mother, to entreat Lady Tippins to work; how that the carriage is + at Lady Tippins’s disposal for purposes of work; how that she, + proprietress of said bran new elegant equipage, will return home on foot—on + bleeding feet if need be—to work (not specifying how), until she + drops by the side of baby’s crib. + </p> +<p> + ‘My love,’ says Lady Tippins, ‘compose yourself; we’ll bring him in.’ And + Lady Tippins really does work, and work the Veneering horses too; for she + clatters about town all day, calling upon everybody she knows, and showing + her entertaining powers and green fan to immense advantage, by rattling on + with, My dear soul, what do you think? What do you suppose me to be? + You’ll never guess. I’m pretending to be an electioneering agent. And for + what place of all places? Pocket-Breaches. And why? Because the dearest + friend I have in the world has bought it. And who is the dearest friend I + have in the world? A man of the name of Veneering. Not omitting his wife, + who is the other dearest friend I have in the world; and I positively + declare I forgot their baby, who is the other. And we are carrying on this + little farce to keep up appearances, and isn’t it refreshing! Then, my + precious child, the fun of it is that nobody knows who these Veneerings + are, and that they know nobody, and that they have a house out of the + Tales of the Genii, and give dinners out of the Arabian Nights. Curious to + see ’em, my dear? Say you’ll know ’em. Come and dine with ’em. They shan’t + bore you. Say who shall meet you. We’ll make up a party of our own, and + I’ll engage that they shall not interfere with you for one single moment. + You really ought to see their gold and silver camels. I call their + dinner-table, the Caravan. Do come and dine with my Veneerings, my own + Veneerings, my exclusive property, the dearest friends I have in the + world! And above all, my dear, be sure you promise me your vote and + interest and all sorts of plumpers for Pocket-Breaches; for we couldn’t + think of spending sixpence on it, my love, and can only consent to be + brought in by the spontaneous thingummies of the incorruptible + whatdoyoucallums. + </p> +<p> + Now, the point of view seized by the bewitching Tippins, that this same + working and rallying round is to keep up appearances, may have something + in it, but not all the truth. More is done, or considered to be done—which + does as well—by taking cabs, and ‘going about,’ than the fair + Tippins knew of. Many vast vague reputations have been made, solely by + taking cabs and going about. This particularly obtains in all + Parliamentary affairs. Whether the business in hand be to get a man in, or + get a man out, or get a man over, or promote a railway, or jockey a + railway, or what else, nothing is understood to be so effectual as + scouring nowhere in a violent hurry—in short, as taking cabs and + going about. + </p> +<p> + Probably because this reason is in the air, Twemlow, far from being + singular in his persuasion that he works like a Trojan, is capped by + Podsnap, who in his turn is capped by Boots and Brewer. At eight o’clock + when all these hard workers assemble to dine at Veneering’s, it is + understood that the cabs of Boots and Brewer mustn’t leave the door, but + that pails of water must be brought from the nearest baiting-place, and + cast over the horses’ legs on the very spot, lest Boots and Brewer should + have instant occasion to mount and away. Those fleet messengers require + the Analytical to see that their hats are deposited where they can be laid + hold of at an instant’s notice; and they dine (remarkably well though) + with the air of firemen in charge of an engine, expecting intelligence of + some tremendous conflagration. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Veneering faintly remarks, as dinner opens, that many such days would + be too much for her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Many such days would be too much for all of us,’ says Podsnap; ‘but we’ll + bring him in!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We’ll bring him in,’ says Lady Tippins, sportively waving her green fan. + ‘Veneering for ever!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We’ll bring him in!’ says Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + ‘We’ll bring him in!’ say Boots and Brewer. + </p> +<p> + Strictly speaking, it would be hard to show cause why they should not + bring him in, Pocket-Breaches having closed its little bargain, and there + being no opposition. However, it is agreed that they must ‘work’ to the + last, and that if they did not work, something indefinite would happen. It + is likewise agreed that they are all so exhausted with the work behind + them, and need to be so fortified for the work before them, as to require + peculiar strengthening from Veneering’s cellar. Therefore, the Analytical + has orders to produce the cream of the cream of his binns, and therefore + it falls out that rallying becomes rather a trying word for the occasion; + Lady Tippins being observed gamely to inculcate the necessity of rearing + round their dear Veneering; Podsnap advocating roaring round him; Boots + and Brewer declaring their intention of reeling round him; and Veneering + thanking his devoted friends one and all, with great emotion, for + rarullarulling round him. + </p> +<p> + In these inspiring moments, Brewer strikes out an idea which is the great + hit of the day. He consults his watch, and says (like Guy Fawkes), he’ll + now go down to the House of Commons and see how things look. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll keep about the lobby for an hour or so,’ says Brewer, with a deeply + mysterious countenance, ‘and if things look well, I won’t come back, but + will order my cab for nine in the morning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You couldn’t do better,’ says Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + Veneering expresses his inability ever to acknowledge this last service. + Tears stand in Mrs Veneering’s affectionate eyes. Boots shows envy, loses + ground, and is regarded as possessing a second-rate mind. They all crowd + to the door, to see Brewer off. Brewer says to his driver, ‘Now, is your + horse pretty fresh?’ eyeing the animal with critical scrutiny. Driver says + he’s as fresh as butter. ‘Put him along then,’ says Brewer; ‘House of + Commons.’ Driver darts up, Brewer leaps in, they cheer him as he departs, + and Mr Podsnap says, ‘Mark my words, sir. That’s a man of resource; that’s + a man to make his way in life.’ + </p> +<p> + When the time comes for Veneering to deliver a neat and appropriate + stammer to the men of Pocket-Breaches, only Podsnap and Twemlow accompany + him by railway to that sequestered spot. The legal gentleman is at the + Pocket-Breaches Branch Station, with an open carriage with a printed bill + ‘Veneering for ever’ stuck upon it, as if it were a wall; and they + gloriously proceed, amidst the grins of the populace, to a feeble little + town hall on crutches, with some onions and bootlaces under it, which the + legal gentleman says are a Market; and from the front window of that + edifice Veneering speaks to the listening earth. In the moment of his + taking his hat off, Podsnap, as per agreement made with Mrs Veneering, + telegraphs to that wife and mother, ‘He’s up.’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering loses his way in the usual No Thoroughfares of speech, and + Podsnap and Twemlow say Hear hear! and sometimes, when he can’t by any + means back himself out of some very unlucky No Thoroughfare, ‘He-a-a-r + He-a-a-r!’ with an air of facetious conviction, as if the ingenuity of the + thing gave them a sensation of exquisite pleasure. But Veneering makes two + remarkably good points; so good, that they are supposed to have been + suggested to him by the legal gentleman in Britannia’s confidence, while + briefly conferring on the stairs. + </p> +<p> + Point the first is this. Veneering institutes an original comparison + between the country, and a ship; pointedly calling the ship, the Vessel of + the State, and the Minister the Man at the Helm. Veneering’s object is to + let Pocket-Breaches know that his friend on his right (Podsnap) is a man + of wealth. Consequently says he, ‘And, gentlemen, when the timbers of the + Vessel of the State are unsound and the Man at the Helm is unskilful, + would those great Marine Insurers, who rank among our world-famed + merchant-princes—would they insure her, gentlemen? Would they + underwrite her? Would they incur a risk in her? Would they have confidence + in her? Why, gentlemen, if I appealed to my honourable friend upon my + right, himself among the greatest and most respected of that great and + much respected class, he would answer No!’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0245m " src="images/0245m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0245m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0245.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4860573156892035973"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + Point the second is this. The telling fact that Twemlow is related to Lord + Snigsworth, must be let off. Veneering supposes a state of public affairs + that probably never could by any possibility exist (though this is not + quite certain, in consequence of his picture being unintelligible to + himself and everybody else), and thus proceeds. ‘Why, gentlemen, if I were + to indicate such a programme to any class of society, I say it would be + received with derision, would be pointed at by the finger of scorn. If I + indicated such a programme to any worthy and intelligent tradesman of your + town—nay, I will here be personal, and say Our town—what would + he reply? He would reply, “Away with it!” That’s what <i>he</i> would reply, + gentlemen. In his honest indignation he would reply, “Away with it!” But + suppose I mounted higher in the social scale. Suppose I drew my arm + through the arm of my respected friend upon my left, and, walking with him + through the ancestral woods of his family, and under the spreading beeches + of Snigsworthy Park, approached the noble hall, crossed the courtyard, + entered by the door, went up the staircase, and, passing from room to + room, found myself at last in the august presence of my friend’s near + kinsman, Lord Snigsworth. And suppose I said to that venerable earl, “My + Lord, I am here before your lordship, presented by your lordship’s near + kinsman, my friend upon my left, to indicate that programme;” what would + his lordship answer? Why, he would answer, “Away with it!” That’s what he + would answer, gentlemen. “Away with it!” Unconsciously using, in his + exalted sphere, the exact language of the worthy and intelligent tradesman + of our town, the near and dear kinsman of my friend upon my left would + answer in his wrath, “Away with it!”’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering finishes with this last success, and Mr Podsnap telegraphs to + Mrs Veneering, ‘He’s down.’ + </p> +<p> + Then, dinner is had at the Hotel with the legal gentleman, and then there + are in due succession, nomination, and declaration. Finally Mr Podsnap + telegraphs to Mrs Veneering, ‘We have brought him in.’ + </p> +<p> + Another gorgeous dinner awaits them on their return to the Veneering + halls, and Lady Tippins awaits them, and Boots and Brewer await them. + There is a modest assertion on everybody’s part that everybody + single-handed ‘brought him in’; but in the main it is conceded by all, + that that stroke of business on Brewer’s part, in going down to the house + that night to see how things looked, was the master-stroke. + </p> +<p> + A touching little incident is related by Mrs Veneering, in the course of + the evening. Mrs Veneering is habitually disposed to be tearful, and has + an extra disposition that way after her late excitement. Previous to + withdrawing from the dinner-table with Lady Tippins, she says, in a + pathetic and physically weak manner: + </p> +<p> + ‘You will all think it foolish of me, I know, but I must mention it. As I + sat by Baby’s crib, on the night before the election, Baby was very uneasy + in her sleep.’ + </p> +<p> + The Analytical chemist, who is gloomily looking on, has diabolical + impulses to suggest ‘Wind’ and throw up his situation; but represses them. + </p> +<p> + ‘After an interval almost convulsive, Baby curled her little hands in one + another and smiled.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Veneering stopping here, Mr Podsnap deems it incumbent on him to say: + ‘I wonder why!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Could it be, I asked myself,’ says Mrs Veneering, looking about her for + her pocket-handkerchief, ‘that the Fairies were telling Baby that her papa + would shortly be an M. P.?’ + </p> +<p> + So overcome by the sentiment is Mrs Veneering, that they all get up to + make a clear stage for Veneering, who goes round the table to the rescue, + and bears her out backward, with her feet impressively scraping the + carpet: after remarking that her work has been too much for her strength. + Whether the fairies made any mention of the five thousand pounds, and it + disagreed with Baby, is not speculated upon. + </p> +<p> + Poor little Twemlow, quite done up, is touched, and still continues + touched after he is safely housed over the livery-stable yard in Duke + Street, Saint James’s. But there, upon his sofa, a tremendous + consideration breaks in upon the mild gentleman, putting all softer + considerations to the rout. + </p> +<p> + ‘Gracious heavens! Now I have time to think of it, he never saw one of his + constituents in all his days, until we saw them together!’ + </p> +<p> + After having paced the room in distress of mind, with his hand to his + forehead, the innocent Twemlow returns to his sofa and moans: + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall either go distracted, or die, of this man. He comes upon me too + late in life. I am not strong enough to bear him!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> +<h3> + CUPID PROMPTED + </h3> +<p> + To use the cold language of the world, Mrs Alfred Lammle rapidly improved + the acquaintance of Miss Podsnap. To use the warm language of Mrs Lammle, + she and her sweet Georgiana soon became one: in heart, in mind, in + sentiment, in soul. + </p> +<p> + Whenever Georgiana could escape from the thraldom of Podsnappery; could + throw off the bedclothes of the custard-coloured phaeton, and get up; + could shrink out of the range of her mother’s rocking, and (so to speak) + rescue her poor little frosty toes from being rocked over; she repaired to + her friend, Mrs Alfred Lammle. Mrs Podsnap by no means objected. As a + consciously ‘splendid woman,’ accustomed to overhear herself so + denominated by elderly osteologists pursuing their studies in dinner + society, Mrs Podsnap could dispense with her daughter. Mr Podsnap, for his + part, on being informed where Georgiana was, swelled with patronage of the + Lammles. That they, when unable to lay hold of him, should respectfully + grasp at the hem of his mantle; that they, when they could not bask in the + glory of him the sun, should take up with the pale reflected light of the + watery young moon his daughter; appeared quite natural, becoming, and + proper. It gave him a better opinion of the discretion of the Lammles than + he had heretofore held, as showing that they appreciated the value of the + connexion. So, Georgiana repairing to her friend, Mr Podsnap went out to + dinner, and to dinner, and yet to dinner, arm in arm with Mrs Podsnap: + settling his obstinate head in his cravat and shirt-collar, much as if he + were performing on the Pandean pipes, in his own honour, the triumphal + march, See the conquering Podsnap comes, Sound the trumpets, beat the + drums! + </p> +<p> + It was a trait in Mr Podsnap’s character (and in one form or other it will + be generally seen to pervade the depths and shallows of Podsnappery), that + he could not endure a hint of disparagement of any friend or acquaintance + of his. ‘How dare you?’ he would seem to say, in such a case. ‘What do you + mean? I have licensed this person. This person has taken out <i>my</i> + certificate. Through this person you strike at me, Podsnap the Great. And + it is not that I particularly care for the person’s dignity, but that I do + most particularly care for Podsnap’s.’ Hence, if any one in his presence + had presumed to doubt the responsibility of the Lammles, he would have + been mightily huffed. Not that any one did, for Veneering, M.P., was + always the authority for their being very rich, and perhaps believed it. + As indeed he might, if he chose, for anything he knew of the matter. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Lammle’s house in Sackville Street, Piccadilly, was but a + temporary residence. It has done well enough, they informed their friends, + for Mr Lammle when a bachelor, but it would not do now. So, they were + always looking at palatial residences in the best situations, and always + very nearly taking or buying one, but never quite concluding the bargain. + Hereby they made for themselves a shining little reputation apart. People + said, on seeing a vacant palatial residence, ‘The very thing for the + Lammles!’ and wrote to the Lammles about it, and the Lammles always went + to look at it, but unfortunately it never exactly answered. In short, they + suffered so many disappointments, that they began to think it would be + necessary to build a palatial residence. And hereby they made another + shining reputation; many persons of their acquaintance becoming by + anticipation dissatisfied with their own houses, and envious of the + non-existent Lammle structure. + </p> +<p> + The handsome fittings and furnishings of the house in Sackville Street + were piled thick and high over the skeleton up-stairs, and if it ever + whispered from under its load of upholstery, ‘Here I am in the closet!’ it + was to very few ears, and certainly never to Miss Podsnap’s. What Miss + Podsnap was particularly charmed with, next to the graces of her friend, + was the happiness of her friend’s married life. This was frequently their + theme of conversation. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure,’ said Miss Podsnap, ‘Mr Lammle is like a lover. At least I—I + should think he was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Georgiana, darling!’ said Mrs Lammle, holding up a forefinger, ‘Take + care!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my goodness me!’ exclaimed Miss Podsnap, reddening. ‘What have I said + now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Alfred, you know,’ hinted Mrs Lammle, playfully shaking her head. ‘You + were never to say Mr Lammle any more, Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Alfred, then. I am glad it’s no worse. I was afraid I had said + something shocking. I am always saying something wrong to ma.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To me, Georgiana dearest?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, not to you; you are not ma. I wish you were.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle bestowed a sweet and loving smile upon her friend, which Miss + Podsnap returned as she best could. They sat at lunch in Mrs Lammle’s own + boudoir. + </p> +<p> + ‘And so, dearest Georgiana, Alfred is like your notion of a lover?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t say that, Sophronia,’ Georgiana replied, beginning to conceal her + elbows. ‘I haven’t any notion of a lover. The dreadful wretches that ma + brings up at places to torment me, are not lovers. I only mean that Mr—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Again, dearest Georgiana?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That Alfred—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sounds much better, darling.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—Loves you so. He always treats you with such delicate gallantry + and attention. Now, don’t he?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, my dear,’ said Mrs Lammle, with a rather singular expression + crossing her face. ‘I believe that he loves me, fully as much as I love + him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, what happiness!’ exclaimed Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘But do you know, my Georgiana,’ Mrs Lammle resumed presently, ‘that there + is something suspicious in your enthusiastic sympathy with Alfred’s + tenderness?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good gracious no, I hope not!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Doesn’t it rather suggest,’ said Mrs Lammle archly, ‘that my Georgiana’s + little heart is—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh don’t!’ Miss Podsnap blushingly besought her. ‘Please don’t! I assure + you, Sophronia, that I only praise Alfred, because he is your husband and + so fond of you.’ + </p> +<p> + Sophronia’s glance was as if a rather new light broke in upon her. It + shaded off into a cool smile, as she said, with her eyes upon her lunch, + and her eyebrows raised: + </p> +<p> + ‘You are quite wrong, my love, in your guess at my meaning. What I + insinuated was, that my Georgiana’s little heart was growing conscious of + a vacancy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no,’ said Georgiana. ‘I wouldn’t have anybody say anything to me + in that way for I don’t know how many thousand pounds.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In what way, my Georgiana?’ inquired Mrs Lammle, still smiling coolly + with her eyes upon her lunch, and her eyebrows raised. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>You </i>know,’ returned poor little Miss Podsnap. ‘I think I should go out of + my mind, Sophronia, with vexation and shyness and detestation, if anybody + did. It’s enough for me to see how loving you and your husband are. That’s + a different thing. I couldn’t bear to have anything of that sort going on + with myself. I should beg and pray to—to have the person taken away + and trampled upon.’ + </p> +<p> + Ah! here was Alfred. Having stolen in unobserved, he playfully leaned on + the back of Sophronia’s chair, and, as Miss Podsnap saw him, put one of + Sophronia’s wandering locks to his lips, and waved a kiss from it towards + Miss Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is this about husbands and detestations?’ inquired the captivating + Alfred. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, they say,’ returned his wife, ‘that listeners never hear any good of + themselves; though you—but pray how long have you been here, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This instant arrived, my own.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I may go on—though if you had been here but a moment or two + sooner, you would have heard your praises sounded by Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only, if they were to be called praises at all which I really don’t think + they were,’ explained Miss Podsnap in a flutter, ‘for being so devoted to + Sophronia.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia!’ murmured Alfred. ‘My life!’ and kissed her hand. In return + for which she kissed his watch-chain. + </p> +<p> + ‘But it was not I who was to be taken away and trampled upon, I hope?’ + said Alfred, drawing a seat between them. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ask Georgiana, my soul,’ replied his wife. + </p> +<p> + Alfred touchingly appealed to Georgiana. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, it was nobody,’ replied Miss Podsnap. ‘It was nonsense.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But if you are determined to know, Mr Inquisitive Pet, as I suppose you + are,’ said the happy and fond Sophronia, smiling, ‘it was any one who + should venture to aspire to Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, my love,’ remonstrated Mr Lammle, becoming graver, ‘you are + not serious?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Alfred, my love,’ returned his wife, ‘I dare say Georgiana was not, but I + am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now this,’ said Mr Lammle, ‘shows the accidental combinations that there + are in things! Could you believe, my Ownest, that I came in here with the + name of an aspirant to our Georgiana on my lips?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course I could believe, Alfred,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘anything that <i>you</i> + told me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You dear one! And I anything that <i>you </i>told me.’ + </p> +<p> + How delightful those interchanges, and the looks accompanying them! Now, + if the skeleton up-stairs had taken that opportunity, for instance, of + calling out ‘Here I am, suffocating in the closet!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I give you my honour, my dear Sophronia—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I know what that is, love,’ said she. + </p> +<p> + ‘You do, my darling—that I came into the room all but uttering young + Fledgeby’s name. Tell Georgiana, dearest, about young Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh no, don’t! Please don’t!’ cried Miss Podsnap, putting her fingers in + her ears. ‘I’d rather not.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle laughed in her gayest manner, and, removing her Georgiana’s + unresisting hands, and playfully holding them in her own at arms’ length, + sometimes near together and sometimes wide apart, went on: + </p> +<p> + ‘You must know, you dearly beloved little goose, that once upon a time + there was a certain person called young Fledgeby. And this young Fledgeby, + who was of an excellent family and rich, was known to two other certain + persons, dearly attached to one another and called Mr and Mrs Alfred + Lammle. So this young Fledgeby, being one night at the play, there sees + with Mr and Mrs Alfred Lammle, a certain heroine called—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, don’t say Georgiana Podsnap!’ pleaded that young lady almost in + tears. ‘Please don’t. Oh do do do say somebody else! Not Georgiana + Podsnap. Oh don’t, don’t, don’t!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No other,’ said Mrs Lammle, laughing airily, and, full of affectionate + blandishments, opening and closing Georgiana’s arms like a pair of + compasses, ‘than my little Georgiana Podsnap. So this young Fledgeby goes + to that Alfred Lammle and says—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh ple-e-e-ease don’t!’ Georgiana, as if the supplication were being + squeezed out of her by powerful compression. ‘I so hate him for saying + it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For saying what, my dear?’ laughed Mrs Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, I don’t know what he said,’ cried Georgiana wildly, ‘but I hate him + all the same for saying it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ said Mrs Lammle, always laughing in her most captivating way, + ‘the poor young fellow only says that he is stricken all of a heap.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, what shall I ever do!’ interposed Georgiana. ‘Oh my goodness what a + Fool he must be!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—And implores to be asked to dinner, and to make a fourth at the + play another time. And so he dines to-morrow and goes to the Opera with + us. That’s all. Except, my dear Georgiana—and what will you think of + this!—that he is infinitely shyer than you, and far more afraid of + you than you ever were of any one in all your days!’ + </p> +<p> + In perturbation of mind Miss Podsnap still fumed and plucked at her hands + a little, but could not help laughing at the notion of anybody’s being + afraid of her. With that advantage, Sophronia flattered her and rallied + her more successfully, and then the insinuating Alfred flattered her and + rallied her, and promised that at any moment when she might require that + service at his hands, he would take young Fledgeby out and trample on him. + Thus it remained amicably understood that young Fledgeby was to come to + admire, and that Georgiana was to come to be admired; and Georgiana with + the entirely new sensation in her breast of having that prospect before + her, and with many kisses from her dear Sophronia in present possession, + preceded six feet one of discontented footman (an amount of the article + that always came for her when she walked home) to her father’s dwelling. + </p> +<p> + The happy pair being left together, Mrs Lammle said to her husband: + </p> +<p> + ‘If I understand this girl, sir, your dangerous fascinations have produced + some effect upon her. I mention the conquest in good time because I + apprehend your scheme to be more important to you than your vanity.’ + </p> +<p> + There was a mirror on the wall before them, and her eyes just caught him + smirking in it. She gave the reflected image a look of the deepest + disdain, and the image received it in the glass. Next moment they quietly + eyed each other, as if they, the principals, had had no part in that + expressive transaction. + </p> +<p> + It may have been that Mrs Lammle tried in some manner to excuse her + conduct to herself by depreciating the poor little victim of whom she + spoke with acrimonious contempt. It may have been too that in this she did + not quite succeed, for it is very difficult to resist confidence, and she + knew she had Georgiana’s. + </p> +<p> + Nothing more was said between the happy pair. Perhaps conspirators who + have once established an understanding, may not be over-fond of repeating + the terms and objects of their conspiracy. Next day came; came Georgiana; + and came Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + Georgiana had by this time seen a good deal of the house and its + frequenters. As there was a certain handsome room with a billiard table in + it—on the ground floor, eating out a backyard—which might have + been Mr Lammle’s office, or library, but was called by neither name, but + simply Mr Lammle’s room, so it would have been hard for stronger female + heads than Georgiana’s to determine whether its frequenters were men of + pleasure or men of business. Between the room and the men there were + strong points of general resemblance. Both were too gaudy, too slangey, + too odorous of cigars, and too much given to horseflesh; the latter + characteristic being exemplified in the room by its decorations, and in + the men by their conversation. High-stepping horses seemed necessary to + all Mr Lammle’s friends—as necessary as their transaction of + business together in a gipsy way at untimely hours of the morning and + evening, and in rushes and snatches. There were friends who seemed to be + always coming and going across the Channel, on errands about the Bourse, + and Greek and Spanish and India and Mexican and par and premium and + discount and three quarters and seven eighths. There were other friends + who seemed to be always lolling and lounging in and out of the City, on + questions of the Bourse, and Greek and Spanish and India and Mexican and + par and premium and discount and three quarters and seven eighths. They + were all feverish, boastful, and indefinably loose; and they all ate and + drank a great deal; and made bets in eating and drinking. They all spoke + of sums of money, and only mentioned the sums and left the money to be + understood; as ‘five and forty thousand Tom,’ or ‘Two hundred and + twenty-two on every individual share in the lot Joe.’ They seemed to + divide the world into two classes of people; people who were making + enormous fortunes, and people who were being enormously ruined. They were + always in a hurry, and yet seemed to have nothing tangible to do; except a + few of them (these, mostly asthmatic and thick-lipped) who were for ever + demonstrating to the rest, with gold pencil-cases which they could hardly + hold because of the big rings on their forefingers, how money was to be + made. Lastly, they all swore at their grooms, and the grooms were not + quite as respectful or complete as other men’s grooms; seeming somehow to + fall short of the groom point as their masters fell short of the gentleman + point. + </p> +<p> + Young Fledgeby was none of these. Young Fledgeby had a peachy cheek, or a + cheek compounded of the peach and the red red red wall on which it grows, + and was an awkward, sandy-haired, small-eyed youth, exceeding slim (his + enemies would have said lanky), and prone to self-examination in the + articles of whisker and moustache. While feeling for the whisker that he + anxiously expected, Fledgeby underwent remarkable fluctuations of spirits, + ranging along the whole scale from confidence to despair. There were times + when he started, as exclaiming ‘By Jupiter here it is at last!’ There were + other times when, being equally depressed, he would be seen to shake his + head, and give up hope. To see him at those periods leaning on a + chimneypiece, like as on an urn containing the ashes of his ambition, with + the cheek that would not sprout, upon the hand on which that cheek had + forced conviction, was a distressing sight. + </p> +<p> + Not so was Fledgeby seen on this occasion. Arrayed in superb raiment, with + his opera hat under his arm, he concluded his self-examination hopefully, + awaited the arrival of Miss Podsnap, and talked small-talk with Mrs + Lammle. In facetious homage to the smallness of his talk, and the jerky + nature of his manners, Fledgeby’s familiars had agreed to confer upon him + (behind his back) the honorary title of Fascination Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Warm weather, Mrs Lammle,’ said Fascination Fledgeby. Mrs Lammle thought + it scarcely as warm as it had been yesterday. ‘Perhaps not,’ said + Fascination Fledgeby, with great quickness of repartee; ‘but I expect it + will be devilish warm to-morrow.’ + </p> +<p> + He threw off another little scintillation. ‘Been out to-day, Mrs Lammle?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle answered, for a short drive. + </p> +<p> + ‘Some people,’ said Fascination Fledgeby, ‘are accustomed to take long + drives; but it generally appears to me that if they make ’em too long, + they overdo it.’ + </p> +<p> + Being in such feather, he might have surpassed himself in his next sally, + had not Miss Podsnap been announced. Mrs Lammle flew to embrace her + darling little Georgy, and when the first transports were over, presented + Mr Fledgeby. Mr Lammle came on the scene last, for he was always late, and + so were the frequenters always late; all hands being bound to be made + late, by private information about the Bourse, and Greek and Spanish and + India and Mexican and par and premium and discount and three quarters and + seven eighths. + </p> +<p> + A handsome little dinner was served immediately, and Mr Lammle sat + sparkling at his end of the table, with his servant behind his chair, and + <i>his </i>ever-lingering doubts upon the subject of his wages behind himself. Mr + Lammle’s utmost powers of sparkling were in requisition to-day, for + Fascination Fledgeby and Georgiana not only struck each other speechless, + but struck each other into astonishing attitudes; Georgiana, as she sat + facing Fledgeby, making such efforts to conceal her elbows as were totally + incompatible with the use of a knife and fork; and Fledgeby, as he sat + facing Georgiana, avoiding her countenance by every possible device, and + betraying the discomposure of his mind in feeling for his whiskers with + his spoon, his wine glass, and his bread. + </p> +<p> + So, Mr and Mrs Alfred Lammle had to prompt, and this is how they prompted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Georgiana,’ said Mr Lammle, low and smiling, and sparkling all over, like + a harlequin; ‘you are not in your usual spirits. Why are you not in your + usual spirits, Georgiana?’ + </p> +<p> + Georgiana faltered that she was much the same as she was in general; she + was not aware of being different. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not aware of being different!’ retorted Mr Alfred Lammle. ‘You, my dear + Georgiana! Who are always so natural and unconstrained with us! Who are + such a relief from the crowd that are all alike! Who are the embodiment of + gentleness, simplicity, and reality!’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Podsnap looked at the door, as if she entertained confused thoughts + of taking refuge from these compliments in flight. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I will be judged,’ said Mr Lammle, raising his voice a little, ‘by + my friend Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh <i>don’t!</i>’ Miss Podsnap faintly ejaculated: when Mrs Lammle took the + prompt-book. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, Alfred, my dear, but I cannot part with Mr Fledgeby + quite yet; you must wait for him a moment. Mr Fledgeby and I are engaged + in a personal discussion.’ + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby must have conducted it on his side with immense art, for no + appearance of uttering one syllable had escaped him. + </p> +<p> + ‘A personal discussion, Sophronia, my love? What discussion? Fledgeby, I + am jealous. What discussion, Fledgeby?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall I tell him, Mr Fledgeby?’ asked Mrs Lammle. + </p> +<p> + Trying to look as if he knew anything about it, Fascination replied, ‘Yes, + tell him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We were discussing then,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘if you <i>must </i>know, Alfred, + whether Mr Fledgeby was in his usual flow of spirits.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, that is the very point, Sophronia, that Georgiana and I were + discussing as to herself! What did Fledgeby say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, a likely thing, sir, that I am going to tell you everything, and be + told nothing! What did Georgiana say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Georgiana said she was doing her usual justice to herself to-day, and I + said she was not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Precisely,’ exclaimed Mrs Lammle, ‘what I said to Mr Fledgeby.’ Still, it + wouldn’t do. They would not look at one another. No, not even when the + sparkling host proposed that the quartette should take an appropriately + sparkling glass of wine. Georgiana looked from her wine glass at Mr Lammle + and at Mrs Lammle; but mightn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, look at Mr + Fledgeby. Fascination looked from his wine glass at Mrs Lammle and at Mr + Lammle; but mightn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, look at Georgiana. + </p> +<p> + More prompting was necessary. Cupid must be brought up to the mark. The + manager had put him down in the bill for the part, and he must play it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, my dear,’ said Mr Lammle, ‘I don’t like the colour of your + dress.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I appeal,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘to Mr Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I,’ said Mr Lammle, ‘to Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Georgy, my love,’ remarked Mrs Lammle aside to her dear girl, ‘I rely + upon you not to go over to the opposition. Now, Mr Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + Fascination wished to know if the colour were not called rose-colour? Yes, + said Mr Lammle; actually he knew everything; it was really rose-colour. + Fascination took rose-colour to mean the colour of roses. (In this he was + very warmly supported by Mr and Mrs Lammle.) Fascination had heard the + term Queen of Flowers applied to the Rose. Similarly, it might be said + that the dress was the Queen of Dresses. (‘Very happy, Fledgeby!’ from Mr + Lammle.) Notwithstanding, Fascination’s opinion was that we all had our + eyes—or at least a large majority of us—and that—and—and + his farther opinion was several ands, with nothing beyond them. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Mr Fledgeby,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘to desert me in that way! Oh, Mr + Fledgeby, to abandon my poor dear injured rose and declare for blue!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Victory, victory!’ cried Mr Lammle; ‘your dress is condemned, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But what,’ said Mrs Lammle, stealing her affectionate hand towards her + dear girl’s, ‘what does Georgy say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She says,’ replied Mr Lammle, interpreting for her, ‘that in her eyes you + look well in any colour, Sophronia, and that if she had expected to be + embarrassed by so pretty a compliment as she has received, she would have + worn another colour herself. Though I tell her, in reply, that it would + not have saved her, for whatever colour she had worn would have been + Fledgeby’s colour. But what does Fledgeby say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He says,’ replied Mrs Lammle, interpreting for him, and patting the back + of her dear girl’s hand, as if it were Fledgeby who was patting it, ‘that + it was no compliment, but a little natural act of homage that he couldn’t + resist. And,’ expressing more feeling as if it were more feeling on the + part of Fledgeby, ‘he is right, he is right!’ + </p> +<p> + Still, no not even now, would they look at one another. Seeming to gnash + his sparkling teeth, studs, eyes, and buttons, all at once, Mr Lammle + secretly bent a dark frown on the two, expressive of an intense desire to + bring them together by knocking their heads together. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you heard this opera of to-night, Fledgeby?’ he asked, stopping very + short, to prevent himself from running on into ‘confound you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why no, not exactly,’ said Fledgeby. ‘In fact I don’t know a note of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Neither do you know it, Georgy?’ said Mrs Lammle. ‘N-no,’ replied + Georgiana, faintly, under the sympathetic coincidence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, then,’ said Mrs Lammle, charmed by the discovery which flowed from + the premises, ‘you neither of you know it! How charming!’ + </p> +<p> + Even the craven Fledgeby felt that the time was now come when he must + strike a blow. He struck it by saying, partly to Mrs Lammle and partly to + the circumambient air, ‘I consider myself very fortunate in being reserved + by—’ + </p> +<p> + As he stopped dead, Mr Lammle, making that gingerous bush of his whiskers + to look out of, offered him the word ‘Destiny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I wasn’t going to say that,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I was going to say Fate. + I consider it very fortunate that Fate has written in the book of—in + the book which is its own property—that I should go to that opera + for the first time under the memorable circumstances of going with Miss + Podsnap.’ + </p> +<p> + To which Georgiana replied, hooking her two little fingers in one another, + and addressing the tablecloth, ‘Thank you, but I generally go with no one + but you, Sophronia, and I like that very much.’ + </p> +<p> + Content perforce with this success for the time, Mr Lammle let Miss + Podsnap out of the room, as if he were opening her cage door, and Mrs + Lammle followed. Coffee being presently served up stairs, he kept a watch + on Fledgeby until Miss Podsnap’s cup was empty, and then directed him with + his finger (as if that young gentleman were a slow Retriever) to go and + fetch it. This feat he performed, not only without failure, but even with + the original embellishment of informing Miss Podsnap that green tea was + considered bad for the nerves. Though there Miss Podsnap unintentionally + threw him out by faltering, ‘Oh, is it indeed? How does it act?’ Which he + was not prepared to elucidate. + </p> +<p> + The carriage announced, Mrs Lammle said; ‘Don’t mind me, Mr Fledgeby, my + skirts and cloak occupy both my hands, take Miss Podsnap.’ And he took + her, and Mrs Lammle went next, and Mr Lammle went last, savagely following + his little flock, like a drover. + </p> +<p> + But he was all sparkle and glitter in the box at the Opera, and there he + and his dear wife made a conversation between Fledgeby and Georgiana in + the following ingenious and skilful manner. They sat in this order: Mrs + Lammle, Fascination Fledgeby, Georgiana, Mr Lammle. Mrs Lammle made + leading remarks to Fledgeby, only requiring monosyllabic replies. Mr + Lammle did the like with Georgiana. At times Mrs Lammle would lean forward + to address Mr Lammle to this purpose. + </p> +<p> + ‘Alfred, my dear, Mr Fledgeby very justly says, apropos of the last scene, + that true constancy would not require any such stimulant as the stage + deems necessary.’ To which Mr Lammle would reply, ‘Ay, Sophronia, my love, + but as Georgiana has observed to me, the lady had no sufficient reason to + know the state of the gentleman’s affections.’ To which Mrs Lammle would + rejoin, ‘Very true, Alfred; but Mr Fledgeby points out,’ this. To which + Alfred would demur: ‘Undoubtedly, Sophronia, but Georgiana acutely + remarks,’ that. Through this device the two young people conversed at + great length and committed themselves to a variety of delicate sentiments, + without having once opened their lips, save to say yes or no, and even + that not to one another. + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby took his leave of Miss Podsnap at the carriage door, and the + Lammles dropped her at her own home, and on the way Mrs Lammle archly + rallied her, in her fond and protecting manner, by saying at intervals, + ‘Oh little Georgiana, little Georgiana!’ Which was not much; but the tone + added, ‘You have enslaved your Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + And thus the Lammles got home at last, and the lady sat down moody and + weary, looking at her dark lord engaged in a deed of violence with a + bottle of soda-water as though he were wringing the neck of some unlucky + creature and pouring its blood down his throat. As he wiped his dripping + whiskers in an ogreish way, he met her eyes, and pausing, said, with no + very gentle voice: + </p> +<p> + ‘Well?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was such an absolute Booby necessary to the purpose?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know what I am doing. He is no such dolt as you suppose.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A genius, perhaps?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You sneer, perhaps; and you take a lofty air upon yourself perhaps! But I + tell you this:—when that young fellow’s interest is concerned, he + holds as tight as a horse-leech. When money is in question with that young + fellow, he is a match for the Devil.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is he a match for you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is. Almost as good a one as you thought me for you. He has no quality + of youth in him, but such as you have seen to-day. Touch him upon money, + and you touch no booby then. He really is a dolt, I suppose, in other + things; but it answers his one purpose very well.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Has she money in her own right in any case?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay! she has money in her own right in any case. You have done so well + to-day, Sophronia, that I answer the question, though you know I object to + any such questions. You have done so well to-day, Sophronia, that you must + be tired. Get to bed.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> +<h3> + MERCURY PROMPTING + </h3> +<p> + Fledgeby deserved Mr Alfred Lammle’s eulogium. He was the meanest cur + existing, with a single pair of legs. And instinct (a word we all clearly + understand) going largely on four legs, and reason always on two, meanness + on four legs never attains the perfection of meanness on two. + </p> +<p> + The father of this young gentleman had been a money-lender, who had + transacted professional business with the mother of this young gentleman, + when he, the latter, was waiting in the vast dark ante-chambers of the + present world to be born. The lady, a widow, being unable to pay the + money-lender, married him; and in due course, Fledgeby was summoned out of + the vast dark ante-chambers to come and be presented to the + Registrar-General. Rather a curious speculation how Fledgeby would + otherwise have disposed of his leisure until Doomsday. + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby’s mother offended her family by marrying Fledgeby’s father. It is + one of the easiest achievements in life to offend your family when your + family want to get rid of you. Fledgeby’s mother’s family had been very + much offended with her for being poor, and broke with her for becoming + comparatively rich. Fledgeby’s mother’s family was the Snigsworth family. + She had even the high honour to be cousin to Lord Snigsworth—so many + times removed that the noble Earl would have had no compunction in + removing her one time more and dropping her clean outside the cousinly + pale; but cousin for all that. + </p> +<p> + Among her pre-matrimonial transactions with Fledgeby’s father, Fledgeby’s + mother had raised money of him at a great disadvantage on a certain + reversionary interest. The reversion falling in soon after they were + married, Fledgeby’s father laid hold of the cash for his separate use and + benefit. This led to subjective differences of opinion, not to say + objective interchanges of boot-jacks, backgammon boards, and other such + domestic missiles, between Fledgeby’s father and Fledgeby’s mother, and + those led to Fledgeby’s mother spending as much money as she could, and to + Fledgeby’s father doing all he couldn’t to restrain her. Fledgeby’s + childhood had been, in consequence, a stormy one; but the winds and the + waves had gone down in the grave, and Fledgeby flourished alone. + </p> +<p> + He lived in chambers in the Albany, did Fledgeby, and maintained a spruce + appearance. But his youthful fire was all composed of sparks from the + grindstone; and as the sparks flew off, went out, and never warmed + anything, be sure that Fledgeby had his tools at the grindstone, and + turned it with a wary eye. + </p> +<p> + Mr Alfred Lammle came round to the Albany to breakfast with Fledgeby. + Present on the table, one scanty pot of tea, one scanty loaf, two scanty + pats of butter, two scanty rashers of bacon, two pitiful eggs, and an + abundance of handsome china bought a secondhand bargain. + </p> +<p> + ‘What did you think of Georgiana?’ asked Mr Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, I’ll tell you,’ said Fledgeby, very deliberately. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do, my boy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You misunderstand me,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I don’t mean I’ll tell you that. I + mean I’ll tell you something else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me anything, old fellow!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, but there you misunderstand me again,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I mean I’ll + tell you nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle sparkled at him, but frowned at him too. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here,’ said Fledgeby. ‘You’re deep and you’re ready. Whether I am + deep or not, never mind. I am not ready. But I can do one thing, Lammle, I + can hold my tongue. And I intend always doing it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a long-headed fellow, Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘May be, or may not be. If I am a short-tongued fellow, it may amount to + the same thing. Now, Lammle, I am never going to answer questions.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow, it was the simplest question in the world.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never mind. It seemed so, but things are not always what they seem. I saw + a man examined as a witness in Westminster Hall. Questions put to him + seemed the simplest in the world, but turned out to be anything rather + than that, after he had answered ’em. Very well. Then he should have held + his tongue. If he had held his tongue he would have kept out of scrapes + that he got into.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I had held my tongue, you would never have seen the subject of my + question,’ remarked Lammle, darkening. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Lammle,’ said Fascination Fledgeby, calmly feeling for his whisker, + ‘it won’t do. I won’t be led on into a discussion. I can’t manage a + discussion. But I can manage to hold my tongue.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Can?’ Mr Lammle fell back upon propitiation. ‘I should think you could! + Why, when these fellows of our acquaintance drink and you drink with them, + the more talkative they get, the more silent you get. The more they let + out, the more you keep in.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t object, Lammle,’ returned Fledgeby, with an internal chuckle, ‘to + being understood, though I object to being questioned. That certainly <i>is</i> + the way I do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And when all the rest of us are discussing our ventures, none of us ever + know what a single venture of yours is!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And none of you ever will from me, Lammle,’ replied Fledgeby, with + another internal chuckle; ‘that certainly <i>is</i> the way I do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why of course it is, I know!’ rejoined Lammle, with a flourish of + frankness, and a laugh, and stretching out his hands as if to show the + universe a remarkable man in Fledgeby. ‘If I hadn’t known it of my + Fledgeby, should I have proposed our little compact of advantage, to my + Fledgeby?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ remarked Fascination, shaking his head slyly. ‘But I am not to be + got at in that way. I am not vain. That sort of vanity don’t pay, Lammle. + No, no, no. Compliments only make me hold my tongue the more.’ + </p> +<p> + Alfred Lammle pushed his plate away (no great sacrifice under the + circumstances of there being so little in it), thrust his hands in his + pockets, leaned back in his chair, and contemplated Fledgeby in silence. + Then he slowly released his left hand from its pocket, and made that bush + of his whiskers, still contemplating him in silence. Then he slowly broke + silence, and slowly said: ‘What—the—Dev-il is this fellow + about this morning?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, look here, Lammle,’ said Fascination Fledgeby, with the meanest of + twinkles in his meanest of eyes: which were too near together, by the way: + ‘look here, Lammle; I am very well aware that I didn’t show to advantage + last night, and that you and your wife—who, I consider, is a very + clever woman and an agreeable woman—did. I am not calculated to show + to advantage under that sort of circumstances. I know very well you two + did show to advantage, and managed capitally. But don’t you on that + account come talking to me as if I was your doll and puppet, because I am + not. + </p> +<p> + ‘And all this,’ cried Alfred, after studying with a look the meanness that + was fain to have the meanest help, and yet was so mean as to turn upon it: + ‘all this because of one simple natural question!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You should have waited till I thought proper to say something about it of + myself. I don’t like your coming over me with your Georgianas, as if you + was her proprietor and mine too.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, when you are in the gracious mind to say anything about it of + yourself,’ retorted Lammle, ‘pray do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have done it. I have said you managed capitally. You and your wife + both. If you’ll go on managing capitally, I’ll go on doing my part. Only + don’t crow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I crow!’ exclaimed Lammle, shrugging his shoulders. + </p> +<p> + ‘Or,’ pursued the other—‘or take it in your head that people are + your puppets because they don’t come out to advantage at the particular + moments when you do, with the assistance of a very clever and agreeable + wife. All the rest keep on doing, and let Mrs Lammle keep on doing. Now, I + have held my tongue when I thought proper, and I have spoken when I + thought proper, and there’s an end of that. And now the question is,’ + proceeded Fledgeby, with the greatest reluctance, ‘will you have another + egg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I won’t,’ said Lammle, shortly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps you’re right and will find yourself better without it,’ replied + Fascination, in greatly improved spirits. ‘To ask you if you’ll have + another rasher would be unmeaning flattery, for it would make you thirsty + all day. Will you have some more bread and butter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I won’t,’ repeated Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I will,’ said Fascination. And it was not a mere retort for the + sound’s sake, but was a cheerful cogent consequence of the refusal; for if + Lammle had applied himself again to the loaf, it would have been so + heavily visited, in Fledgeby’s opinion, as to demand abstinence from + bread, on his part, for the remainder of that meal at least, if not for + the whole of the next. + </p> +<p> + Whether this young gentleman (for he was but three-and-twenty) combined + with the miserly vice of an old man, any of the open-handed vices of a + young one, was a moot point; so very honourably did he keep his own + counsel. He was sensible of the value of appearances as an investment, and + liked to dress well; but he drove a bargain for every moveable about him, + from the coat on his back to the china on his breakfast-table; and every + bargain by representing somebody’s ruin or somebody’s loss, acquired a + peculiar charm for him. It was a part of his avarice to take, within + narrow bounds, long odds at races; if he won, he drove harder bargains; if + he lost, he half starved himself until next time. Why money should be so + precious to an Ass too dull and mean to exchange it for any other + satisfaction, is strange; but there is no animal so sure to get laden with + it, as the Ass who sees nothing written on the face of the earth and sky + but the three letters L. S. D.—not Luxury, Sensuality, + Dissoluteness, which they often stand for, but the three dry letters. Your + concentrated Fox is seldom comparable to your concentrated Ass in + money-breeding. + </p> +<p> + Fascination Fledgeby feigned to be a young gentleman living on his means, + but was known secretly to be a kind of outlaw in the bill-broking line, + and to put money out at high interest in various ways. His circle of + familiar acquaintance, from Mr Lammle round, all had a touch of the + outlaw, as to their rovings in the merry greenwood of Jobbery Forest, + lying on the outskirts of the Share-Market and the Stock Exchange. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose you, Lammle,’ said Fledgeby, eating his bread and butter, + ‘always did go in for female society?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Always,’ replied Lammle, glooming considerably under his late treatment. + </p> +<p> + ‘Came natural to you, eh?’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘The sex were pleased to like me, sir,’ said Lammle sulkily, but with the + air of a man who had not been able to help himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Made a pretty good thing of marrying, didn’t you?’ asked Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + The other smiled (an ugly smile), and tapped one tap upon his nose. + </p> +<p> + ‘My late governor made a mess of it,’ said Fledgeby. ‘But Geor—is + the right name Georgina or Georgiana?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was thinking yesterday, I didn’t know there was such a name. I thought + it must end in ina.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you play—if you can—the Concertina, you know,’ replied + Fledgeby, meditating very slowly. ‘And you have—when you catch it—the + Scarlatina. And you can come down from a balloon in a parach—no you + can’t though. Well, say Georgeute—I mean Georgiana.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You were going to remark of Georgiana—?’ Lammle moodily hinted, + after waiting in vain. + </p> +<p> + ‘I was going to remark of Georgiana, sir,’ said Fledgeby, not at all + pleased to be reminded of his having forgotten it, ‘that she don’t seem to + be violent. Don’t seem to be of the pitching-in order.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She has the gentleness of the dove, Mr Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course you’ll say so,’ replied Fledgeby, sharpening, the moment his + interest was touched by another. ‘But you know, the real look-out is this:—what + I say, not what you say. I say having my late governor and my late mother + in my eye—that Georgiana don’t seem to be of the pitching-in order.’ + </p> +<p> + The respected Mr Lammle was a bully, by nature and by usual practice. + Perceiving, as Fledgeby’s affronts cumulated, that conciliation by no + means answered the purpose here, he now directed a scowling look into + Fledgeby’s small eyes for the effect of the opposite treatment. Satisfied + by what he saw there, he burst into a violent passion and struck his hand + upon the table, making the china ring and dance. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a very offensive fellow, sir,’ cried Mr Lammle, rising. ‘You are + a highly offensive scoundrel. What do you mean by this behaviour?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say!’ remonstrated Fledgeby. ‘Don’t break out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a very offensive fellow sir,’ repeated Mr Lammle. ‘You are a + highly offensive scoundrel!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I <i>say</i>, you know!’ urged Fledgeby, quailing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you coarse and vulgar vagabond!’ said Mr Lammle, looking fiercely + about him, ‘if your servant was here to give me sixpence of your money to + get my boots cleaned afterwards—for you are not worth the + expenditure—I’d kick you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No you wouldn’t,’ pleaded Fledgeby. ‘I am sure you’d think better of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you what, Mr Fledgeby,’ said Lammle advancing on him. ‘Since you + presume to contradict me, I’ll assert myself a little. Give me your nose!’ + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby covered it with his hand instead, and said, retreating, ‘I beg + you won’t!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give me your nose, sir,’ repeated Lammle. + </p> +<p> + Still covering that feature and backing, Mr Fledgeby reiterated + (apparently with a severe cold in his head), ‘I beg, I beg, you won’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And this fellow,’ exclaimed Lammle, stopping and making the most of his + chest—‘This fellow presumes on my having selected him out of all the + young fellows I know, for an advantageous opportunity! This fellow + presumes on my having in my desk round the corner, his dirty note of hand + for a wretched sum payable on the occurrence of a certain event, which + event can only be of my and my wife’s bringing about! This fellow, + Fledgeby, presumes to be impertinent to me, Lammle. Give me your nose + sir!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No! Stop! I beg your pardon,’ said Fledgeby, with humility. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you say, sir?’ demanded Mr Lammle, seeming too furious to + understand. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ repeated Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Repeat your words louder, sir. The just indignation of a gentleman has + sent the blood boiling to my head. I don’t hear you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say,’ repeated Fledgeby, with laborious explanatory politeness, ‘I beg + your pardon.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle paused. ‘As a man of honour,’ said he, throwing himself into a + chair, ‘I am disarmed.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby also took a chair, though less demonstratively, and by slow + approaches removed his hand from his nose. Some natural diffidence + assailed him as to blowing it, so shortly after its having assumed a + personal and delicate, not to say public, character; but he overcame his + scruples by degrees, and modestly took that liberty under an implied + protest. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lammle,’ he said sneakingly, when that was done, ‘I hope we are friends + again?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Fledgeby,’ returned Lammle, ‘say no more.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must have gone too far in making myself disagreeable,’ said Fledgeby, + ‘but I never intended it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Say no more, say no more!’ Mr Lammle repeated in a magnificent tone. + ‘Give me your’—Fledgeby started—‘hand.’ + </p> +<p> + They shook hands, and on Mr Lammle’s part, in particular, there ensued + great geniality. For, he was quite as much of a dastard as the other, and + had been in equal danger of falling into the second place for good, when + he took heart just in time, to act upon the information conveyed to him by + Fledgeby’s eye. + </p> +<p> + The breakfast ended in a perfect understanding. Incessant machinations + were to be kept at work by Mr and Mrs Lammle; love was to be made for + Fledgeby, and conquest was to be insured to him; he on his part very + humbly admitting his defects as to the softer social arts, and entreating + to be backed to the utmost by his two able coadjutors. + </p> +<p> + Little recked Mr Podsnap of the traps and toils besetting his Young + Person. He regarded her as safe within the Temple of Podsnappery, hiding + the fulness of time when she, Georgiana, should take him, Fitz-Podsnap, + who with all his worldly goods should her endow. It would call a blush + into the cheek of his standard Young Person to have anything to do with + such matters save to take as directed, and with worldly goods as per + settlement to be endowed. Who giveth this woman to be married to this man? + I, Podsnap. Perish the daring thought that any smaller creation should + come between! + </p> +<p> + It was a public holiday, and Fledgeby did not recover his spirits or his + usual temperature of nose until the afternoon. Walking into the City in + the holiday afternoon, he walked against a living stream setting out of + it; and thus, when he turned into the precincts of St Mary Axe, he found a + prevalent repose and quiet there. A yellow overhanging plaster-fronted + house at which he stopped was quiet too. The blinds were all drawn down, + and the inscription Pubsey and Co. seemed to doze in the counting-house + window on the ground-floor giving on the sleepy street. + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby knocked and rang, and Fledgeby rang and knocked, but no one came. + Fledgeby crossed the narrow street and looked up at the house-windows, but + nobody looked down at Fledgeby. He got out of temper, crossed the narrow + street again, and pulled the housebell as if it were the house’s nose, and + he were taking a hint from his late experience. His ear at the keyhole + seemed then, at last, to give him assurance that something stirred within. + His eye at the keyhole seemed to confirm his ear, for he angrily pulled + the house’s nose again, and pulled and pulled and continued to pull, until + a human nose appeared in the dark doorway. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now you sir!’ cried Fledgeby. ‘These are nice games!’ + </p> +<p> + He addressed an old Jewish man in an ancient coat, long of skirt, and wide + of pocket. A venerable man, bald and shining at the top of his head, and + with long grey hair flowing down at its sides and mingling with his beard. + A man who with a graceful Eastern action of homage bent his head, and + stretched out his hands with the palms downward, as if to deprecate the + wrath of a superior. + </p> +<p> + ‘What have you been up to?’ said Fledgeby, storming at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Generous Christian master,’ urged the Jewish man, ‘it being holiday, I + looked for no one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Holiday he blowed!’ said Fledgeby, entering. ‘What have <i>you </i>got to do + with holidays? Shut the door.’ + </p> +<p> + With his former action the old man obeyed. In the entry hung his rusty + large-brimmed low-crowned hat, as long out of date as his coat; in the + corner near it stood his staff—no walking-stick but a veritable + staff. Fledgeby turned into the counting-house, perched himself on a + business stool, and cocked his hat. There were light boxes on shelves in + the counting-house, and strings of mock beads hanging up. There were + samples of cheap clocks, and samples of cheap vases of flowers. Foreign + toys, all. + </p> +<p> + Perched on the stool with his hat cocked on his head and one of his legs + dangling, the youth of Fledgeby hardly contrasted to advantage with the + age of the Jewish man as he stood with his bare head bowed, and his eyes + (which he only raised in speaking) on the ground. His clothing was worn + down to the rusty hue of the hat in the entry, but though he looked shabby + he did not look mean. Now, Fledgeby, though not shabby, did look mean. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have not told me what you were up to, you sir,’ said Fledgeby, + scratching his head with the brim of his hat. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, I was breathing the air.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In the cellar, that you didn’t hear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘On the house-top.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my soul! That’s a way of doing business.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ the old man represented with a grave and patient air, ‘there must + be two parties to the transaction of business, and the holiday has left me + alone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! Can’t be buyer and seller too. That’s what the Jews say; ain’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At least we say truly, if we say so,’ answered the old man with a smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your people need speak the truth sometimes, for they lie enough,’ + remarked Fascination Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, there is,’ returned the old man with quiet emphasis, ‘too much + untruth among all denominations of men.’ + </p> +<p> + Rather dashed, Fascination Fledgeby took another scratch at his + intellectual head with his hat, to gain time for rallying. + </p> +<p> + ‘For instance,’ he resumed, as though it were he who had spoken last, ‘who + but you and I ever heard of a poor Jew?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The Jews,’ said the old man, raising his eyes from the ground with his + former smile. ‘They hear of poor Jews often, and are very good to them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bother that!’ returned Fledgeby. ‘You know what I mean. You’d persuade me + if you could, that you are a poor Jew. I wish you’d confess how much you + really did make out of my late governor. I should have a better opinion of + you.’ + </p> +<p> + The old man only bent his head, and stretched out his hands as before. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t go on posturing like a Deaf and Dumb School,’ said the ingenious + Fledgeby, ‘but express yourself like a Christian—or as nearly as you + can.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I had had sickness and misfortunes, and was so poor,’ said the old man, + ‘as hopelessly to owe the father, principal and interest. The son + inheriting, was so merciful as to forgive me both, and place me here.’ + </p> +<p> + He made a little gesture as though he kissed the hem of an imaginary + garment worn by the noble youth before him. It was humbly done, but + picturesquely, and was not abasing to the doer. + </p> +<p> + ‘You won’t say more, I see,’ said Fledgeby, looking at him as if he would + like to try the effect of extracting a double-tooth or two, ‘and so it’s + of no use my putting it to you. But confess this, Riah; who believes you + to be poor now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No one,’ said the old man. + </p> +<p> + ‘There you’re right,’ assented Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘No one,’ repeated the old man with a grave slow wave of his head. ‘All + scout it as a fable. Were I to say “This little fancy business is not + mine”;’ with a lithe sweep of his easily-turning hand around him, to + comprehend the various objects on the shelves; ‘“it is the little business + of a Christian young gentleman who places me, his servant, in trust and + charge here, and to whom I am accountable for every single bead,” they + would laugh. When, in the larger money-business, I tell the borrowers—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say, old chap!’ interposed Fledgeby, ‘I hope you mind what you <i>do</i> tell + ’em?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, I tell them no more than I am about to repeat. When I tell them, “I + cannot promise this, I cannot answer for the other, I must see my + principal, I have not the money, I am a poor man and it does not rest with + me,” they are so unbelieving and so impatient, that they sometimes curse + me in Jehovah’s name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s deuced good, that is!’ said Fascination Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘And at other times they say, “Can it never be done without these tricks, + Mr Riah? Come, come, Mr Riah, we know the arts of your people”—my + people!—“If the money is to be lent, fetch it, fetch it; if it is + not to be lent, keep it and say so.” They never believe me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>That’s</i> all right,’ said Fascination Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘They say, “We know, Mr Riah, we know. We have but to look at you, and we + know.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, a good ’un are you for the post,’ thought Fledgeby, ‘and a good ’un + was I to mark you out for it! I may be slow, but I am precious sure.’ + </p> +<p> + Not a syllable of this reflection shaped itself in any scrap of Mr + Fledgeby’s breath, lest it should tend to put his servant’s price up. But + looking at the old man as he stood quiet with his head bowed and his eyes + cast down, he felt that to relinquish an inch of his baldness, an inch of + his grey hair, an inch of his coat-skirt, an inch of his hat-brim, an inch + of his walking-staff, would be to relinquish hundreds of pounds. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here, Riah,’ said Fledgeby, mollified by these self-approving + considerations. ‘I want to go a little more into buying-up queer bills. + Look out in that direction.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, it shall be done.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Casting my eye over the accounts, I find that branch of business pays + pretty fairly, and I am game for extending it. I like to know people’s + affairs likewise. So look out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, I will, promptly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Put it about in the right quarters, that you’ll buy queer bills by the + lump—by the pound weight if that’s all—supposing you see your + way to a fair chance on looking over the parcel. And there’s one thing + more. Come to me with the books for periodical inspection as usual, at + eight on Monday morning.’ + </p> +<p> + Riah drew some folding tablets from his breast and noted it down. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s all I wanted to say at the present time,’ continued Fledgeby in a + grudging vein, as he got off the stool, ‘except that I wish you’d take the + air where you can hear the bell, or the knocker, either one of the two or + both. By-the-by how <i>do</i> you take the air at the top of the house? Do you + stick your head out of a chimney-pot?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, there are leads there, and I have made a little garden there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To bury your money in, you old dodger?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A thumbnail’s space of garden would hold the treasure I bury, master,’ + said Riah. ‘Twelve shillings a week, even when they are an old man’s + wages, bury themselves.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should like to know what you really are worth,’ returned Fledgeby, with + whom his growing rich on that stipend and gratitude was a very convenient + fiction. ‘But come! Let’s have a look at your garden on the tiles, before + I go!’ + </p> +<p> + The old man took a step back, and hesitated. + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, sir, I have company there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you, by George!’ said Fledgeby; ‘I suppose you happen to know whose + premises these are?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, they are yours, and I am your servant in them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! I thought you might have overlooked that,’ retorted Fledgeby, with + his eyes on Riah’s beard as he felt for his own; ‘having company on my + premises, you know!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come up and see the guests, sir. I hope for your admission that they can + do no harm.’ + </p> +<p> + Passing him with a courteous reverence, specially unlike any action that + Mr Fledgeby could for his life have imparted to his own head and hands, + the old man began to ascend the stairs. As he toiled on before, with his + palm upon the stair-rail, and his long black skirt, a very gaberdine, + overhanging each successive step, he might have been the leader in some + pilgrimage of devotional ascent to a prophet’s tomb. Not troubled by any + such weak imagining, Fascination Fledgeby merely speculated on the time of + life at which his beard had begun, and thought once more what a good ’un + he was for the part. + </p> +<p> + Some final wooden steps conducted them, stooping under a low penthouse + roof, to the house-top. Riah stood still, and, turning to his master, + pointed out his guests. + </p> +<p> + Lizzie Hexam and Jenny Wren. For whom, perhaps with some old instinct of + his race, the gentle Jew had spread a carpet. Seated on it, against no + more romantic object than a blackened chimney-stack over which some bumble + creeper had been trained, they both pored over one book; both with + attentive faces; Jenny with the sharper; Lizzie with the more perplexed. + Another little book or two were lying near, and a common basket of common + fruit, and another basket full of strings of beads and tinsel scraps. A + few boxes of humble flowers and evergreens completed the garden; and the + encompassing wilderness of dowager old chimneys twirled their cowls and + fluttered their smoke, rather as if they were bridling, and fanning + themselves, and looking on in a state of airy surprise. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0269m " src="images/0269m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0269m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0269.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4089493589060058081"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + Taking her eyes off the book, to test her memory of something in it, + Lizzie was the first to see herself observed. As she rose, Miss Wren + likewise became conscious, and said, irreverently addressing the great + chief of the premises: ‘Whoever you are, I can’t get up, because my back’s + bad and my legs are queer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This is my master,’ said Riah, stepping forward. + </p> +<p> + (‘Don’t look like anybody’s master,’ observed Miss Wren to herself, with a + hitch of her chin and eyes.) + </p> +<p> + ‘This, sir,’ pursued the old man, ‘is a little dressmaker for little + people. Explain to the master, Jenny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dolls; that’s all,’ said Jenny, shortly. ‘Very difficult to fit too, + because their figures are so uncertain. You never know where to expect + their waists.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her friend,’ resumed the old man, motioning towards Lizzie; ‘and as + industrious as virtuous. But that they both are. They are busy early and + late, sir, early and late; and in bye-times, as on this holiday, they go + to book-learning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not much good to be got out of that,’ remarked Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Depends upon the person!’ quoth Miss Wren, snapping him up. + </p> +<p> + ‘I made acquaintance with my guests, sir,’ pursued the Jew, with an + evident purpose of drawing out the dressmaker, ‘through their coming here + to buy of our damage and waste for Miss Jenny’s millinery. Our waste goes + into the best of company, sir, on her rosy-cheeked little customers. They + wear it in their hair, and on their ball-dresses, and even (so she tells + me) are presented at Court with it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Fledgeby, on whose intelligence this doll-fancy made rather + strong demands; ‘she’s been buying that basketful to-day, I suppose?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose she has,’ Miss Jenny interposed; ‘and paying for it too, most + likely!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let’s have a look at it,’ said the suspicious chief. Riah handed it to + him. ‘How much for this now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Two precious silver shillings,’ said Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + Riah confirmed her with two nods, as Fledgeby looked to him. A nod for + each shilling. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Fledgeby, poking into the contents of the basket with his + forefinger, ‘the price is not so bad. You have got good measure, Miss + What-is-it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Try Jenny,’ suggested that young lady with great calmness. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have got good measure, Miss Jenny; but the price is not so bad.—And + you,’ said Fledgeby, turning to the other visitor, ‘do you buy anything + here, miss?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor sell anything neither, miss?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + Looking askew at the questioner, Jenny stole her hand up to her friend’s, + and drew her friend down, so that she bent beside her on her knee. + </p> +<p> + ‘We are thankful to come here for rest, sir,’ said Jenny. ‘You see, you + don’t know what the rest of this place is to us; does he, Lizzie? It’s the + quiet, and the air.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The quiet!’ repeated Fledgeby, with a contemptuous turn of his head + towards the City’s roar. ‘And the air!’ with a ‘Poof!’ at the smoke. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Jenny. ‘But it’s so high. And you see the clouds rushing on + above the narrow streets, not minding them, and you see the golden arrows + pointing at the mountains in the sky from which the wind comes, and you + feel as if you were dead.’ + </p> +<p> + The little creature looked above her, holding up her slight transparent + hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you feel when you are dead?’ asked Fledgeby, much perplexed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, so tranquil!’ cried the little creature, smiling. ‘Oh, so peaceful + and so thankful! And you hear the people who are alive, crying, and + working, and calling to one another down in the close dark streets, and + you seem to pity them so! And such a chain has fallen from you, and such a + strange good sorrowful happiness comes upon you!’ + </p> +<p> + Her eyes fell on the old man, who, with his hands folded, quietly looked + on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why it was only just now,’ said the little creature, pointing at him, + ‘that I fancied I saw him come out of his grave! He toiled out at that low + door so bent and worn, and then he took his breath and stood upright, and + looked all round him at the sky, and the wind blew upon him, and his life + down in the dark was over!—Till he was called back to life,’ she + added, looking round at Fledgeby with that lower look of sharpness. ‘Why + did you call him back?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He was long enough coming, anyhow,’ grumbled Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘But you are not dead, you know,’ said Jenny Wren. ‘Get down to life!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby seemed to think it rather a good suggestion, and with a nod + turned round. As Riah followed to attend him down the stairs, the little + creature called out to the Jew in a silvery tone, ‘Don’t be long gone. + Come back, and be dead!’ And still as they went down they heard the little + sweet voice, more and more faintly, half calling and half singing, ‘Come + back and be dead, Come back and be dead!’ + </p> +<p> + When they got down into the entry, Fledgeby, pausing under the shadow of + the broad old hat, and mechanically poising the staff, said to the old + man: + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a handsome girl, that one in her senses.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And as good as handsome,’ answered Riah. + </p> +<p> + ‘At all events,’ observed Fledgeby, with a dry whistle, ‘I hope she ain’t + bad enough to put any chap up to the fastenings, and get the premises + broken open. You look out. Keep your weather eye awake and don’t make any + more acquaintances, however handsome. Of course you always keep my name to + yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, assuredly I do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If they ask it, say it’s Pubsey, or say it’s Co, or say it’s anything you + like, but what it is.’ + </p> +<p> + His grateful servant—in whose race gratitude is deep, strong, and + enduring—bowed his head, and actually did now put the hem of his + coat to his lips: though so lightly that the wearer knew nothing of it. + </p> +<p> + Thus, Fascination Fledgeby went his way, exulting in the artful cleverness + with which he had turned his thumb down on a Jew, and the old man went his + different way up-stairs. As he mounted, the call or song began to sound in + his ears again, and, looking above, he saw the face of the little creature + looking down out of a Glory of her long bright radiant hair, and musically + repeating to him, like a vision: + </p> +<p> + ‘Come up and be dead! Come up and be dead!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> +<h3> + A RIDDLE WITHOUT AN ANSWER + </h3> +<p> + Again Mr Mortimer Lightwood and Mr Eugene Wrayburn sat together in the + Temple. This evening, however, they were not together in the place of + business of the eminent solicitor, but in another dismal set of chambers + facing it on the same second-floor; on whose dungeon-like black outer-door + appeared the legend: + </p> +<h4>PRIVATE</h4> +<h4>MR EUGENE WRAYBURN</h4> +<h4>MR MORTIMER LIGHTWOOD</h4> +<h4>(Mr Lightwood’s Offices opposite.)</h4> +<p> + Appearances indicated that this establishment was a very recent + institution. The white letters of the inscription were extremely white and + extremely strong to the sense of smell, the complexion of the tables and + chairs was (like Lady Tippins’s) a little too blooming to be believed in, + and the carpets and floorcloth seemed to rush at the beholder’s face in + the unusual prominency of their patterns. But the Temple, accustomed to + tone down both the still life and the human life that has much to do with + it, would soon get the better of all that. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ said Eugene, on one side of the fire, ‘I feel tolerably + comfortable. I hope the upholsterer may do the same.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why shouldn’t he?’ asked Lightwood, from the other side of the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘To be sure,’ pursued Eugene, reflecting, ‘he is not in the secret of our + pecuniary affairs, so perhaps he may be in an easy frame of mind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We shall pay him,’ said Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall we, really?’ returned Eugene, indolently surprised. ‘You don’t say + so!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean to pay him, Eugene, for my part,’ said Mortimer, in a slightly + injured tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! I mean to pay him too,’ retorted Eugene. ‘But then I mean so much + that I—that I don’t mean.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t mean?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So much that I only mean and shall always only mean and nothing more, my + dear Mortimer. It’s the same thing.’ + </p> +<p> + His friend, lying back in his easy chair, watched him lying back in his + easy chair, as he stretched out his legs on the hearth-rug, and said, with + the amused look that Eugene Wrayburn could always awaken in him without + seeming to try or care: + </p> +<p> + ‘Anyhow, your vagaries have increased the bill.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Calls the domestic virtues vagaries!’ exclaimed Eugene, raising his eyes + to the ceiling. + </p> +<p> + ‘This very complete little kitchen of ours,’ said Mortimer, ‘in which + nothing will ever be cooked—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, dear Mortimer,’ returned his friend, lazily lifting his head a + little to look at him, ‘how often have I pointed out to you that its moral + influence is the important thing?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Its moral influence on this fellow!’ exclaimed Lightwood, laughing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do me the favour,’ said Eugene, getting out of his chair with much + gravity, ‘to come and inspect that feature of our establishment which you + rashly disparage.’ With that, taking up a candle, he conducted his chum + into the fourth room of the set of chambers—a little narrow room—which + was very completely and neatly fitted as a kitchen. ‘See!’ said Eugene, + ‘miniature flour-barrel, rolling-pin, spice-box, shelf of brown jars, + chopping-board, coffee-mill, dresser elegantly furnished with crockery, + saucepans and pans, roasting jack, a charming kettle, an armoury of + dish-covers. The moral influence of these objects, in forming the domestic + virtues, may have an immense influence upon me; not upon you, for you are + a hopeless case, but upon me. In fact, I have an idea that I feel the + domestic virtues already forming. Do me the favour to step into my + bedroom. Secretaire, you see, and abstruse set of solid mahogany + pigeon-holes, one for every letter of the alphabet. To what use do I + devote them? I receive a bill—say from Jones. I docket it neatly at + the secretaire, <i>Jones</i>, and I put it into pigeonhole J. It’s the next thing + to a receipt and is quite as satisfactory to <i>me</i>. And I very much wish, + Mortimer,’ sitting on his bed, with the air of a philosopher lecturing a + disciple, ‘that my example might induce <i>you </i>to cultivate habits of + punctuality and method; and, by means of the moral influences with which I + have surrounded you, to encourage the formation of the domestic virtues.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer laughed again, with his usual commentaries of ‘How <i>can </i>you be so + ridiculous, Eugene!’ and ‘What an absurd fellow you are!’ but when his + laugh was out, there was something serious, if not anxious, in his face. + Despite that pernicious assumption of lassitude and indifference, which + had become his second nature, he was strongly attached to his friend. He + had founded himself upon Eugene when they were yet boys at school; and at + this hour imitated him no less, admired him no less, loved him no less, + than in those departed days. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene,’ said he, ‘if I could find you in earnest for a minute, I would + try to say an earnest word to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘An earnest word?’ repeated Eugene. ‘The moral influences are beginning to + work. Say on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, I will,’ returned the other, ‘though you are not earnest yet.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In this desire for earnestness,’ murmured Eugene, with the air of one who + was meditating deeply, ‘I trace the happy influences of the little + flour-barrel and the coffee-mill. Gratifying.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene,’ resumed Mortimer, disregarding the light interruption, and + laying a hand upon Eugene’s shoulder, as he, Mortimer, stood before him + seated on his bed, ‘you are withholding something from me.’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene looked at him, but said nothing. + </p> +<p> + ‘All this past summer, you have been withholding something from me. Before + we entered on our boating vacation, you were as bent upon it as I have + seen you upon anything since we first rowed together. But you cared very + little for it when it came, often found it a tie and a drag upon you, and + were constantly away. Now it was well enough half-a-dozen times, a dozen + times, twenty times, to say to me in your own odd manner, which I know so + well and like so much, that your disappearances were precautions against + our boring one another; but of course after a short while I began to know + that they covered something. I don’t ask what it is, as you have not told + me; but the fact is so. Say, is it not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I give you my word of honour, Mortimer,’ returned Eugene, after a serious + pause of a few moments, ‘that I don’t know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t know, Eugene?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my soul, don’t know. I know less about myself than about most people + in the world, and I don’t know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have some design in your mind?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have I? I don’t think I have.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At any rate, you have some subject of interest there which used not to be + there?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I really can’t say,’ replied Eugene, shaking his head blankly, after + pausing again to reconsider. ‘At times I have thought yes; at other times + I have thought no. Now, I have been inclined to pursue such a subject; now + I have felt that it was absurd, and that it tired and embarrassed me. + Absolutely, I can’t say. Frankly and faithfully, I would if I could.’ + </p> +<p> + So replying, he clapped a hand, in his turn, on his friend’s shoulder, as + he rose from his seat upon the bed, and said: + </p> +<p> + ‘You must take your friend as he is. You know what I am, my dear Mortimer. + You know how dreadfully susceptible I am to boredom. You know that when I + became enough of a man to find myself an embodied conundrum, I bored + myself to the last degree by trying to find out what I meant. You know + that at length I gave it up, and declined to guess any more. Then how can + I possibly give you the answer that I have not discovered? The old nursery + form runs, “Riddle-me-riddle-me-ree, p’raps you can’t tell me what this + may be?” My reply runs, “No. Upon my life, I can’t.”’ + </p> +<p> + So much of what was fantastically true to his own knowledge of this + utterly careless Eugene, mingled with the answer, that Mortimer could not + receive it as a mere evasion. Besides, it was given with an engaging air + of openness, and of special exemption of the one friend he valued, from + his reckless indifference. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come, dear boy!’ said Eugene. ‘Let us try the effect of smoking. If it + enlightens me at all on this question, I will impart unreservedly.’ + </p> +<p> + They returned to the room they had come from, and, finding it heated, + opened a window. Having lighted their cigars, they leaned out of this + window, smoking, and looking down at the moonlight, as it shone into the + court below. + </p> +<p> + ‘No enlightenment,’ resumed Eugene, after certain minutes of silence. ‘I + feel sincerely apologetic, my dear Mortimer, but nothing comes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If nothing comes,’ returned Mortimer, ‘nothing can come from it. So I + shall hope that this may hold good throughout, and that there may be + nothing on foot. Nothing injurious to you, Eugene, or—’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene stayed him for a moment with his hand on his arm, while he took a + piece of earth from an old flowerpot on the window-sill and dexterously + shot it at a little point of light opposite; having done which to his + satisfaction, he said, ‘Or?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Or injurious to any one else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How,’ said Eugene, taking another little piece of earth, and shooting it + with great precision at the former mark, ‘how injurious to any one else?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And,’ said Eugene, taking, as he said the word, another shot, ‘to whom + else?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know.’ + </p> +<p> + Checking himself with another piece of earth in his hand, Eugene looked at + his friend inquiringly and a little suspiciously. There was no concealed + or half-expressed meaning in his face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Two belated wanderers in the mazes of the law,’ said Eugene, attracted by + the sound of footsteps, and glancing down as he spoke, ‘stray into the + court. They examine the door-posts of number one, seeking the name they + want. Not finding it at number one, they come to number two. On the hat of + wanderer number two, the shorter one, I drop this pellet. Hitting him on + the hat, I smoke serenely, and become absorbed in contemplation of the + sky.’ + </p> +<p> + Both the wanderers looked up towards the window; but, after interchanging + a mutter or two, soon applied themselves to the door-posts below. There + they seemed to discover what they wanted, for they disappeared from view + by entering at the doorway. ‘When they emerge,’ said Eugene, ‘you shall + see me bring them both down’; and so prepared two pellets for the purpose. + </p> +<p> + He had not reckoned on their seeking his name, or Lightwood’s. But either + the one or the other would seem to be in question, for now there came a + knock at the door. ‘I am on duty to-night,’ said Mortimer, ‘stay you where + you are, Eugene.’ Requiring no persuasion, he stayed there, smoking + quietly, and not at all curious to know who knocked, until Mortimer spoke + to him from within the room, and touched him. Then, drawing in his head, + he found the visitors to be young Charley Hexam and the schoolmaster; both + standing facing him, and both recognized at a glance. + </p> +<p> + ‘You recollect this young fellow, Eugene?’ said Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me look at him,’ returned Wrayburn, coolly. ‘Oh, yes, yes. I + recollect him!’ + </p> +<p> + He had not been about to repeat that former action of taking him by the + chin, but the boy had suspected him of it, and had thrown up his arm with + an angry start. Laughingly, Wrayburn looked to Lightwood for an + explanation of this odd visit. + </p> +<p> + ‘He says he has something to say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Surely it must be to you, Mortimer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So I thought, but he says no. He says it is to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I do say so,’ interposed the boy. ‘And I mean to say what I want to + say, too, Mr Eugene Wrayburn!’ + </p> +<p> + Passing him with his eyes as if there were nothing where he stood, Eugene + looked on to Bradley Headstone. With consummate indolence, he turned to + Mortimer, inquiring: ‘And who may this other person be?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am Charles Hexam’s friend,’ said Bradley; ‘I am Charles Hexam’s + schoolmaster.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My good sir, you should teach your pupils better manners,’ returned + Eugene. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0278m " src="images/0278m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0278m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0278.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6988376341334724577"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + Composedly smoking, he leaned an elbow on the chimneypiece, at the side of + the fire, and looked at the schoolmaster. It was a cruel look, in its cold + disdain of him, as a creature of no worth. The schoolmaster looked at him, + and that, too, was a cruel look, though of the different kind, that it had + a raging jealousy and fiery wrath in it. + </p> +<p> + Very remarkably, neither Eugene Wrayburn nor Bradley Headstone looked at + all at the boy. Through the ensuing dialogue, those two, no matter who + spoke, or whom was addressed, looked at each other. There was some secret, + sure perception between them, which set them against one another in all + ways. + </p> +<p> + ‘In some high respects, Mr Eugene Wrayburn,’ said Bradley, answering him + with pale and quivering lips, ‘the natural feelings of my pupils are + stronger than my teaching.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In most respects, I dare say,’ replied Eugene, enjoying his cigar, + ‘though whether high or low is of no importance. You have my name very + correctly. Pray what is yours?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It cannot concern you much to know, but—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘True,’ interposed Eugene, striking sharply and cutting him short at his + mistake, ‘it does not concern me at all to know. I can say Schoolmaster, + which is a most respectable title. You are right, Schoolmaster.’ + </p> +<p> + It was not the dullest part of this goad in its galling of Bradley + Headstone, that he had made it himself in a moment of incautious anger. He + tried to set his lips so as to prevent their quivering, but they quivered + fast. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Eugene Wrayburn,’ said the boy, ‘I want a word with you. I have wanted + it so much, that we have looked out your address in the book, and we have + been to your office, and we have come from your office here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have given yourself much trouble, Schoolmaster,’ observed Eugene, + blowing the feathery ash from his cigar. ‘I hope it may prove + remunerative.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I am glad to speak,’ pursued the boy, ‘in presence of Mr Lightwood, + because it was through Mr Lightwood that you ever saw my sister.’ + </p> +<p> + For a mere moment, Wrayburn turned his eyes aside from the schoolmaster to + note the effect of the last word on Mortimer, who, standing on the + opposite side of the fire, as soon as the word was spoken, turned his face + towards the fire and looked down into it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Similarly, it was through Mr Lightwood that you ever saw her again, for + you were with him on the night when my father was found, and so I found + you with her on the next day. Since then, you have seen my sister often. + You have seen my sister oftener and oftener. And I want to know why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was this worth while, Schoolmaster?’ murmured Eugene, with the air of a + disinterested adviser. ‘So much trouble for nothing? You should know best, + but I think not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know, Mr Wrayburn,’ answered Bradley, with his passion rising, + ‘why you address me—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you? said Eugene. ‘Then I won’t.’ + </p> +<p> + He said it so tauntingly in his perfect placidity, that the respectable + right-hand clutching the respectable hair-guard of the respectable watch + could have wound it round his throat and strangled him with it. Not + another word did Eugene deem it worth while to utter, but stood leaning + his head upon his hand, smoking, and looking imperturbably at the chafing + Bradley Headstone with his clutching right-hand, until Bradley was + wellnigh mad. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn,’ proceeded the boy, ‘we not only know this that I have + charged upon you, but we know more. It has not yet come to my sister’s + knowledge that we have found it out, but we have. We had a plan, Mr + Headstone and I, for my sister’s education, and for its being advised and + overlooked by Mr Headstone, who is a much more competent authority, + whatever you may pretend to think, as you smoke, than you could produce, + if you tried. Then, what do we find? What do we find, Mr Lightwood? Why, + we find that my sister is already being taught, without our knowing it. We + find that while my sister gives an unwilling and cold ear to our schemes + for her advantage—I, her brother, and Mr Headstone, the most + competent authority, as his certificates would easily prove, that could be + produced—she is wilfully and willingly profiting by other schemes. + Ay, and taking pains, too, for I know what such pains are. And so does Mr + Headstone! Well! Somebody pays for this, is a thought that naturally + occurs to us; who pays? We apply ourselves to find out, Mr Lightwood, and + we find that your friend, this Mr Eugene Wrayburn, here, pays. Then I ask + him what right has he to do it, and what does he mean by it, and how comes + he to be taking such a liberty without my consent, when I am raising + myself in the scale of society by my own exertions and Mr Headstone’s aid, + and have no right to have any darkness cast upon my prospects, or any + imputation upon my respectability, through my sister?’ + </p> +<p> + The boyish weakness of this speech, combined with its great selfishness, + made it a poor one indeed. And yet Bradley Headstone, used to the little + audience of a school, and unused to the larger ways of men, showed a kind + of exultation in it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now I tell Mr Eugene Wrayburn,’ pursued the boy, forced into the use of + the third person by the hopelessness of addressing him in the first, ‘that + I object to his having any acquaintance at all with my sister, and that I + request him to drop it altogether. He is not to take it into his head that + I am afraid of my sister’s caring for <i>him</i>—’ + </p> +<p> + (As the boy sneered, the Master sneered, and Eugene blew off the feathery + ash again.) + </p> +<p> + —‘But I object to it, and that’s enough. I am more important to my + sister than he thinks. As I raise myself, I intend to raise her; she knows + that, and she has to look to me for her prospects. Now I understand all + this very well, and so does Mr Headstone. My sister is an excellent girl, + but she has some romantic notions; not about such things as your Mr Eugene + Wrayburns, but about the death of my father and other matters of that + sort. Mr Wrayburn encourages those notions to make himself of importance, + and so she thinks she ought to be grateful to him, and perhaps even likes + to be. Now I don’t choose her to be grateful to him, or to be grateful to + anybody but me, except Mr Headstone. And I tell Mr Wrayburn that if he + don’t take heed of what I say, it will be worse for her. Let him turn that + over in his memory, and make sure of it. Worse for her!’ + </p> +<p> + A pause ensued, in which the schoolmaster looked very awkward. + </p> +<p> + ‘May I suggest, Schoolmaster,’ said Eugene, removing his fast-waning cigar + from his lips to glance at it, ‘that you can now take your pupil away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And Mr Lightwood,’ added the boy, with a burning face, under the flaming + aggravation of getting no sort of answer or attention, ‘I hope you’ll take + notice of what I have said to your friend, and of what your friend has + heard me say, word by word, whatever he pretends to the contrary. You are + bound to take notice of it, Mr Lightwood, for, as I have already + mentioned, you first brought your friend into my sister’s company, and but + for you we never should have seen him. Lord knows none of us ever wanted + him, any more than any of us will ever miss him. Now Mr Headstone, as Mr + Eugene Wrayburn has been obliged to hear what I had to say, and couldn’t + help himself, and as I have said it out to the last word, we have done all + we wanted to do, and may go.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go down-stairs, and leave me a moment, Hexam,’ he returned. The boy + complying with an indignant look and as much noise as he could make, swung + out of the room; and Lightwood went to the window, and leaned there, + looking out. + </p> +<p> + ‘You think me of no more value than the dirt under your feet,’ said + Bradley to Eugene, speaking in a carefully weighed and measured tone, or + he could not have spoken at all. + </p> +<p> + ‘I assure you, Schoolmaster,’ replied Eugene, ‘I don’t think about you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s not true,’ returned the other; ‘you know better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s coarse,’ Eugene retorted; ‘but you <i>don’t</i> know better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn, at least I know very well that it would be idle to set + myself against you in insolent words or overbearing manners. That lad who + has just gone out could put you to shame in half-a-dozen branches of + knowledge in half an hour, but you can throw him aside like an inferior. + You can do as much by me, I have no doubt, beforehand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Possibly,’ remarked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I am more than a lad,’ said Bradley, with his clutching hand, ‘and I + <i>will </i>be heard, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As a schoolmaster,’ said Eugene, ‘you are always being heard. That ought + to content you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But it does not content me,’ replied the other, white with passion. ‘Do + you suppose that a man, in forming himself for the duties I discharge, and + in watching and repressing himself daily to discharge them well, dismisses + a man’s nature?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose you,’ said Eugene, ‘judging from what I see as I look at you, + to be rather too passionate for a good schoolmaster.’ As he spoke, he + tossed away the end of his cigar. + </p> +<p> + ‘Passionate with you, sir, I admit I am. Passionate with you, sir, I + respect myself for being. But I have not Devils for my pupils.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For your Teachers, I should rather say,’ replied Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Schoolmaster.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, my name is Bradley Headstone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As you justly said, my good sir, your name cannot concern me. Now, what + more?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This more. Oh, what a misfortune is mine,’ cried Bradley, breaking off to + wipe the starting perspiration from his face as he shook from head to + foot, ‘that I cannot so control myself as to appear a stronger creature + than this, when a man who has not felt in all his life what I have felt in + a day can so command himself!’ He said it in a very agony, and even + followed it with an errant motion of his hands as if he could have torn + himself. + </p> +<p> + Eugene Wrayburn looked on at him, as if he found him beginning to be + rather an entertaining study. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn, I desire to say something to you on my own part.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come, come, Schoolmaster,’ returned Eugene, with a languid approach to + impatience as the other again struggled with himself; ‘say what you have + to say. And let me remind you that the door is standing open, and your + young friend waiting for you on the stairs.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When I accompanied that youth here, sir, I did so with the purpose of + adding, as a man whom you should not be permitted to put aside, in case + you put him aside as a boy, that his instinct is correct and right.’ Thus + Bradley Headstone, with great effort and difficulty. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is that all?’ asked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir,’ said the other, flushed and fierce. ‘I strongly support him in + his disapproval of your visits to his sister, and in his objection to your + officiousness—and worse—in what you have taken upon yourself + to do for her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is <i>that </i>all?’ asked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir. I determined to tell you that you are not justified in these + proceedings, and that they are injurious to his sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you her schoolmaster as well as her brother’s?—Or perhaps you + would like to be?’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + It was a stab that the blood followed, in its rush to Bradley Headstone’s + face, as swiftly as if it had been dealt with a dagger. ‘What do you mean + by that?’ was as much as he could utter. + </p> +<p> + ‘A natural ambition enough,’ said Eugene, coolly. ‘Far be it from me to say + otherwise. The sister who is something too much upon your lips, perhaps—is + so very different from all the associations to which she had been used, + and from all the low obscure people about her, that it is a very natural + ambition.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you throw my obscurity in my teeth, Mr Wrayburn?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That can hardly be, for I know nothing concerning it, Schoolmaster, and + seek to know nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You reproach me with my origin,’ said Bradley Headstone; ‘you cast + insinuations at my bringing-up. But I tell you, sir, I have worked my way + onward, out of both and in spite of both, and have a right to be + considered a better man than you, with better reasons for being proud.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How I can reproach you with what is not within my knowledge, or how I can + cast stones that were never in my hand, is a problem for the ingenuity of + a schoolmaster to prove,’ returned Eugene. ‘Is <i>that </i>all?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir. If you suppose that boy—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who really will be tired of waiting,’ said Eugene, politely. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you suppose that boy to be friendless, Mr Wrayburn, you deceive + yourself. I am his friend, and you shall find me so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you will find <i>him </i>on the stairs,’ remarked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘You may have promised yourself, sir, that you could do what you chose + here, because you had to deal with a mere boy, inexperienced, friendless, + and unassisted. But I give you warning that this mean calculation is + wrong. You have to do with a man also. You have to do with me. I will + support him, and, if need be, require reparation for him. My hand and + heart are in this cause, and are open to him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And—quite a coincidence—the door is open,’ remarked Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘I scorn your shifty evasions, and I scorn you,’ said the schoolmaster. + ‘In the meanness of your nature you revile me with the meanness of my + birth. I hold you in contempt for it. But if you don’t profit by this + visit, and act accordingly, you will find me as bitterly in earnest + against you as I could be if I deemed you worth a second thought on my own + account.’ + </p> +<p> + With a consciously bad grace and stiff manner, as Wrayburn looked so + easily and calmly on, he went out with these words, and the heavy door + closed like a furnace-door upon his red and white heats of rage. + </p> +<p> + ‘A curious monomaniac,’ said Eugene. ‘The man seems to believe that + everybody was acquainted with his mother!’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer Lightwood being still at the window, to which he had in delicacy + withdrawn, Eugene called to him, and he fell to slowly pacing the room. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow,’ said Eugene, as he lighted another cigar, ‘I fear my + unexpected visitors have been troublesome. If as a set-off (excuse the + legal phrase from a barrister-at-law) you would like to ask Tippins to + tea, I pledge myself to make love to her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, Eugene, Eugene,’ replied Mortimer, still pacing the room, ‘I am + sorry for this. And to think that I have been so blind!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How blind, dear boy?’ inquired his unmoved friend. + </p> +<p> + ‘What were your words that night at the river-side public-house?’ said + Lightwood, stopping. ‘What was it that you asked me? Did I feel like a + dark combination of traitor and pickpocket when I thought of that girl?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I seem to remember the expression,’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘How do <i>you </i>feel when you think of her just now?’ + </p> +<p> + His friend made no direct reply, but observed, after a few whiffs of his + cigar, ‘Don’t mistake the situation. There is no better girl in all this + London than Lizzie Hexam. There is no better among my people at home; no + better among your people.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Granted. What follows?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There,’ said Eugene, looking after him dubiously as he paced away to the + other end of the room, ‘you put me again upon guessing the riddle that I + have given up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, do you design to capture and desert this girl?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow, no.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you design to marry her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow, no.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you design to pursue her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow, I don’t design anything. I have no design whatever. I am + incapable of designs. If I conceived a design, I should speedily abandon + it, exhausted by the operation.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh Eugene, Eugene!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mortimer, not that tone of melancholy reproach, I entreat. What + can I do more than tell you all I know, and acknowledge my ignorance of + all I don’t know! How does that little old song go, which, under pretence + of being cheerful, is by far the most lugubrious I ever heard in my life? + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Away with melancholy,<br> + Nor doleful changes ring<br> + On life and human folly,<br> + But merrily merrily sing<br> + <span class="poemindent">Fal la!”</span> + </p> +<p> + Don’t let us sing Fal la, my dear Mortimer (which is comparatively + unmeaning), but let us sing that we give up guessing the riddle + altogether.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you in communication with this girl, Eugene, and is what these people + say true?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I concede both admissions to my honourable and learned friend.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then what is to come of it? What are you doing? Where are you going?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mortimer, one would think the schoolmaster had left behind him a + catechizing infection. You are ruffled by the want of another cigar. Take + one of these, I entreat. Light it at mine, which is in perfect order. So! + Now do me the justice to observe that I am doing all I can towards + self-improvement, and that you have a light thrown on those household + implements which, when you only saw them as in a glass darkly, you were + hastily—I must say hastily—inclined to depreciate. Sensible of + my deficiencies, I have surrounded myself with moral influences expressly + meant to promote the formation of the domestic virtues. To those + influences, and to the improving society of my friend from boyhood, + commend me with your best wishes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, Eugene!’ said Lightwood, affectionately, now standing near him, so + that they both stood in one little cloud of smoke; ‘I would that you + answered my three questions! What is to come of it? What are you doing? + Where are you going?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And my dear Mortimer,’ returned Eugene, lightly fanning away the smoke + with his hand for the better exposition of his frankness of face and + manner, ‘believe me, I would answer them instantly if I could. But to + enable me to do so, I must first have found out the troublesome conundrum + long abandoned. Here it is. Eugene Wrayburn.’ Tapping his forehead and + breast. ‘Riddle-me, riddle-me-ree, perhaps you can’t tell me what this may + be?—No, upon my life I can’t. I give it up!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> +<h3> + IN WHICH A FRIENDLY MOVE IS ORIGINATED + </h3> +<p> + The arrangement between Mr Boffin and his literary man, Mr Silas Wegg, so + far altered with the altered habits of Mr Boffin’s life, as that the Roman + Empire usually declined in the morning and in the eminently aristocratic + family mansion, rather than in the evening, as of yore, and in Boffin’s + Bower. There were occasions, however, when Mr Boffin, seeking a brief + refuge from the blandishments of fashion, would present himself at the + Bower after dark, to anticipate the next sallying forth of Wegg, and would + there, on the old settle, pursue the downward fortunes of those enervated + and corrupted masters of the world who were by this time on their last + legs. If Wegg had been worse paid for his office, or better qualified to + discharge it, he would have considered these visits complimentary and + agreeable; but, holding the position of a handsomely-remunerated humbug, + he resented them. This was quite according to rule, for the incompetent + servant, by whomsoever employed, is always against his employer. Even + those born governors, noble and right honourable creatures, who have been + the most imbecile in high places, have uniformly shown themselves the most + opposed (sometimes in belying distrust, sometimes in vapid insolence) to + <i>their </i>employer. What is in such wise true of the public master and + servant, is equally true of the private master and servant all the world + over. + </p> +<p> + When Mr Silas Wegg did at last obtain free access to ‘Our House’, as he + had been wont to call the mansion outside which he had sat shelterless so + long, and when he did at last find it in all particulars as different from + his mental plans of it as according to the nature of things it well could + be, that far-seeing and far-reaching character, by way of asserting + himself and making out a case for compensation, affected to fall into a + melancholy strain of musing over the mournful past; as if the house and he + had had a fall in life together. + </p> +<p> + ‘And this, sir,’ Silas would say to his patron, sadly nodding his head and + musing, ‘was once Our House! This, sir, is the building from which I have + so often seen those great creatures, Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt + Jane, and Uncle Parker’—whose very names were of his own inventing—‘pass + and repass! And has it come to this, indeed! Ah dear me, dear me!’ + </p> +<p> + So tender were his lamentations, that the kindly Mr Boffin was quite sorry + for him, and almost felt mistrustful that in buying the house he had done + him an irreparable injury. + </p> +<p> + Two or three diplomatic interviews, the result of great subtlety on Mr + Wegg’s part, but assuming the mask of careless yielding to a fortuitous + combination of circumstances impelling him towards Clerkenwell, had + enabled him to complete his bargain with Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bring me round to the Bower,’ said Silas, when the bargain was closed, + ‘next Saturday evening, and if a sociable glass of old Jamaikey warm + should meet your views, I am not the man to begrudge it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are aware of my being poor company, sir,’ replied Mr Venus, ‘but be + it so.’ + </p> +<p> + It being so, here is Saturday evening come, and here is Mr Venus come, and + ringing at the Bower-gate. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg opens the gate, descries a sort of brown paper truncheon under Mr + Venus’s arm, and remarks, in a dry tone: ‘Oh! I thought perhaps you might + have come in a cab.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Mr Wegg,’ replies Venus. ‘I am not above a parcel.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Above a parcel! No!’ says Wegg, with some dissatisfaction. But does not + openly growl, ‘a certain sort of parcel might be above you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here is your purchase, Mr Wegg,’ says Venus, politely handing it over, + ‘and I am glad to restore it to the source from whence it—flowed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee,’ says Wegg. ‘Now this affair is concluded, I may mention to you + in a friendly way that I’ve my doubts whether, if I had consulted a + lawyer, you could have kept this article back from me. I only throw it out + as a legal point.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you think so, Mr Wegg? I bought you in open contract.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t buy human flesh and blood in this country, sir; not alive, you + can’t,’ says Wegg, shaking his head. ‘Then query, bone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As a legal point?’ asks Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘As a legal point.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not competent to speak upon that, Mr Wegg,’ says Venus, reddening + and growing something louder; ‘but upon a point of fact I think myself + competent to speak; and as a point of fact I would have seen you—will + you allow me to say, further?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wouldn’t say more than further, if I was you,’ Mr Wegg suggests, + pacifically. + </p> +<p> + —‘Before I’d have given that packet into your hand without being + paid my price for it. I don’t pretend to know how the point of law may + stand, but I’m thoroughly confident upon the point of fact.’ + </p> +<p> + As Mr Venus is irritable (no doubt owing to his disappointment in love), + and as it is not the cue of Mr Wegg to have him out of temper, the latter + gentleman soothingly remarks, ‘I only put it as a little case; I only put + it ha’porthetically.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I’d rather, Mr Wegg, you put it another time, penn’orth-etically,’ + is Mr Venus’s retort, ‘for I tell you candidly I don’t like your little + cases.’ + </p> +<p> + Arrived by this time in Mr Wegg’s sitting-room, made bright on the chilly + evening by gaslight and fire, Mr Venus softens and compliments him on his + abode; profiting by the occasion to remind Wegg that he (Venus) told him + he had got into a good thing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tolerable,’ Wegg rejoins. ‘But bear in mind, Mr Venus, that there’s no + gold without its alloy. Mix for yourself and take a seat in the + chimbley-corner. Will you perform upon a pipe, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am but an indifferent performer, sir,’ returns the other; ‘but I’ll + accompany you with a whiff or two at intervals.’ + </p> +<p> + So, Mr Venus mixes, and Wegg mixes; and Mr Venus lights and puffs, and + Wegg lights and puffs. + </p> +<p> + ‘And there’s alloy even in this metal of yours, Mr Wegg, you was + remarking?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mystery,’ returns Wegg. ‘I don’t like it, Mr Venus. I don’t like to have + the life knocked out of former inhabitants of this house, in the gloomy + dark, and not know who did it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Might you have any suspicions, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ returns that gentleman. ‘I know who profits by it. But I’ve no + suspicions.’ + </p> +<p> + Having said which, Mr Wegg smokes and looks at the fire with a most + determined expression of Charity; as if he had caught that cardinal virtue + by the skirts as she felt it her painful duty to depart from him, and held + her by main force. + </p> +<p> + ‘Similarly,’ resumes Wegg, ‘I have observations as I can offer upon + certain points and parties; but I make no objections, Mr Venus. Here is an + immense fortune drops from the clouds upon a person that shall be + nameless. Here is a weekly allowance, with a certain weight of coals, + drops from the clouds upon me. Which of us is the better man? Not the + person that shall be nameless. That’s an observation of mine, but I don’t + make it an objection. I take my allowance and my certain weight of coals. + He takes his fortune. That’s the way it works.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It would be a good thing for me, if I could see things in the calm light + you do, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Again look here,’ pursues Silas, with an oratorical flourish of his pipe + and his wooden leg: the latter having an undignified tendency to tilt him + back in his chair; ‘here’s another observation, Mr Venus, unaccompanied + with an objection. Him that shall be nameless is liable to be talked over. + He gets talked over. Him that shall be nameless, having me at his right + hand, naturally looking to be promoted higher, and you may perhaps say + meriting to be promoted higher—’ + </p> +<p> + (Mr Venus murmurs that he does say so.) + </p> +<p> + ‘—Him that shall be nameless, under such circumstances passes me by, + and puts a talking-over stranger above my head. Which of us two is the + better man? Which of us two can repeat most poetry? Which of us two has, + in the service of him that shall be nameless, tackled the Romans, both + civil and military, till he has got as husky as if he’d been weaned and + ever since brought up on sawdust? Not the talking-over stranger. Yet the + house is as free to him as if it was his, and he has his room, and is put + upon a footing, and draws about a thousand a year. I am banished to the + Bower, to be found in it like a piece of furniture whenever wanted. Merit, + therefore, don’t win. That’s the way it works. I observe it, because I + can’t help observing it, being accustomed to take a powerful sight of + notice; but I don’t object. Ever here before, Mr Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not inside the gate, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ve been as far as the gate then, Mr Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Mr Wegg, and peeped in from curiosity.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you see anything?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing but the dust-yard.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg rolls his eyes all round the room, in that ever unsatisfied quest + of his, and then rolls his eyes all round Mr Venus; as if suspicious of + his having something about him to be found out. + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet, sir,’ he pursues, ‘being acquainted with old Mr Harmon, one + would have thought it might have been polite in you, too, to give him a + call. And you’re naturally of a polite disposition, you are.’ This last + clause as a softening compliment to Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is true, sir,’ replies Venus, winking his weak eyes, and running his + fingers through his dusty shock of hair, ‘that I was so, before a certain + observation soured me. You understand to what I allude, Mr Wegg? To a + certain written statement respecting not wishing to be regarded in a + certain light. Since that, all is fled, save gall.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not all,’ says Mr Wegg, in a tone of sentimental condolence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir,’ returns Venus, ‘all! The world may deem it harsh, but I’d + quite as soon pitch into my best friend as not. Indeed, I’d sooner!’ + </p> +<p> + Involuntarily making a pass with his wooden leg to guard himself as Mr + Venus springs up in the emphasis of this unsociable declaration, Mr Wegg + tilts over on his back, chair and all, and is rescued by that harmless + misanthrope, in a disjointed state and ruefully rubbing his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you lost your balance, Mr Wegg,’ says Venus, handing him his pipe. + </p> +<p> + ‘And about time to do it,’ grumbles Silas, ‘when a man’s visitors, without + a word of notice, conduct themselves with the sudden wiciousness of + Jacks-in-boxes! Don’t come flying out of your chair like that, Mr Venus!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I ask your pardon, Mr Wegg. I am so soured.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, but hang it,’ says Wegg argumentatively, ‘a well-governed mind can + be soured sitting! And as to being regarded in lights, there’s bumpey + lights as well as bony. <i>In</i> which,’ again rubbing his head, ‘I object to + regard myself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll bear it in memory, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you’ll be so good.’ Mr Wegg slowly subdues his ironical tone and his + lingering irritation, and resumes his pipe. ‘We were talking of old Mr + Harmon being a friend of yours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a friend, Mr Wegg. Only known to speak to, and to have a little deal + with now and then. A very inquisitive character, Mr Wegg, regarding what + was found in the dust. As inquisitive as secret.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! You found him secret?’ returns Wegg, with a greedy relish. + </p> +<p> + ‘He had always the look of it, and the manner of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ with another roll of his eyes. ‘As to what was found in the dust + now. Did you ever hear him mention how he found it, my dear friend? Living + on the mysterious premises, one would like to know. For instance, where he + found things? Or, for instance, how he set about it? Whether he began at + the top of the mounds, or whether he began at the bottom. Whether he + prodded’; Mr Wegg’s pantomime is skilful and expressive here; ‘or whether + he scooped? Should you say scooped, my dear Mr Venus; or should you as a + man—say prodded?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should say neither, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As a fellow-man, Mr Venus—mix again—why neither?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because I suppose, sir, that what was found, was found in the sorting and + sifting. All the mounds are sorted and sifted?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall see ’em and pass your opinion. Mix again.’ + </p> +<p> + On each occasion of his saying ‘mix again’, Mr Wegg, with a hop on his + wooden leg, hitches his chair a little nearer; more as if he were + proposing that himself and Mr Venus should mix again, than that they + should replenish their glasses. + </p> +<p> + ‘Living (as I said before) on the mysterious premises,’ says Wegg when the + other has acted on his hospitable entreaty, ‘one likes to know. Would you + be inclined to say now—as a brother—that he ever hid things in + the dust, as well as found ’em?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg, on the whole I should say he might.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg claps on his spectacles, and admiringly surveys Mr Venus from head + to foot. + </p> +<p> + ‘As a mortal equally with myself, whose hand I take in mine for the first + time this day, having unaccountably overlooked that act so full of + boundless confidence binding a fellow-creetur <i>to</i> a fellow creetur,’ says + Wegg, holding Mr Venus’s palm out, flat and ready for smiting, and now + smiting it; ‘as such—and no other—for I scorn all lowlier ties + betwixt myself and the man walking with his face erect that alone I call + my Twin—regarded and regarding in this trustful bond—what do + you think he might have hid?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is but a supposition, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As a Being with his hand upon his heart,’ cries Wegg; and the apostrophe + is not the less impressive for the Being’s hand being actually upon his + rum and water; ‘put your supposition into language, and bring it out, Mr + Venus!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He was the species of old gentleman, sir,’ slowly returns that practical + anatomist, after drinking, ‘that I should judge likely to take such + opportunities as this place offered, of stowing away money, valuables, + maybe papers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As one that was ever an ornament to human life,’ says Mr Wegg, again + holding out Mr Venus’s palm as if he were going to tell his fortune by + chiromancy, and holding his own up ready for smiting it when the time + should come; ‘as one that the poet might have had his eye on, in writing + the national naval words: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Helm a-weather, now lay her close,<br> + <span class="poemindent">Yard arm and yard arm she lies;</span><br> + Again, cried I, Mr Venus, give her t’other dose,<br> + <span class="poemindent">Man shrouds and grapple, sir, or she flies!</span> + </p> +<p> + —that is to say, regarded in the light of true British Oak, for such + you are—explain, Mr Venus, the expression “papers”!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Seeing that the old gentleman was generally cutting off some near + relation, or blocking out some natural affection,’ Mr Venus rejoins, ‘he + most likely made a good many wills and codicils.’ + </p> +<p> + The palm of Silas Wegg descends with a sounding smack upon the palm of + Venus, and Wegg lavishly exclaims, ‘Twin in opinion equally with feeling! + Mix a little more!’ + </p> +<p> + Having now hitched his wooden leg and his chair close in front of Mr + Venus, Mr Wegg rapidly mixes for both, gives his visitor his glass, + touches its rim with the rim of his own, puts his own to his lips, puts it + down, and spreading his hands on his visitor’s knees thus addresses him: + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Venus. It ain’t that I object to being passed over for a stranger, + though I regard the stranger as a more than doubtful customer. It ain’t + for the sake of making money, though money is ever welcome. It ain’t for + myself, though I am not so haughty as to be above doing myself a good + turn. It’s for the cause of the right.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus, passively winking his weak eyes both at once, demands: ‘What is, + Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The friendly move, sir, that I now propose. You see the move, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Till you have pointed it out, Mr Wegg, I can’t say whether I do or not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If there <i>is</i> anything to be found on these premises, let us find it + together. Let us make the friendly move of agreeing to look for it + together. Let us make the friendly move of agreeing to share the profits + of it equally betwixt us. In the cause of the right.’ Thus Silas assuming + a noble air. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ says Mr Venus, looking up, after meditating with his hair held in + his hands, as if he could only fix his attention by fixing his head; ‘if + anything was to be unburied from under the dust, it would be kept a secret + by you and me? Would that be it, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That would depend upon what it was, Mr Venus. Say it was money, or plate, + or jewellery, it would be as much ours as anybody else’s.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus rubs an eyebrow, interrogatively. + </p> +<p> + ‘In the cause of the right it would. Because it would be unknowingly sold + with the mounds else, and the buyer would get what he was never meant to + have, and never bought. And what would that be, Mr Venus, but the cause of + the wrong?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Say it was papers,’ Mr Venus propounds. + </p> +<p> + ‘According to what they contained we should offer to dispose of ’em to the + parties most interested,’ replies Wegg, promptly. + </p> +<p> + ‘In the cause of the right, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Always so, Mr Venus. If the parties should use them in the cause of the + wrong, that would be their act and deed. Mr Venus. I have an opinion of + you, sir, to which it is not easy to give mouth. Since I called upon you + that evening when you were, as I may say, floating your powerful mind in + tea, I have felt that you required to be roused with an object. In this + friendly move, sir, you will have a glorious object to rouse you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg then goes on to enlarge upon what throughout has been uppermost in + his crafty mind:—the qualifications of Mr Venus for such a search. + He expatiates on Mr Venus’s patient habits and delicate manipulation; on + his skill in piecing little things together; on his knowledge of various + tissues and textures; on the likelihood of small indications leading him + on to the discovery of great concealments. ‘While as to myself,’ says + Wegg, ‘I am not good at it. Whether I gave myself up to prodding, or + whether I gave myself up to scooping, I couldn’t do it with that delicate + touch so as not to show that I was disturbing the mounds. Quite different + with <i>you</i>, going to work (as <i>you </i>would) in the light of a fellow-man, + holily pledged in a friendly move to his brother man.’ Mr Wegg next + modestly remarks on the want of adaptation in a wooden leg to ladders and + such like airy perches, and also hints at an inherent tendency in that + timber fiction, when called into action for the purposes of a promenade on + an ashey slope, to stick itself into the yielding foothold, and peg its + owner to one spot. Then, leaving this part of the subject, he remarks on + the special phenomenon that before his installation in the Bower, it was + from Mr Venus that he first heard of the legend of hidden wealth in the + Mounds: ‘which’, he observes with a vaguely pious air, ‘was surely never + meant for nothing.’ Lastly, he returns to the cause of the right, gloomily + foreshadowing the possibility of something being unearthed to criminate Mr + Boffin (of whom he once more candidly admits it cannot be denied that he + profits by a murder), and anticipating his denunciation by the friendly + movers to avenging justice. And this, Mr Wegg expressly points out, not at + all for the sake of the reward—though it would be a want of + principle not to take it. + </p> +<p> + To all this, Mr Venus, with his shock of dusty hair cocked after the + manner of a terrier’s ears, attends profoundly. When Mr Wegg, having + finished, opens his arms wide, as if to show Mr Venus how bare his breast + is, and then folds them pending a reply, Mr Venus winks at him with both + eyes some little time before speaking. + </p> +<p> + ‘I see you have tried it by yourself, Mr Wegg,’ he says when he does + speak. ‘You have found out the difficulties by experience.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, it can hardly be said that I have tried it,’ replies Wegg, a little + dashed by the hint. ‘I have just skimmed it. Skimmed it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And found nothing besides the difficulties?’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg shakes his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘I scarcely know what to say to this, Mr Wegg,’ observes Venus, after + ruminating for a while. + </p> +<p> + ‘Say yes,’ Wegg naturally urges. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I wasn’t soured, my answer would be no. But being soured, Mr Wegg, and + driven to reckless madness and desperation, I suppose it’s Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg joyfully reproduces the two glasses, repeats the ceremony of clinking + their rims, and inwardly drinks with great heartiness to the health and + success in life of the young lady who has reduced Mr Venus to his present + convenient state of mind. + </p> +<p> + The articles of the friendly move are then severally recited and agreed + upon. They are but secrecy, fidelity, and perseverance. The Bower to be + always free of access to Mr Venus for his researches, and every precaution + to be taken against their attracting observation in the neighbourhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s a footstep!’ exclaims Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ cries Wegg, starting. + </p> +<p> + ‘Outside. St!’ + </p> +<p> + They are in the act of ratifying the treaty of friendly move, by shaking + hands upon it. They softly break off, light their pipes which have gone + out, and lean back in their chairs. No doubt, a footstep. It approaches + the window, and a hand taps at the glass. ‘Come in!’ calls Wegg; meaning + come round by the door. But the heavy old-fashioned sash is slowly raised, + and a head slowly looks in out of the dark background of night. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray is Mr Silas Wegg here? Oh! I see him!’ + </p> +<p> + The friendly movers might not have been quite at their ease, even though + the visitor had entered in the usual manner. But, leaning on the + breast-high window, and staring in out of the darkness, they find the + visitor extremely embarrassing. Especially Mr Venus: who removes his pipe, + draws back his head, and stares at the starer, as if it were his own + Hindoo baby come to fetch him home. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good evening, Mr Wegg. The yard gate-lock should be looked to, if you + please; it don’t catch.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it Mr Rokesmith?’ falters Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is Mr Rokesmith. Don’t let me disturb you. I am not coming in. I have + only a message for you, which I undertook to deliver on my way home to my + lodgings. I was in two minds about coming beyond the gate without ringing: + not knowing but you might have a dog about.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish I had,’ mutters Wegg, with his back turned as he rose from his + chair. ‘St! Hush! The talking-over stranger, Mr Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is that any one I know?’ inquires the staring Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Mr Rokesmith. Friend of mine. Passing the evening with me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! I beg his pardon. Mr Boffin wishes you to know that he does not + expect you to stay at home any evening, on the chance of his coming. It + has occurred to him that he may, without intending it, have been a tie + upon you. In future, if he should come without notice, he will take his + chance of finding you, and it will be all the same to him if he does not. + I undertook to tell you on my way. That’s all.’ + </p> +<p> + With that, and ‘Good night,’ the Secretary lowers the window, and + disappears. They listen, and hear his footsteps go back to the gate, and + hear the gate close after him. + </p> +<p> + ‘And for that individual, Mr Venus,’ remarks Wegg, when he is fully gone, + ‘I have been passed over! Let me ask you what you think of him?’ + </p> +<p> + Apparently, Mr Venus does not know what to think of him, for he makes + sundry efforts to reply, without delivering himself of any other + articulate utterance than that he has ‘a singular look’. + </p> +<p> + ‘A double look, you mean, sir,’ rejoins Wegg, playing bitterly upon the + word. ‘That’s <i>his </i>look. Any amount of singular look for me, but not a + double look! That’s an under-handed mind, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you say there’s something against him?’ Venus asks. + </p> +<p> + ‘Something against him?’ repeats Wegg. ‘Something? What would the relief + be to my feelings—as a fellow-man—if I wasn’t the slave of + truth, and didn’t feel myself compelled to answer, Everything!’ + </p> +<p> + See into what wonderful maudlin refuges, featherless ostriches plunge + their heads! It is such unspeakable moral compensation to Wegg, to be + overcome by the consideration that Mr Rokesmith has an underhanded mind! + </p> +<p> + ‘On this starlight night, Mr Venus,’ he remarks, when he is showing that + friendly mover out across the yard, and both are something the worse for + mixing again and again: ‘on this starlight night to think that + talking-over strangers, and underhanded minds, can go walking home under + the sky, as if they was all square!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The spectacle of those orbs,’ says Mr Venus, gazing upward with his hat + tumbling off; ‘brings heavy on me her crushing words that she did not wish + to regard herself nor yet to be regarded in that—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know! I know! You needn’t repeat ’em,’ says Wegg, pressing his hand. + ‘But think how those stars steady me in the cause of the right against + some that shall be nameless. It isn’t that I bear malice. But see how they + glisten with old remembrances! Old remembrances of what, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus begins drearily replying, ‘Of her words, in her own handwriting, + that she does not wish to regard herself, nor yet—’ when Silas cuts + him short with dignity. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir! Remembrances of Our House, of Master George, of Aunt Jane, of + Uncle Parker, all laid waste! All offered up sacrifices to the minion of + fortune and the worm of the hour!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> +<h3> + IN WHICH AN INNOCENT ELOPEMENT OCCURS + </h3> +<p> + The minion of fortune and the worm of the hour, or in less cutting + language, Nicodemus Boffin, Esquire, the Golden Dustman, had become as + much at home in his eminently aristocratic family mansion as he was likely + ever to be. He could not but feel that, like an eminently aristocratic + family cheese, it was much too large for his wants, and bred an infinite + amount of parasites; but he was content to regard this drawback on his + property as a sort of perpetual Legacy Duty. He felt the more resigned to + it, forasmuch as Mrs Boffin enjoyed herself completely, and Miss Bella was + delighted. + </p> +<p> + That young lady was, no doubt, an acquisition to the Boffins. She was far + too pretty to be unattractive anywhere, and far too quick of perception to + be below the tone of her new career. Whether it improved her heart might + be a matter of taste that was open to question; but as touching another + matter of taste, its improvement of her appearance and manner, there could + be no question whatever. + </p> +<p> + And thus it soon came about that Miss Bella began to set Mrs Boffin right; + and even further, that Miss Bella began to feel ill at ease, and as it + were responsible, when she saw Mrs Boffin going wrong. Not that so sweet a + disposition and so sound a nature could ever go very wrong even among the + great visiting authorities who agreed that the Boffins were ‘charmingly + vulgar’ (which for certain was not their own case in saying so), but that + when she made a slip on the social ice on which all the children of + Podsnappery, with genteel souls to be saved, are required to skate in + circles, or to slide in long rows, she inevitably tripped Miss Bella up + (so that young lady felt), and caused her to experience great confusion + under the glances of the more skilful performers engaged in those + ice-exercises. + </p> +<p> + At Miss Bella’s time of life it was not to be expected that she should + examine herself very closely on the congruity or stability of her position + in Mr Boffin’s house. And as she had never been sparing of complaints of + her old home when she had no other to compare it with, so there was no + novelty of ingratitude or disdain in her very much preferring her new one. + </p> +<p> + ‘An invaluable man is Rokesmith,’ said Mr Boffin, after some two or three + months. ‘But I can’t quite make him out.’ + </p> +<p> + Neither could Bella, so she found the subject rather interesting. + </p> +<p> + ‘He takes more care of my affairs, morning, noon, and night,’ said Mr + Boffin, ‘than fifty other men put together either could or would; and yet + he has ways of his own that are like tying a scaffolding-pole right across + the road, and bringing me up short when I am almost a-walking arm in arm + with him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘May I ask how so, sir?’ inquired Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘he won’t meet any company here, but you. + When we have visitors, I should wish him to have his regular place at the + table like ourselves; but no, he won’t take it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If he considers himself above it,’ said Miss Bella, with an airy toss of + her head, ‘I should leave him alone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It ain’t that, my dear,’ replied Mr Boffin, thinking it over. ‘He don’t + consider himself above it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps he considers himself beneath it,’ suggested Bella. ‘If so, he + ought to know best.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my dear; nor it ain’t that, neither. No,’ repeated Mr Boffin, with a + shake of his head, after again thinking it over; ‘Rokesmith’s a modest + man, but he don’t consider himself beneath it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then what does he consider, sir?’ asked Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dashed if I know!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘It seemed at first as if it was only + Lightwood that he objected to meet. And now it seems to be everybody, + except you.’ + </p> +<p> + Oho! thought Miss Bella. ‘In—deed! That’s it, is it!’ For Mr + Mortimer Lightwood had dined there two or three times, and she had met him + elsewhere, and he had shown her some attention. ‘Rather cool in a + Secretary—and Pa’s lodger—to make me the subject of his + jealousy!’ + </p> +<p> + That Pa’s daughter should be so contemptuous of Pa’s lodger was odd; but + there were odder anomalies than that in the mind of the spoilt girl: + spoilt first by poverty, and then by wealth. Be it this history’s part, + however, to leave them to unravel themselves. + </p> +<p> + ‘A little too much, I think,’ Miss Bella reflected scornfully, ‘to have + Pa’s lodger laying claim to me, and keeping eligible people off! A little + too much, indeed, to have the opportunities opened to me by Mr and Mrs + Boffin, appropriated by a mere Secretary and Pa’s lodger!’ + </p> +<p> + Yet it was not so very long ago that Bella had been fluttered by the + discovery that this same Secretary and lodger seem to like her. Ah! but + the eminently aristocratic mansion and Mrs Boffin’s dressmaker had not + come into play then. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0298m " src="images/0298m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0298m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0298.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-1892097013792843771"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + In spite of his seemingly retiring manners a very intrusive person, this + Secretary and lodger, in Miss Bella’s opinion. Always a light in his + office-room when we came home from the play or Opera, and he always at the + carriage-door to hand us out. Always a provoking radiance too on Mrs + Boffin’s face, and an abominably cheerful reception of him, as if it were + possible seriously to approve what the man had in his mind! + </p> +<p> + ‘You never charge me, Miss Wilfer,’ said the Secretary, encountering her + by chance alone in the great drawing-room, ‘with commissions for home. I + shall always be happy to execute any commands you may have in that + direction.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray what may you mean, Mr Rokesmith?’ inquired Miss Bella, with + languidly drooping eyelids. + </p> +<p> + ‘By home? I mean your father’s house at Holloway.’ + </p> +<p> + She coloured under the retort—so skilfully thrust, that the words + seemed to be merely a plain answer, given in plain good faith—and + said, rather more emphatically and sharply: + </p> +<p> + ‘What commissions and commands are you speaking of?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only little words of remembrance as I assume you sent somehow or other,’ + replied the Secretary with his former air. ‘It would be a pleasure to me + if you would make me the bearer of them. As you know, I come and go + between the two houses every day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You needn’t remind me of that, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + She was too quick in this petulant sally against ‘Pa’s lodger’; and she + felt that she had been so when she met his quiet look. + </p> +<p> + ‘They don’t send many—what was your expression?—words of + remembrance to me,’ said Bella, making haste to take refuge in ill-usage. + </p> +<p> + ‘They frequently ask me about you, and I give them such slight + intelligence as I can.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope it’s truly given,’ exclaimed Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope you cannot doubt it, for it would be very much against you, if you + could.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I do not doubt it. I deserve the reproach, which is very just indeed. + I beg your pardon, Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should beg you not to do so, but that it shows you to such admirable + advantage,’ he replied with earnestness. ‘Forgive me; I could not help + saying that. To return to what I have digressed from, let me add that + perhaps they think I report them to you, deliver little messages, and the + like. But I forbear to trouble you, as you never ask me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am going, sir,’ said Bella, looking at him as if he had reproved her, + ‘to see them tomorrow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is that,’ he asked, hesitating, ‘said to me, or to them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To which you please.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To both? Shall I make it a message?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You can if you like, Mr Rokesmith. Message or no message, I am going to + see them tomorrow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I will tell them so.’ + </p> +<p> + He lingered a moment, as though to give her the opportunity of prolonging + the conversation if she wished. As she remained silent, he left her. Two + incidents of the little interview were felt by Miss Bella herself, when + alone again, to be very curious. The first was, that he unquestionably + left her with a penitent air upon her, and a penitent feeling in her + heart. The second was, that she had not an intention or a thought of going + home, until she had announced it to him as a settled design. + </p> +<p> + ‘What can I mean by it, or what can he mean by it?’ was her mental + inquiry: ‘He has no right to any power over me, and how do I come to mind + him when I don’t care for him?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin, insisting that Bella should make tomorrow’s expedition in the + chariot, she went home in great grandeur. Mrs Wilfer and Miss Lavinia had + speculated much on the probabilities and improbabilities of her coming in + this gorgeous state, and, on beholding the chariot from the window at + which they were secreted to look out for it, agreed that it must be + detained at the door as long as possible, for the mortification and + confusion of the neighbours. Then they repaired to the usual family room, + to receive Miss Bella with a becoming show of indifference. + </p> +<p> + The family room looked very small and very mean, and the downward + staircase by which it was attained looked very narrow and very crooked. + The little house and all its arrangements were a poor contrast to the + eminently aristocratic dwelling. ‘I can hardly believe,’ thought Bella, + ‘that I ever did endure life in this place!’ + </p> +<p> + Gloomy majesty on the part of Mrs Wilfer, and native pertness on the part + of Lavvy, did not mend the matter. Bella really stood in natural need of a + little help, and she got none. + </p> +<p> + ‘This,’ said Mrs Wilfer, presenting a cheek to be kissed, as sympathetic + and responsive as the back of the bowl of a spoon, ‘is quite an honour! + You will probably find your sister Lavvy grown, Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma,’ Miss Lavinia interposed, ‘there can be no objection to your being + aggravating, because Bella richly deserves it; but I really must request + that you will not drag in such ridiculous nonsense as my having grown when + I am past the growing age.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I grew, myself,’ Mrs Wilfer sternly proclaimed, ‘after I was married.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well, Ma,’ returned Lavvy, ‘then I think you had much better have + left it alone.’ + </p> +<p> + The lofty glare with which the majestic woman received this answer, might + have embarrassed a less pert opponent, but it had no effect upon Lavinia: + who, leaving her parent to the enjoyment of any amount of glaring at she + might deem desirable under the circumstances, accosted her sister, + undismayed. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose you won’t consider yourself quite disgraced, Bella, if I give + you a kiss? Well! And how do you do, Bella? And how are your Boffins?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Peace!’ exclaimed Mrs Wilfer. ‘Hold! I will not suffer this tone of + levity.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My goodness me! How are your Spoffins, then?’ said Lavvy, ‘since Ma so + very much objects to your Boffins.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Impertinent girl! Minx!’ said Mrs Wilfer, with dread severity. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t care whether I am a Minx, or a Sphinx,’ returned Lavinia, coolly, + tossing her head; ‘it’s exactly the same thing to me, and I’d every bit as + soon be one as the other; but I know this—I’ll not grow after I’m + married!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You will not? <i>You </i>will not?’ repeated Mrs Wilfer, solemnly. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Ma, I will not. Nothing shall induce me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer, having waved her gloves, became loftily pathetic. + </p> +<p> + ‘But it was to be expected;’ thus she spake. ‘A child of mine deserts me + for the proud and prosperous, and another child of mine despises me. It is + quite fitting.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma,’ Bella struck in, ‘Mr and Mrs Boffin are prosperous, no doubt; but + you have no right to say they are proud. You must know very well that they + are not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In short, Ma,’ said Lavvy, bouncing over to the enemy without a word of + notice, ‘you must know very well—or if you don’t, more shame for you!—that + Mr and Mrs Boffin are just absolute perfection.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, courteously receiving the deserter, ‘it would + seem that we are required to think so. And this, Lavinia, is my reason for + objecting to a tone of levity. Mrs Boffin (of whose physiognomy I can + never speak with the composure I would desire to preserve), and your + mother, are not on terms of intimacy. It is not for a moment to be + supposed that she and her husband dare to presume to speak of this family + as the Wilfers. I cannot therefore condescend to speak of them as the + Boffins. No; for such a tone—call it familiarity, levity, equality, + or what you will—would imply those social interchanges which do not + exist. Do I render myself intelligible?’ + </p> +<p> + Without taking the least notice of this inquiry, albeit delivered in an + imposing and forensic manner, Lavinia reminded her sister, ‘After all, you + know, Bella, you haven’t told us how your Whatshisnames are.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want to speak of them here,’ replied Bella, suppressing + indignation, and tapping her foot on the floor. ‘They are much too kind + and too good to be drawn into these discussions.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why put it so?’ demanded Mrs Wilfer, with biting sarcasm. ‘Why adopt a + circuitous form of speech? It is polite and it is obliging; but why do it? + Why not openly say that they are much too kind and too good for <i>us</i>? We + understand the allusion. Why disguise the phrase?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma,’ said Bella, with one beat of her foot, ‘you are enough to drive a + saint mad, and so is Lavvy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Unfortunate Lavvy!’ cried Mrs Wilfer, in a tone of commiseration. ‘She + always comes for it. My poor child!’ But Lavvy, with the suddenness of her + former desertion, now bounced over to the other enemy: very sharply + remarking, ‘Don’t patronize <i>me</i>, Ma, because I can take care of myself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I only wonder,’ resumed Mrs Wilfer, directing her observations to her + elder daughter, as safer on the whole than her utterly unmanageable + younger, ‘that you found time and inclination to tear yourself from Mr and + Mrs Boffin, and come to see us at all. I only wonder that our claims, + contending against the superior claims of Mr and Mrs Boffin, had any + weight. I feel I ought to be thankful for gaining so much, in competition + with Mr and Mrs Boffin.’ (The good lady bitterly emphasized the first + letter of the word Boffin, as if it represented her chief objection to the + owners of that name, and as if she could have born Doffin, Moffin, or + Poffin much better.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma,’ said Bella, angrily, ‘you force me to say that I am truly sorry I + did come home, and that I never will come home again, except when poor + dear Pa is here. For, Pa is too magnanimous to feel envy and spite towards + my generous friends, and Pa is delicate enough and gentle enough to + remember the sort of little claim they thought I had upon them and the + unusually trying position in which, through no act of my own, I had been + placed. And I always did love poor dear Pa better than all the rest of you + put together, and I always do and I always shall!’ + </p> +<p> + Here Bella, deriving no comfort from her charming bonnet and her elegant + dress, burst into tears. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, R.W.,’ cried Mrs Wilfer, lifting up her eyes and apostrophising + the air, ‘that if you were present, it would be a trial to your feelings + to hear your wife and the mother of your family depreciated in your name. + But Fate has spared you this, R.W., whatever it may have thought proper to + inflict upon her!’ + </p> +<p> + Here Mrs Wilfer burst into tears. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hate the Boffins!’ protested Miss Lavinia. ‘I don’t care who objects to + their being called the Boffins. I <i>will </i>call ’em the Boffins. The Boffins, + the Boffins, the Boffins! And I say they are mischief-making Boffins, and + I say the Boffins have set Bella against me, and I tell the Boffins to + their faces:’ which was not strictly the fact, but the young lady was + excited: ‘that they are detestable Boffins, disreputable Boffins, odious + Boffins, beastly Boffins. There!’ + </p> +<p> + Here Miss Lavinia burst into tears. + </p> +<p> + The front garden-gate clanked, and the Secretary was seen coming at a + brisk pace up the steps. ‘Leave Me to open the door to him,’ said Mrs + Wilfer, rising with stately resignation as she shook her head and dried + her eyes; ‘we have at present no stipendiary girl to do so. We have + nothing to conceal. If he sees these traces of emotion on our cheeks, let + him construe them as he may.’ + </p> +<p> + With those words she stalked out. In a few moments she stalked in again, + proclaiming in her heraldic manner, ‘Mr Rokesmith is the bearer of a + packet for Miss Bella Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Rokesmith followed close upon his name, and of course saw what was + amiss. But he discreetly affected to see nothing, and addressed Miss + Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin intended to have placed this in the carriage for you this + morning. He wished you to have it, as a little keepsake he had prepared—it + is only a purse, Miss Wilfer—but as he was disappointed in his + fancy, I volunteered to come after you with it.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella took it in her hand, and thanked him. + </p> +<p> + ‘We have been quarrelling here a little, Mr Rokesmith, but not more than + we used; you know our agreeable ways among ourselves. You find me just + going. Good-bye, mamma. Good-bye, Lavvy!’ and with a kiss for each Miss + Bella turned to the door. The Secretary would have attended her, but Mrs + Wilfer advancing and saying with dignity, ‘Pardon me! Permit me to assert + my natural right to escort my child to the equipage which is in waiting + for her,’ he begged pardon and gave place. It was a very magnificent + spectacle indeed, to see Mrs Wilfer throw open the house-door, and loudly + demand with extended gloves, ‘The male domestic of Mrs Boffin!’ To whom + presenting himself, she delivered the brief but majestic charge, ‘Miss + Wilfer. Coming out!’ and so delivered her over, like a female Lieutenant + of the Tower relinquishing a State Prisoner. The effect of this ceremonial + was for some quarter of an hour afterwards perfectly paralyzing on the + neighbours, and was much enhanced by the worthy lady airing herself for + that term in a kind of splendidly serene trance on the top step. + </p> +<p> + When Bella was seated in the carriage, she opened the little packet in her + hand. It contained a pretty purse, and the purse contained a bank note for + fifty pounds. ‘This shall be a joyful surprise for poor dear Pa,’ said + Bella, ‘and I’ll take it myself into the City!’ + </p> +<p> + As she was uninformed respecting the exact locality of the place of + business of Chicksey Veneering and Stobbles, but knew it to be near + Mincing Lane, she directed herself to be driven to the corner of that + darksome spot. Thence she despatched ‘the male domestic of Mrs Boffin,’ in + search of the counting-house of Chicksey Veneering and Stobbles, with a + message importing that if R. Wilfer could come out, there was a lady + waiting who would be glad to speak with him. The delivery of these + mysterious words from the mouth of a footman caused so great an excitement + in the counting-house, that a youthful scout was instantly appointed to + follow Rumty, observe the lady, and come in with his report. Nor was the + agitation by any means diminished, when the scout rushed back with the + intelligence that the lady was ‘a slap-up gal in a bang-up chariot.’ + </p> +<p> + Rumty himself, with his pen behind his ear under his rusty hat, arrived at + the carriage-door in a breathless condition, and had been fairly lugged + into the vehicle by his cravat and embraced almost unto choking, before he + recognized his daughter. ‘My dear child!’ he then panted, incoherently. + ‘Good gracious me! What a lovely woman you are! I thought you had been + unkind and forgotten your mother and sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have just been to see them, Pa dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! and how—how did you find your mother?’ asked R. W., dubiously. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very disagreeable, Pa, and so was Lavvy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They are sometimes a little liable to it,’ observed the patient cherub; + ‘but I hope you made allowances, Bella, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I was disagreeable too, Pa; we were all of us disagreeable together. + But I want you to come and dine with me somewhere, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, my dear, I have already partaken of a—if one might mention + such an article in this superb chariot—of a—Saveloy,’ replied + R. Wilfer, modestly dropping his voice on the word, as he eyed the + canary-coloured fittings. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! That’s nothing, Pa!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, it ain’t as much as one could sometimes wish it to be, my dear,’ + he admitted, drawing his hand across his mouth. ‘Still, when circumstances + over which you have no control, interpose obstacles between yourself and + Small Germans, you can’t do better than bring a contented mind to bear on’—again + dropping his voice in deference to the chariot—‘Saveloys!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You poor good Pa! Pa, do, I beg and pray, get leave for the rest of the + day, and come and pass it with me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my dear, I’ll cut back and ask for leave.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But before you cut back,’ said Bella, who had already taken him by the + chin, pulled his hat off, and begun to stick up his hair in her old way, + ‘do say that you are sure I am giddy and inconsiderate, but have never + really slighted you, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, I say it with all my heart. And might I likewise observe,’ her + father delicately hinted, with a glance out at window, ‘that perhaps it + might be calculated to attract attention, having one’s hair publicly done + by a lovely woman in an elegant turn-out in Fenchurch Street?’ + </p> +<p> + Bella laughed and put on his hat again. But when his boyish figure bobbed + away, its shabbiness and cheerful patience smote the tears out of her + eyes. ‘I hate that Secretary for thinking it of me,’ she said to herself, + ‘and yet it seems half true!’ + </p> +<p> + Back came her father, more like a boy than ever, in his release from + school. ‘All right, my dear. Leave given at once. Really very handsomely + done!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now where can we find some quiet place, Pa, in which I can wait for you + while you go on an errand for me, if I send the carriage away?’ + </p> +<p> + It demanded cogitation. ‘You see, my dear,’ he explained, ‘you really have + become such a very lovely woman, that it ought to be a very quiet place.’ + At length he suggested, ‘Near the garden up by the Trinity House on Tower + Hill.’ So, they were driven there, and Bella dismissed the chariot; + sending a pencilled note by it to Mrs Boffin, that she was with her + father. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Pa, attend to what I am going to say, and promise and vow to be + obedient.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I promise and vow, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You ask no questions. You take this purse; you go to the nearest place + where they keep everything of the very very best, ready made; you buy and + put on, the most beautiful suit of clothes, the most beautiful hat, and + the most beautiful pair of bright boots (patent leather, Pa, mind!) that + are to be got for money; and you come back to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, my dear Bella—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take care, Pa!’ pointing her forefinger at him, merrily. ‘You have + promised and vowed. It’s perjury, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + There was water in the foolish little fellow’s eyes, but she kissed them + dry (though her own were wet), and he bobbed away again. After half an + hour, he came back, so brilliantly transformed, that Bella was obliged to + walk round him in ecstatic admiration twenty times, before she could draw + her arm through his, and delightedly squeeze it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Pa,’ said Bella, hugging him close, ‘take this lovely woman out to + dinner.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where shall we go, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Greenwich!’ said Bella, valiantly. ‘And be sure you treat this lovely + woman with everything of the best.’ + </p> +<p> + While they were going along to take boat, ‘Don’t you wish, my dear,’ said + R. W., timidly, ‘that your mother was here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I don’t, Pa, for I like to have you all to myself to-day. I was + always your little favourite at home, and you were always mine. We have + run away together often, before now; haven’t we, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, to be sure we have! Many a Sunday when your mother was—was a + little liable to it,’ repeating his former delicate expression after + pausing to cough. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and I am afraid I was seldom or never as good as I ought to have + been, Pa. I made you carry me, over and over again, when you should have + made me walk; and I often drove you in harness, when you would much rather + have sat down and read your news-paper: didn’t I?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sometimes, sometimes. But Lor, what a child you were! What a companion + you were!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Companion? That’s just what I want to be to-day, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are safe to succeed, my love. Your brothers and sisters have all in + their turns been companions to me, to a certain extent, but only to a + certain extent. Your mother has, throughout life, been a companion that + any man might—might look up to—and—and commit the + sayings of, to memory—and—form himself upon—if he—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If he liked the model?’ suggested Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘We-ell, ye-es,’ he returned, thinking about it, not quite satisfied with + the phrase: ‘or perhaps I might say, if it was in him. Supposing, for + instance, that a man wanted to be always marching, he would find your + mother an inestimable companion. But if he had any taste for walking, or + should wish at any time to break into a trot, he might sometimes find it a + little difficult to keep step with your mother. Or take it this way, + Bella,’ he added, after a moment’s reflection; ‘Supposing that a man had + to go through life, we won’t say with a companion, but we’ll say to a + tune. Very good. Supposing that the tune allotted to him was the Dead + March in Saul. Well. It would be a very suitable tune for particular + occasions—none better—but it would be difficult to keep time + with in the ordinary run of domestic transactions. For instance, if he + took his supper after a hard day, to the Dead March in Saul, his food + might be likely to sit heavy on him. Or, if he was at any time inclined to + relieve his mind by singing a comic song or dancing a hornpipe, and was + obliged to do it to the Dead March in Saul, he might find himself put out + in the execution of his lively intentions.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Poor Pa!’ thought Bella, as she hung upon his arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, what I will say for you, my dear,’ the cherub pursued mildly and + without a notion of complaining, ‘is, that you are so adaptable. So + adaptable.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed I am afraid I have shown a wretched temper, Pa. I am afraid I have + been very complaining, and very capricious. I seldom or never thought of + it before. But when I sat in the carriage just now and saw you coming + along the pavement, I reproached myself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, my dear. Don’t speak of such a thing.’ + </p> +<p> + A happy and a chatty man was Pa in his new clothes that day. Take it for + all in all, it was perhaps the happiest day he had ever known in his life; + not even excepting that on which his heroic partner had approached the + nuptial altar to the tune of the Dead March in Saul. + </p> +<p> + The little expedition down the river was delightful, and the little room + overlooking the river into which they were shown for dinner was + delightful. Everything was delightful. The park was delightful, the punch + was delightful, the dishes of fish were delightful, the wine was + delightful. Bella was more delightful than any other item in the festival; + drawing Pa out in the gayest manner; making a point of always mentioning + herself as the lovely woman; stimulating Pa to order things, by declaring + that the lovely woman insisted on being treated with them; and in short + causing Pa to be quite enraptured with the consideration that he <i>was </i>the + Pa of such a charming daughter. + </p> +<p> + And then, as they sat looking at the ships and steamboats making their way + to the sea with the tide that was running down, the lovely woman imagined + all sorts of voyages for herself and Pa. Now, Pa, in the character of + owner of a lumbering square-sailed collier, was tacking away to Newcastle, + to fetch black diamonds to make his fortune with; now, Pa was going to + China in that handsome threemasted ship, to bring home opium, with which + he would for ever cut out Chicksey Veneering and Stobbles, and to bring + home silks and shawls without end for the decoration of his charming + daughter. Now, John Harmon’s disastrous fate was all a dream, and he had + come home and found the lovely woman just the article for him, and the + lovely woman had found him just the article for her, and they were going + away on a trip, in their gallant bark, to look after their vines, with + streamers flying at all points, a band playing on deck and Pa established + in the great cabin. Now, John Harmon was consigned to his grave again, and + a merchant of immense wealth (name unknown) had courted and married the + lovely woman, and he was so enormously rich that everything you saw upon + the river sailing or steaming belonged to him, and he kept a perfect fleet + of yachts for pleasure, and that little impudent yacht which you saw over + there, with the great white sail, was called The Bella, in honour of his + wife, and she held her state aboard when it pleased her, like a modern + Cleopatra. Anon, there would embark in that troop-ship when she got to + Gravesend, a mighty general, of large property (name also unknown), who + wouldn’t hear of going to victory without his wife, and whose wife was the + lovely woman, and she was destined to become the idol of all the red coats + and blue jackets alow and aloft. And then again: you saw that ship being + towed out by a steam-tug? Well! where did you suppose she was going to? + She was going among the coral reefs and cocoa-nuts and all that sort of + thing, and she was chartered for a fortunate individual of the name of Pa + (himself on board, and much respected by all hands), and she was going, + for his sole profit and advantage, to fetch a cargo of sweet-smelling + woods, the most beautiful that ever were seen, and the most profitable + that ever were heard of; and her cargo would be a great fortune, as indeed + it ought to be: the lovely woman who had purchased her and fitted her + expressly for this voyage, being married to an Indian Prince, who was a + Something-or-Other, and who wore Cashmere shawls all over himself and + diamonds and emeralds blazing in his turban, and was beautifully + coffee-coloured and excessively devoted, though a little too jealous. Thus + Bella ran on merrily, in a manner perfectly enchanting to Pa, who was as + willing to put his head into the Sultan’s tub of water as the beggar-boys + below the window were to put <i>their </i>heads in the mud. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose, my dear,’ said Pa after dinner, ‘we may come to the conclusion + at home, that we have lost you for good?’ + </p> +<p> + Bella shook her head. Didn’t know. Couldn’t say. All she was able to + report was, that she was most handsomely supplied with everything she + could possibly want, and that whenever she hinted at leaving Mr and Mrs + Boffin, they wouldn’t hear of it. + </p> +<p> + ‘And now, Pa,’ pursued Bella, ‘I’ll make a confession to you. I am the + most mercenary little wretch that ever lived in the world.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should hardly have thought it of you, my dear,’ returned her father, + first glancing at himself; and then at the dessert. + </p> +<p> + ‘I understand what you mean, Pa, but it’s not that. It’s not that I care + for money to keep as money, but I do care so much for what it will buy!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Really I think most of us do,’ returned R. W. + </p> +<p> + ‘But not to the dreadful extent that I do, Pa. O-o!’ cried Bella, screwing + the exclamation out of herself with a twist of her dimpled chin. ‘I <i>am</i> so + mercenary!’ + </p> +<p> + With a wistful glance R. W. said, in default of having anything better to + say: ‘About when did you begin to feel it coming on, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s it, Pa. That’s the terrible part of it. When I was at home, and + only knew what it was to be poor, I grumbled but didn’t so much mind. When + I was at home expecting to be rich, I thought vaguely of all the great + things I would do. But when I had been disappointed of my splendid + fortune, and came to see it from day to day in other hands, and to have + before my eyes what it could really do, then I became the mercenary little + wretch I am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s your fancy, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can assure you it’s nothing of the sort, Pa!’ said Bella, nodding at + him, with her very pretty eyebrows raised as high as they would go, and + looking comically frightened. ‘It’s a fact. I am always avariciously + scheming.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lor! But how?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell you, Pa. I don’t mind telling <i>you</i>, because we have always been + favourites of each other’s, and because you are not like a Pa, but more + like a sort of a younger brother with a dear venerable chubbiness on him. + And besides,’ added Bella, laughing as she pointed a rallying finger at + his face, ‘because I have got you in my power. This is a secret + expedition. If ever you tell of me, I’ll tell of you. I’ll tell Ma that + you dined at Greenwich.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well; seriously, my dear,’ observed R. W., with some trepidation of + manner, ‘it might be as well not to mention it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Aha!’ laughed Bella. ‘I knew you wouldn’t like it, sir! So you keep my + confidence, and I’ll keep yours. But betray the lovely woman, and you + shall find her a serpent. Now, you may give me a kiss, Pa, and I should + like to give your hair a turn, because it has been dreadfully neglected in + my absence.’ + </p> +<p> + R. W. submitted his head to the operator, and the operator went on + talking; at the same time putting separate locks of his hair through a + curious process of being smartly rolled over her two revolving + forefingers, which were then suddenly pulled out of it in opposite lateral + directions. On each of these occasions the patient winced and winked. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have made up my mind that I must have money, Pa. I feel that I can’t + beg it, borrow it, or steal it; and so I have resolved that I must marry + it.’ + </p> +<p> + R. W. cast up his eyes towards her, as well as he could under the + operating circumstances, and said in a tone of remonstrance, ‘My de-ar + Bella!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have resolved, I say, Pa, that to get money I must marry money. In + consequence of which, I am always looking out for money to captivate.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My de-a-r Bella!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Pa, that is the state of the case. If ever there was a mercenary + plotter whose thoughts and designs were always in her mean occupation, I + am the amiable creature. But I don’t care. I hate and detest being poor, + and I won’t be poor if I can marry money. Now you are deliciously fluffy, + Pa, and in a state to astonish the waiter and pay the bill.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, my dear Bella, this is quite alarming at your age.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I told you so, Pa, but you wouldn’t believe it,’ returned Bella, with a + pleasant childish gravity. ‘Isn’t it shocking?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It would be quite so, if you fully knew what you said, my dear, or meant + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Pa, I can only tell you that I mean nothing else. Talk to me of + love!’ said Bella, contemptuously: though her face and figure certainly + rendered the subject no incongruous one. ‘Talk to me of fiery dragons! But + talk to me of poverty and wealth, and there indeed we touch upon + realities.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My De-ar, this is becoming Awful—’ her father was emphatically + beginning: when she stopped him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pa, tell me. Did you marry money?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You know I didn’t, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella hummed the Dead March in Saul, and said, after all it signified very + little! But seeing him look grave and downcast, she took him round the + neck and kissed him back to cheerfulness again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I didn’t mean that last touch, Pa; it was only said in joke. Now mind! + You are not to tell of me, and I’ll not tell of you. And more than that; I + promise to have no secrets from you, Pa, and you may make certain that, + whatever mercenary things go on, I shall always tell you all about them in + strict confidence.’ + </p> +<p> + Fain to be satisfied with this concession from the lovely woman, R. W. + rang the bell, and paid the bill. ‘Now, all the rest of this, Pa,’ said + Bella, rolling up the purse when they were alone again, hammering it small + with her little fist on the table, and cramming it into one of the pockets + of his new waistcoat, ‘is for you, to buy presents with for them at home, + and to pay bills with, and to divide as you like, and spend exactly as you + think proper. Last of all take notice, Pa, that it’s not the fruit of any + avaricious scheme. Perhaps if it was, your little mercenary wretch of a + daughter wouldn’t make so free with it!’ + </p> +<p> + After which, she tugged at his coat with both hands, and pulled him all + askew in buttoning that garment over the precious waistcoat pocket, and + then tied her dimples into her bonnet-strings in a very knowing way, and + took him back to London. Arrived at Mr Boffin’s door, she set him with his + back against it, tenderly took him by the ears as convenient handles for + her purpose, and kissed him until he knocked muffled double knocks at the + door with the back of his head. That done, she once more reminded him of + their compact and gaily parted from him. + </p> +<p> + Not so gaily, however, but that tears filled her eyes as he went away down + the dark street. Not so gaily, but that she several times said, ‘Ah, poor + little Pa! Ah, poor dear struggling shabby little Pa!’ before she took + heart to knock at the door. Not so gaily, but that the brilliant furniture + seemed to stare her out of countenance as if it insisted on being compared + with the dingy furniture at home. Not so gaily, but that she fell into + very low spirits sitting late in her own room, and very heartily wept, as + she wished, now that the deceased old John Harmon had never made a will + about her, now that the deceased young John Harmon had lived to marry her. + ‘Contradictory things to wish,’ said Bella, ‘but my life and fortunes are + so contradictory altogether that what can I expect myself to be!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 9 + </h2> +<h3> + IN WHICH THE ORPHAN MAKES HIS WILL + </h3> +<p> + The Secretary, working in the Dismal Swamp betimes next morning, was + informed that a youth waited in the hall who gave the name of Sloppy. The + footman who communicated this intelligence made a decent pause before + uttering the name, to express that it was forced on his reluctance by the + youth in question, and that if the youth had had the good sense and good + taste to inherit some other name it would have spared the feelings of him + the bearer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Boffin will be very well pleased,’ said the Secretary in a perfectly + composed way. ‘Show him in.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sloppy being introduced, remained close to the door: revealing in + various parts of his form many surprising, confounding, and + incomprehensible buttons. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am glad to see you,’ said John Rokesmith, in a cheerful tone of + welcome. ‘I have been expecting you.’ + </p> +<p> + Sloppy explained that he had meant to come before, but that the Orphan (of + whom he made mention as Our Johnny) had been ailing, and he had waited to + report him well. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then he is well now?’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘No he ain’t,’ said Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + Mr Sloppy having shaken his head to a considerable extent, proceeded to + remark that he thought Johnny ‘must have took ’em from the Minders.’ Being + asked what he meant, he answered, them that come out upon him and + partickler his chest. Being requested to explain himself, he stated that + there was some of ’em wot you couldn’t kiver with a sixpence. Pressed to + fall back upon a nominative case, he opined that they wos about as red as + ever red could be. ‘But as long as they strikes out’ards, sir,’ continued + Sloppy, ‘they ain’t so much. It’s their striking in’ards that’s to be kep + off.’ + </p> +<p> + John Rokesmith hoped the child had had medical attendance? Oh yes, said + Sloppy, he had been took to the doctor’s shop once. And what did the + doctor call it? Rokesmith asked him. After some perplexed reflection, + Sloppy answered, brightening, ‘He called it something as wos wery long for + spots.’ Rokesmith suggested measles. ‘No,’ said Sloppy with confidence, + ‘ever so much longer than <i>them</i>, sir!’ (Mr Sloppy was elevated by this + fact, and seemed to consider that it reflected credit on the poor little + patient.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Boffin will be sorry to hear this,’ said Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Higden said so, sir, when she kep it from her, hoping as Our Johnny + would work round.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I hope he will?’ said Rokesmith, with a quick turn upon the + messenger. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope so,’ answered Sloppy. ‘It all depends on their striking in’ards.’ + He then went on to say that whether Johnny had ‘took ’em’ from the + Minders, or whether the Minders had ‘took ’em’ from Johnny, the Minders had + been sent home and had ‘got ’em.’ Furthermore, that Mrs Higden’s days and + nights being devoted to Our Johnny, who was never out of her lap, the + whole of the mangling arrangements had devolved upon himself, and he had + had ‘rayther a tight time’. The ungainly piece of honesty beamed and + blushed as he said it, quite enraptured with the remembrance of having + been serviceable. + </p> +<p> + ‘Last night,’ said Sloppy, ‘when I was a-turning at the wheel pretty late, + the mangle seemed to go like Our Johnny’s breathing. It begun beautiful, + then as it went out it shook a little and got unsteady, then as it took + the turn to come home it had a rattle-like and lumbered a bit, then it + come smooth, and so it went on till I scarce know’d which was mangle and + which was Our Johnny. Nor Our Johnny, he scarce know’d either, for + sometimes when the mangle lumbers he says, “Me choking, Granny!” and Mrs + Higden holds him up in her lap and says to me “Bide a bit, Sloppy,” and we + all stops together. And when Our Johnny gets his breathing again, I turns + again, and we all goes on together.’ + </p> +<p> + Sloppy had gradually expanded with his description into a stare and a + vacant grin. He now contracted, being silent, into a half-repressed gush + of tears, and, under pretence of being heated, drew the under part of his + sleeve across his eyes with a singularly awkward, laborious, and + roundabout smear. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is unfortunate,’ said Rokesmith. ‘I must go and break it to Mrs + Boffin. Stay you here, Sloppy.’ + </p> +<p> + Sloppy stayed there, staring at the pattern of the paper on the wall, + until the Secretary and Mrs Boffin came back together. And with Mrs Boffin + was a young lady (Miss Bella Wilfer by name) who was better worth staring + at, it occurred to Sloppy, than the best of wall-papering. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, my poor dear pretty little John Harmon!’ exclaimed Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes mum,’ said the sympathetic Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t think he is in a very, very bad way, do you?’ asked the + pleasant creature with her wholesome cordiality. + </p> +<p> + Put upon his good faith, and finding it in collision with his + inclinations, Sloppy threw back his head and uttered a mellifluous howl, + rounded off with a sniff. + </p> +<p> + ‘So bad as that!’ cried Mrs Boffin. ‘And Betty Higden not to tell me of it + sooner!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think she might have been mistrustful, mum,’ answered Sloppy, + hesitating. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of what, for Heaven’s sake?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think she might have been mistrustful, mum,’ returned Sloppy with + submission, ‘of standing in Our Johnny’s light. There’s so much trouble in + illness, and so much expense, and she’s seen such a lot of its being + objected to.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But she never can have thought,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘that I would grudge + the dear child anything?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No mum, but she might have thought (as a habit-like) of its standing in + Johnny’s light, and might have tried to bring him through it unbeknownst.’ + </p> +<p> + Sloppy knew his ground well. To conceal herself in sickness, like a lower + animal; to creep out of sight and coil herself away and die; had become + this woman’s instinct. To catch up in her arms the sick child who was dear + to her, and hide it as if it were a criminal, and keep off all + ministration but such as her own ignorant tenderness and patience could + supply, had become this woman’s idea of maternal love, fidelity, and duty. + The shameful accounts we read, every week in the Christian year, my lords + and gentlemen and honourable boards, the infamous records of small + official inhumanity, do not pass by the people as they pass by us. And + hence these irrational, blind, and obstinate prejudices, so astonishing to + our magnificence, and having no more reason in them—God save the + Queen and Confound their politics—no, than smoke has in coming from + fire! + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not a right place for the poor child to stay in,’ said Mrs Boffin. + ‘Tell us, dear Mr Rokesmith, what to do for the best.’ + </p> +<p> + He had already thought what to do, and the consultation was very short. He + could pave the way, he said, in half an hour, and then they would go down + to Brentford. ‘Pray take me,’ said Bella. Therefore a carriage was + ordered, of capacity to take them all, and in the meantime Sloppy was + regaled, feasting alone in the Secretary’s room, with a complete + realization of that fairy vision—meat, beer, vegetables, and + pudding. In consequence of which his buttons became more importunate of + public notice than before, with the exception of two or three about the + region of the waistband, which modestly withdrew into a creasy retirement. + </p> +<p> + Punctual to the time, appeared the carriage and the Secretary. He sat on + the box, and Mr Sloppy graced the rumble. So, to the Three Magpies as + before: where Mrs Boffin and Miss Bella were handed out, and whence they + all went on foot to Mrs Betty Higden’s. + </p> +<p> + But, on the way down, they had stopped at a toy-shop, and had bought that + noble charger, a description of whose points and trappings had on the last + occasion conciliated the then worldly-minded orphan, and also a Noah’s + ark, and also a yellow bird with an artificial voice in him, and also a + military doll so well dressed that if he had only been of life-size his + brother-officers in the Guards might never have found him out. Bearing + these gifts, they raised the latch of Betty Higden’s door, and saw her + sitting in the dimmest and furthest corner with poor Johnny in her lap. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0314m " src="images/0314m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0314m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0314.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-3368839132303043196"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘And how’s my boy, Betty?’ asked Mrs Boffin, sitting down beside her. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s bad! He’s bad!’ said Betty. ‘I begin to be afeerd he’ll not be yours + any more than mine. All others belonging to him have gone to the Power and + the Glory, and I have a mind that they’re drawing him to them—leading + him away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no,’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know why else he clenches his little hand as if it had hold of a + finger that I can’t see. Look at it,’ said Betty, opening the wrappers in + which the flushed child lay, and showing his small right hand lying closed + upon his breast. ‘It’s always so. It don’t mind me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is he asleep?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I think not. You’re not asleep, my Johnny?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Johnny, with a quiet air of pity for himself; and without + opening his eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here’s the lady, Johnny. And the horse.’ + </p> +<p> + Johnny could bear the lady, with complete indifference, but not the horse. + Opening his heavy eyes, he slowly broke into a smile on beholding that + splendid phenomenon, and wanted to take it in his arms. As it was much too + big, it was put upon a chair where he could hold it by the mane and + contemplate it. Which he soon forgot to do. + </p> +<p> + But, Johnny murmuring something with his eyes closed, and Mrs Boffin not + knowing what, old Betty bent her ear to listen and took pains to + understand. Being asked by her to repeat what he had said, he did so two + or three times, and then it came out that he must have seen more than they + supposed when he looked up to see the horse, for the murmur was, ‘Who is + the boofer lady?’ Now, the boofer, or beautiful, lady was Bella; and + whereas this notice from the poor baby would have touched her of itself; + it was rendered more pathetic by the late melting of her heart to her poor + little father, and their joke about the lovely woman. So, Bella’s + behaviour was very tender and very natural when she kneeled on the brick + floor to clasp the child, and when the child, with a child’s admiration of + what is young and pretty, fondled the boofer lady. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, my good dear Betty,’ said Mrs Boffin, hoping that she saw her + opportunity, and laying her hand persuasively on her arm; ‘we have come to + remove Johnny from this cottage to where he can be taken better care of.’ + </p> +<p> + Instantly, and before another word could be spoken, the old woman started + up with blazing eyes, and rushed at the door with the sick child. + </p> +<p> + ‘Stand away from me every one of ye!’ she cried out wildly. ‘I see what ye + mean now. Let me go my way, all of ye. I’d sooner kill the Pretty, and + kill myself!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stay, stay!’ said Rokesmith, soothing her. ‘You don’t understand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I understand too well. I know too much about it, sir. I’ve run from it + too many a year. No! Never for me, nor for the child, while there’s water + enough in England to cover us!’ + </p> +<p> + The terror, the shame, the passion of horror and repugnance, firing the + worn face and perfectly maddening it, would have been a quite terrible + sight, if embodied in one old fellow-creature alone. Yet it ‘crops up’—as + our slang goes—my lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, in + other fellow-creatures, rather frequently! + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s been chasing me all my life, but it shall never take me nor mine + alive!’ cried old Betty. ‘I’ve done with ye. I’d have fastened door and + window and starved out, afore I’d ever have let ye in, if I had known what + ye came for!’ + </p> +<p> + But, catching sight of Mrs Boffin’s wholesome face, she relented, and + crouching down by the door and bending over her burden to hush it, said + humbly: ‘Maybe my fears has put me wrong. If they have so, tell me, and + the good Lord forgive me! I’m quick to take this fright, I know, and my + head is summ’at light with wearying and watching.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There, there, there!’ returned Mrs Boffin. ‘Come, come! Say no more of + it, Betty. It was a mistake, a mistake. Any one of us might have made it + in your place, and felt just as you do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The Lord bless ye!’ said the old woman, stretching out her hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, see, Betty,’ pursued the sweet compassionate soul, holding the hand + kindly, ‘what I really did mean, and what I should have begun by saying + out, if I had only been a little wiser and handier. We want to move Johnny + to a place where there are none but children; a place set up on purpose + for sick children; where the good doctors and nurses pass their lives with + children, talk to none but children, touch none but children, comfort and + cure none but children.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is there really such a place?’ asked the old woman, with a gaze of + wonder. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Betty, on my word, and you shall see it. If my home was a better + place for the dear boy, I’d take him to it; but indeed indeed it’s not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall take him,’ returned Betty, fervently kissing the comforting + hand, ‘where you will, my deary. I am not so hard, but that I believe your + face and voice, and I will, as long as I can see and hear.’ + </p> +<p> + This victory gained, Rokesmith made haste to profit by it, for he saw how + woefully time had been lost. He despatched Sloppy to bring the carriage to + the door; caused the child to be carefully wrapped up; bade old Betty get + her bonnet on; collected the toys, enabling the little fellow to + comprehend that his treasures were to be transported with him; and had all + things prepared so easily that they were ready for the carriage as soon as + it appeared, and in a minute afterwards were on their way. Sloppy they + left behind, relieving his overcharged breast with a paroxysm of mangling. + </p> +<p> + At the Children’s Hospital, the gallant steed, the Noah’s ark, yellow + bird, and the officer in the Guards, were made as welcome as their + child-owner. But the doctor said aside to Rokesmith, ‘This should have + been days ago. Too late!’ + </p> +<p> + However, they were all carried up into a fresh airy room, and there Johnny + came to himself, out of a sleep or a swoon or whatever it was, to find + himself lying in a little quiet bed, with a little platform over his + breast, on which were already arranged, to give him heart and urge him to + cheer up, the Noah’s ark, the noble steed, and the yellow bird; with the + officer in the Guards doing duty over the whole, quite as much to the + satisfaction of his country as if he had been upon Parade. And at the + bed’s head was a coloured picture beautiful to see, representing as it + were another Johnny seated on the knee of some Angel surely who loved + little children. And, marvellous fact, to lie and stare at: Johnny had + become one of a little family, all in little quiet beds (except two + playing dominoes in little arm-chairs at a little table on the hearth): + and on all the little beds were little platforms whereon were to be seen + dolls’ houses, woolly dogs with mechanical barks in them not very + dissimilar from the artificial voice pervading the bowels of the yellow + bird, tin armies, Moorish tumblers, wooden tea things, and the riches of + the earth. + </p> +<p> + As Johnny murmured something in his placid admiration, the ministering + women at his bed’s head asked him what he said. It seemed that he wanted + to know whether all these were brothers and sisters of his? So they told + him yes. It seemed then, that he wanted to know whether God had brought + them all together there? So they told him yes again. They made out then, + that he wanted to know whether they would all get out of pain? So they + answered yes to that question likewise, and made him understand that the + reply included himself. + </p> +<p> + Johnny’s powers of sustaining conversation were as yet so very imperfectly + developed, even in a state of health, that in sickness they were little + more than monosyllabic. But, he had to be washed and tended, and remedies + were applied, and though those offices were far, far more skilfully and + lightly done than ever anything had been done for him in his little life, + so rough and short, they would have hurt and tired him but for an amazing + circumstance which laid hold of his attention. This was no less than the + appearance on his own little platform in pairs, of All Creation, on its + way into his own particular ark: the elephant leading, and the fly, with a + diffident sense of his size, politely bringing up the rear. A very little + brother lying in the next bed with a broken leg, was so enchanted by this + spectacle that his delight exalted its enthralling interest; and so came + rest and sleep. + </p> +<p> + ‘I see you are not afraid to leave the dear child here, Betty,’ whispered + Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, ma’am. Most willingly, most thankfully, with all my heart and soul.’ + </p> +<p> + So, they kissed him, and left him there, and old Betty was to come back + early in the morning, and nobody but Rokesmith knew for certain how that + the doctor had said, ‘This should have been days ago. Too late!’ + </p> +<p> + But, Rokesmith knowing it, and knowing that his bearing it in mind would + be acceptable thereafter to that good woman who had been the only light in + the childhood of desolate John Harmon dead and gone, resolved that late at + night he would go back to the bedside of John Harmon’s namesake, and see + how it fared with him. + </p> +<p> + The family whom God had brought together were not all asleep, but were all + quiet. From bed to bed, a light womanly tread and a pleasant fresh face + passed in the silence of the night. A little head would lift itself up + into the softened light here and there, to be kissed as the face went by—for + these little patients are very loving—and would then submit itself + to be composed to rest again. The mite with the broken leg was restless, + and moaned; but after a while turned his face towards Johnny’s bed, to + fortify himself with a view of the ark, and fell asleep. Over most of the + beds, the toys were yet grouped as the children had left them when they + last laid themselves down, and, in their innocent grotesqueness and + incongruity, they might have stood for the children’s dreams. + </p> +<p> + The doctor came in too, to see how it fared with Johnny. And he and + Rokesmith stood together, looking down with compassion on him. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is it, Johnny?’ Rokesmith was the questioner, and put an arm round + the poor baby as he made a struggle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Him!’ said the little fellow. ‘Those!’ + </p> +<p> + The doctor was quick to understand children, and, taking the horse, the + ark, the yellow bird, and the man in the Guards, from Johnny’s bed, softly + placed them on that of his next neighbour, the mite with the broken leg. + </p> +<p> + With a weary and yet a pleased smile, and with an action as if he + stretched his little figure out to rest, the child heaved his body on the + sustaining arm, and seeking Rokesmith’s face with his lips, said: + </p> +<p> + ‘A kiss for the boofer lady.’ + </p> +<p> + Having now bequeathed all he had to dispose of, and arranged his affairs + in this world, Johnny, thus speaking, left it. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 10 + </h2> +<h3> + A SUCCESSOR + </h3> +<p> + Some of the Reverend Frank Milvey’s brethren had found themselves + exceedingly uncomfortable in their minds, because they were required to + bury the dead too hopefully. But, the Reverend Frank, inclining to the + belief that they were required to do one or two other things (say out of + nine-and-thirty) calculated to trouble their consciences rather more if + they would think as much about them, held his peace. + </p> +<p> + Indeed, the Reverend Frank Milvey was a forbearing man, who noticed many + sad warps and blights in the vineyard wherein he worked, and did not + profess that they made him savagely wise. He only learned that the more he + himself knew, in his little limited human way, the better he could + distantly imagine what Omniscience might know. + </p> +<p> + Wherefore, if the Reverend Frank had had to read the words that troubled + some of his brethren, and profitably touched innumerable hearts, in a + worse case than Johnny’s, he would have done so out of the pity and + humility of his soul. Reading them over Johnny, he thought of his own six + children, but not of his poverty, and read them with dimmed eyes. And very + seriously did he and his bright little wife, who had been listening, look + down into the small grave and walk home arm-in-arm. + </p> +<p> + There was grief in the aristocratic house, and there was joy in the Bower. + Mr Wegg argued, if an orphan were wanted, was he not an orphan himself; + and could a better be desired? And why go beating about Brentford bushes, + seeking orphans forsooth who had established no claims upon you and made + no sacrifices for you, when here was an orphan ready to your hand who had + given up in your cause, Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, and + Uncle Parker? + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg chuckled, consequently, when he heard the tidings. Nay, it was + afterwards affirmed by a witness who shall at present be nameless, that in + the seclusion of the Bower he poked out his wooden leg, in the + stage-ballet manner, and executed a taunting or triumphant pirouette on + the genuine leg remaining to him. + </p> +<p> + John Rokesmith’s manner towards Mrs Boffin at this time, was more the + manner of a young man towards a mother, than that of a Secretary towards + his employer’s wife. It had always been marked by a subdued affectionate + deference that seemed to have sprung up on the very day of his engagement; + whatever was odd in her dress or her ways had seemed to have no oddity for + him; he had sometimes borne a quietly-amused face in her company, but + still it had seemed as if the pleasure her genial temper and radiant + nature yielded him, could have been quite as naturally expressed in a tear + as in a smile. The completeness of his sympathy with her fancy for having + a little John Harmon to protect and rear, he had shown in every act and + word, and now that the kind fancy was disappointed, he treated it with a + manly tenderness and respect for which she could hardly thank him enough. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I do thank you, Mr Rokesmith,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘and I thank you most + kindly. You love children.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope everybody does.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They ought,’ said Mrs Boffin; ‘but we don’t all of us do what we ought, + do us?’ + </p> +<p> + John Rokesmith replied, ‘Some among us supply the short-comings of the + rest. You have loved children well, Mr Boffin has told me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a bit better than he has, but that’s his way; he puts all the good + upon me. You speak rather sadly, Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It sounds to me so. Were you one of many children?’ He shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘An only child?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No there was another. Dead long ago.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Father or mother alive?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dead.’— + </p> +<p> + ‘And the rest of your relations?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dead—if I ever had any living. I never heard of any.’ + </p> +<p> + At this point of the dialogue Bella came in with a light step. She paused + at the door a moment, hesitating whether to remain or retire; perplexed by + finding that she was not observed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, don’t mind an old lady’s talk,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘but tell me. Are + you quite sure, Mr Rokesmith, that you have never had a disappointment in + love?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite sure. Why do you ask me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, for this reason. Sometimes you have a kind of kept-down manner with + you, which is not like your age. You can’t be thirty?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not yet thirty.’ + </p> +<p> + Deeming it high time to make her presence known, Bella coughed here to + attract attention, begged pardon, and said she would go, fearing that she + interrupted some matter of business. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, don’t go,’ rejoined Mrs Boffin, ‘because we are coming to business, + instead of having begun it, and you belong to it as much now, my dear + Bella, as I do. But I want my Noddy to consult with us. Would somebody be + so good as find my Noddy for me?’ + </p> +<p> + Rokesmith departed on that errand, and presently returned accompanied by + Mr Boffin at his jog-trot. Bella felt a little vague trepidation as to the + subject-matter of this same consultation, until Mrs Boffin announced it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, you come and sit by me, my dear,’ said that worthy soul, taking her + comfortable place on a large ottoman in the centre of the room, and + drawing her arm through Bella’s; ‘and Noddy, you sit here, and Mr + Rokesmith you sit there. Now, you see, what I want to talk about, is this. + Mr and Mrs Milvey have sent me the kindest note possible (which Mr + Rokesmith just now read to me out aloud, for I ain’t good at + handwritings), offering to find me another little child to name and + educate and bring up. Well. This has set me thinking.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘And she is a steam-ingein at it,’ murmured Mr Boffin, in an admiring + parenthesis, ‘when she once begins. It mayn’t be so easy to start her; but + once started, she’s a ingein.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘—This has set me thinking, I say,’ repeated Mrs Boffin, cordially + beaming under the influence of her husband’s compliment, ‘and I have + thought two things. First of all, that I have grown timid of reviving John + Harmon’s name. It’s an unfortunate name, and I fancy I should reproach + myself if I gave it to another dear child, and it proved again unlucky.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, whether,’ said Mr Boffin, gravely propounding a case for his + Secretary’s opinion; ‘whether one might call that a superstition?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is a matter of feeling with Mrs Boffin,’ said Rokesmith, gently. ‘The + name has always been unfortunate. It has now this new unfortunate + association connected with it. The name has died out. Why revive it? Might + I ask Miss Wilfer what she thinks?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It has not been a fortunate name for me,’ said Bella, colouring—‘or + at least it was not, until it led to my being here—but that is not + the point in my thoughts. As we had given the name to the poor child, and + as the poor child took so lovingly to me, I think I should feel jealous of + calling another child by it. I think I should feel as if the name had + become endeared to me, and I had no right to use it so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And that’s your opinion?’ remarked Mr Boffin, observant of the + Secretary’s face and again addressing him. + </p> +<p> + ‘I say again, it is a matter of feeling,’ returned the Secretary. ‘I think + Miss Wilfer’s feeling very womanly and pretty.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, give us your opinion, Noddy,’ said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘My opinion, old lady,’ returned the Golden Dustman, ‘is your opinion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘we agree not to revive John Harmon’s name, but + to let it rest in the grave. It is, as Mr Rokesmith says, a matter of + feeling, but Lor how many matters <i>are </i>matters of feeling! Well; and so I + come to the second thing I have thought of. You must know, Bella, my dear, + and Mr Rokesmith, that when I first named to my husband my thoughts of + adopting a little orphan boy in remembrance of John Harmon, I further + named to my husband that it was comforting to think that how the poor boy + would be benefited by John’s own money, and protected from John’s own + forlornness.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hear, hear!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘So she did. Ancoar!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, not Ancoar, Noddy, my dear,’ returned Mrs Boffin, ‘because I am going + to say something else. I meant that, I am sure, as much as I still mean + it. But this little death has made me ask myself the question, seriously, + whether I wasn’t too bent upon pleasing myself. Else why did I seek out so + much for a pretty child, and a child quite to my liking? Wanting to do + good, why not do it for its own sake, and put my tastes and likings by?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps,’ said Bella; and perhaps she said it with some little + sensitiveness arising out of those old curious relations of hers towards + the murdered man; ‘perhaps, in reviving the name, you would not have liked + to give it to a less interesting child than the original. He interested + you very much.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my dear,’ returned Mrs Boffin, giving her a squeeze, ‘it’s kind of + you to find that reason out, and I hope it may have been so, and indeed to + a certain extent I believe it was so, but I am afraid not to the whole + extent. However, that don’t come in question now, because we have done + with the name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Laid it up as a remembrance,’ suggested Bella, musingly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Much better said, my dear; laid it up as a remembrance. Well then; I have + been thinking if I take any orphan to provide for, let it not be a pet and + a plaything for me, but a creature to be helped for its own sake.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not pretty then?’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ returned Mrs Boffin, stoutly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor prepossessing then?’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ returned Mrs Boffin. ‘Not necessarily so. That’s as it may happen. A + well-disposed boy comes in my way who may be even a little wanting in such + advantages for getting on in life, but is honest and industrious and + requires a helping hand and deserves it. If I am very much in earnest and + quite determined to be unselfish, let me take care of <i>him</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + Here the footman whose feelings had been hurt on the former occasion, + appeared, and crossing to Rokesmith apologetically announced the + objectionable Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + The four members of Council looked at one another, and paused. ‘Shall he + be brought here, ma’am?’ asked Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Boffin. Whereupon the footman disappeared, reappeared + presenting Sloppy, and retired much disgusted. + </p> +<p> + The consideration of Mrs Boffin had clothed Mr Sloppy in a suit of black, + on which the tailor had received personal directions from Rokesmith to + expend the utmost cunning of his art, with a view to the concealment of + the cohering and sustaining buttons. But, so much more powerful were the + frailties of Sloppy’s form than the strongest resources of tailoring + science, that he now stood before the Council, a perfect Argus in the way + of buttons: shining and winking and gleaming and twinkling out of a + hundred of those eyes of bright metal, at the dazzled spectators. The + artistic taste of some unknown hatter had furnished him with a hatband of + wholesale capacity which was fluted behind, from the crown of his hat to + the brim, and terminated in a black bunch, from which the imagination + shrunk discomfited and the reason revolted. Some special powers with which + his legs were endowed, had already hitched up his glossy trousers at the + ankles, and bagged them at the knees; while similar gifts in his arms had + raised his coat-sleeves from his wrists and accumulated them at his + elbows. Thus set forth, with the additional embellishments of a very + little tail to his coat, and a yawning gulf at his waistband, Sloppy stood + confessed. + </p> +<p> + ‘And how is Betty, my good fellow?’ Mrs Boffin asked him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee, mum,’ said Sloppy, ‘she do pretty nicely, and sending her dooty + and many thanks for the tea and all faviours and wishing to know the + family’s healths.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you just come, Sloppy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, mum.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you have not had your dinner yet?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, mum. But I mean to it. For I ain’t forgotten your handsome orders + that I was never to go away without having had a good ’un off of meat and + beer and pudding—no: there was four of ’em, for I reckoned ’em up + when I had ’em; meat one, beer two, vegetables three, and which was four?—Why, + pudding, <i>he</i> was four!’ Here Sloppy threw his head back, opened his mouth + wide, and laughed rapturously. + </p> +<p> + ‘How are the two poor little Minders?’ asked Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Striking right out, mum, and coming round beautiful.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin looked on the other three members of Council, and then said, + beckoning with her finger: + </p> +<p> + ‘Sloppy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, mum.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come forward, Sloppy. Should you like to dine here every day?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Off of all four on ’em, mum? O mum!’ Sloppy’s feelings obliged him to + squeeze his hat, and contract one leg at the knee. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. And should you like to be always taken care of here, if you were + industrious and deserving?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, mum!—But there’s Mrs Higden,’ said Sloppy, checking himself in + his raptures, drawing back, and shaking his head with very serious + meaning. ‘There’s Mrs Higden. Mrs Higden goes before all. None can ever be + better friends to me than Mrs Higden’s been. And she must be turned for, + must Mrs Higden. Where would Mrs Higden be if she warn’t turned for!’ At + the mere thought of Mrs Higden in this inconceivable affliction, Mr + Sloppy’s countenance became pale, and manifested the most distressful + emotions. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are as right as right can be, Sloppy,’ said Mrs Boffin ‘and far be it + from me to tell you otherwise. It shall be seen to. If Betty Higden can be + turned for all the same, you shall come here and be taken care of for + life, and be made able to keep her in other ways than the turning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Even as to that, mum,’ answered the ecstatic Sloppy, ‘the turning might + be done in the night, don’t you see? I could be here in the day, and turn + in the night. I don’t want no sleep, I don’t. Or even if I any ways should + want a wink or two,’ added Sloppy, after a moment’s apologetic reflection, + ‘I could take ’em turning. I’ve took ’em turning many a time, and enjoyed + ’em wonderful!’ + </p> +<p> + On the grateful impulse of the moment, Mr Sloppy kissed Mrs Boffin’s hand, + and then detaching himself from that good creature that he might have room + enough for his feelings, threw back his head, opened his mouth wide, and + uttered a dismal howl. It was creditable to his tenderness of heart, but + suggested that he might on occasion give some offence to the neighbours: + the rather, as the footman looked in, and begged pardon, finding he was + not wanted, but excused himself; on the ground ‘that he thought it was + Cats.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 11 + </h2> +<h3> + SOME AFFAIRS OF THE HEART + </h3> +<p> + Little Miss Peecher, from her little official dwelling-house, with its + little windows like the eyes in needles, and its little doors like the + covers of school-books, was very observant indeed of the object of her + quiet affections. Love, though said to be afflicted with blindness, is a + vigilant watchman, and Miss Peecher kept him on double duty over Mr + Bradley Headstone. It was not that she was naturally given to playing the + spy—it was not that she was at all secret, plotting, or mean—it + was simply that she loved the irresponsive Bradley with all the primitive + and homely stock of love that had never been examined or certificated out + of her. If her faithful slate had had the latent qualities of sympathetic + paper, and its pencil those of invisible ink, many a little treatise + calculated to astonish the pupils would have come bursting through the dry + sums in school-time under the warming influence of Miss Peecher’s bosom. + For, oftentimes when school was not, and her calm leisure and calm little + house were her own, Miss Peecher would commit to the confidential slate an + imaginary description of how, upon a balmy evening at dusk, two figures + might have been observed in the market-garden ground round the corner, of + whom one, being a manly form, bent over the other, being a womanly form of + short stature and some compactness, and breathed in a low voice the words, + ‘Emma Peecher, wilt thou be my own?’ after which the womanly form’s head + reposed upon the manly form’s shoulder, and the nightingales tuned up. + Though all unseen, and unsuspected by the pupils, Bradley Headstone even + pervaded the school exercises. Was Geography in question? He would come + triumphantly flying out of Vesuvius and Aetna ahead of the lava, and would + boil unharmed in the hot springs of Iceland, and would float majestically + down the Ganges and the Nile. Did History chronicle a king of men? Behold + him in pepper-and-salt pantaloons, with his watch-guard round his neck. + Were copies to be written? In capital B’s and H’s most of the girls under + Miss Peecher’s tuition were half a year ahead of every other letter in the + alphabet. And Mental Arithmetic, administered by Miss Peecher, often + devoted itself to providing Bradley Headstone with a wardrobe of fabulous + extent: fourscore and four neck-ties at two and ninepence-halfpenny, two + gross of silver watches at four pounds fifteen and sixpence, seventy-four + black hats at eighteen shillings; and many similar superfluities. + </p> +<p> + The vigilant watchman, using his daily opportunities of turning his eyes + in Bradley’s direction, soon apprized Miss Peecher that Bradley was more + preoccupied than had been his wont, and more given to strolling about with + a downcast and reserved face, turning something difficult in his mind that + was not in the scholastic syllabus. Putting this and that together—combining + under the head ‘this,’ present appearances and the intimacy with Charley + Hexam, and ranging under the head ‘that’ the visit to his sister, the + watchman reported to Miss Peecher his strong suspicions that the sister + was at the bottom of it. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wonder,’ said Miss Peecher, as she sat making up her weekly report on a + half-holiday afternoon, ‘what they call Hexam’s sister?’ + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne, at her needlework, attendant and attentive, held her arm up. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She is named Lizzie, ma’am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She can hardly be named Lizzie, I think, Mary Anne,’ returned Miss + Peecher, in a tunefully instructive voice. ‘Is Lizzie a Christian name, + Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + Mary Anne laid down her work, rose, hooked herself behind, as being under + catechization, and replied: ‘No, it is a corruption, Miss Peecher.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who gave her that name?’ Miss Peecher was going on, from the mere force + of habit, when she checked herself; on Mary Anne’s evincing theological + impatience to strike in with her godfathers and her godmothers, and said: + ‘I mean of what name is it a corruption?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Elizabeth, or Eliza, Miss Peecher.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Right, Mary Anne. Whether there were any Lizzies in the early Christian + Church must be considered very doubtful, very doubtful.’ Miss Peecher was + exceedingly sage here. ‘Speaking correctly, we say, then, that Hexam’s + sister is called Lizzie; not that she is named so. Do we not, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We do, Miss Peecher.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And where,’ pursued Miss Peecher, complacent in her little transparent + fiction of conducting the examination in a semiofficial manner for Mary + Anne’s benefit, not her own, ‘where does this young woman, who is called + but not named Lizzie, live? Think, now, before answering.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank, ma’am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank,’ repeated Miss Peecher, as + if possessed beforehand of the book in which it was written. Exactly so. + And what occupation does this young woman pursue, Mary Anne? Take time.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She has a place of trust at an outfitter’s in the City, ma’am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Miss Peecher, pondering on it; but smoothly added, in a + confirmatory tone, ‘At an outfitter’s in the City. Ye-es?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And Charley—’ Mary Anne was proceeding, when Miss Peecher stared. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean Hexam, Miss Peecher.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should think you did, Mary Anne. I am glad to hear you do. And Hexam—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Says,’ Mary Anne went on, ‘that he is not pleased with his sister, and + that his sister won’t be guided by his advice, and persists in being + guided by somebody else’s; and that—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone coming across the garden!’ exclaimed Miss Peecher, with a + flushed glance at the looking-glass. ‘You have answered very well, Mary + Anne. You are forming an excellent habit of arranging your thoughts + clearly. That will do.’ + </p> +<p> + The discreet Mary Anne resumed her seat and her silence, and stitched, and + stitched, and was stitching when the schoolmaster’s shadow came in before + him, announcing that he might be instantly expected. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good evening, Miss Peecher,’ he said, pursuing the shadow, and taking its + place. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good evening, Mr Headstone. Mary Anne, a chair.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ said Bradley, seating himself in his constrained manner. + ‘This is but a flying visit. I have looked in, on my way, to ask a + kindness of you as a neighbour.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you say on your way, Mr Headstone?’ asked Miss Peecher. + </p> +<p> + ‘On my way to—where I am going.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank,’ repeated Miss Peecher, in her + own thoughts. + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley Hexam has gone to get a book or two he wants, and will probably + be back before me. As we leave my house empty, I took the liberty of + telling him I would leave the key here. Would you kindly allow me to do + so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly, Mr Headstone. Going for an evening walk, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Partly for a walk, and partly for—on business.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Business in Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank,’ repeated Miss + Peecher to herself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Having said which,’ pursued Bradley, laying his door-key on the table, ‘I + must be already going. There is nothing I can do for you, Miss Peecher?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Mr Headstone. In which direction?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In the direction of Westminster.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mill Bank,’ Miss Peecher repeated in her own thoughts once again. ‘No, + thank you, Mr Headstone; I’ll not trouble you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You couldn’t trouble me,’ said the schoolmaster. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ returned Miss Peecher, though not aloud; ‘but you can trouble <i>me</i>!’ + And for all her quiet manner, and her quiet smile, she was full of trouble + as he went his way. + </p> +<p> + She was right touching his destination. He held as straight a course for + the house of the dolls’ dressmaker as the wisdom of his ancestors, + exemplified in the construction of the intervening streets, would let him, + and walked with a bent head hammering at one fixed idea. It had been an + immoveable idea since he first set eyes upon her. It seemed to him as if + all that he could suppress in himself he had suppressed, as if all that he + could restrain in himself he had restrained, and the time had come—in + a rush, in a moment—when the power of self-command had departed from + him. Love at first sight is a trite expression quite sufficiently + discussed; enough that in certain smouldering natures like this man’s, + that passion leaps into a blaze, and makes such head as fire does in a + rage of wind, when other passions, but for its mastery, could be held in + chains. As a multitude of weak, imitative natures are always lying by, + ready to go mad upon the next wrong idea that may be broached—in + these times, generally some form of tribute to Somebody for something that + never was done, or, if ever done, that was done by Somebody Else—so + these less ordinary natures may lie by for years, ready on the touch of an + instant to burst into flame. + </p> +<p> + The schoolmaster went his way, brooding and brooding, and a sense of being + vanquished in a struggle might have been pieced out of his worried face. + Truly, in his breast there lingered a resentful shame to find himself + defeated by this passion for Charley Hexam’s sister, though in the very + self-same moments he was concentrating himself upon the object of bringing + the passion to a successful issue. + </p> +<p> + He appeared before the dolls’ dressmaker, sitting alone at her work. + ‘Oho!’ thought that sharp young personage, ‘it’s you, is it? I know your + tricks and your manners, my friend!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hexam’s sister,’ said Bradley Headstone, ‘is not come home yet?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are quite a conjuror,’ returned Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘I will wait, if you please, for I want to speak to her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you?’ returned Miss Wren. ‘Sit down. I hope it’s mutual.’ Bradley + glanced distrustfully at the shrewd face again bending over the work, and + said, trying to conquer doubt and hesitation: + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope you don’t imply that my visit will be unacceptable to Hexam’s + sister?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There! Don’t call her that. I can’t bear you to call her that,’ returned + Miss Wren, snapping her fingers in a volley of impatient snaps, ‘for I + don’t like Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ Miss Wren wrinkled her nose, to express dislike. ‘Selfish. Thinks + only of himself. The way with all of you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The way with all of us? Then you don’t like <i>me</i>?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So-so,’ replied Miss Wren, with a shrug and a laugh. ‘Don’t know much + about you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I was not aware it was the way with all of us,’ said Bradley, + returning to the accusation, a little injured. ‘Won’t you say, some of + us?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Meaning,’ returned the little creature, ‘every one of you, but you. Hah! + Now look this lady in the face. This is Mrs Truth. The Honourable. + Full-dressed.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley glanced at the doll she held up for his observation—which + had been lying on its face on her bench, while with a needle and thread + she fastened the dress on at the back—and looked from it to her. + </p> +<p> + ‘I stand the Honourable Mrs T. on my bench in this corner against the + wall, where her blue eyes can shine upon you,’ pursued Miss Wren, doing + so, and making two little dabs at him in the air with her needle, as if + she pricked him with it in his own eyes; ‘and I defy you to tell me, with + Mrs T. for a witness, what you have come here for.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To see Hexam’s sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t say so!’ retorted Miss Wren, hitching her chin. ‘But on whose + account?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her own.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O Mrs T.!’ exclaimed Miss Wren. ‘You hear him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To reason with her,’ pursued Bradley, half humouring what was present, + and half angry with what was not present; ‘for her own sake.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh Mrs T.!’ exclaimed the dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘For her own sake,’ repeated Bradley, warming, ‘and for her brother’s, and + as a perfectly disinterested person.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Really, Mrs T.,’ remarked the dressmaker, ‘since it comes to this, we + must positively turn you with your face to the wall.’ She had hardly done + so, when Lizzie Hexam arrived, and showed some surprise on seeing Bradley + Headstone there, and Jenny shaking her little fist at him close before her + eyes, and the Honourable Mrs T. with her face to the wall. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here’s a perfectly disinterested person, Lizzie dear,’ said the knowing + Miss Wren, ‘come to talk with you, for your own sake and your brother’s. + Think of that. I am sure there ought to be no third party present at + anything so very kind and so very serious; and so, if you’ll remove the + third party upstairs, my dear, the third party will retire.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie took the hand which the dolls’ dressmaker held out to her for the + purpose of being supported away, but only looked at her with an inquiring + smile, and made no other movement. + </p> +<p> + ‘The third party hobbles awfully, you know, when she’s left to herself;’ + said Miss Wren, ‘her back being so bad, and her legs so queer; so she + can’t retire gracefully unless you help her, Lizzie.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She can do no better than stay where she is,’ returned Lizzie, releasing + the hand, and laying her own lightly on Miss Jenny’s curls. And then to + Bradley: ‘From Charley, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + In an irresolute way, and stealing a clumsy look at her, Bradley rose to + place a chair for her, and then returned to his own. + </p> +<p> + ‘Strictly speaking,’ said he, ‘I come from Charley, because I left him + only a little while ago; but I am not commissioned by Charley. I come of + my own spontaneous act.’ + </p> +<p> + With her elbows on her bench, and her chin upon her hands, Miss Jenny Wren + sat looking at him with a watchful sidelong look. Lizzie, in her different + way, sat looking at him too. + </p> +<p> + ‘The fact is,’ began Bradley, with a mouth so dry that he had some + difficulty in articulating his words: the consciousness of which rendered + his manner still more ungainly and undecided; ‘the truth is, that Charley, + having no secrets from me (to the best of my belief), has confided the + whole of this matter to me.’ + </p> +<p> + He came to a stop, and Lizzie asked: ‘what matter, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought,’ returned the schoolmaster, stealing another look at her, and + seeming to try in vain to sustain it; for the look dropped as it lighted + on her eyes, ‘that it might be so superfluous as to be almost impertinent, + to enter upon a definition of it. My allusion was to this matter of your + having put aside your brother’s plans for you, and given the preference to + those of Mr—I believe the name is Mr Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + He made this point of not being certain of the name, with another uneasy + look at her, which dropped like the last. + </p> +<p> + Nothing being said on the other side, he had to begin again, and began + with new embarrassment. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your brother’s plans were communicated to me when he first had them in + his thoughts. In point of fact he spoke to me about them when I was last + here—when we were walking back together, and when I—when the + impression was fresh upon me of having seen his sister.’ + </p> +<p> + There might have been no meaning in it, but the little dressmaker here + removed one of her supporting hands from her chin, and musingly turned the + Honourable Mrs T. with her face to the company. That done, she fell into + her former attitude. + </p> +<p> + ‘I approved of his idea,’ said Bradley, with his uneasy look wandering to + the doll, and unconsciously resting there longer than it had rested on + Lizzie, ‘both because your brother ought naturally to be the originator of + any such scheme, and because I hoped to be able to promote it. I should + have had inexpressible pleasure, I should have taken inexpressible + interest, in promoting it. Therefore I must acknowledge that when your + brother was disappointed, I too was disappointed. I wish to avoid + reservation or concealment, and I fully acknowledge that.’ + </p> +<p> + He appeared to have encouraged himself by having got so far. At all events + he went on with much greater firmness and force of emphasis: though with a + curious disposition to set his teeth, and with a curious tight-screwing + movement of his right hand in the clenching palm of his left, like the + action of one who was being physically hurt, and was unwilling to cry out. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am a man of strong feelings, and I have strongly felt this + disappointment. I do strongly feel it. I don’t show what I feel; some of + us are obliged habitually to keep it down. To keep it down. But to return + to your brother. He has taken the matter so much to heart that he has + remonstrated (in my presence he remonstrated) with Mr Eugene Wrayburn, if + that be the name. He did so, quite ineffectually. As any one not blinded + to the real character of Mr—Mr Eugene Wrayburn—would readily + suppose.’ + </p> +<p> + He looked at Lizzie again, and held the look. And his face turned from + burning red to white, and from white back to burning red, and so for the + time to lasting deadly white. + </p> +<p> + ‘Finally, I resolved to come here alone, and appeal to you. I resolved to + come here alone, and entreat you to retract the course you have chosen, + and instead of confiding in a mere stranger—a person of most + insolent behaviour to your brother and others—to prefer your brother + and your brother’s friend.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie Hexam had changed colour when those changes came over him, and her + face now expressed some anger, more dislike, and even a touch of fear. But + she answered him very steadily. + </p> +<p> + ‘I cannot doubt, Mr Headstone, that your visit is well meant. You have + been so good a friend to Charley that I have no right to doubt it. I have + nothing to tell Charley, but that I accepted the help to which he so much + objects before he made any plans for me; or certainly before I knew of + any. It was considerately and delicately offered, and there were reasons + that had weight with me which should be as dear to Charley as to me. I + have no more to say to Charley on this subject.’ + </p> +<p> + His lips trembled and stood apart, as he followed this repudiation of + himself; and limitation of her words to her brother. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should have told Charley, if he had come to me,’ she resumed, as though + it were an after-thought, ‘that Jenny and I find our teacher very able and + very patient, and that she takes great pains with us. So much so, that we + have said to her we hope in a very little while to be able to go on by + ourselves. Charley knows about teachers, and I should also have told him, + for his satisfaction, that ours comes from an institution where teachers + are regularly brought up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should like to ask you,’ said Bradley Headstone, grinding his words + slowly out, as though they came from a rusty mill; ‘I should like to ask + you, if I may without offence, whether you would have objected—no; + rather, I should like to say, if I may without offence, that I wish I had + had the opportunity of coming here with your brother and devoting my poor + abilities and experience to your service.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Mr Headstone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I fear,’ he pursued, after a pause, furtively wrenching at the seat + of his chair with one hand, as if he would have wrenched the chair to + pieces, and gloomily observing her while her eyes were cast down, ‘that my + humble services would not have found much favour with you?’ + </p> +<p> + She made no reply, and the poor stricken wretch sat contending with + himself in a heat of passion and torment. After a while he took out his + handkerchief and wiped his forehead and hands. + </p> +<p> + ‘There is only one thing more I had to say, but it is the most important. + There is a reason against this matter, there is a personal relation + concerned in this matter, not yet explained to you. It might—I don’t + say it would—it might—induce you to think differently. To + proceed under the present circumstances is out of the question. Will you + please come to the understanding that there shall be another interview on + the subject?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With Charley, Mr Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With—well,’ he answered, breaking off, ‘yes! Say with him too. Will + you please come to the understanding that there must be another interview + under more favourable circumstances, before the whole case can be + submitted?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t,’ said Lizzie, shaking her head, ‘understand your meaning, Mr + Headstone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Limit my meaning for the present,’ he interrupted, ‘to the whole case + being submitted to you in another interview.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What case, Mr Headstone? What is wanting to it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You—you shall be informed in the other interview.’ Then he said, as + if in a burst of irrepressible despair, ‘I—I leave it all + incomplete! There is a spell upon me, I think!’ And then added, almost as + if he asked for pity, ‘Good-night!’ + </p> +<p> + He held out his hand. As she, with manifest hesitation, not to say + reluctance, touched it, a strange tremble passed over him, and his face, + so deadly white, was moved as by a stroke of pain. Then he was gone. + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker sat with her attitude unchanged, eyeing the door by + which he had departed, until Lizzie pushed her bench aside and sat down + near her. Then, eyeing Lizzie as she had previously eyed Bradley and the + door, Miss Wren chopped that very sudden and keen chop in which her jaws + sometimes indulged, leaned back in her chair with folded arms, and thus + expressed herself: + </p> +<p> + ‘Humph! If he—I mean, of course, my dear, the party who is coming to + court me when the time comes—should be <i>that </i>sort of man, he may + spare himself the trouble. <i>He</i> wouldn’t do to be trotted about and made + useful. He’d take fire and blow up while he was about it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And so you would be rid of him,’ said Lizzie, humouring her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not so easily,’ returned Miss Wren. ‘He wouldn’t blow up alone. He’d + carry me up with him. I know his tricks and his manners.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Would he want to hurt you, do you mean?’ asked Lizzie. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mightn’t exactly want to do it, my dear,’ returned Miss Wren; ‘but a lot + of gunpowder among lighted lucifer-matches in the next room might almost + as well be here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is a very strange man,’ said Lizzie, thoughtfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish he was so very strange a man as to be a total stranger,’ answered + the sharp little thing. + </p> +<p> + It being Lizzie’s regular occupation when they were alone of an evening to + brush out and smooth the long fair hair of the dolls’ dressmaker, she + unfastened a ribbon that kept it back while the little creature was at her + work, and it fell in a beautiful shower over the poor shoulders that were + much in need of such adorning rain. ‘Not now, Lizzie, dear,’ said Jenny; + ‘let us have a talk by the fire.’ With those words, she in her turn + loosened her friend’s dark hair, and it dropped of its own weight over her + bosom, in two rich masses. Pretending to compare the colours and admire + the contrast, Jenny so managed a mere touch or two of her nimble hands, as + that she herself laying a cheek on one of the dark folds, seemed blinded + by her own clustering curls to all but the fire, while the fine handsome + face and brow of Lizzie were revealed without obstruction in the sombre + light. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let us have a talk,’ said Jenny, ‘about Mr Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + Something sparkled down among the fair hair resting on the dark hair; and + if it were not a star—which it couldn’t be—it was an eye; and + if it were an eye, it was Jenny Wren’s eye, bright and watchful as the + bird’s whose name she had taken. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why about Mr Wrayburn?’ Lizzie asked. + </p> +<p> + ‘For no better reason than because I’m in the humour. I wonder whether + he’s rich!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, not rich.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Poor?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think so, for a gentleman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! To be sure! Yes, he’s a gentleman. Not of our sort; is he?’ A shake + of the head, a thoughtful shake of the head, and the answer, softly + spoken, ‘Oh no, oh no!’ + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker had an arm round her friend’s waist. Adjusting the + arm, she slyly took the opportunity of blowing at her own hair where it + fell over her face; then the eye down there, under lighter shadows + sparkled more brightly and appeared more watchful. + </p> +<p> + ‘When He turns up, he shan’t be a gentleman; I’ll very soon send him + packing, if he is. However, he’s not Mr Wrayburn; I haven’t captivated + <i>him</i>. I wonder whether anybody has, Lizzie!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is very likely.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it very likely? I wonder who!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it not very likely that some lady has been taken by him, and that he + may love her dearly?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. What would you think of him, Lizzie, if you were a + lady?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I a lady!’ she repeated, laughing. ‘Such a fancy!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. But say: just as a fancy, and for instance.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I a lady! I, a poor girl who used to row poor father on the river. I, who + had rowed poor father out and home on the very night when I saw him for + the first time. I, who was made so timid by his looking at me, that I got + up and went out!’ + </p> +<p> + (‘He did look at you, even that night, though you were not a lady!’ + thought Miss Wren.) + </p> +<p> + ‘I a lady!’ Lizzie went on in a low voice, with her eyes upon the fire. + ‘I, with poor father’s grave not even cleared of undeserved stain and + shame, and he trying to clear it for me! I a lady!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only as a fancy, and for instance,’ urged Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘Too much, Jenny, dear, too much! My fancy is not able to get that far.’ + As the low fire gleamed upon her, it showed her smiling, mournfully and + abstractedly. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I am in the humour, and I must be humoured, Lizzie, because after all + I am a poor little thing, and have had a hard day with my bad child. Look + in the fire, as I like to hear you tell how you used to do when you lived + in that dreary old house that had once been a windmill. Look in the—what + was its name when you told fortunes with your brother that I <i>don’t</i> like?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The hollow down by the flare?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! That’s the name! You can find a lady there, I know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘More easily than I can make one of such material as myself, Jenny.’ + </p> +<p> + The sparkling eye looked steadfastly up, as the musing face looked + thoughtfully down. ‘Well?’ said the dolls’ dressmaker, ‘We have found our + lady?’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie nodded, and asked, ‘Shall she be rich?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She had better be, as he’s poor.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She is very rich. Shall she be handsome?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Even you can be that, Lizzie, so she ought to be.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She is very handsome.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What does she say about him?’ asked Miss Jenny, in a low voice: watchful, + through an intervening silence, of the face looking down at the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘She is glad, glad, to be rich, that he may have the money. She is glad, + glad, to be beautiful, that he may be proud of her. Her poor heart—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh? Her poor heart?’ said Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘Her heart—is given him, with all its love and truth. She would + joyfully die with him, or, better than that, die for him. She knows he has + failings, but she thinks they have grown up through his being like one + cast away, for the want of something to trust in, and care for, and think + well of. And she says, that lady rich and beautiful that I can never come + near, “Only put me in that empty place, only try how little I mind myself, + only prove what a world of things I will do and bear for you, and I hope + that you might even come to be much better than you are, through me who am + so much worse, and hardly worth the thinking of beside you.”’ + </p> +<p> + As the face looking at the fire had become exalted and forgetful in the + rapture of these words, the little creature, openly clearing away her fair + hair with her disengaged hand, had gazed at it with earnest attention and + something like alarm. Now that the speaker ceased, the little creature + laid down her head again, and moaned, ‘O me, O me, O me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In pain, dear Jenny?’ asked Lizzie, as if awakened. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, but not the old pain. Lay me down, lay me down. Don’t go out of my + sight to-night. Lock the door and keep close to me.’ Then turning away her + face, she said in a whisper to herself, ‘My Lizzie, my poor Lizzie! O my + blessed children, come back in the long bright slanting rows, and come for + her, not me. She wants help more than I, my blessed children!’ + </p> +<p> + She had stretched her hands up with that higher and better look, and now + she turned again, and folded them round Lizzie’s neck, and rocked herself + on Lizzie’s breast. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 12 + </h2> +<h3> + MORE BIRDS OF PREY + </h3> +<p> + Rogue Riderhood dwelt deep and dark in Limehouse Hole, among the riggers, + and the mast, oar and block makers, and the boat-builders, and the + sail-lofts, as in a kind of ship’s hold stored full of waterside + characters, some no better than himself, some very much better, and none + much worse. The Hole, albeit in a general way not over nice in its choice + of company, was rather shy in reference to the honour of cultivating the + Rogue’s acquaintance; more frequently giving him the cold shoulder than + the warm hand, and seldom or never drinking with him unless at his own + expense. A part of the Hole, indeed, contained so much public spirit and + private virtue that not even this strong leverage could move it to good + fellowship with a tainted accuser. But, there may have been the drawback + on this magnanimous morality, that its exponents held a true witness + before Justice to be the next unneighbourly and accursed character to a + false one. + </p> +<p> + Had it not been for the daughter whom he often mentioned, Mr Riderhood + might have found the Hole a mere grave as to any means it would yield him + of getting a living. But Miss Pleasant Riderhood had some little position + and connection in Limehouse Hole. Upon the smallest of small scales, she + was an unlicensed pawnbroker, keeping what was popularly called a Leaving + Shop, by lending insignificant sums on insignificant articles of property + deposited with her as security. In her four-and-twentieth year of life, + Pleasant was already in her fifth year of this way of trade. Her deceased + mother had established the business, and on that parent’s demise she had + appropriated a secret capital of fifteen shillings to establishing herself + in it; the existence of such capital in a pillow being the last + intelligible confidential communication made to her by the departed, + before succumbing to dropsical conditions of snuff and gin, incompatible + equally with coherence and existence. + </p> +<p> + Why christened Pleasant, the late Mrs Riderhood might possibly have been + at some time able to explain, and possibly not. Her daughter had no + information on that point. Pleasant she found herself, and she couldn’t + help it. She had not been consulted on the question, any more than on the + question of her coming into these terrestrial parts, to want a name. + Similarly, she found herself possessed of what is colloquially termed a + swivel eye (derived from her father), which she might perhaps have + declined if her sentiments on the subject had been taken. She was not + otherwise positively ill-looking, though anxious, meagre, of a muddy + complexion, and looking as old again as she really was. + </p> +<p> + As some dogs have it in the blood, or are trained, to worry certain + creatures to a certain point, so—not to make the comparison + disrespectfully—Pleasant Riderhood had it in the blood, or had been + trained, to regard seamen, within certain limits, as her prey. Show her a + man in a blue jacket, and, figuratively speaking, she pinned him + instantly. Yet, all things considered, she was not of an evil mind or an + unkindly disposition. For, observe how many things were to be considered + according to her own unfortunate experience. Show Pleasant Riderhood a + Wedding in the street, and she only saw two people taking out a regular + licence to quarrel and fight. Show her a Christening, and she saw a little + heathen personage having a quite superfluous name bestowed upon it, + inasmuch as it would be commonly addressed by some abusive epithet: which + little personage was not in the least wanted by anybody, and would be + shoved and banged out of everybody’s way, until it should grow big enough + to shove and bang. Show her a Funeral, and she saw an unremunerative + ceremony in the nature of a black masquerade, conferring a temporary + gentility on the performers, at an immense expense, and representing the + only formal party ever given by the deceased. Show her a live father, and + she saw but a duplicate of her own father, who from her infancy had been + taken with fits and starts of discharging his duty to her, which duty was + always incorporated in the form of a fist or a leathern strap, and being + discharged hurt her. All things considered, therefore, Pleasant Riderhood + was not so very, very bad. There was even a touch of romance in her—of + such romance as could creep into Limehouse Hole—and maybe sometimes + of a summer evening, when she stood with folded arms at her shop-door, + looking from the reeking street to the sky where the sun was setting, she + may have had some vaporous visions of far-off islands in the southern seas + or elsewhere (not being geographically particular), where it would be good + to roam with a congenial partner among groves of bread-fruit, waiting for + ships to be wafted from the hollow ports of civilization. For, sailors to + be got the better of, were essential to Miss Pleasant’s Eden. + </p> +<p> + Not on a summer evening did she come to her little shop-door, when a + certain man standing over against the house on the opposite side of the + street took notice of her. That was on a cold shrewd windy evening, after + dark. Pleasant Riderhood shared with most of the lady inhabitants of the + Hole, the peculiarity that her hair was a ragged knot, constantly coming + down behind, and that she never could enter upon any undertaking without + first twisting it into place. At that particular moment, being newly come + to the threshold to take a look out of doors, she was winding herself up + with both hands after this fashion. And so prevalent was the fashion, that + on the occasion of a fight or other disturbance in the Hole, the ladies + would be seen flocking from all quarters universally twisting their + back-hair as they came along, and many of them, in the hurry of the + moment, carrying their back-combs in their mouths. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0338m " src="images/0338m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0338m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0338.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6458004455339282162"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + It was a wretched little shop, with a roof that any man standing in it + could touch with his hand; little better than a cellar or cave, down three + steps. Yet in its ill-lighted window, among a flaring handkerchief or two, + an old peacoat or so, a few valueless watches and compasses, a jar of + tobacco and two crossed pipes, a bottle of walnut ketchup, and some + horrible sweets—these creature discomforts serving as a blind to the main + business of the Leaving Shop—was displayed the inscription SEAMAN’S + BOARDING-HOUSE. + </p> +<p> + Taking notice of Pleasant Riderhood at the door, the man crossed so + quickly that she was still winding herself up, when he stood close before + her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is your father at home?’ said he. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think he is,’ returned Pleasant, dropping her arms; ‘come in.’ + </p> +<p> + It was a tentative reply, the man having a seafaring appearance. Her + father was not at home, and Pleasant knew it. ‘Take a seat by the fire,’ + were her hospitable words when she had got him in; ‘men of your calling + are always welcome here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee,’ said the man. + </p> +<p> + His manner was the manner of a sailor, and his hands were the hands of a + sailor, except that they were smooth. Pleasant had an eye for sailors, and + she noticed the unused colour and texture of the hands, sunburnt though + they were, as sharply as she noticed their unmistakable looseness and + suppleness, as he sat himself down with his left arm carelessly thrown + across his left leg a little above the knee, and the right arm as + carelessly thrown over the elbow of the wooden chair, with the hand + curved, half open and half shut, as if it had just let go a rope. + </p> +<p> + ‘Might you be looking for a Boarding-House?’ Pleasant inquired, taking her + observant stand on one side of the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t rightly know my plans yet,’ returned the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘You ain’t looking for a Leaving Shop?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ assented Pleasant, ‘you’ve got too much of an outfit on you for + that. But if you should want either, this is both.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, ay!’ said the man, glancing round the place. ‘I know. I’ve been here + before.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you Leave anything when you were here before?’ asked Pleasant, with a + view to principal and interest. + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ The man shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am pretty sure you never boarded here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ The man again shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘What <i>did </i>you do here when you were here before?’ asked Pleasant. ‘For I + don’t remember you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not at all likely you should. I only stood at the door, one night—on + the lower step there—while a shipmate of mine looked in to speak to + your father. I remember the place well.’ Looking very curiously round it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Might that have been long ago?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, a goodish bit ago. When I came off my last voyage.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you have not been to sea lately?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Been in the sick bay since then, and been employed ashore.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then, to be sure, that accounts for your hands.’ + </p> +<p> + The man with a keen look, a quick smile, and a change of manner, caught + her up. ‘You’re a good observer. Yes. That accounts for my hands.’ + </p> +<p> + Pleasant was somewhat disquieted by his look, and returned it + suspiciously. Not only was his change of manner, though very sudden, quite + collected, but his former manner, which he resumed, had a certain + suppressed confidence and sense of power in it that were half threatening. + </p> +<p> + ‘Will your father be long?’ he inquired. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know. I can’t say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As you supposed he was at home, it would seem that he has just gone out? + How’s that?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I supposed he had come home,’ Pleasant explained. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! You supposed he had come home? Then he has been some time out? How’s + that?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want to deceive you. Father’s on the river in his boat.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At the old work?’ asked the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Pleasant, shrinking a step back. ‘What + on earth d’ye want?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want to hurt your father. I don’t want to say I might, if I + chose. I want to speak to him. Not much in that, is there? There shall be + no secrets from you; you shall be by. And plainly, Miss Riderhood, there’s + nothing to be got out of me, or made of me. I am not good for the Leaving + Shop, I am not good for the Boarding-House, I am not good for anything in + your way to the extent of sixpenn’orth of halfpence. Put the idea aside, + and we shall get on together.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you’re a seafaring man?’ argued Pleasant, as if that were a + sufficient reason for his being good for something in her way. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes and no. I have been, and I may be again. But I am not for you. Won’t + you take my word for it?’ + </p> +<p> + The conversation had arrived at a crisis to justify Miss Pleasant’s hair + in tumbling down. It tumbled down accordingly, and she twisted it up, + looking from under her bent forehead at the man. In taking stock of his + familiarly worn rough-weather nautical clothes, piece by piece, she took + stock of a formidable knife in a sheath at his waist ready to his hand, + and of a whistle hanging round his neck, and of a short jagged knotted + club with a loaded head that peeped out of a pocket of his loose outer + jacket or frock. He sat quietly looking at her; but, with these appendages + partially revealing themselves, and with a quantity of bristling + oakum-coloured head and whisker, he had a formidable appearance. + </p> +<p> + ‘Won’t you take my word for it?’ he asked again. + </p> +<p> + Pleasant answered with a short dumb nod. He rejoined with another short + dumb nod. Then he got up and stood with his arms folded, in front of the + fire, looking down into it occasionally, as she stood with her arms + folded, leaning against the side of the chimney-piece. + </p> +<p> + ‘To wile away the time till your father comes,’ he said,—‘pray is + there much robbing and murdering of seamen about the water-side now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Pleasant. + </p> +<p> + ‘Any?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Complaints of that sort are sometimes made, about Ratcliffe and Wapping + and up that way. But who knows how many are true?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To be sure. And it don’t seem necessary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s what I say,’ observed Pleasant. ‘Where’s the reason for it? Bless + the sailors, it ain’t as if they ever could keep what they have, without + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re right. Their money may be soon got out of them, without violence,’ + said the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course it may,’ said Pleasant; ‘and then they ship again and get more. + And the best thing for ’em, too, to ship again as soon as ever they can be + brought to it. They’re never so well off as when they’re afloat.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell you why I ask,’ pursued the visitor, looking up from the fire. + ‘I was once beset that way myself, and left for dead.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No?’ said Pleasant. ‘Where did it happen?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It happened,’ returned the man, with a ruminative air, as he drew his + right hand across his chin, and dipped the other in the pocket of his + rough outer coat, ‘it happened somewhere about here as I reckon. I don’t + think it can have been a mile from here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Were you drunk?’ asked Pleasant. + </p> +<p> + ‘I was muddled, but not with fair drinking. I had not been drinking, you + understand. A mouthful did it.’ + </p> +<p> + Pleasant with a grave look shook her head; importing that she understood + the process, but decidedly disapproved. + </p> +<p> + ‘Fair trade is one thing,’ said she, ‘but that’s another. No one has a + right to carry on with Jack in <i>that </i>way.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The sentiment does you credit,’ returned the man, with a grim smile; and + added, in a mutter, ‘the more so, as I believe it’s not your father’s.—Yes, + I had a bad time of it, that time. I lost everything, and had a sharp + struggle for my life, weak as I was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you get the parties punished?’ asked Pleasant. + </p> +<p> + ‘A tremendous punishment followed,’ said the man, more seriously; ‘but it + was not of my bringing about.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of whose, then?’ asked Pleasant. + </p> +<p> + The man pointed upward with his forefinger, and, slowly recovering that + hand, settled his chin in it again as he looked at the fire. Bringing her + inherited eye to bear upon him, Pleasant Riderhood felt more and more + uncomfortable, his manner was so mysterious, so stern, so self-possessed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Anyways,’ said the damsel, ‘I am glad punishment followed, and I say so. + Fair trade with seafaring men gets a bad name through deeds of violence. I + am as much against deeds of violence being done to seafaring men, as + seafaring men can be themselves. I am of the same opinion as my mother + was, when she was living. Fair trade, my mother used to say, but no + robbery and no blows.’ In the way of trade Miss Pleasant would have taken—and + indeed did take when she could—as much as thirty shillings a week + for board that would be dear at five, and likewise conducted the Leaving + business upon correspondingly equitable principles; yet she had that + tenderness of conscience and those feelings of humanity, that the moment + her ideas of trade were overstepped, she became the seaman’s champion, + even against her father whom she seldom otherwise resisted. + </p> +<p> + But, she was here interrupted by her father’s voice exclaiming angrily, + ‘Now, Poll Parrot!’ and by her father’s hat being heavily flung from his + hand and striking her face. Accustomed to such occasional manifestations + of his sense of parental duty, Pleasant merely wiped her face on her hair + (which of course had tumbled down) before she twisted it up. This was + another common procedure on the part of the ladies of the Hole, when + heated by verbal or fistic altercation. + </p> +<p> + ‘Blest if I believe such a Poll Parrot as you was ever learned to speak!’ + growled Mr Riderhood, stooping to pick up his hat, and making a feint at + her with his head and right elbow; for he took the delicate subject of + robbing seamen in extraordinary dudgeon, and was out of humour too. ‘What + are you Poll Parroting at now? Ain’t you got nothing to do but fold your + arms and stand a Poll Parroting all night?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let her alone,’ urged the man. ‘She was only speaking to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let her alone too!’ retorted Mr Riderhood, eyeing him all over. ‘Do you + know she’s my daughter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And don’t you know that I won’t have no Poll Parroting on the part of my + daughter? No, nor yet that I won’t take no Poll Parroting from no man? And + who may <i>you </i>be, and what may <i>you </i>want?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How can I tell you until you are silent?’ returned the other fiercely. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Mr Riderhood, quailing a little, ‘I am willing to be silent + for the purpose of hearing. But don’t Poll Parrot me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you thirsty, you?’ the man asked, in the same fierce short way, after + returning his look. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why nat’rally,’ said Mr Riderhood, ‘ain’t I always thirsty!’ (Indignant + at the absurdity of the question.) + </p> +<p> + ‘What will you drink?’ demanded the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sherry wine,’ returned Mr Riderhood, in the same sharp tone, ‘if you’re + capable of it.’ + </p> +<p> + The man put his hand in his pocket, took out half a sovereign, and begged + the favour of Miss Pleasant that she would fetch a bottle. ‘With the cork + undrawn,’ he added, emphatically, looking at her father. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll take my Alfred David,’ muttered Mr Riderhood, slowly relaxing into a + dark smile, ‘that you know a move. Do I know <i>you</i>? N—n—no, I + don’t know you.’ + </p> +<p> + The man replied, ‘No, you don’t know me.’ And so they stood looking at one + another surlily enough, until Pleasant came back. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s small glasses on the shelf,’ said Riderhood to his daughter. + ‘Give me the one without a foot. I gets my living by the sweat of my brow, + and it’s good enough for <i>me</i>.’ This had a modest self-denying appearance; + but it soon turned out that as, by reason of the impossibility of standing + the glass upright while there was anything in it, it required to be + emptied as soon as filled, Mr Riderhood managed to drink in the proportion + of three to one. + </p> +<p> + With his Fortunatus’s goblet ready in his hand, Mr Riderhood sat down on + one side of the table before the fire, and the strange man on the other: + Pleasant occupying a stool between the latter and the fireside. The + background, composed of handkerchiefs, coats, shirts, hats, and other old + articles ‘On Leaving,’ had a general dim resemblance to human listeners; + especially where a shiny black sou’wester suit and hat hung, looking very + like a clumsy mariner with his back to the company, who was so curious to + overhear, that he paused for the purpose with his coat half pulled on, and + his shoulders up to his ears in the uncompleted action. + </p> +<p> + The visitor first held the bottle against the light of the candle, and + next examined the top of the cork. Satisfied that it had not been tampered + with, he slowly took from his breastpocket a rusty clasp-knife, and, with + a corkscrew in the handle, opened the wine. That done, he looked at the + cork, unscrewed it from the corkscrew, laid each separately on the table, + and, with the end of the sailor’s knot of his neckerchief, dusted the + inside of the neck of the bottle. All this with great deliberation. + </p> +<p> + At first Riderhood had sat with his footless glass extended at arm’s + length for filling, while the very deliberate stranger seemed absorbed in + his preparations. But, gradually his arm reverted home to him, and his + glass was lowered and lowered until he rested it upside down upon the + table. By the same degrees his attention became concentrated on the knife. + And now, as the man held out the bottle to fill all round, Riderhood stood + up, leaned over the table to look closer at the knife, and stared from it + to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the matter?’ asked the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, I know that knife!’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I dare say you do.’ + </p> +<p> + He motioned to him to hold up his glass, and filled it. Riderhood emptied + it to the last drop and began again. + </p> +<p> + ‘That there knife—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop,’ said the man, composedly. ‘I was going to drink to your daughter. + Your health, Miss Riderhood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That knife was the knife of a seaman named George Radfoot.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That seaman was well beknown to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s come to him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Death has come to him. Death came to him in an ugly shape. He looked,’ + said the man, ‘very horrible after it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Arter what?’ said Riderhood, with a frowning stare. + </p> +<p> + ‘After he was killed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Killed? Who killed him?’ + </p> +<p> + Only answering with a shrug, the man filled the footless glass, and + Riderhood emptied it: looking amazedly from his daughter to his visitor. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t mean to tell a honest man—’ he was recommencing with his + empty glass in his hand, when his eye became fascinated by the stranger’s + outer coat. He leaned across the table to see it nearer, touched the + sleeve, turned the cuff to look at the sleeve-lining (the man, in his + perfect composure, offering not the least objection), and exclaimed, ‘It’s + my belief as this here coat was George Radfoot’s too!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are right. He wore it the last time you ever saw him, and the last + time you ever will see him—in this world.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s my belief you mean to tell me to my face you killed him!’ exclaimed + Riderhood; but, nevertheless, allowing his glass to be filled again. + </p> +<p> + The man only answered with another shrug, and showed no symptom of + confusion. + </p> +<p> + ‘Wish I may die if I know what to be up to with this chap!’ said + Riderhood, after staring at him, and tossing his last glassful down his + throat. ‘Let’s know what to make of you. Say something plain.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will,’ returned the other, leaning forward across the table, and + speaking in a low impressive voice. ‘What a liar you are!’ + </p> +<p> + The honest witness rose, and made as though he would fling his glass in + the man’s face. The man not wincing, and merely shaking his forefinger + half knowingly, half menacingly, the piece of honesty thought better of it + and sat down again, putting the glass down too. + </p> +<p> + ‘And when you went to that lawyer yonder in the Temple with that invented + story,’ said the stranger, in an exasperatingly comfortable sort of + confidence, ‘you might have had your strong suspicions of a friend of your + own, you know. I think you had, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Me my suspicions? Of what friend?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me again whose knife was this?’ demanded the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘It was possessed by, and was the property of—him as I have made + mention on,’ said Riderhood, stupidly evading the actual mention of the + name. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me again whose coat was this?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That there article of clothing likeways belonged to, and was wore by—him + as I have made mention on,’ was again the dull Old Bailey evasion. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suspect that you gave him the credit of the deed, and of keeping + cleverly out of the way. But there was small cleverness in <i>his </i>keeping out + of the way. The cleverness would have been, to have got back for one + single instant to the light of the sun.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Things is come to a pretty pass,’ growled Mr Riderhood, rising to his + feet, goaded to stand at bay, ‘when bullyers as is wearing dead men’s + clothes, and bullyers as is armed with dead men’s knives, is to come into + the houses of honest live men, getting their livings by the sweats of + their brows, and is to make these here sort of charges with no rhyme and + no reason, neither the one nor yet the other! Why should I have had my + suspicions of him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because you knew him,’ replied the man; ‘because you had been one with + him, and knew his real character under a fair outside; because on the + night which you had afterwards reason to believe to be the very night of + the murder, he came in here, within an hour of his having left his ship in + the docks, and asked you in what lodgings he could find room. Was there no + stranger with him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll take my world-without-end everlasting Alfred David that you warn’t + with him,’ answered Riderhood. ‘You talk big, you do, but things look + pretty black against yourself, to my thinking. You charge again’ me that + George Radfoot got lost sight of, and was no more thought of. What’s that + for a sailor? Why there’s fifty such, out of sight and out of mind, ten + times as long as him—through entering in different names, + re-shipping when the out’ard voyage is made, and what not—a turning + up to light every day about here, and no matter made of it. Ask my + daughter. You could go on Poll Parroting enough with her, when I warn’t + come in: Poll Parrot a little with her on this pint. You and your + suspicions of my suspicions of him! What are my suspicions of you? You + tell me George Radfoot got killed. I ask you who done it and how you know + it. You carry his knife and you wear his coat. I ask you how you come by + ’em? Hand over that there bottle!’ Here Mr Riderhood appeared to labour + under a virtuous delusion that it was his own property. ‘And you,’ he + added, turning to his daughter, as he filled the footless glass, ‘if it + warn’t wasting good sherry wine on you, I’d chuck this at you, for Poll + Parroting with this man. It’s along of Poll Parroting that such like as + him gets their suspicions, whereas I gets mine by argueyment, and being + nat’rally a honest man, and sweating away at the brow as a honest man + ought.’ Here he filled the footless goblet again, and stood chewing one + half of its contents and looking down into the other as he slowly rolled + the wine about in the glass; while Pleasant, whose sympathetic hair had + come down on her being apostrophised, rearranged it, much in the style of + the tail of a horse when proceeding to market to be sold. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well? Have you finished?’ asked the strange man. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Riderhood, ‘I ain’t. Far from it. Now then! I want to know how + George Radfoot come by his death, and how you come by his kit?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you ever do know, you won’t know now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And next I want to know,’ proceeded Riderhood ‘whether you mean to charge + that what-you-may-call-it-murder—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Harmon murder, father,’ suggested Pleasant. + </p> +<p> + ‘No Poll Parroting!’ he vociferated, in return. ‘Keep your mouth shut!—I + want to know, you sir, whether you charge that there crime on George + Radfoot?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you ever do know, you won’t know now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps you done it yourself?’ said Riderhood, with a threatening action. + </p> +<p> + ‘I alone know,’ returned the man, sternly shaking his head, ‘the mysteries + of that crime. I alone know that your trumped-up story cannot possibly be + true. I alone know that it must be altogether false, and that you must + know it to be altogether false. I come here to-night to tell you so much + of what I know, and no more.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Riderhood, with his crooked eye upon his visitor, meditated for some + moments, and then refilled his glass, and tipped the contents down his + throat in three tips. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shut the shop-door!’ he then said to his daughter, putting the glass + suddenly down. ‘And turn the key and stand by it! If you know all this, + you sir,’ getting, as he spoke, between the visitor and the door, ‘why + han’t you gone to Lawyer Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That, also, is alone known to myself,’ was the cool answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you know that, if you didn’t do the deed, what you say you could + tell is worth from five to ten thousand pound?’ asked Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I know it very well, and when I claim the money you shall share it.’ + </p> +<p> + The honest man paused, and drew a little nearer to the visitor, and a + little further from the door. + </p> +<p> + ‘I know it,’ repeated the man, quietly, ‘as well as I know that you and + George Radfoot were one together in more than one dark business; and as + well as I know that you, Roger Riderhood, conspired against an innocent + man for blood-money; and as well as I know that I can—and that I + swear I will!—give you up on both scores, and be the proof against + you in my own person, if you defy me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Father!’ cried Pleasant, from the door. ‘Don’t defy him! Give way to him! + Don’t get into more trouble, father!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you leave off a Poll Parroting, I ask you?’ cried Mr Riderhood, half + beside himself between the two. Then, propitiatingly and crawlingly: ‘You + sir! You han’t said what you want of me. Is it fair, is it worthy of + yourself, to talk of my defying you afore ever you say what you want of + me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want much,’ said the man. ‘This accusation of yours must not be + left half made and half unmade. What was done for the blood-money must be + thoroughly undone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well; but Shipmate—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t call me Shipmate,’ said the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Captain, then,’ urged Mr Riderhood; ‘there! You won’t object to Captain. + It’s a honourable title, and you fully look it. Captain! Ain’t the man + dead? Now I ask you fair. Ain’t Gaffer dead?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ returned the other, with impatience, ‘yes, he is dead. What then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Can words hurt a dead man, Captain? I only ask you fair.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They can hurt the memory of a dead man, and they can hurt his living + children. How many children had this man?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Meaning Gaffer, Captain?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of whom else are we speaking?’ returned the other, with a movement of his + foot, as if Rogue Riderhood were beginning to sneak before him in the body + as well as the spirit, and he spurned him off. ‘I have heard of a + daughter, and a son. I ask for information; I ask <i>your </i>daughter; I prefer + to speak to her. What children did Hexam leave?’ + </p> +<p> + Pleasant, looking to her father for permission to reply, that honest man + exclaimed with great bitterness: + </p> +<p> + ‘Why the devil don’t you answer the Captain? You can Poll Parrot enough + when you ain’t wanted to Poll Parrot, you perwerse jade!’ + </p> +<p> + Thus encouraged, Pleasant explained that there were only Lizzie, the + daughter in question, and the youth. Both very respectable, she added. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is dreadful that any stigma should attach to them,’ said the visitor, + whom the consideration rendered so uneasy that he rose, and paced to and + fro, muttering, ‘Dreadful! Unforeseen? How could it be foreseen!’ Then he + stopped, and asked aloud: ‘Where do they live?’ + </p> +<p> + Pleasant further explained that only the daughter had resided with the + father at the time of his accidental death, and that she had immediately + afterwards quitted the neighbourhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I know that,’ said the man, ‘for I have been to the place they dwelt in, + at the time of the inquest. Could you quietly find out for me where she + lives now?’ + </p> +<p> + Pleasant had no doubt she could do that. Within what time, did she think? + Within a day. The visitor said that was well, and he would return for the + information, relying on its being obtained. To this dialogue Riderhood had + attended in silence, and he now obsequiously bespake the Captain. + </p> +<p> + ‘Captain! Mentioning them unfort’net words of mine respecting Gaffer, it + is contrairily to be bore in mind that Gaffer always were a precious + rascal, and that his line were a thieving line. Likeways when I went to + them two Governors, Lawyer Lightwood and the t’other Governor, with my + information, I may have been a little over-eager for the cause of justice, + or (to put it another way) a little over-stimilated by them feelings which + rouses a man up, when a pot of money is going about, to get his hand into + that pot of money for his family’s sake. Besides which, I think the wine + of them two Governors was—I will not say a hocussed wine, but fur + from a wine as was elthy for the mind. And there’s another thing to be + remembered, Captain. Did I stick to them words when Gaffer was no more, + and did I say bold to them two Governors, “Governors both, wot I informed + I still inform; wot was took down I hold to”? No. I says, frank and open—no + shuffling, mind you, Captain!—“I may have been mistook, I’ve been a + thinking of it, it mayn’t have been took down correct on this and that, + and I won’t swear to thick and thin, I’d rayther forfeit your good + opinions than do it.” And so far as I know,’ concluded Mr Riderhood, by + way of proof and evidence to character, ‘I <i>have </i>actiwally forfeited the + good opinions of several persons—even your own, Captain, if I + understand your words—but I’d sooner do it than be forswore. There; + if that’s conspiracy, call me conspirator.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall sign,’ said the visitor, taking very little heed of this + oration, ‘a statement that it was all utterly false, and the poor girl + shall have it. I will bring it with me for your signature, when I come + again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When might you be expected, Captain?’ inquired Riderhood, again dubiously + getting between him and door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite soon enough for you. I shall not disappoint you; don’t be afraid.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Might you be inclined to leave any name, Captain?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, not at all. I have no such intention.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘“Shall” is summ’at of a hard word, Captain,’ urged Riderhood, still + feebly dodging between him and the door, as he advanced. ‘When you say a + man “shall” sign this and that and t’other, Captain, you order him about + in a grand sort of a way. Don’t it seem so to yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + The man stood still, and angrily fixed him with his eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Father, father!’ entreated Pleasant, from the door, with her disengaged + hand nervously trembling at her lips; ‘don’t! Don’t get into trouble any + more!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hear me out, Captain, hear me out! All I was wishing to mention, Captain, + afore you took your departer,’ said the sneaking Mr Riderhood, falling out + of his path, ‘was, your handsome words relating to the reward.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When I claim it,’ said the man, in a tone which seemed to leave some such + words as ‘you dog,’ very distinctly understood, ‘you shall share it.’ + </p> +<p> + Looking stedfastly at Riderhood, he once more said in a low voice, this + time with a grim sort of admiration of him as a perfect piece of evil, + ‘What a liar you are!’ and, nodding his head twice or thrice over the + compliment, passed out of the shop. But, to Pleasant he said good-night + kindly. + </p> +<p> + The honest man who gained his living by the sweat of his brow remained in + a state akin to stupefaction, until the footless glass and the unfinished + bottle conveyed themselves into his mind. From his mind he conveyed them + into his hands, and so conveyed the last of the wine into his stomach. + When that was done, he awoke to a clear perception that Poll Parroting was + solely chargeable with what had passed. Therefore, not to be remiss in his + duty as a father, he threw a pair of sea-boots at Pleasant, which she + ducked to avoid, and then cried, poor thing, using her hair for a + pocket-handkerchief. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 13 + </h2> +<h3> + A SOLO AND A DUETT + </h3> +<p> + The wind was blowing so hard when the visitor came out at the shop-door + into the darkness and dirt of Limehouse Hole, that it almost blew him in + again. Doors were slamming violently, lamps were flickering or blown out, + signs were rocking in their frames, the water of the kennels, + wind-dispersed, flew about in drops like rain. Indifferent to the weather, + and even preferring it to better weather for its clearance of the streets, + the man looked about him with a scrutinizing glance. ‘Thus much I know,’ + he murmured. ‘I have never been here since that night, and never was here + before that night, but thus much I recognize. I wonder which way did we + take when we came out of that shop. We turned to the right as I have + turned, but I can recall no more. Did we go by this alley? Or down that + little lane?’ + </p> +<p> + He tried both, but both confused him equally, and he came straying back to + the same spot. ‘I remember there were poles pushed out of upper windows on + which clothes were drying, and I remember a low public-house, and the + sound flowing down a narrow passage belonging to it of the scraping of a + fiddle and the shuffling of feet. But here are all these things in the + lane, and here are all these things in the alley. And I have nothing else + in my mind but a wall, a dark doorway, a flight of stairs, and a room.’ + </p> +<p> + He tried a new direction, but made nothing of it; walls, dark doorways, + flights of stairs and rooms, were too abundant. And, like most people so + puzzled, he again and again described a circle, and found himself at the + point from which he had begun. ‘This is like what I have read in + narratives of escape from prison,’ said he, ‘where the little track of the + fugitives in the night always seems to take the shape of the great round + world, on which they wander; as if it were a secret law.’ + </p> +<p> + Here he ceased to be the oakum-headed, oakum-whiskered man on whom Miss + Pleasant Riderhood had looked, and, allowing for his being still wrapped + in a nautical overcoat, became as like that same lost wanted Mr Julius + Handford, as never man was like another in this world. In the breast of + the coat he stowed the bristling hair and whisker, in a moment, as the + favouring wind went with him down a solitary place that it had swept clear + of passengers. Yet in that same moment he was the Secretary also, Mr + Boffin’s Secretary. For John Rokesmith, too, was as like that same lost + wanted Mr Julius Handford as never man was like another in this world. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have no clue to the scene of my death,’ said he. ‘Not that it matters + now. But having risked discovery by venturing here at all, I should have + been glad to track some part of the way.’ With which singular words he + abandoned his search, came up out of Limehouse Hole, and took the way past + Limehouse Church. At the great iron gate of the churchyard he stopped and + looked in. He looked up at the high tower spectrally resisting the wind, + and he looked round at the white tombstones, like enough to the dead in + their winding-sheets, and he counted the nine tolls of the clock-bell. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is a sensation not experienced by many mortals,’ said he, ‘to be + looking into a churchyard on a wild windy night, and to feel that I no + more hold a place among the living than these dead do, and even to know + that I lie buried somewhere else, as they lie buried here. Nothing uses me + to it. A spirit that was once a man could hardly feel stranger or + lonelier, going unrecognized among mankind, than I feel. + </p> +<p> + ‘But this is the fanciful side of the situation. It has a real side, so + difficult that, though I think of it every day, I never thoroughly think + it out. Now, let me determine to think it out as I walk home. I know I + evade it, as many men—perhaps most men—do evade thinking their + way through their greatest perplexity. I will try to pin myself to mine. + Don’t evade it, John Harmon; don’t evade it; think it out! + </p> +<p> + ‘When I came to England, attracted to the country with which I had none + but most miserable associations, by the accounts of my fine inheritance + that found me abroad, I came back, shrinking from my father’s money, + shrinking from my father’s memory, mistrustful of being forced on a + mercenary wife, mistrustful of my father’s intention in thrusting that + marriage on me, mistrustful that I was already growing avaricious, + mistrustful that I was slackening in gratitude to the two dear noble + honest friends who had made the only sunlight in my childish life or that + of my heartbroken sister. I came back, timid, divided in my mind, afraid + of myself and everybody here, knowing of nothing but wretchedness that my + father’s wealth had ever brought about. Now, stop, and so far think it + out, John Harmon. Is that so? That is exactly so. + </p> +<p> + ‘On board serving as third mate was George Radfoot. I knew nothing of him. + His name first became known to me about a week before we sailed, through + my being accosted by one of the ship-agent’s clerks as “Mr Radfoot.” It + was one day when I had gone aboard to look to my preparations, and the + clerk, coming behind me as I stood on deck, tapped me on the shoulder, and + said, “Mr Rad-foot, look here,” referring to some papers that he had in + his hand. And my name first became known to Radfoot, through another clerk + within a day or two, and while the ship was yet in port, coming up behind + him, tapping him on the shoulder and beginning, “I beg your pardon, Mr + Harmon—.” I believe we were alike in bulk and stature but not + otherwise, and that we were not strikingly alike, even in those respects, + when we were together and could be compared. + </p> +<p> + ‘However, a sociable word or two on these mistakes became an easy + introduction between us, and the weather was hot, and he helped me to a + cool cabin on deck alongside his own, and his first school had been at + Brussels as mine had been, and he had learnt French as I had learnt it, + and he had a little history of himself to relate—God only knows how + much of it true, and how much of it false—that had its likeness to + mine. I had been a seaman too. So we got to be confidential together, and + the more easily yet, because he and every one on board had known by + general rumour what I was making the voyage to England for. By such + degrees and means, he came to the knowledge of my uneasiness of mind, and + of its setting at that time in the direction of desiring to see and form + some judgment of my allotted wife, before she could possibly know me for + myself; also to try Mrs Boffin and give her a glad surprise. So the plot + was made out of our getting common sailors’ dresses (as he was able to + guide me about London), and throwing ourselves in Bella Wilfer’s + neighbourhood, and trying to put ourselves in her way, and doing whatever + chance might favour on the spot, and seeing what came of it. If nothing + came of it, I should be no worse off, and there would merely be a short + delay in my presenting myself to Lightwood. I have all these facts right? + Yes. They are all accurately right. + </p> +<p> + ‘His advantage in all this was, that for a time I was to be lost. It might + be for a day or for two days, but I must be lost sight of on landing, or + there would be recognition, anticipation, and failure. Therefore, I + disembarked with my valise in my hand—as Potterson the steward and + Mr Jacob Kibble my fellow-passenger afterwards remembered—and waited + for him in the dark by that very Limehouse Church which is now behind me. + </p> +<p> + ‘As I had always shunned the port of London, I only knew the church + through his pointing out its spire from on board. Perhaps I might recall, + if it were any good to try, the way by which I went to it alone from the + river; but how we two went from it to Riderhood’s shop, I don’t know—any + more than I know what turns we took and doubles we made, after we left it. + The way was purposely confused, no doubt. + </p> +<p> + ‘But let me go on thinking the facts out, and avoid confusing them with my + speculations. Whether he took me by a straight way or a crooked way, what + is that to the purpose now? Steady, John Harmon. + </p> +<p> + ‘When we stopped at Riderhood’s, and he asked that scoundrel a question or + two, purporting to refer only to the lodging-houses in which there was + accommodation for us, had I the least suspicion of him? None. Certainly + none until afterwards when I held the clue. I think he must have got from + Riderhood in a paper, the drug, or whatever it was, that afterwards + stupefied me, but I am far from sure. All I felt safe in charging on him + to-night, was old companionship in villainy between them. Their + undisguised intimacy, and the character I now know Riderhood to bear, made + that not at all adventurous. But I am not clear about the drug. Thinking + out the circumstances on which I found my suspicion, they are only two. + One: I remember his changing a small folded paper from one pocket to + another, after we came out, which he had not touched before. Two: I now + know Riderhood to have been previously taken up for being concerned in the + robbery of an unlucky seaman, to whom some such poison had been given. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is my conviction that we cannot have gone a mile from that shop, + before we came to the wall, the dark doorway, the flight of stairs, and + the room. The night was particularly dark and it rained hard. As I think + the circumstances back, I hear the rain splashing on the stone pavement of + the passage, which was not under cover. The room overlooked the river, or + a dock, or a creek, and the tide was out. Being possessed of the time down + to that point, I know by the hour that it must have been about low water; + but while the coffee was getting ready, I drew back the curtain (a + dark-brown curtain), and, looking out, knew by the kind of reflection + below, of the few neighbouring lights, that they were reflected in tidal + mud. + </p> +<p> + ‘He had carried under his arm a canvas bag, containing a suit of his + clothes. I had no change of outer clothes with me, as I was to buy slops. + “You are very wet, Mr Harmon,”—I can hear him saying—“and I am + quite dry under this good waterproof coat. Put on these clothes of mine. + You may find on trying them that they will answer your purpose to-morrow, + as well as the slops you mean to buy, or better. While you change, I’ll + hurry the hot coffee.” When he came back, I had his clothes on, and there + was a black man with him, wearing a linen jacket, like a steward, who put + the smoking coffee on the table in a tray and never looked at me. I am so + far literal and exact? Literal and exact, I am certain. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I pass to sick and deranged impressions; they are so strong, that I + rely upon them; but there are spaces between them that I know nothing + about, and they are not pervaded by any idea of time. + </p> +<p> + ‘I had drank some coffee, when to my sense of sight he began to swell + immensely, and something urged me to rush at him. We had a struggle near + the door. He got from me, through my not knowing where to strike, in the + whirling round of the room, and the flashing of flames of fire between us. + I dropped down. Lying helpless on the ground, I was turned over by a foot. + I was dragged by the neck into a corner. I heard men speak together. I was + turned over by other feet. I saw a figure like myself lying dressed in my + clothes on a bed. What might have been, for anything I knew, a silence of + days, weeks, months, years, was broken by a violent wrestling of men all + over the room. The figure like myself was assailed, and my valise was in + its hand. I was trodden upon and fallen over. I heard a noise of blows, + and thought it was a wood-cutter cutting down a tree. I could not have + said that my name was John Harmon—I could not have thought it—I + didn’t know it—but when I heard the blows, I thought of the + wood-cutter and his axe, and had some dead idea that I was lying in a + forest. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is still correct? Still correct, with the exception that I cannot + possibly express it to myself without using the word I. But it was not I. + There was no such thing as I, within my knowledge. + </p> +<p> + ‘It was only after a downward slide through something like a tube, and + then a great noise and a sparkling and crackling as of fires, that the + consciousness came upon me, “This is John Harmon drowning! John Harmon, + struggle for your life. John Harmon, call on Heaven and save yourself!” I + think I cried it out aloud in a great agony, and then a heavy horrid + unintelligible something vanished, and it was I who was struggling there + alone in the water. + </p> +<p> + ‘I was very weak and faint, frightfully oppressed with drowsiness, and + driving fast with the tide. Looking over the black water, I saw the lights + racing past me on the two banks of the river, as if they were eager to be + gone and leave me dying in the dark. The tide was running down, but I knew + nothing of up or down then. When, guiding myself safely with Heaven’s + assistance before the fierce set of the water, I at last caught at a boat + moored, one of a tier of boats at a causeway, I was sucked under her, and + came up, only just alive, on the other side. + </p> +<p> + ‘Was I long in the water? Long enough to be chilled to the heart, but I + don’t know how long. Yet the cold was merciful, for it was the cold night + air and the rain that restored me from a swoon on the stones of the + causeway. They naturally supposed me to have toppled in, drunk, when I + crept to the public-house it belonged to; for I had no notion where I was, + and could not articulate—through the poison that had made me + insensible having affected my speech—and I supposed the night to be + the previous night, as it was still dark and raining. But I had lost + twenty-four hours. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have checked the calculation often, and it must have been two nights + that I lay recovering in that public-house. Let me see. Yes. I am sure it + was while I lay in that bed there, that the thought entered my head of + turning the danger I had passed through, to the account of being for some + time supposed to have disappeared mysteriously, and of proving Bella. The + dread of our being forced on one another, and perpetuating the fate that + seemed to have fallen on my father’s riches—the fate that they + should lead to nothing but evil—was strong upon the moral timidity + that dates from my childhood with my poor sister. + </p> +<p> + ‘As to this hour I cannot understand that side of the river where I + recovered the shore, being the opposite side to that on which I was + ensnared, I shall never understand it now. Even at this moment, while I + leave the river behind me, going home, I cannot conceive that it rolls + between me and that spot, or that the sea is where it is. But this is not + thinking it out; this is making a leap to the present time. + </p> +<p> + ‘I could not have done it, but for the fortune in the waterproof belt + round my body. Not a great fortune, forty and odd pounds for the inheritor + of a hundred and odd thousand! But it was enough. Without it I must have + disclosed myself. Without it, I could never have gone to that Exchequer + Coffee House, or taken Mrs Wilfer’s lodgings. + </p> +<p> + ‘Some twelve days I lived at that hotel, before the night when I saw the + corpse of Radfoot at the Police Station. The inexpressible mental horror + that I laboured under, as one of the consequences of the poison, makes the + interval seem greatly longer, but I know it cannot have been longer. That + suffering has gradually weakened and weakened since, and has only come + upon me by starts, and I hope I am free from it now; but even now, I have + sometimes to think, constrain myself, and stop before speaking, or I could + not say the words I want to say. + </p> +<p> + ‘Again I ramble away from thinking it out to the end. It is not so far to + the end that I need be tempted to break off. Now, on straight! + </p> +<p> + ‘I examined the newspapers every day for tidings that I was missing, but + saw none. Going out that night to walk (for I kept retired while it was + light), I found a crowd assembled round a placard posted at Whitehall. It + described myself, John Harmon, as found dead and mutilated in the river + under circumstances of strong suspicion, described my dress, described the + papers in my pockets, and stated where I was lying for recognition. In a + wild incautious way I hurried there, and there—with the horror of + the death I had escaped, before my eyes in its most appalling shape, added + to the inconceivable horror tormenting me at that time when the poisonous + stuff was strongest on me—I perceived that Radfoot had been murdered + by some unknown hands for the money for which he would have murdered me, + and that probably we had both been shot into the river from the same dark + place into the same dark tide, when the stream ran deep and strong. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0355m " src="images/0355m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0355m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0355.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-5705410650382177425"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘That night I almost gave up my mystery, though I suspected no one, could + offer no information, knew absolutely nothing save that the murdered man + was not I, but Radfoot. Next day while I hesitated, and next day while I + hesitated, it seemed as if the whole country were determined to have me + dead. The Inquest declared me dead, the Government proclaimed me dead; I + could not listen at my fireside for five minutes to the outer noises, but + it was borne into my ears that I was dead. + </p> +<p> + ‘So John Harmon died, and Julius Handford disappeared, and John Rokesmith + was born. John Rokesmith’s intent to-night has been to repair a wrong that + he could never have imagined possible, coming to his ears through the + Lightwood talk related to him, and which he is bound by every + consideration to remedy. In that intent John Rokesmith will persevere, as + his duty is. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, is it all thought out? All to this time? Nothing omitted? No, + nothing. But beyond this time? To think it out through the future, is a + harder though a much shorter task than to think it out through the past. + John Harmon is dead. Should John Harmon come to life? + </p> +<p> + ‘If yes, why? If no, why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take yes, first. To enlighten human Justice concerning the offence of one + far beyond it who may have a living mother. To enlighten it with the + lights of a stone passage, a flight of stairs, a brown window-curtain, and + a black man. To come into possession of my father’s money, and with it + sordidly to buy a beautiful creature whom I love—I cannot help it; + reason has nothing to do with it; I love her against reason—but who + would as soon love me for my own sake, as she would love the beggar at the + corner. What a use for the money, and how worthy of its old misuses! + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, take no. The reasons why John Harmon should not come to life. + Because he has passively allowed these dear old faithful friends to pass + into possession of the property. Because he sees them happy with it, + making a good use of it, effacing the old rust and tarnish on the money. + Because they have virtually adopted Bella, and will provide for her. + Because there is affection enough in her nature, and warmth enough in her + heart, to develop into something enduringly good, under favourable + conditions. Because her faults have been intensified by her place in my + father’s will, and she is already growing better. Because her marriage + with John Harmon, after what I have heard from her own lips, would be a + shocking mockery, of which both she and I must always be conscious, and + which would degrade her in her mind, and me in mine, and each of us in the + other’s. Because if John Harmon comes to life and does not marry her, the + property falls into the very hands that hold it now. + </p> +<p> + ‘What would I have? Dead, I have found the true friends of my lifetime + still as true as tender and as faithful as when I was alive, and making my + memory an incentive to good actions done in my name. Dead, I have found + them when they might have slighted my name, and passed greedily over my + grave to ease and wealth, lingering by the way, like single-hearted + children, to recall their love for me when I was a poor frightened child. + Dead, I have heard from the woman who would have been my wife if I had + lived, the revolting truth that I should have purchased her, caring + nothing for me, as a Sultan buys a slave. + </p> +<p> + ‘What would I have? If the dead could know, or do know, how the living use + them, who among the hosts of dead has found a more disinterested fidelity + on earth than I? Is not that enough for me? If I had come back, these + noble creatures would have welcomed me, wept over me, given up everything + to me with joy. I did not come back, and they have passed unspoiled into + my place. Let them rest in it, and let Bella rest in hers. + </p> +<p> + ‘What course for me then? This. To live the same quiet Secretary life, + carefully avoiding chances of recognition, until they shall have become + more accustomed to their altered state, and until the great swarm of + swindlers under many names shall have found newer prey. By that time, the + method I am establishing through all the affairs, and with which I will + every day take new pains to make them both familiar, will be, I may hope, + a machine in such working order as that they can keep it going. I know I + need but ask of their generosity, to have. When the right time comes, I + will ask no more than will replace me in my former path of life, and John + Rokesmith shall tread it as contentedly as he may. But John Harmon shall + come back no more. + </p> +<p> + ‘That I may never, in the days to come afar off, have any weak misgiving + that Bella might, in any contingency, have taken me for my own sake if I + had plainly asked her, I <i>will </i>plainly ask her: proving beyond all question + what I already know too well. And now it is all thought out, from the + beginning to the end, and my mind is easier.’ + </p> +<p> + So deeply engaged had the living-dead man been, in thus communing with + himself, that he had regarded neither the wind nor the way, and had + resisted the former instinctively as he had pursued the latter. But being + now come into the City, where there was a coach-stand, he stood irresolute + whether to go to his lodgings, or to go first to Mr Boffin’s house. He + decided to go round by the house, arguing, as he carried his overcoat upon + his arm, that it was less likely to attract notice if left there, than if + taken to Holloway: both Mrs Wilfer and Miss Lavinia being ravenously + curious touching every article of which the lodger stood possessed. + </p> +<p> + Arriving at the house, he found that Mr and Mrs Boffin were out, but that + Miss Wilfer was in the drawing-room. Miss Wilfer had remained at home, in + consequence of not feeling very well, and had inquired in the evening if + Mr Rokesmith were in his room. + </p> +<p> + ‘Make my compliments to Miss Wilfer, and say I am here now.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Wilfer’s compliments came down in return, and, if it were not too + much trouble, would Mr Rokesmith be so kind as to come up before he went? + </p> +<p> + It was not too much trouble, and Mr Rokesmith came up. + </p> +<p> + Oh she looked very pretty, she looked very, very pretty! If the father of + the late John Harmon had but left his money unconditionally to his son, + and if his son had but lighted on this loveable girl for himself, and had + the happiness to make her loving as well as loveable! + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear me! Are you not well, Mr Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, quite well. I was sorry to hear, when I came in, that <i>you </i>were not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A mere nothing. I had a headache—gone now—and was not quite + fit for a hot theatre, so I stayed at home. I asked you if you were not + well, because you look so white.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I? I have had a busy evening.’ + </p> +<p> + She was on a low ottoman before the fire, with a little shining jewel of a + table, and her book and her work, beside her. Ah! what a different life + the late John Harmon’s, if it had been his happy privilege to take his + place upon that ottoman, and draw his arm about that waist, and say, ‘I + hope the time has been long without me? What a Home Goddess you look, my + darling!’ + </p> +<p> + But, the present John Rokesmith, far removed from the late John Harmon, + remained standing at a distance. A little distance in respect of space, + but a great distance in respect of separation. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith,’ said Bella, taking up her work, and inspecting it all + round the corners, ‘I wanted to say something to you when I could have the + opportunity, as an explanation why I was rude to you the other day. You + have no right to think ill of me, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + The sharp little way in which she darted a look at him, half sensitively + injured, and half pettishly, would have been very much admired by the late + John Harmon. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t know how well I think of you, Miss Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, you must have a very high opinion of me, Mr Rokesmith, when you + believe that in prosperity I neglect and forget my old home.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I believe so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You <i>did</i>, sir, at any rate,’ returned Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I took the liberty of reminding you of a little omission into which you + had fallen—insensibly and naturally fallen. It was no more than + that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I beg leave to ask you, Mr Rokesmith,’ said Bella, ‘why you took that + liberty?—I hope there is no offence in the phrase; it is your own, + remember.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because I am truly, deeply, profoundly interested in you, Miss Wilfer. + Because I wish to see you always at your best. Because I—shall I go + on?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir,’ returned Bella, with a burning face, ‘you have said more than + enough. I beg that you will <i>not </i>go on. If you have any generosity, any + honour, you will say no more.’ + </p> +<p> + The late John Harmon, looking at the proud face with the down-cast eyes, + and at the quick breathing as it stirred the fall of bright brown hair + over the beautiful neck, would probably have remained silent. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish to speak to you, sir,’ said Bella, ‘once for all, and I don’t know + how to do it. I have sat here all this evening, wishing to speak to you, + and determining to speak to you, and feeling that I must. I beg for a + moment’s time.’ + </p> +<p> + He remained silent, and she remained with her face averted, sometimes + making a slight movement as if she would turn and speak. At length she did + so. + </p> +<p> + ‘You know how I am situated here, sir, and you know how I am situated at + home. I must speak to you for myself, since there is no one about me whom + I could ask to do so. It is not generous in you, it is not honourable in + you, to conduct yourself towards me as you do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it ungenerous or dishonourable to be devoted to you; fascinated by + you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Preposterous!’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + The late John Harmon might have thought it rather a contemptuous and lofty + word of repudiation. + </p> +<p> + ‘I now feel obliged to go on,’ pursued the Secretary, ‘though it were only + in self-explanation and self-defence. I hope, Miss Wilfer, that it is not + unpardonable—even in me—to make an honest declaration of an + honest devotion to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘An honest declaration!’ repeated Bella, with emphasis. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it otherwise?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must request, sir,’ said Bella, taking refuge in a touch of timely + resentment, ‘that I may not be questioned. You must excuse me if I decline + to be cross-examined.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Miss Wilfer, this is hardly charitable. I ask you nothing but what + your own emphasis suggests. However, I waive even that question. But what + I have declared, I take my stand by. I cannot recall the avowal of my + earnest and deep attachment to you, and I do not recall it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I reject it, sir,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be blind and deaf if I were not prepared for the reply. Forgive + my offence, for it carries its punishment with it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What punishment?’ asked Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is my present endurance none? But excuse me; I did not mean to + cross-examine you again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You take advantage of a hasty word of mine,’ said Bella with a little + sting of self-reproach, ‘to make me seem—I don’t know what. I spoke + without consideration when I used it. If that was bad, I am sorry; but you + repeat it after consideration, and that seems to me to be at least no + better. For the rest, I beg it may be understood, Mr Rokesmith, that there + is an end of this between us, now and for ever.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now and for ever,’ he repeated. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I appeal to you, sir,’ proceeded Bella with increasing spirit, ‘not + to pursue me. I appeal to you not to take advantage of your position in + this house to make my position in it distressing and disagreeable. I + appeal to you to discontinue your habit of making your misplaced + attentions as plain to Mrs Boffin as to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have I done so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should think you have,’ replied Bella. ‘In any case it is not your + fault if you have not, Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope you are wrong in that impression. I should be very sorry to have + justified it. I think I have not. For the future there is no apprehension. + It is all over.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am much relieved to hear it,’ said Bella. ‘I have far other views in + life, and why should you waste your own?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mine!’ said the Secretary. ‘My life!’ + </p> +<p> + His curious tone caused Bella to glance at the curious smile with which he + said it. It was gone as he glanced back. ‘Pardon me, Miss Wilfer,’ he + proceeded, when their eyes met; ‘you have used some hard words, for which + I do not doubt you have a justification in your mind, that I do not + understand. Ungenerous and dishonourable. In what?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I would rather not be asked,’ said Bella, haughtily looking down. + </p> +<p> + ‘I would rather not ask, but the question is imposed upon me. Kindly + explain; or if not kindly, justly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, sir!’ said Bella, raising her eyes to his, after a little struggle to + forbear, ‘is it generous and honourable to use the power here which your + favour with Mr and Mrs Boffin and your ability in your place give you, + against me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Against you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it generous and honourable to form a plan for gradually bringing their + influence to bear upon a suit which I have shown you that I do not like, + and which I tell you that I utterly reject?’ + </p> +<p> + The late John Harmon could have borne a good deal, but he would have been + cut to the heart by such a suspicion as this. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would it be generous and honourable to step into your place—if you + did so, for I don’t know that you did, and I hope you did not—anticipating, + or knowing beforehand, that I should come here, and designing to take me + at this disadvantage?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This mean and cruel disadvantage,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ assented Bella. + </p> +<p> + The Secretary kept silence for a little while; then merely said, ‘You are + wholly mistaken, Miss Wilfer; wonderfully mistaken. I cannot say, however, + that it is your fault. If I deserve better things of you, you do not know + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At least, sir,’ retorted Bella, with her old indignation rising, ‘you + know the history of my being here at all. I have heard Mr Boffin say that + you are master of every line and word of that will, as you are master of + all his affairs. And was it not enough that I should have been willed + away, like a horse, or a dog, or a bird; but must you too begin to dispose + of me in your mind, and speculate in me, as soon as I had ceased to be the + talk and the laugh of the town? Am I for ever to be made the property of + strangers?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Believe me,’ returned the Secretary, ‘you are wonderfully mistaken.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be glad to know it,’ answered Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I doubt if you ever will. Good-night. Of course I shall be careful to + conceal any traces of this interview from Mr and Mrs Boffin, as long as I + remain here. Trust me, what you have complained of is at an end for ever.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am glad I have spoken, then, Mr Rokesmith. It has been painful and + difficult, but it is done. If I have hurt you, I hope you will forgive me. + I am inexperienced and impetuous, and I have been a little spoilt; but I + really am not so bad as I dare say I appear, or as you think me.’ + </p> +<p> + He quitted the room when Bella had said this, relenting in her wilful + inconsistent way. Left alone, she threw herself back on her ottoman, and + said, ‘I didn’t know the lovely woman was such a Dragon!’ Then, she got up + and looked in the glass, and said to her image, ‘You have been positively + swelling your features, you little fool!’ Then, she took an impatient walk + to the other end of the room and back, and said, ‘I wish Pa was here to + have a talk about an avaricious marriage; but he is better away, poor + dear, for I know I should pull his hair if he <i>was </i>here.’ And then she + threw her work away, and threw her book after it, and sat down and hummed + a tune, and hummed it out of tune, and quarrelled with it. + </p> +<p> + And John Rokesmith, what did he? + </p> +<p> + He went down to his room, and buried John Harmon many additional fathoms + deep. He took his hat, and walked out, and, as he went to Holloway or + anywhere else—not at all minding where—heaped mounds upon + mounds of earth over John Harmon’s grave. His walking did not bring him + home until the dawn of day. And so busy had he been all night, piling and + piling weights upon weights of earth above John Harmon’s grave, that by + that time John Harmon lay buried under a whole Alpine range; and still the + Sexton Rokesmith accumulated mountains over him, lightening his labour + with the dirge, ‘Cover him, crush him, keep him down!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 14 + </h2> +<h3> + STRONG OF PURPOSE + </h3> +<p> + The sexton-task of piling earth above John Harmon all night long, was not + conducive to sound sleep; but Rokesmith had some broken morning rest, and + rose strengthened in his purpose. It was all over now. No ghost should + trouble Mr and Mrs Boffin’s peace; invisible and voiceless, the ghost + should look on for a little while longer at the state of existence out of + which it had departed, and then should for ever cease to haunt the scenes + in which it had no place. + </p> +<p> + He went over it all again. He had lapsed into the condition in which he + found himself, as many a man lapses into many a condition, without + perceiving the accumulative power of its separate circumstances. When in + the distrust engendered by his wretched childhood and the action for evil—never + yet for good within his knowledge then—of his father and his + father’s wealth on all within their influence, he conceived the idea of + his first deception, it was meant to be harmless, it was to last but a few + hours or days, it was to involve in it only the girl so capriciously + forced upon him and upon whom he was so capriciously forced, and it was + honestly meant well towards her. For, if he had found her unhappy in the + prospect of that marriage (through her heart inclining to another man or + for any other cause), he would seriously have said: ‘This is another of + the old perverted uses of the misery-making money. I will let it go to my + and my sister’s only protectors and friends.’ When the snare into which he + fell so outstripped his first intention as that he found himself placarded + by the police authorities upon the London walls for dead, he confusedly + accepted the aid that fell upon him, without considering how firmly it + must seem to fix the Boffins in their accession to the fortune. When he + saw them, and knew them, and even from his vantage-ground of inspection + could find no flaw in them, he asked himself, ‘And shall I come to life to + dispossess such people as these?’ There was no good to set against the + putting of them to that hard proof. He had heard from Bella’s own lips + when he stood tapping at the door on that night of his taking the + lodgings, that the marriage would have been on her part thoroughly + mercenary. He had since tried her, in his own unknown person and supposed + station, and she not only rejected his advances but resented them. Was it + for him to have the shame of buying her, or the meanness of punishing her? + Yet, by coming to life and accepting the condition of the inheritance, he + must do the former; and by coming to life and rejecting it, he must do the + latter. + </p> +<p> + Another consequence that he had never foreshadowed, was the implication of + an innocent man in his supposed murder. He would obtain complete + retraction from the accuser, and set the wrong right; but clearly the + wrong could never have been done if he had never planned a deception. + Then, whatever inconvenience or distress of mind the deception cost him, + it was manful repentantly to accept as among its consequences, and make no + complaint. + </p> +<p> + Thus John Rokesmith in the morning, and it buried John Harmon still many + fathoms deeper than he had been buried in the night. + </p> +<p> + Going out earlier than he was accustomed to do, he encountered the cherub + at the door. The cherub’s way was for a certain space his way, and they + walked together. + </p> +<p> + It was impossible not to notice the change in the cherub’s appearance. The + cherub felt very conscious of it, and modestly remarked: + </p> +<p> + ‘A present from my daughter Bella, Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + The words gave the Secretary a stroke of pleasure, for he remembered the + fifty pounds, and he still loved the girl. No doubt it was very weak—it + always <i>is</i> very weak, some authorities hold—but he loved the girl. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know whether you happen to have read many books of African + Travel, Mr Rokesmith?’ said R. W. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have read several.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, you know, there’s usually a King George, or a King Boy, or a King + Sambo, or a King Bill, or Bull, or Rum, or Junk, or whatever name the + sailors may have happened to give him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ asked Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘Anywhere. Anywhere in Africa, I mean. Pretty well everywhere, I may say; + for black kings are cheap—and I think’—said R. W., with an + apologetic air, ‘nasty’. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am much of your opinion, Mr Wilfer. You were going to say—?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was going to say, the king is generally dressed in a London hat only, + or a Manchester pair of braces, or one epaulette, or an uniform coat with + his legs in the sleeves, or something of that kind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Just so,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘In confidence, I assure you, Mr Rokesmith,’ observed the cheerful cherub, + ‘that when more of my family were at home and to be provided for, I used + to remind myself immensely of that king. You have no idea, as a single + man, of the difficulty I have had in wearing more than one good article at + a time.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can easily believe it, Mr Wilfer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I only mention it,’ said R. W. in the warmth of his heart, ‘as a proof of + the amiable, delicate, and considerate affection of my daughter Bella. If + she had been a little spoilt, I couldn’t have thought so very much of it, + under the circumstances. But no, not a bit. And she is so very pretty! I + hope you agree with me in finding her very pretty, Mr Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly I do. Every one must.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope so,’ said the cherub. ‘Indeed, I have no doubt of it. This is a + great advancement for her in life, Mr Rokesmith. A great opening of her + prospects?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Miss Wilfer could have no better friends than Mr and Mrs Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Impossible!’ said the gratified cherub. ‘Really I begin to think things + are very well as they are. If Mr John Harmon had lived—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is better dead,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I won’t go so far as to say that,’ urged the cherub, a little + remonstrant against the very decisive and unpitying tone; ‘but he mightn’t + have suited Bella, or Bella mightn’t have suited him, or fifty things, + whereas now I hope she can choose for herself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Has she—as you place the confidence in me of speaking on the + subject, you will excuse my asking—has she—perhaps—chosen?’ + faltered the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh dear no!’ returned R. W. + </p> +<p> + ‘Young ladies sometimes,’ Rokesmith hinted, ‘choose without mentioning + their choice to their fathers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not in this case, Mr Rokesmith. Between my daughter Bella and me there is + a regular league and covenant of confidence. It was ratified only the + other day. The ratification dates from—these,’ said the cherub, + giving a little pull at the lappels of his coat and the pockets of his + trousers. ‘Oh no, she has not chosen. To be sure, young George Sampson, in + the days when Mr John Harmon—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who I wish had never been born!’ said the Secretary, with a gloomy brow. + </p> +<p> + R. W. looked at him with surprise, as thinking he had contracted an + unaccountable spite against the poor deceased, and continued: ‘In the days + when Mr John Harmon was being sought out, young George Sampson certainly + was hovering about Bella, and Bella let him hover. But it never was + seriously thought of, and it’s still less than ever to be thought of now. + For Bella is ambitious, Mr Rokesmith, and I think I may predict will marry + fortune. This time, you see, she will have the person and the property + before her together, and will be able to make her choice with her eyes + open. This is my road. I am very sorry to part company so soon. Good + morning, sir!’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary pursued his way, not very much elevated in spirits by this + conversation, and, arriving at the Boffin mansion, found Betty Higden + waiting for him. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should thank you kindly, sir,’ said Betty, ‘if I might make so bold as + have a word or two wi’ you.’ + </p> +<p> + She should have as many words as she liked, he told her; and took her into + his room, and made her sit down. + </p> +<p> + ‘’Tis concerning Sloppy, sir,’ said Betty. ‘And that’s how I come here by + myself. Not wishing him to know what I’m a-going to say to you, I got the + start of him early and walked up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have wonderful energy,’ returned Rokesmith. ‘You are as young as I + am.’ + </p> +<p> + Betty Higden gravely shook her head. ‘I am strong for my time of life, + sir, but not young, thank the Lord!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you thankful for not being young?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir. If I was young, it would all have to be gone through again, and + the end would be a weary way off, don’t you see? But never mind me; ’tis + concerning Sloppy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And what about him, Betty?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘’Tis just this, sir. It can’t be reasoned out of his head by any powers + of mine but what that he can do right by your kind lady and gentleman and + do his work for me, both together. Now he can’t. To give himself up to + being put in the way of arning a good living and getting on, he must give + me up. Well; he won’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I respect him for it,’ said Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Do</i> ye, sir? I don’t know but what I do myself. Still that don’t make it + right to let him have his way. So as he won’t give me up, I’m a-going to + give him up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How, Betty?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m a-going to run away from him.’ + </p> +<p> + With an astonished look at the indomitable old face and the bright eyes, + the Secretary repeated, ‘Run away from him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir,’ said Betty, with one nod. And in the nod and in the firm set + of her mouth, there was a vigour of purpose not to be doubted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come, come!’ said the Secretary. ‘We must talk about this. Let us take + our time over it, and try to get at the true sense of the case and the + true course, by degrees.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, lookee here, by dear,’ returned old Betty—‘asking your excuse + for being so familiar, but being of a time of life a’most to be your + grandmother twice over. Now, lookee, here. ’Tis a poor living and a hard + as is to be got out of this work that I’m a doing now, and but for Sloppy + I don’t know as I should have held to it this long. But it did just keep + us on, the two together. Now that I’m alone—with even Johnny gone—I’d + far sooner be upon my feet and tiring of myself out, than a sitting + folding and folding by the fire. And I’ll tell you why. There’s a deadness + steals over me at times, that the kind of life favours and I don’t like. + Now, I seem to have Johnny in my arms—now, his mother—now, his + mother’s mother—now, I seem to be a child myself, a lying once again + in the arms of my own mother—then I get numbed, thought and sense, + till I start out of my seat, afeerd that I’m a growing like the poor old + people that they brick up in the Unions, as you may sometimes see when + they let ’em out of the four walls to have a warm in the sun, crawling + quite scared about the streets. I was a nimble girl, and have always been + a active body, as I told your lady, first time ever I see her good face. I + can still walk twenty mile if I am put to it. I’d far better be a walking + than a getting numbed and dreary. I’m a good fair knitter, and can make + many little things to sell. The loan from your lady and gentleman of + twenty shillings to fit out a basket with, would be a fortune for me. + Trudging round the country and tiring of myself out, I shall keep the + deadness off, and get my own bread by my own labour. And what more can I + want?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And this is your plan,’ said the Secretary, ‘for running away?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Show me a better! My deary, show me a better! Why, I know very well,’ + said old Betty Higden, ‘and you know very well, that your lady and + gentleman would set me up like a queen for the rest of my life, if so be + that we could make it right among us to have it so. But we can’t make it + right among us to have it so. I’ve never took charity yet, nor yet has any + one belonging to me. And it would be forsaking of myself indeed, and + forsaking of my children dead and gone, and forsaking of their children + dead and gone, to set up a contradiction now at last.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It might come to be justifiable and unavoidable at last,’ the Secretary + gently hinted, with a slight stress on the word. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope it never will! It ain’t that I mean to give offence by being + anyways proud,’ said the old creature simply, ‘but that I want to be of a + piece like, and helpful of myself right through to my death.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And to be sure,’ added the Secretary, as a comfort for her, ‘Sloppy will + be eagerly looking forward to his opportunity of being to you what you + have been to him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Trust him for that, sir!’ said Betty, cheerfully. ‘Though he had need to + be something quick about it, for I’m a getting to be an old one. But I’m a + strong one too, and travel and weather never hurt me yet! Now, be so kind + as speak for me to your lady and gentleman, and tell ’em what I ask of + their good friendliness to let me do, and why I ask it.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary felt that there was no gainsaying what was urged by this + brave old heroine, and he presently repaired to Mrs Boffin and recommended + her to let Betty Higden have her way, at all events for the time. ‘It + would be far more satisfactory to your kind heart, I know,’ he said, ‘to + provide for her, but it may be a duty to respect this independent spirit.’ + Mrs Boffin was not proof against the consideration set before her. She and + her husband had worked too, and had brought their simple faith and honour + clean out of dustheaps. If they owed a duty to Betty Higden, of a surety + that duty must be done. + </p> +<p> + ‘But, Betty,’ said Mrs Boffin, when she accompanied John Rokesmith back to + his room, and shone upon her with the light of her radiant face, ‘granted + all else, I think I wouldn’t run away’. + </p> +<p> + ‘’Twould come easier to Sloppy,’ said Mrs Higden, shaking her head. + ‘’Twould come easier to me too. But ’tis as you please.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When would you go?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ was the bright and ready answer. ‘To-day, my deary, to-morrow. + Bless ye, I am used to it. I know many parts of the country well. When + nothing else was to be done, I have worked in many a market-garden afore + now, and in many a hop-garden too.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I give my consent to your going, Betty—which Mr Rokesmith thinks + I ought to do—’ + </p> +<p> + Betty thanked him with a grateful curtsey. + </p> +<p> + ‘—We must not lose sight of you. We must not let you pass out of our + knowledge. We must know all about you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my deary, but not through letter-writing, because letter-writing—indeed, + writing of most sorts hadn’t much come up for such as me when I was young. + But I shall be to and fro. No fear of my missing a chance of giving myself + a sight of your reviving face. Besides,’ said Betty, with logical good + faith, ‘I shall have a debt to pay off, by littles, and naturally that + would bring me back, if nothing else would.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Must </i>it be done?’ asked Mrs Boffin, still reluctant, of the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think it must.’ + </p> +<p> + After more discussion it was agreed that it should be done, and Mrs Boffin + summoned Bella to note down the little purchases that were necessary to + set Betty up in trade. ‘Don’t ye be timorous for me, my dear,’ said the + stanch old heart, observant of Bella’s face: ‘when I take my seat with my + work, clean and busy and fresh, in a country market-place, I shall turn a + sixpence as sure as ever a farmer’s wife there.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary took that opportunity of touching on the practical question + of Mr Sloppy’s capabilities. He would have made a wonderful cabinet-maker, + said Mrs Higden, ‘if there had been the money to put him to it.’ She had + seen him handle tools that he had borrowed to mend the mangle, or to knock + a broken piece of furniture together, in a surprising manner. As to + constructing toys for the Minders, out of nothing, he had done that daily. + And once as many as a dozen people had got together in the lane to see the + neatness with which he fitted the broken pieces of a foreign monkey’s + musical instrument. ‘That’s well,’ said the Secretary. ‘It will not be + hard to find a trade for him.’ + </p> +<p> + John Harmon being buried under mountains now, the Secretary that very same + day set himself to finish his affairs and have done with him. He drew up + an ample declaration, to be signed by Rogue Riderhood (knowing he could + get his signature to it, by making him another and much shorter evening + call), and then considered to whom should he give the document? To Hexam’s + son, or daughter? Resolved speedily, to the daughter. But it would be + safer to avoid seeing the daughter, because the son had seen Julius + Handford, and—he could not be too careful—there might possibly + be some comparison of notes between the son and daughter, which would + awaken slumbering suspicion, and lead to consequences. ‘I might even,’ he + reflected, ‘be apprehended as having been concerned in my own murder!’ + Therefore, best to send it to the daughter under cover by the post. + Pleasant Riderhood had undertaken to find out where she lived, and it was + not necessary that it should be attended by a single word of explanation. + So far, straight. + </p> +<p> + But, all that he knew of the daughter he derived from Mrs Boffin’s + accounts of what she heard from Mr Lightwood, who seemed to have a + reputation for his manner of relating a story, and to have made this story + quite his own. It interested him, and he would like to have the means of + knowing more—as, for instance, that she received the exonerating + paper, and that it satisfied her—by opening some channel altogether + independent of Lightwood: who likewise had seen Julius Handford, who had + publicly advertised for Julius Handford, and whom of all men he, the + Secretary, most avoided. ‘But with whom the common course of things might + bring me in a moment face to face, any day in the week or any hour in the + day.’ + </p> +<p> + Now, to cast about for some likely means of opening such a channel. The + boy, Hexam, was training for and with a schoolmaster. The Secretary knew + it, because his sister’s share in that disposal of him seemed to be the + best part of Lightwood’s account of the family. This young fellow, Sloppy, + stood in need of some instruction. If he, the Secretary, engaged that + schoolmaster to impart it to him, the channel might be opened. The next + point was, did Mrs Boffin know the schoolmaster’s name? No, but she knew + where the school was. Quite enough. Promptly the Secretary wrote to the + master of that school, and that very evening Bradley Headstone answered in + person. + </p> +<p> + The Secretary stated to the schoolmaster how the object was, to send to + him for certain occasional evening instruction, a youth whom Mr and Mrs + Boffin wished to help to an industrious and useful place in life. The + schoolmaster was willing to undertake the charge of such a pupil. The + Secretary inquired on what terms? The schoolmaster stated on what terms. + Agreed and disposed of. + </p> +<p> + ‘May I ask, sir,’ said Bradley Headstone, ‘to whose good opinion I owe a + recommendation to you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You should know that I am not the principal here. I am Mr Boffin’s + Secretary. Mr Boffin is a gentleman who inherited a property of which you + may have heard some public mention; the Harmon property.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Harmon,’ said Bradley: who would have been a great deal more at a loss + than he was, if he had known to whom he spoke: ‘was murdered and found in + the river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was murdered and found in the river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was not—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ interposed the Secretary, smiling, ‘it was not he who recommended + you. Mr Boffin heard of you through a certain Mr Lightwood. I think you + know Mr Lightwood, or know of him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know as much of him as I wish to know, sir. I have no acquaintance with + Mr Lightwood, and I desire none. I have no objection to Mr Lightwood, but + I have a particular objection to some of Mr Lightwood’s friends—in + short, to one of Mr Lightwood’s friends. His great friend.’ + </p> +<p> + He could hardly get the words out, even then and there, so fierce did he + grow (though keeping himself down with infinite pains of repression), when + the careless and contemptuous bearing of Eugene Wrayburn rose before his + mind. + </p> +<p> + The Secretary saw there was a strong feeling here on some sore point, and + he would have made a diversion from it, but for Bradley’s holding to it in + his cumbersome way. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have no objection to mention the friend by name,’ he said, doggedly. + ‘The person I object to, is Mr Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary remembered him. In his disturbed recollection of that night + when he was striving against the drugged drink, there was but a dim image + of Eugene’s person; but he remembered his name, and his manner of + speaking, and how he had gone with them to view the body, and where he had + stood, and what he had said. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray, Mr Headstone, what is the name,’ he asked, again trying to make a + diversion, ‘of young Hexam’s sister?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her name is Lizzie,’ said the schoolmaster, with a strong contraction of + his whole face. + </p> +<p> + ‘She is a young woman of a remarkable character; is she not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She is sufficiently remarkable to be very superior to Mr Eugene Wrayburn—though + an ordinary person might be that,’ said the schoolmaster; ‘and I hope you + will not think it impertinent in me, sir, to ask why you put the two names + together?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By mere accident,’ returned the Secretary. ‘Observing that Mr Wrayburn + was a disagreeable subject with you, I tried to get away from it: though + not very successfully, it would appear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you know Mr Wrayburn, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then perhaps the names cannot be put together on the authority of any + representation of his?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I took the liberty to ask,’ said Bradley, after casting his eyes on the + ground, ‘because he is capable of making any representation, in the + swaggering levity of his insolence. I—I hope you will not + misunderstand me, sir. I—I am much interested in this brother and + sister, and the subject awakens very strong feelings within me. Very, + very, strong feelings.’ With a shaking hand, Bradley took out his + handkerchief and wiped his brow. + </p> +<p> + The Secretary thought, as he glanced at the schoolmaster’s face, that he + had opened a channel here indeed, and that it was an unexpectedly dark and + deep and stormy one, and difficult to sound. All at once, in the midst of + his turbulent emotions, Bradley stopped and seemed to challenge his look. + Much as though he suddenly asked him, ‘What do you see in me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The brother, young Hexam, was your real recommendation here,’ said the + Secretary, quietly going back to the point; ‘Mr and Mrs Boffin happening + to know, through Mr Lightwood, that he was your pupil. Anything that I ask + respecting the brother and sister, or either of them, I ask for myself out + of my own interest in the subject, and not in my official character, or on + Mr Boffin’s behalf. How I come to be interested, I need not explain. You + know the father’s connection with the discovery of Mr Harmon’s body.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ replied Bradley, very restlessly indeed, ‘I know all the + circumstances of that case.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray tell me, Mr Headstone,’ said the Secretary. ‘Does the sister suffer + under any stigma because of the impossible accusation—groundless + would be a better word—that was made against the father, and + substantially withdrawn?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir,’ returned Bradley, with a kind of anger. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very glad to hear it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The sister,’ said Bradley, separating his words over-carefully, and + speaking as if he were repeating them from a book, ‘suffers under no + reproach that repels a man of unimpeachable character who had made for + himself every step of his way in life, from placing her in his own + station. I will not say, raising her to his own station; I say, placing + her in it. The sister labours under no reproach, unless she should + unfortunately make it for herself. When such a man is not deterred from + regarding her as his equal, and when he has convinced himself that there + is no blemish on her, I think the fact must be taken to be pretty + expressive.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And there is such a man?’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone knotted his brows, and squared his large lower jaw, and + fixed his eyes on the ground with an air of determination that seemed + unnecessary to the occasion, as he replied: ‘And there is such a man.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary had no reason or excuse for prolonging the conversation, and + it ended here. Within three hours the oakum-headed apparition once more + dived into the Leaving Shop, and that night Rogue Riderhood’s recantation + lay in the post office, addressed under cover to Lizzie Hexam at her right + address. + </p> +<p> + All these proceedings occupied John Rokesmith so much, that it was not + until the following day that he saw Bella again. It seemed then to be + tacitly understood between them that they were to be as distantly easy as + they could, without attracting the attention of Mr and Mrs Boffin to any + marked change in their manner. The fitting out of old Betty Higden was + favourable to this, as keeping Bella engaged and interested, and as + occupying the general attention. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think,’ said Rokesmith, when they all stood about her, while she packed + her tidy basket—except Bella, who was busily helping on her knees at + the chair on which it stood; ‘that at least you might keep a letter in + your pocket, Mrs Higden, which I would write for you and date from here, + merely stating, in the names of Mr and Mrs Boffin, that they are your + friends;—I won’t say patrons, because they wouldn’t like it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘no patronizing! Let’s keep out of <i>that</i>, + whatever we come to.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s more than enough of that about, without us; ain’t there, Noddy?’ + said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I believe you, old lady!’ returned the Golden Dustman. ‘Overmuch indeed!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But people sometimes like to be patronized; don’t they, sir?’ asked + Bella, looking up. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t. And if <i>they </i>do, my dear, they ought to learn better,’ said Mr + Boffin. ‘Patrons and Patronesses, and Vice-Patrons and Vice-Patronesses, + and Deceased Patrons and Deceased Patronesses, and Ex-Vice-Patrons and + Ex-Vice-Patronesses, what does it all mean in the books of the Charities + that come pouring in on Rokesmith as he sits among ’em pretty well up to + his neck! If Mr Tom Noakes gives his five shillings ain’t he a Patron, and + if Mrs Jack Styles gives her five shillings ain’t she a Patroness? What + the deuce is it all about? If it ain’t stark staring impudence, what do + you call it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be warm, Noddy,’ Mrs Boffin urged. + </p> +<p> + ‘Warm!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘It’s enough to make a man smoking hot. I can’t + go anywhere without being Patronized. I don’t want to be Patronized. If I + buy a ticket for a Flower Show, or a Music Show, or any sort of Show, and + pay pretty heavy for it, why am I to be Patroned and Patronessed as if the + Patrons and Patronesses treated me? If there’s a good thing to be done, + can’t it be done on its own merits? If there’s a bad thing to be done, can + it ever be Patroned and Patronessed right? Yet when a new Institution’s + going to be built, it seems to me that the bricks and mortar ain’t made of + half so much consequence as the Patrons and Patronesses; no, nor yet the + objects. I wish somebody would tell me whether other countries get + Patronized to anything like the extent of this one! And as to the Patrons + and Patronesses themselves, I wonder they’re not ashamed of themselves. + They ain’t Pills, or Hair-Washes, or Invigorating Nervous Essences, to be + puffed in that way!’ + </p> +<p> + Having delivered himself of these remarks, Mr Boffin took a trot, + according to his usual custom, and trotted back to the spot from which he + had started. + </p> +<p> + ‘As to the letter, Rokesmith,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘you’re as right as a + trivet. Give her the letter, make her take the letter, put it in her + pocket by violence. She might fall sick. You know you might fall sick,’ + said Mr Boffin. ‘Don’t deny it, Mrs Higden, in your obstinacy; you know + you might.’ + </p> +<p> + Old Betty laughed, and said that she would take the letter and be + thankful. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s right!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Come! That’s sensible. And don’t be + thankful to us (for we never thought of it), but to Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + The letter was written, and read to her, and given to her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, how do you feel?’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Do you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The letter, sir?’ said Betty. ‘Ay, it’s a beautiful letter!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no; not the letter,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘the idea. Are you sure + you’re strong enough to carry out the idea?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall be stronger, and keep the deadness off better, this way, than any + way left open to me, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t say than any way left open, you know,’ urged Mr Boffin; ‘because + there are ways without end. A housekeeper would be acceptable over yonder + at the Bower, for instance. Wouldn’t you like to see the Bower, and know a + retired literary man of the name of Wegg that lives there—<i>with </i>a + wooden leg?’ + </p> +<p> + Old Betty was proof even against this temptation, and fell to adjusting + her black bonnet and shawl. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wouldn’t let you go, now it comes to this, after all,’ said Mr Boffin, + ‘if I didn’t hope that it may make a man and a workman of Sloppy, in as + short a time as ever a man and workman was made yet. Why, what have you + got there, Betty? Not a doll?’ + </p> +<p> + It was the man in the Guards who had been on duty over Johnny’s bed. The + solitary old woman showed what it was, and put it up quietly in her dress. + Then, she gratefully took leave of Mrs Boffin, and of Mr Boffin, and of + Rokesmith, and then put her old withered arms round Bella’s young and + blooming neck, and said, repeating Johnny’s words: ‘A kiss for the boofer + lady.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary looked on from a doorway at the boofer lady thus encircled, + and still looked on at the boofer lady standing alone there, when the + determined old figure with its steady bright eyes was trudging through the + streets, away from paralysis and pauperism. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0375m " src="images/0375m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0375m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0375.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-3949438788773930182"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 15 + </h2> +<h3> + THE WHOLE CASE SO FAR + </h3> +<p> + Bradley Headstone held fast by that other interview he was to have with + Lizzie Hexam. In stipulating for it, he had been impelled by a feeling + little short of desperation, and the feeling abided by him. It was very + soon after his interview with the Secretary, that he and Charley Hexam set + out one leaden evening, not unnoticed by Miss Peecher, to have this + desperate interview accomplished. + </p> +<p> + ‘That dolls’ dressmaker,’ said Bradley, ‘is favourable neither to me nor + to you, Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A pert crooked little chit, Mr Headstone! I knew she would put herself in + the way, if she could, and would be sure to strike in with something + impertinent. It was on that account that I proposed our going to the City + to-night and meeting my sister.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So I supposed,’ said Bradley, getting his gloves on his nervous hands as + he walked. ‘So I supposed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nobody but my sister,’ pursued Charley, ‘would have found out such an + extraordinary companion. She has done it in a ridiculous fancy of giving + herself up to another. She told me so, that night when we went there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why should she give herself up to the dressmaker?’ asked Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said the boy, colouring. ‘One of her romantic ideas! I tried to + convince her so, but I didn’t succeed. However, what we have got to do, + is, to succeed to-night, Mr Headstone, and then all the rest follows.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are still sanguine, Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly I am, sir. Why, we have everything on our side.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Except your sister, perhaps,’ thought Bradley. But he only gloomily + thought it, and said nothing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Everything on our side,’ repeated the boy with boyish confidence. + ‘Respectability, an excellent connexion for me, common sense, everything!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To be sure, your sister has always shown herself a devoted sister,’ said + Bradley, willing to sustain himself on even that low ground of hope. + </p> +<p> + ‘Naturally, Mr Headstone, I have a good deal of influence with her. And + now that you have honoured me with your confidence and spoken to me first, + I say again, we have everything on our side.’ + </p> +<p> + And Bradley thought again, ‘Except your sister, perhaps.’ + </p> +<p> + A grey dusty withered evening in London city has not a hopeful aspect. The + closed warehouses and offices have an air of death about them, and the + national dread of colour has an air of mourning. The towers and steeples + of the many house-encompassed churches, dark and dingy as the sky that + seems descending on them, are no relief to the general gloom; a sun-dial + on a church-wall has the look, in its useless black shade, of having + failed in its business enterprise and stopped payment for ever; melancholy + waifs and strays of housekeepers and porters sweep melancholy waifs and + strays of papers and pins into the kennels, and other more melancholy + waifs and strays explore them, searching and stooping and poking for + anything to sell. The set of humanity outward from the City is as a set of + prisoners departing from gaol, and dismal Newgate seems quite as fit a + stronghold for the mighty Lord Mayor as his own state-dwelling. + </p> +<p> + On such an evening, when the city grit gets into the hair and eyes and + skin, and when the fallen leaves of the few unhappy city trees grind down + in corners under wheels of wind, the schoolmaster and the pupil emerged + upon the Leadenhall Street region, spying eastward for Lizzie. Being + something too soon in their arrival, they lurked at a corner, waiting for + her to appear. The best-looking among us will not look very well, lurking + at a corner, and Bradley came out of that disadvantage very poorly indeed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here she comes, Mr Headstone! Let us go forward and meet her.’ + </p> +<p> + As they advanced, she saw them coming, and seemed rather troubled. But she + greeted her brother with the usual warmth, and touched the extended hand + of Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, where are you going, Charley, dear?’ she asked him then. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nowhere. We came on purpose to meet you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To meet me, Charley?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. We are going to walk with you. But don’t let us take the great + leading streets where every one walks, and we can’t hear ourselves speak. + Let us go by the quiet backways. Here’s a large paved court by this + church, and quiet, too. Let us go up here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But it’s not in the way, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes it is,’ said the boy, petulantly. ‘It’s in my way, and my way is + yours.’ + </p> +<p> + She had not released his hand, and, still holding it, looked at him with a + kind of appeal. He avoided her eyes, under pretence of saying, ‘Come + along, Mr Headstone.’ Bradley walked at his side—not at hers—and + the brother and sister walked hand in hand. The court brought them to a + churchyard; a paved square court, with a raised bank of earth about breast + high, in the middle, enclosed by iron rails. Here, conveniently and + healthfully elevated above the level of the living, were the dead, and the + tombstones; some of the latter droopingly inclined from the perpendicular, + as if they were ashamed of the lies they told. + </p> +<p> + They paced the whole of this place once, in a constrained and + uncomfortable manner, when the boy stopped and said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie, Mr Headstone has something to say to you. I don’t wish to be an + interruption either to him or to you, and so I’ll go and take a little + stroll and come back. I know in a general way what Mr Headstone intends to + say, and I very highly approve of it, as I hope—and indeed I do not + doubt—you will. I needn’t tell you, Lizzie, that I am under great + obligations to Mr Headstone, and that I am very anxious for Mr Headstone + to succeed in all he undertakes. As I hope—and as, indeed, I don’t + doubt—you must be.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley,’ returned his sister, detaining his hand as he withdrew it, ‘I + think you had better stay. I think Mr Headstone had better not say what he + thinks of saying.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, how do you know what it is?’ returned the boy. + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps I don’t, but—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps you don’t? No, Liz, I should think not. If you knew what it was, + you would give me a very different answer. There; let go; be sensible. I + wonder you don’t remember that Mr Headstone is looking on.’ + </p> +<p> + She allowed him to separate himself from her, and he, after saying, ‘Now + Liz, be a rational girl and a good sister,’ walked away. She remained + standing alone with Bradley Headstone, and it was not until she raised her + eyes, that he spoke. + </p> +<p> + ‘I said,’ he began, ‘when I saw you last, that there was something + unexplained, which might perhaps influence you. I have come this evening + to explain it. I hope you will not judge of me by my hesitating manner + when I speak to you. You see me at my greatest disadvantage. It is most + unfortunate for me that I wish you to see me at my best, and that I know + you see me at my worst.’ + </p> +<p> + She moved slowly on when he paused, and he moved slowly on beside her. + </p> +<p> + ‘It seems egotistical to begin by saying so much about myself,’ he + resumed, ‘but whatever I say to you seems, even in my own ears, below what + I want to say, and different from what I want to say. I can’t help it. So + it is. You are the ruin of me.’ + </p> +<p> + She started at the passionate sound of the last words, and at the + passionate action of his hands, with which they were accompanied. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes! you are the ruin—the ruin—the ruin—of me. I have + no resources in myself, I have no confidence in myself, I have no + government of myself when you are near me or in my thoughts. And you are + always in my thoughts now. I have never been quit of you since I first saw + you. Oh, that was a wretched day for me! That was a wretched, miserable + day!’ + </p> +<p> + A touch of pity for him mingled with her dislike of him, and she said: ‘Mr + Headstone, I am grieved to have done you any harm, but I have never meant + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ he cried, despairingly. ‘Now, I seem to have reproached you, + instead of revealing to you the state of my own mind! Bear with me. I am + always wrong when you are in question. It is my doom.’ + </p> +<p> + Struggling with himself, and by times looking up at the deserted windows + of the houses as if there could be anything written in their grimy panes + that would help him, he paced the whole pavement at her side, before he + spoke again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I must try to give expression to what is in my mind; it shall and must be + spoken. Though you see me so confounded—though you strike me so + helpless—I ask you to believe that there are many people who think + well of me; that there are some people who highly esteem me; that I have + in my way won a Station which is considered worth winning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Surely, Mr Headstone, I do believe it. Surely I have always known it from + Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I ask you to believe that if I were to offer my home such as it is, my + station such as it is, my affections such as they are, to any one of the + best considered, and best qualified, and most distinguished, among the + young women engaged in my calling, they would probably be accepted. Even + readily accepted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do not doubt it,’ said Lizzie, with her eyes upon the ground. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have sometimes had it in my thoughts to make that offer and to settle + down as many men of my class do: I on the one side of a school, my wife on + the other, both of us interested in the same work.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why have you not done so?’ asked Lizzie Hexam. ‘Why do you not do so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Far better that I never did! The only one grain of comfort I have had + these many weeks,’ he said, always speaking passionately, and, when most + emphatic, repeating that former action of his hands, which was like + flinging his heart’s blood down before her in drops upon the + pavement-stones; ‘the only one grain of comfort I have had these many + weeks is, that I never did. For if I had, and if the same spell had come + upon me for my ruin, I know I should have broken that tie asunder as if it + had been thread.’ + </p> +<p> + She glanced at him with a glance of fear, and a shrinking gesture. He + answered, as if she had spoken. + </p> +<p> + ‘No! It would not have been voluntary on my part, any more than it is + voluntary in me to be here now. You draw me to you. If I were shut up in a + strong prison, you would draw me out. I should break through the wall to + come to you. If I were lying on a sick bed, you would draw me up—to + stagger to your feet and fall there.’ + </p> +<p> + The wild energy of the man, now quite let loose, was absolutely terrible. + He stopped and laid his hand upon a piece of the coping of the + burial-ground enclosure, as if he would have dislodged the stone. + </p> +<p> + ‘No man knows till the time comes, what depths are within him. To some men + it never comes; let them rest and be thankful! To me, you brought it; on + me, you forced it; and the bottom of this raging sea,’ striking himself + upon the breast, ‘has been heaved up ever since.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone, I have heard enough. Let me stop you here. It will be + better for you and better for me. Let us find my brother.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not yet. It shall and must be spoken. I have been in torments ever since + I stopped short of it before. You are alarmed. It is another of my + miseries that I cannot speak to you or speak of you without stumbling at + every syllable, unless I let the check go altogether and run mad. Here is + a man lighting the lamps. He will be gone directly. I entreat of you let + us walk round this place again. You have no reason to look alarmed; I can + restrain myself, and I will.’ + </p> +<p> + She yielded to the entreaty—how could she do otherwise!—and + they paced the stones in silence. One by one the lights leaped up making + the cold grey church tower more remote, and they were alone again. He said + no more until they had regained the spot where he had broken off; there, + he again stood still, and again grasped the stone. In saying what he said + then, he never looked at her; but looked at it and wrenched at it. + </p> +<p> + ‘You know what I am going to say. I love you. What other men may mean when + they use that expression, I cannot tell; what I mean is, that I am under + the influence of some tremendous attraction which I have resisted in vain, + and which overmasters me. You could draw me to fire, you could draw me to + water, you could draw me to the gallows, you could draw me to any death, + you could draw me to anything I have most avoided, you could draw me to + any exposure and disgrace. This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that + I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me. But if + you would return a favourable answer to my offer of myself in marriage, + you could draw me to any good—every good—with equal force. My + circumstances are quite easy, and you would want for nothing. My + reputation stands quite high, and would be a shield for yours. If you saw + me at my work, able to do it well and respected in it, you might even come + to take a sort of pride in me;—I would try hard that you should. + Whatever considerations I may have thought of against this offer, I have + conquered, and I make it with all my heart. Your brother favours me to the + utmost, and it is likely that we might live and work together; anyhow, it + is certain that he would have my best influence and support. I don’t know + what I could say more if I tried. I might only weaken what is ill enough + said as it is. I only add that if it is any claim on you to be in earnest, + I am in thorough earnest, dreadful earnest.’ + </p> +<p> + The powdered mortar from under the stone at which he wrenched, rattled on + the pavement to confirm his words. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop! I implore you, before you answer me, to walk round this place once + more. It will give you a minute’s time to think, and me a minute’s time to + get some fortitude together.’ + </p> +<p> + Again she yielded to the entreaty, and again they came back to the same + place, and again he worked at the stone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it,’ he said, with his attention apparently engrossed by it, ‘yes, or + no?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone, I thank you sincerely, I thank you gratefully, and hope you + may find a worthy wife before long and be very happy. But it is no.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is no short time necessary for reflection; no weeks or days?’ he asked, + in the same half-suffocated way. + </p> +<p> + ‘None whatever.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you quite decided, and is there no chance of any change in my + favour?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am quite decided, Mr Headstone, and I am bound to answer I am certain + there is none.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ said he, suddenly changing his tone and turning to her, and + bringing his clenched hand down upon the stone with a force that laid the + knuckles raw and bleeding; ‘then I hope that I may never kill him!’ + </p> +<p> + The dark look of hatred and revenge with which the words broke from his + livid lips, and with which he stood holding out his smeared hand as if it + held some weapon and had just struck a mortal blow, made her so afraid of + him that she turned to run away. But he caught her by the arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone, let me go. Mr Headstone, I must call for help!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is I who should call for help,’ he said; ‘you don’t know yet how much + I need it.’ + </p> +<p> + The working of his face as she shrank from it, glancing round for her + brother and uncertain what to do, might have extorted a cry from her in + another instant; but all at once he sternly stopped it and fixed it, as if + Death itself had done so. + </p> +<p> + ‘There! You see I have recovered myself. Hear me out.’ + </p> +<p> + With much of the dignity of courage, as she recalled her self-reliant life + and her right to be free from accountability to this man, she released her + arm from his grasp and stood looking full at him. She had never been so + handsome, in his eyes. A shade came over them while he looked back at her, + as if she drew the very light out of them to herself. + </p> +<p> + ‘This time, at least, I will leave nothing unsaid,’ he went on, folding + his hands before him, clearly to prevent his being betrayed into any + impetuous gesture; ‘this last time at least I will not be tortured with + after-thoughts of a lost opportunity. Mr Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was it of him you spoke in your ungovernable rage and violence?’ Lizzie + Hexam demanded with spirit. + </p> +<p> + He bit his lip, and looked at her, and said never a word. + </p> +<p> + ‘Was it Mr Wrayburn that you threatened?’ + </p> +<p> + He bit his lip again, and looked at her, and said never a word. + </p> +<p> + ‘You asked me to hear you out, and you will not speak. Let me find my + brother.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stay! I threatened no one.’ + </p> +<p> + Her look dropped for an instant to his bleeding hand. He lifted it to his + mouth, wiped it on his sleeve, and again folded it over the other. ‘Mr + Eugene Wrayburn,’ he repeated. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why do you mention that name again and again, Mr Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because it is the text of the little I have left to say. Observe! There + are no threats in it. If I utter a threat, stop me, and fasten it upon me. + Mr Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + A worse threat than was conveyed in his manner of uttering the name, could + hardly have escaped him. + </p> +<p> + ‘He haunts you. You accept favours from him. You are willing enough to + listen to <i>him</i>. I know it, as well as he does.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn has been considerate and good to me, sir,’ said Lizzie, + proudly, ‘in connexion with the death and with the memory of my poor + father.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No doubt. He is of course a very considerate and a very good man, Mr + Eugene Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is nothing to you, I think,’ said Lizzie, with an indignation she + could not repress. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh yes, he is. There you mistake. He is much to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What can he be to you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He can be a rival to me among other things,’ said Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone,’ returned Lizzie, with a burning face, ‘it is cowardly in + you to speak to me in this way. But it makes me able to tell you that I do + not like you, and that I never have liked you from the first, and that no + other living creature has anything to do with the effect you have produced + upon me for yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + His head bent for a moment, as if under a weight, and he then looked up + again, moistening his lips. ‘I was going on with the little I had left to + say. I knew all this about Mr Eugene Wrayburn, all the while you were + drawing me to you. I strove against the knowledge, but quite in vain. It + made no difference in me. With Mr Eugene Wrayburn in my mind, I went on. + With Mr Eugene Wrayburn in my mind, I spoke to you just now. With Mr + Eugene Wrayburn in my mind, I have been set aside and I have been cast + out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you give those names to my thanking you for your proposal and + declining it, is it my fault, Mr Headstone?’ said Lizzie, compassionating + the bitter struggle he could not conceal, almost as much as she was + repelled and alarmed by it. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not complaining,’ he returned, ‘I am only stating the case. I had to + wrestle with my self-respect when I submitted to be drawn to you in spite + of Mr Wrayburn. You may imagine how low my self-respect lies now.’ + </p> +<p> + She was hurt and angry; but repressed herself in consideration of his + suffering, and of his being her brother’s friend. + </p> +<p> + ‘And it lies under his feet,’ said Bradley, unfolding his hands in spite + of himself, and fiercely motioning with them both towards the stones of + the pavement. ‘Remember that! It lies under that fellow’s feet, and he + treads upon it and exults above it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He does not!’ said Lizzie. + </p> +<p> + ‘He does!’ said Bradley. ‘I have stood before him face to face, and he + crushed me down in the dirt of his contempt, and walked over me. Why? + Because he knew with triumph what was in store for me to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O, Mr Headstone, you talk quite wildly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite collectedly. I know what I say too well. Now I have said all. I + have used no threat, remember; I have done no more than show you how the + case stands;—how the case stands, so far.’ + </p> +<p> + At this moment her brother sauntered into view close by. She darted to + him, and caught him by the hand. Bradley followed, and laid his heavy hand + on the boy’s opposite shoulder. + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley Hexam, I am going home. I must walk home by myself to-night, and + get shut up in my room without being spoken to. Give me half an hour’s + start, and let me be, till you find me at my work in the morning. I shall + be at my work in the morning just as usual.’ + </p> +<p> + Clasping his hands, he uttered a short unearthly broken cry, and went his + way. The brother and sister were left looking at one another near a lamp + in the solitary churchyard, and the boy’s face clouded and darkened, as he + said in a rough tone: ‘What is the meaning of this? What have you done to + my best friend? Out with the truth!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley!’ said his sister. ‘Speak a little more considerately!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not in the humour for consideration, or for nonsense of any sort,’ + replied the boy. ‘What have you been doing? Why has Mr Headstone gone from + us in that way?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He asked me—you know he asked me—to be his wife, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well?’ said the boy, impatiently. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I was obliged to tell him that I could not be his wife.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You were obliged to tell him,’ repeated the boy angrily, between his + teeth, and rudely pushing her away. ‘You were obliged to tell him! Do you + know that he is worth fifty of you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It may easily be so, Charley, but I cannot marry him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You mean that you are conscious that you can’t appreciate him, and don’t + deserve him, I suppose?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean that I do not like him, Charley, and that I will never marry him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my soul,’ exclaimed the boy, ‘you are a nice picture of a sister! + Upon my soul, you are a pretty piece of disinterestedness! And so all my + endeavours to cancel the past and to raise myself in the world, and to + raise you with me, are to be beaten down by <i>your </i>low whims; are they?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will not reproach you, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hear her!’ exclaimed the boy, looking round at the darkness. ‘She won’t + reproach me! She does her best to destroy my fortunes and her own, and she + won’t reproach me! Why, you’ll tell me, next, that you won’t reproach Mr + Headstone for coming out of the sphere to which he is an ornament, and + putting himself at <i>your </i>feet, to be rejected by <i>you!</i>’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Charley; I will only tell you, as I told himself, that I thank him + for doing so, that I am sorry he did so, and that I hope he will do much + better, and be happy.’ + </p> +<p> + Some touch of compunction smote the boy’s hardening heart as he looked + upon her, his patient little nurse in infancy, his patient friend, + adviser, and reclaimer in boyhood, the self-forgetting sister who had done + everything for him. His tone relented, and he drew her arm through his. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, come, Liz; don’t let us quarrel: let us be reasonable and talk this + over like brother and sister. Will you listen to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Charley!’ she replied through her starting tears; ‘do I not listen to + you, and hear many hard things!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I am sorry. There, Liz! I am unfeignedly sorry. Only you do put me + out so. Now see. Mr Headstone is perfectly devoted to you. He has told me + in the strongest manner that he has never been his old self for one single + minute since I first brought him to see you. Miss Peecher, our + schoolmistress—pretty and young, and all that—is known to be + very much attached to him, and he won’t so much as look at her or hear of + her. Now, his devotion to you must be a disinterested one; mustn’t it? If + he married Miss Peecher, he would be a great deal better off in all + worldly respects, than in marrying you. Well then; he has nothing to get + by it, has he?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing, Heaven knows!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well then,’ said the boy; ‘that’s something in his favour, and a + great thing. Then I come in. Mr Headstone has always got me on, and he has + a good deal in his power, and of course if he was my brother-in-law he + wouldn’t get me on less, but would get me on more. Mr Headstone comes and + confides in me, in a very delicate way, and says, “I hope my marrying your + sister would be agreeable to you, Hexam, and useful to you?” I say, + “There’s nothing in the world, Mr Headstone, that I could be better + pleased with.” Mr Headstone says, “Then I may rely upon your intimate + knowledge of me for your good word with your sister, Hexam?” And I say, + “Certainly, Mr Headstone, and naturally I have a good deal of influence + with her.” So I have; haven’t I, Liz?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Charley.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well said! Now, you see, we begin to get on, the moment we begin to be + really talking it over, like brother and sister. Very well. Then <i>you </i>come + in. As Mr Headstone’s wife you would be occupying a most respectable + station, and you would be holding a far better place in society than you + hold now, and you would at length get quit of the river-side and the old + disagreeables belonging to it, and you would be rid for good of dolls’ + dressmakers and their drunken fathers, and the like of that. Not that I + want to disparage Miss Jenny Wren: I dare say she is all very well in her + way; but her way is not your way as Mr Headstone’s wife. Now, you see, + Liz, on all three accounts—on Mr Headstone’s, on mine, on yours—nothing + could be better or more desirable.’ + </p> +<p> + They were walking slowly as the boy spoke, and here he stood still, to see + what effect he had made. His sister’s eyes were fixed upon him; but as + they showed no yielding, and as she remained silent, he walked her on + again. There was some discomfiture in his tone as he resumed, though he + tried to conceal it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Having so much influence with you, Liz, as I have, perhaps I should have + done better to have had a little chat with you in the first instance, + before Mr Headstone spoke for himself. But really all this in his favour + seemed so plain and undeniable, and I knew you to have always been so + reasonable and sensible, that I didn’t consider it worth while. Very + likely that was a mistake of mine. However, it’s soon set right. All that + need be done to set it right, is for you to tell me at once that I may go + home and tell Mr Headstone that what has taken place is not final, and + that it will all come round by-and-by.’ + </p> +<p> + He stopped again. The pale face looked anxiously and lovingly at him, but + she shook her head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Can’t you speak?’ said the boy sharply. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very unwilling to speak, Charley. If I must, I must. I cannot + authorize you to say any such thing to Mr Headstone: I cannot allow you to + say any such thing to Mr Headstone. Nothing remains to be said to him from + me, after what I have said for good and all, to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And this girl,’ cried the boy, contemptuously throwing her off again, + ‘calls herself a sister!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley, dear, that is the second time that you have almost struck me. + Don’t be hurt by my words. I don’t mean—Heaven forbid!—that + you intended it; but you hardly know with what a sudden swing you removed + yourself from me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘However!’ said the boy, taking no heed of the remonstrance, and pursuing + his own mortified disappointment, ‘I know what this means, and you shall + not disgrace me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It means what I have told you, Charley, and nothing more.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s not true,’ said the boy in a violent tone, ‘and you know it’s not. + It means your precious Mr Wrayburn; that’s what it means.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley! If you remember any old days of ours together, forbear!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you shall not disgrace me,’ doggedly pursued the boy. ‘I am + determined that after I have climbed up out of the mire, you shall not + pull me down. You can’t disgrace me if I have nothing to do with you, and + I will have nothing to do with you for the future.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charley! On many a night like this, and many a worse night, I have sat on + the stones of the street, hushing you in my arms. Unsay those words + without even saying you are sorry for them, and my arms are open to you + still, and so is my heart.’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0387m " src="images/0387m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0387m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0387.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-9019104647884144393"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘I’ll not unsay them. I’ll say them again. You are an inveterately bad + girl, and a false sister, and I have done with you. For ever, I have done + with you!’ + </p> +<p> + He threw up his ungrateful and ungracious hand as if it set up a barrier + between them, and flung himself upon his heel and left her. She remained + impassive on the same spot, silent and motionless, until the striking of + the church clock roused her, and she turned away. But then, with the + breaking up of her immobility came the breaking up of the waters that the + cold heart of the selfish boy had frozen. And ‘O that I were lying here + with the dead!’ and ‘O Charley, Charley, that this should be the end of + our pictures in the fire!’ were all the words she said, as she laid her + face in her hands on the stone coping. + </p> +<p> + A figure passed by, and passed on, but stopped and looked round at her. It + was the figure of an old man with a bowed head, wearing a large brimmed + low-crowned hat, and a long-skirted coat. After hesitating a little, the + figure turned back, and, advancing with an air of gentleness and + compassion, said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me, young woman, for speaking to you, but you are under some + distress of mind. I cannot pass upon my way and leave you weeping here + alone, as if there was nothing in the place. Can I help you? Can I do + anything to give you comfort?’ + </p> +<p> + She raised her head at the sound of these kind words, and answered gladly, + ‘O, Mr Riah, is it you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My daughter,’ said the old man, ‘I stand amazed! I spoke as to a + stranger. Take my arm, take my arm. What grieves you? Who has done this? + Poor girl, poor girl!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My brother has quarrelled with me,’ sobbed Lizzie, ‘and renounced me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is a thankless dog,’ said the Jew, angrily. ‘Let him go. Shake the + dust from thy feet and let him go. Come, daughter! Come home with me—it + is but across the road—and take a little time to recover your peace + and to make your eyes seemly, and then I will bear you company through the + streets. For it is past your usual time, and will soon be late, and the + way is long, and there is much company out of doors to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + She accepted the support he offered her, and they slowly passed out of the + churchyard. They were in the act of emerging into the main thoroughfare, + when another figure loitering discontentedly by, and looking up the street + and down it, and all about, started and exclaimed, ‘Lizzie! why, where + have you been? Why, what’s the matter?’ + </p> +<p> + As Eugene Wrayburn thus addressed her, she drew closer to the Jew, and + bent her head. The Jew having taken in the whole of Eugene at one sharp + glance, cast his eyes upon the ground, and stood mute. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie, what is the matter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn, I cannot tell you now. I cannot tell you to-night, if I ever + can tell you. Pray leave me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, Lizzie, I came expressly to join you. I came to walk home with you, + having dined at a coffee-house in this neighbourhood and knowing your + hour. And I have been lingering about,’ added Eugene, ‘like a bailiff; + or,’ with a look at Riah, ‘an old clothesman.’ + </p> +<p> + The Jew lifted up his eyes, and took in Eugene once more, at another + glance. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn, pray, pray, leave me with this protector. And one thing + more. Pray, pray be careful of yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mysteries of Udolpho!’ said Eugene, with a look of wonder. ‘May I be + excused for asking, in the elderly gentleman’s presence, who is this kind + protector?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A trustworthy friend,’ said Lizzie. + </p> +<p> + ‘I will relieve him of his trust,’ returned Eugene. ‘But you must tell me, + Lizzie, what is the matter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her brother is the matter,’ said the old man, lifting up his eyes again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Our brother the matter?’ returned Eugene, with airy contempt. ‘Our + brother is not worth a thought, far less a tear. What has our brother + done?’ + </p> +<p> + The old man lifted up his eyes again, with one grave look at Wrayburn, and + one grave glance at Lizzie, as she stood looking down. Both were so full + of meaning that even Eugene was checked in his light career, and subsided + into a thoughtful ‘Humph!’ + </p> +<p> + With an air of perfect patience the old man, remaining mute and keeping + his eyes cast down, stood, retaining Lizzie’s arm, as though in his habit + of passive endurance, it would be all one to him if he had stood there + motionless all night. + </p> +<p> + ‘If Mr Aaron,’ said Eugene, who soon found this fatiguing, ‘will be good + enough to relinquish his charge to me, he will be quite free for any + engagement he may have at the Synagogue. Mr Aaron, will you have the + kindness?’ + </p> +<p> + But the old man stood stock still. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good evening, Mr Aaron,’ said Eugene, politely; ‘we need not detain you.’ + Then turning to Lizzie, ‘Is our friend Mr Aaron a little deaf?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My hearing is very good, Christian gentleman,’ replied the old man, + calmly; ‘but I will hear only one voice to-night, desiring me to leave + this damsel before I have conveyed her to her home. If she requests it, I + will do it. I will do it for no one else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘May I ask why so, Mr Aaron?’ said Eugene, quite undisturbed in his ease. + </p> +<p> + ‘Excuse me. If she asks me, I will tell her,’ replied the old man. ‘I will + tell no one else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do not ask you,’ said Lizzie, ‘and I beg you to take me home. Mr + Wrayburn, I have had a bitter trial to-night, and I hope you will not + think me ungrateful, or mysterious, or changeable. I am neither; I am + wretched. Pray remember what I said to you. Pray, pray, take care.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Lizzie,’ he returned, in a low voice, bending over her on the + other side; ‘of what? Of whom?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of any one you have lately seen and made angry.’ + </p> +<p> + He snapped his fingers and laughed. ‘Come,’ said he, ‘since no better may + be, Mr Aaron and I will divide this trust, and see you home together. Mr + Aaron on that side; I on this. If perfectly agreeable to Mr Aaron, the + escort will now proceed.’ + </p> +<p> + He knew his power over her. He knew that she would not insist upon his + leaving her. He knew that, her fears for him being aroused, she would be + uneasy if he were out of her sight. For all his seeming levity and + carelessness, he knew whatever he chose to know of the thoughts of her + heart. + </p> +<p> + And going on at her side, so gaily, regardless of all that had been urged + against him; so superior in his sallies and self-possession to the gloomy + constraint of her suitor and the selfish petulance of her brother; so + faithful to her, as it seemed, when her own stock was faithless; what an + immense advantage, what an overpowering influence, were his that night! + Add to the rest, poor girl, that she had heard him vilified for her sake, + and that she had suffered for his, and where the wonder that his + occasional tones of serious interest (setting off his carelessness, as if + it were assumed to calm her), that his lightest touch, his lightest look, + his very presence beside her in the dark common street, were like glimpses + of an enchanted world, which it was natural for jealousy and malice and + all meanness to be unable to bear the brightness of, and to gird at as bad + spirits might. + </p> +<p> + Nothing more being said of repairing to Riah’s, they went direct to + Lizzie’s lodging. A little short of the house-door she parted from them, + and went in alone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Aaron,’ said Eugene, when they were left together in the street, ‘with + many thanks for your company, it remains for me unwillingly to say + Farewell.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ returned the other, ‘I give you good night, and I wish that you + were not so thoughtless.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Aaron,’ returned Eugene, ‘I give you good night, and I wish (for you + are a little dull) that you were not so thoughtful.’ + </p> +<p> + But now, that his part was played out for the evening, and when in turning + his back upon the Jew he came off the stage, he was thoughtful himself. + ‘How did Lightwood’s catechism run?’ he murmured, as he stopped to light + his cigar. ‘What is to come of it? What are you doing? Where are you + going? We shall soon know now. Ah!’ with a heavy sigh. + </p> +<p> + The heavy sigh was repeated as if by an echo, an hour afterwards, when + Riah, who had been sitting on some dark steps in a corner over against the + house, arose and went his patient way; stealing through the streets in his + ancient dress, like the ghost of a departed Time. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 16 + </h2> +<h3> + AN ANNIVERSARY OCCASION + </h3> +<p> + The estimable Twemlow, dressing himself in his lodgings over the + stable-yard in Duke Street, Saint James’s, and hearing the horses at their + toilette below, finds himself on the whole in a disadvantageous position + as compared with the noble animals at livery. For whereas, on the one + hand, he has no attendant to slap him soundingly and require him in gruff + accents to come up and come over, still, on the other hand, he has no + attendant at all; and the mild gentleman’s finger-joints and other joints + working rustily in the morning, he could deem it agreeable even to be tied + up by the countenance at his chamber-door, so he were there skilfully + rubbed down and slushed and sluiced and polished and clothed, while + himself taking merely a passive part in these trying transactions. + </p> +<p> + How the fascinating Tippins gets on when arraying herself for the + bewilderment of the senses of men, is known only to the Graces and her + maid; but perhaps even that engaging creature, though not reduced to the + self-dependence of Twemlow could dispense with a good deal of the trouble + attendant on the daily restoration of her charms, seeing that as to her + face and neck this adorable divinity is, as it were, a diurnal species of + lobster—throwing off a shell every forenoon, and needing to keep in + a retired spot until the new crust hardens. + </p> +<p> + Howbeit, Twemlow doth at length invest himself with collar and cravat and + wristbands to his knuckles, and goeth forth to breakfast. And to breakfast + with whom but his near neighbours, the Lammles of Sackville Street, who + have imparted to him that he will meet his distant kinsman, Mr Fledgely. + The awful Snigsworth might taboo and prohibit Fledgely, but the peaceable + Twemlow reasons, If he <i>is</i> my kinsman I didn’t make him so, and to meet a + man is not to know him.’ + </p> +<p> + It is the first anniversary of the happy marriage of Mr and Mrs Lammle, + and the celebration is a breakfast, because a dinner on the desired scale + of sumptuosity cannot be achieved within less limits than those of the + non-existent palatial residence of which so many people are madly envious. + So, Twemlow trips with not a little stiffness across Piccadilly, sensible + of having once been more upright in figure and less in danger of being + knocked down by swift vehicles. To be sure that was in the days when he + hoped for leave from the dread Snigsworth to do something, or be + something, in life, and before that magnificent Tartar issued the ukase, + ‘As he will never distinguish himself, he must be a poor + gentleman-pensioner of mine, and let him hereby consider himself + pensioned.’ + </p> +<p> + Ah! my Twemlow! Say, little feeble grey personage, what thoughts are in + thy breast to-day, of the Fancy—so still to call her who bruised thy + heart when it was green and thy head brown—and whether it be better + or worse, more painful or less, to believe in the Fancy to this hour, than + to know her for a greedy armour-plated crocodile, with no more capacity of + imagining the delicate and sensitive and tender spot behind thy waistcoat, + than of going straight at it with a knitting-needle. Say likewise, my + Twemlow, whether it be the happier lot to be a poor relation of the great, + or to stand in the wintry slush giving the hack horses to drink out of the + shallow tub at the coach-stand, into which thou has so nearly set thy + uncertain foot. Twemlow says nothing, and goes on. + </p> +<p> + As he approaches the Lammles’ door, drives up a little one-horse carriage, + containing Tippins the divine. Tippins, letting down the window, playfully + extols the vigilance of her cavalier in being in waiting there to hand her + out. Twemlow hands her out with as much polite gravity as if she were + anything real, and they proceed upstairs. Tippins all abroad about the + legs, and seeking to express that those unsteady articles are only + skipping in their native buoyancy. + </p> +<p> + And dear Mrs Lammle and dear Mr Lammle, how do you do, and when are you + going down to what’s-its-name place—Guy, Earl of Warwick, you know—what + is it?—Dun Cow—to claim the flitch of bacon? And Mortimer, + whose name is for ever blotted out from my list of lovers, by reason first + of fickleness and then of base desertion, how do <i>you </i>do, wretch? And Mr + Wrayburn, <i>you </i>here! What can <i>you </i>come for, because we are all very sure + before-hand that you are not going to talk! And Veneering, M.P., how are + things going on down at the house, and when will you turn out those + terrible people for us? And Mrs Veneering, my dear, can it positively be + true that you go down to that stifling place night after night, to hear + those men prose? Talking of which, Veneering, why don’t you prose, for you + haven’t opened your lips there yet, and we are dying to hear what you have + got to say to us! Miss Podsnap, charmed to see you. Pa, here? No! Ma, + neither? Oh! Mr Boots! Delighted. Mr Brewer! This <i>is</i> a gathering of the + clans. Thus Tippins, and surveys Fledgeby and outsiders through golden + glass, murmuring as she turns about and about, in her innocent giddy way, + Anybody else I know? No, I think not. Nobody there. Nobody <i>there</i>. Nobody + anywhere! + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle, all a-glitter, produces his friend Fledgeby, as dying for the + honour of presentation to Lady Tippins. Fledgeby presented, has the air of + going to say something, has the air of going to say nothing, has an air + successively of meditation, of resignation, and of desolation, backs on + Brewer, makes the tour of Boots, and fades into the extreme background, + feeling for his whisker, as if it might have turned up since he was there + five minutes ago. + </p> +<p> + But Lammle has him out again before he has so much as completely + ascertained the bareness of the land. He would seem to be in a bad way, + Fledgeby; for Lammle represents him as dying again. He is dying now, of + want of presentation to Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + Twemlow offers his hand. Glad to see him. ‘Your mother, sir, was a + connexion of mine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I believe so,’ says Fledgeby, ‘but my mother and her family were two.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you staying in town?’ asks Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + ‘I always am,’ says Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘You like town,’ says Twemlow. But is felled flat by Fledgeby’s taking it + quite ill, and replying, No, he don’t like town. Lammle tries to break the + force of the fall, by remarking that some people do not like town. + Fledgeby retorting that he never heard of any such case but his own, + Twemlow goes down again heavily. + </p> +<p> + ‘There is nothing new this morning, I suppose?’ says Twemlow, returning to + the mark with great spirit. + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby has not heard of anything. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, there’s not a word of news,’ says Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a particle,’ adds Boots. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not an atom,’ chimes in Brewer. + </p> +<p> + Somehow the execution of this little concerted piece appears to raise the + general spirits as with a sense of duty done, and sets the company a + going. Everybody seems more equal than before, to the calamity of being in + the society of everybody else. Even Eugene standing in a window, moodily + swinging the tassel of a blind, gives it a smarter jerk now, as if he + found himself in better case. + </p> +<p> + Breakfast announced. Everything on table showy and gaudy, but with a + self-assertingly temporary and nomadic air on the decorations, as boasting + that they will be much more showy and gaudy in the palatial residence. Mr + Lammle’s own particular servant behind his chair; the Analytical behind + Veneering’s chair; instances in point that such servants fall into two + classes: one mistrusting the master’s acquaintances, and the other + mistrusting the master. Mr Lammle’s servant, of the second class. + Appearing to be lost in wonder and low spirits because the police are so + long in coming to take his master up on some charge of the first + magnitude. + </p> +<p> + Veneering, M.P., on the right of Mrs Lammle; Twemlow on her left; Mrs + Veneering, W.M.P. (wife of Member of Parliament), and Lady Tippins on Mr + Lammle’s right and left. But be sure that well within the fascination of + Mr Lammle’s eye and smile sits little Georgiana. And be sure that close to + little Georgiana, also under inspection by the same gingerous gentleman, + sits Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + Oftener than twice or thrice while breakfast is in progress, Mr Twemlow + gives a little sudden turn towards Mrs Lammle, and then says to her, ‘I + beg your pardon!’ This not being Twemlow’s usual way, why is it his way + to-day? Why, the truth is, Twemlow repeatedly labours under the impression + that Mrs Lammle is going to speak to him, and turning finds that it is not + so, and mostly that she has her eyes upon Veneering. Strange that this + impression so abides by Twemlow after being corrected, yet so it is. + </p> +<p> + Lady Tippins partaking plentifully of the fruits of the earth (including + grape-juice in the category) becomes livelier, and applies herself to + elicit sparks from Mortimer Lightwood. It is always understood among the + initiated, that that faithless lover must be planted at table opposite to + Lady Tippins, who will then strike conversational fire out of him. In a + pause of mastication and deglutition, Lady Tippins, contemplating + Mortimer, recalls that it was at our dear Veneerings, and in the presence + of a party who are surely all here, that he told them his story of the man + from somewhere, which afterwards became so horribly interesting and + vulgarly popular. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Lady Tippins,’ assents Mortimer; ‘as they say on the stage, “Even + so!”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then we expect you,’ retorts the charmer, ‘to sustain your reputation, + and tell us something else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lady Tippins, I exhausted myself for life that day, and there is nothing + more to be got out of me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer parries thus, with a sense upon him that elsewhere it is Eugene + and not he who is the jester, and that in these circles where Eugene + persists in being speechless, he, Mortimer, is but the double of the + friend on whom he has founded himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘But,’ quoth the fascinating Tippins, ‘I am resolved on getting something + more out of you. Traitor! what is this I hear about another + disappearance?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As it is you who have heard it,’ returns Lightwood, ‘perhaps you’ll tell + us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Monster, away!’ retorts Lady Tippins. ‘Your own Golden Dustman referred + me to you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle, striking in here, proclaims aloud that there is a sequel to the + story of the man from somewhere. Silence ensues upon the proclamation. + </p> +<p> + ‘I assure you,’ says Lightwood, glancing round the table, ‘I have nothing + to tell.’ But Eugene adding in a low voice, ‘There, tell it, tell it!’ he + corrects himself with the addition, ‘Nothing worth mentioning.’ + </p> +<p> + Boots and Brewer immediately perceive that it is immensely worth + mentioning, and become politely clamorous. Veneering is also visited by a + perception to the same effect. But it is understood that his attention is + now rather used up, and difficult to hold, that being the tone of the + House of Commons. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray don’t be at the trouble of composing yourselves to listen,’ says + Mortimer Lightwood, ‘because I shall have finished long before you have + fallen into comfortable attitudes. It’s like—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s like,’ impatiently interrupts Eugene, ‘the children’s narrative: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “I’ll tell you a story<br> + Of Jack a Manory,<br> + And now my story’s begun;<br> + I’ll tell you another<br> + Of Jack and his brother,<br> + And now my story is done.” + </p> +<p> + —Get on, and get it over!’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene says this with a sound of vexation in his voice, leaning back in + his chair and looking balefully at Lady Tippins, who nods to him as her + dear Bear, and playfully insinuates that she (a self-evident proposition) + is Beauty, and he Beast. + </p> +<p> + ‘The reference,’ proceeds Mortimer, ‘which I suppose to be made by my + honourable and fair enslaver opposite, is to the following circumstance. + Very lately, the young woman, Lizzie Hexam, daughter of the late Jesse + Hexam, otherwise Gaffer, who will be remembered to have found the body of + the man from somewhere, mysteriously received, she knew not from whom, an + explicit retraction of the charges made against her father, by another + water-side character of the name of Riderhood. Nobody believed them, + because little Rogue Riderhood—I am tempted into the paraphrase by + remembering the charming wolf who would have rendered society a great + service if he had devoured Mr Riderhood’s father and mother in their + infancy—had previously played fast and loose with the said charges, + and, in fact, abandoned them. However, the retraction I have mentioned + found its way into Lizzie Hexam’s hands, with a general flavour on it of + having been favoured by some anonymous messenger in a dark cloak and + slouched hat, and was by her forwarded, in her father’s vindication, to Mr + Boffin, my client. You will excuse the phraseology of the shop, but as I + never had another client, and in all likelihood never shall have, I am + rather proud of him as a natural curiosity probably unique.’ + </p> +<p> + Although as easy as usual on the surface, Lightwood is not quite as easy + as usual below it. With an air of not minding Eugene at all, he feels that + the subject is not altogether a safe one in that connexion. + </p> +<p> + ‘The natural curiosity which forms the sole ornament of my professional + museum,’ he resumes, ‘hereupon desires his Secretary—an individual + of the hermit-crab or oyster species, and whose name, I think, is + Chokesmith—but it doesn’t in the least matter—say Artichoke—to + put himself in communication with Lizzie Hexam. Artichoke professes his + readiness so to do, endeavours to do so, but fails.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why fails?’ asks Boots. + </p> +<p> + ‘How fails?’ asks Brewer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ returns Lightwood, ‘I must postpone the reply for one moment, + or we shall have an anti-climax. Artichoke failing signally, my client + refers the task to me: his purpose being to advance the interests of the + object of his search. I proceed to put myself in communication with her; I + even happen to possess some special means,’ with a glance at Eugene, ‘of + putting myself in communication with her; but I fail too, because she has + vanished.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Vanished!’ is the general echo. + </p> +<p> + ‘Disappeared,’ says Mortimer. ‘Nobody knows how, nobody knows when, nobody + knows where. And so ends the story to which my honourable and fair + enslaver opposite referred.’ + </p> +<p> + Tippins, with a bewitching little scream, opines that we shall every one + of us be murdered in our beds. Eugene eyes her as if some of us would be + enough for him. Mrs Veneering, W.M.P., remarks that these social mysteries + make one afraid of leaving Baby. Veneering, M.P., wishes to be informed + (with something of a second-hand air of seeing the Right Honourable + Gentleman at the head of the Home Department in his place) whether it is + intended to be conveyed that the vanished person has been spirited away or + otherwise harmed? Instead of Lightwood’s answering, Eugene answers, and + answers hastily and vexedly: ‘No, no, no; he doesn’t mean that; he means + voluntarily vanished—but utterly—completely.’ + </p> +<p> + However, the great subject of the happiness of Mr and Mrs Lammle must not + be allowed to vanish with the other vanishments—with the vanishing + of the murderer, the vanishing of Julius Handford, the vanishing of Lizzie + Hexam,—and therefore Veneering must recall the present sheep to the + pen from which they have strayed. Who so fit to discourse of the happiness + of Mr and Mrs Lammle, they being the dearest and oldest friends he has in + the world; or what audience so fit for him to take into his confidence as + that audience, a noun of multitude or signifying many, who are all the + oldest and dearest friends he has in the world? So Veneering, without the + formality of rising, launches into a familiar oration, gradually toning + into the Parliamentary sing-song, in which he sees at that board his dear + friend Twemlow who on that day twelvemonth bestowed on his dear friend + Lammle the fair hand of his dear friend Sophronia, and in which he also + sees at that board his dear friends Boots and Brewer whose rallying round + him at a period when his dear friend Lady Tippins likewise rallied round + him—ay, and in the foremost rank—he can never forget while + memory holds her seat. But he is free to confess that he misses from that + board his dear old friend Podsnap, though he is well represented by his + dear young friend Georgiana. And he further sees at that board (this he + announces with pomp, as if exulting in the powers of an extraordinary + telescope) his friend Mr Fledgeby, if he will permit him to call him so. + For all of these reasons, and many more which he right well knows will + have occurred to persons of your exceptional acuteness, he is here to + submit to you that the time has arrived when, with our hearts in our + glasses, with tears in our eyes, with blessings on our lips, and in a + general way with a profusion of gammon and spinach in our emotional + larders, we should one and all drink to our dear friends the Lammles, + wishing them many years as happy as the last, and many many friends as + congenially united as themselves. And this he will add; that Anastatia + Veneering (who is instantly heard to weep) is formed on the same model as + her old and chosen friend Sophronia Lammle, in respect that she is devoted + to the man who wooed and won her, and nobly discharges the duties of a + wife. + </p> +<p> + Seeing no better way out of it, Veneering here pulls up his oratorical + Pegasus extremely short, and plumps down, clean over his head, with: + ‘Lammle, God bless you!’ + </p> +<p> + Then Lammle. Too much of him every way; pervadingly too much nose of a + coarse wrong shape, and his nose in his mind and his manners; too much + smile to be real; too much frown to be false; too many large teeth to be + visible at once without suggesting a bite. He thanks you, dear friends, + for your kindly greeting, and hopes to receive you—it may be on the + next of these delightful occasions—in a residence better suited to + your claims on the rites of hospitality. He will never forget that at + Veneering’s he first saw Sophronia. Sophronia will never forget that at + Veneering’s she first saw him. ‘They spoke of it soon after they were + married, and agreed that they would never forget it. In fact, to Veneering + they owe their union. They hope to show their sense of this some day (‘No, + no, from Veneering)—oh yes, yes, and let him rely upon it, they will + if they can! His marriage with Sophronia was not a marriage of interest on + either side: she had her little fortune, he had his little fortune: they + joined their little fortunes: it was a marriage of pure inclination and + suitability. Thank you! Sophronia and he are fond of the society of young + people; but he is not sure that their house would be a good house for + young people proposing to remain single, since the contemplation of its + domestic bliss might induce them to change their minds. He will not apply + this to any one present; certainly not to their darling little Georgiana. + Again thank you! Neither, by-the-by, will he apply it to his friend + Fledgeby. He thanks Veneering for the feeling manner in which he referred + to their common friend Fledgeby, for he holds that gentleman in the + highest estimation. Thank you. In fact (returning unexpectedly to + Fledgeby), the better you know him, the more you find in him that you + desire to know. Again thank you! In his dear Sophronia’s name and in his + own, thank you! + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle has sat quite still, with her eyes cast down upon the + table-cloth. As Mr Lammle’s address ends, Twemlow once more turns to her + involuntarily, not cured yet of that often recurring impression that she + is going to speak to him. This time she really is going to speak to him. + Veneering is talking with his other next neighbour, and she speaks in a + low voice. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + He answers, ‘I beg your pardon? Yes?’ Still a little doubtful, because of + her not looking at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have the soul of a gentleman, and I know I may trust you. Will you + give me the opportunity of saying a few words to you when you come up + stairs?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Assuredly. I shall be honoured.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t seem to do so, if you please, and don’t think it inconsistent if my + manner should be more careless than my words. I may be watched.’ + </p> +<p> + Intensely astonished, Twemlow puts his hand to his forehead, and sinks + back in his chair meditating. Mrs Lammle rises. All rise. The ladies go up + stairs. The gentlemen soon saunter after them. Fledgeby has devoted the + interval to taking an observation of Boots’s whiskers, Brewer’s whiskers, + and Lammle’s whiskers, and considering which pattern of whisker he would + prefer to produce out of himself by friction, if the Genie of the cheek + would only answer to his rubbing. + </p> +<p> + In the drawing-room, groups form as usual. Lightwood, Boots, and Brewer, + flutter like moths around that yellow wax candle—guttering down, and + with some hint of a winding-sheet in it—Lady Tippins. Outsiders + cultivate Veneering, M P., and Mrs Veneering, W.M.P. Lammle stands with + folded arms, Mephistophelean in a corner, with Georgiana and Fledgeby. Mrs + Lammle, on a sofa by a table, invites Mr Twemlow’s attention to a book of + portraits in her hand. + </p> +<p> + Mr Twemlow takes his station on a settee before her, and Mrs Lammle shows + him a portrait. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have reason to be surprised,’ she says softly, ‘but I wish you + wouldn’t look so.’ + </p> +<p> + Disturbed Twemlow, making an effort not to look so, looks much more so. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, Mr Twemlow, you never saw that distant connexion of yours before + to-day?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, never.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now that you do see him, you see what he is. You are not proud of him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To say the truth, Mrs Lammle, no.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you knew more of him, you would be less inclined to acknowledge him. + Here is another portrait. What do you think of it?’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow has just presence of mind enough to say aloud: ‘Very like! + Uncommonly like!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have noticed, perhaps, whom he favours with his attentions? You + notice where he is now, and how engaged?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. But Mr Lammle—’ + </p> +<p> + She darts a look at him which he cannot comprehend, and shows him another + portrait. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good; is it not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Charming!’ says Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + ‘So like as to be almost a caricature?—Mr Twemlow, it is impossible + to tell you what the struggle in my mind has been, before I could bring + myself to speak to you as I do now. It is only in the conviction that I + may trust you never to betray me, that I can proceed. Sincerely promise me + that you never will betray my confidence—that you will respect it, + even though you may no longer respect me,—and I shall be as + satisfied as if you had sworn it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Madam, on the honour of a poor gentleman—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you. I can desire no more. Mr Twemlow, I implore you to save that + child!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That child?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Georgiana. She will be sacrificed. She will be inveigled and married to + that connexion of yours. It is a partnership affair, a money-speculation. + She has no strength of will or character to help herself and she is on the + brink of being sold into wretchedness for life.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Amazing! But what can I do to prevent it?’ demands Twemlow, shocked and + bewildered to the last degree. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here is another portrait. And not good, is it?’ + </p> +<p> + Aghast at the light manner of her throwing her head back to look at it + critically, Twemlow still dimly perceives the expediency of throwing his + own head back, and does so. Though he no more sees the portrait than if it + were in China. + </p> +<p> + ‘Decidedly not good,’ says Mrs Lammle. ‘Stiff and exaggerated!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And ex—’ But Twemlow, in his demolished state, cannot command the + word, and trails off into ‘—actly so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Twemlow, your word will have weight with her pompous, self-blinded + father. You know how much he makes of your family. Lose no time. Warn + him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But warn him against whom?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Against me.’ + </p> +<p> + By great good fortune Twemlow receives a stimulant at this critical + instant. The stimulant is Lammle’s voice. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, my dear, what portraits are you showing Twemlow?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Public characters, Alfred.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Show him the last of me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Alfred.’ + </p> +<p> + She puts the book down, takes another book up, turns the leaves, and + presents the portrait to Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + ‘That is the last of Mr Lammle. Do you think it good?—Warn her + father against me. I deserve it, for I have been in the scheme from the + first. It is my husband’s scheme, your connexion’s, and mine. I tell you + this, only to show you the necessity of the poor little foolish + affectionate creature’s being befriended and rescued. You will not repeat + this to her father. You will spare me so far, and spare my husband. For, + though this celebration of to-day is all a mockery, he is my husband, and + we must live.—Do you think it like?’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow, in a stunned condition, feigns to compare the portrait in his + hand with the original looking towards him from his Mephistophelean + corner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very well indeed!’ are at length the words which Twemlow with great + difficulty extracts from himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am glad you think so. On the whole, I myself consider it the best. The + others are so dark. Now here, for instance, is another of Mr Lammle—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I don’t understand; I don’t see my way,’ Twemlow stammers, as he + falters over the book with his glass at his eye. ‘How warn her father, and + not tell him? Tell him how much? Tell him how little? I—I—am + getting lost.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell him I am a match-maker; tell him I am an artful and designing woman; + tell him you are sure his daughter is best out of my house and my company. + Tell him any such things of me; they will all be true. You know what a + puffed-up man he is, and how easily you can cause his vanity to take the + alarm. Tell him as much as will give him the alarm and make him careful of + her, and spare me the rest. Mr Twemlow, I feel my sudden degradation in + your eyes; familiar as I am with my degradation in my own eyes, I keenly + feel the change that must have come upon me in yours, in these last few + moments. But I trust to your good faith with me as implicitly as when I + began. If you knew how often I have tried to speak to you to-day, you + would almost pity me. I want no new promise from you on my own account, + for I am satisfied, and I always shall be satisfied, with the promise you + have given me. I can venture to say no more, for I see that I am watched. + If you would set my mind at rest with the assurance that you will + interpose with the father and save this harmless girl, close that book + before you return it to me, and I shall know what you mean, and deeply + thank you in my heart.—Alfred, Mr Twemlow thinks the last one the + best, and quite agrees with you and me.’ + </p> +<p> + Alfred advances. The groups break up. Lady Tippins rises to go, and Mrs + Veneering follows her leader. For the moment, Mrs Lammle does not turn to + them, but remains looking at Twemlow looking at Alfred’s portrait through + his eyeglass. The moment past, Twemlow drops his eyeglass at its ribbon’s + length, rises, and closes the book with an emphasis which makes that + fragile nursling of the fairies, Tippins, start. + </p> +<p> + Then good-bye and good-bye, and charming occasion worthy of the Golden + Age, and more about the flitch of bacon, and the like of that; and Twemlow + goes staggering across Piccadilly with his hand to his forehead, and is + nearly run down by a flushed lettercart, and at last drops safe in his + easy-chair, innocent good gentleman, with his hand to his forehead still, + and his head in a whirl. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2H_4_0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + BOOK THE THIRD — A LONG LANE + </h2> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> +<h3> + LODGERS IN QUEER STREET + </h3> +<p> + It was a foggy day in London, and the fog was heavy and dark. Animate + London, with smarting eyes and irritated lungs, was blinking, wheezing, + and choking; inanimate London was a sooty spectre, divided in purpose + between being visible and invisible, and so being wholly neither. + Gaslights flared in the shops with a haggard and unblest air, as knowing + themselves to be night-creatures that had no business abroad under the + sun; while the sun itself when it was for a few moments dimly indicated + through circling eddies of fog, showed as if it had gone out and were + collapsing flat and cold. Even in the surrounding country it was a foggy + day, but there the fog was grey, whereas in London it was, at about the + boundary line, dark yellow, and a little within it brown, and then + browner, and then browner, until at the heart of the City—which call + Saint Mary Axe—it was rusty-black. From any point of the high ridge + of land northward, it might have been discerned that the loftiest + buildings made an occasional struggle to get their heads above the foggy + sea, and especially that the great dome of Saint Paul’s seemed to die + hard; but this was not perceivable in the streets at their feet, where the + whole metropolis was a heap of vapour charged with muffled sound of + wheels, and enfolding a gigantic catarrh. + </p> +<p> + At nine o’clock on such a morning, the place of business of Pubsey and Co. + was not the liveliest object even in Saint Mary Axe—which is not a + very lively spot—with a sobbing gaslight in the counting-house + window, and a burglarious stream of fog creeping in to strangle it through + the keyhole of the main door. But the light went out, and the main door + opened, and Riah came forth with a bag under his arm. + </p> +<p> + Almost in the act of coming out at the door, Riah went into the fog, and + was lost to the eyes of Saint Mary Axe. But the eyes of this history can + follow him westward, by Cornhill, Cheapside, Fleet Street, and the Strand, + to Piccadilly and the Albany. Thither he went at his grave and measured + pace, staff in hand, skirt at heel; and more than one head, turning to + look back at his venerable figure already lost in the mist, supposed it to + be some ordinary figure indistinctly seen, which fancy and the fog had + worked into that passing likeness. + </p> +<p> + Arrived at the house in which his master’s chambers were on the second + floor, Riah proceeded up the stairs, and paused at Fascination Fledgeby’s + door. Making free with neither bell nor knocker, he struck upon the door + with the top of his staff, and, having listened, sat down on the + threshold. It was characteristic of his habitual submission, that he sat + down on the raw dark staircase, as many of his ancestors had probably sat + down in dungeons, taking what befell him as it might befall. + </p> +<p> + After a time, when he had grown so cold as to be fain to blow upon his + fingers, he arose and knocked with his staff again, and listened again, + and again sat down to wait. Thrice he repeated these actions before his + listening ears were greeted by the voice of Fledgeby, calling from his + bed, ‘Hold your row!—I’ll come and open the door directly!’ But, in + lieu of coming directly, he fell into a sweet sleep for some quarter of an + hour more, during which added interval Riah sat upon the stairs and waited + with perfect patience. + </p> +<p> + At length the door stood open, and Mr Fledgeby’s retreating drapery + plunged into bed again. Following it at a respectful distance, Riah passed + into the bed-chamber, where a fire had been sometime lighted, and was + burning briskly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, what time of night do you mean to call it?’ inquired Fledgeby, + turning away beneath the clothes, and presenting a comfortable rampart of + shoulder to the chilled figure of the old man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, it is full half-past ten in the morning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The deuce it is! Then it must be precious foggy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very foggy, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And raw, then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Chill and bitter,’ said Riah, drawing out a handkerchief, and wiping the + moisture from his beard and long grey hair as he stood on the verge of the + rug, with his eyes on the acceptable fire. + </p> +<p> + With a plunge of enjoyment, Fledgeby settled himself afresh. + </p> +<p> + ‘Any snow, or sleet, or slush, or anything of that sort?’ he asked. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir, no. Not quite so bad as that. The streets are pretty clean.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You needn’t brag about it,’ returned Fledgeby, disappointed in his desire + to heighten the contrast between his bed and the streets. ‘But you’re + always bragging about something. Got the books there?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They are here, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘All right. I’ll turn the general subject over in my mind for a minute or + two, and while I’m about it you can empty your bag and get ready for me.’ + </p> +<p> + With another comfortable plunge, Mr Fledgeby fell asleep again. The old + man, having obeyed his directions, sat down on the edge of a chair, and, + folding his hands before him, gradually yielded to the influence of the + warmth, and dozed. He was roused by Mr Fledgeby’s appearing erect at the + foot of the bed, in Turkish slippers, rose-coloured Turkish trousers (got + cheap from somebody who had cheated some other somebody out of them), and + a gown and cap to correspond. In that costume he would have left nothing + to be desired, if he had been further fitted out with a bottomless chair, + a lantern, and a bunch of matches. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, old ’un!’ cried Fascination, in his light raillery, ‘what dodgery + are you up to next, sitting there with your eyes shut? You ain’t asleep. + Catch a weasel at it, and catch a Jew!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, sir, I fear I nodded,’ said the old man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not you!’ returned Fledgeby, with a cunning look. ‘A telling move with a + good many, I dare say, but it won’t put <i>me</i> off my guard. Not a bad notion + though, if you want to look indifferent in driving a bargain. Oh, you are + a dodger!’ + </p> +<p> + The old man shook his head, gently repudiating the imputation, and + suppressed a sigh, and moved to the table at which Mr Fledgeby was now + pouring out for himself a cup of steaming and fragrant coffee from a pot + that had stood ready on the hob. It was an edifying spectacle, the young + man in his easy chair taking his coffee, and the old man with his grey + head bent, standing awaiting his pleasure. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now!’ said Fledgeby. ‘Fork out your balance in hand, and prove by figures + how you make it out that it ain’t more. First of all, light that candle.’ + </p> +<p> + Riah obeyed, and then taking a bag from his breast, and referring to the + sum in the accounts for which they made him responsible, told it out upon + the table. Fledgeby told it again with great care, and rang every + sovereign. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose,’ he said, taking one up to eye it closely, ‘you haven’t been + lightening any of these; but it’s a trade of your people’s, you know. <i>You</i> + understand what sweating a pound means, don’t you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Much as you do, sir,’ returned the old man, with his hands under opposite + cuffs of his loose sleeves, as he stood at the table, deferentially + observant of the master’s face. ‘May I take the liberty to say something?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You may,’ Fledgeby graciously conceded. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you not, sir—without intending it—of a surety without + intending it—sometimes mingle the character I fairly earn in your + employment, with the character which it is your policy that I should + bear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t find it worth my while to cut things so fine as to go into the + inquiry,’ Fascination coolly answered. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not in justice?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bother justice!’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not in generosity?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Jews and generosity!’ said Fledgeby. ‘That’s a good connexion! Bring out + your vouchers, and don’t talk Jerusalem palaver.’ + </p> +<p> + The vouchers were produced, and for the next half-hour Mr Fledgeby + concentrated his sublime attention on them. They and the accounts were all + found correct, and the books and the papers resumed their places in the + bag. + </p> +<p> + ‘Next,’ said Fledgeby, ‘concerning that bill-broking branch of the + business; the branch I like best. What queer bills are to be bought, and + at what prices? You have got your list of what’s in the market?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, a long list,’ replied Riah, taking out a pocket-book, and selecting + from its contents a folded paper, which, being unfolded, became a sheet of + foolscap covered with close writing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Whew!’ whistled Fledgeby, as he took it in his hand. ‘Queer Street is + full of lodgers just at present! These are to be disposed of in parcels; + are they?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In parcels as set forth,’ returned the old man, looking over his master’s + shoulder; ‘or the lump.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Half the lump will be waste-paper, one knows beforehand,’ said Fledgeby. + ‘Can you get it at waste-paper price? That’s the question.’ + </p> +<p> + Riah shook his head, and Fledgeby cast his small eyes down the list. They + presently began to twinkle, and he no sooner became conscious of their + twinkling, than he looked up over his shoulder at the grave face above + him, and moved to the chimney-piece. Making a desk of it, he stood there + with his back to the old man, warming his knees, perusing the list at his + leisure, and often returning to some lines of it, as though they were + particularly interesting. At those times he glanced in the chimney-glass + to see what note the old man took of him. He took none that could be + detected, but, aware of his employer’s suspicions, stood with his eyes on + the ground. + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby was thus amiably engaged when a step was heard at the outer + door, and the door was heard to open hastily. ‘Hark! That’s your doing, + you Pump of Israel,’ said Fledgeby; ‘you can’t have shut it.’ Then the + step was heard within, and the voice of Mr Alfred Lammle called aloud, + ‘Are you anywhere here, Fledgeby?’ To which Fledgeby, after cautioning + Riah in a low voice to take his cue as it should be given him, replied, + ‘Here I am!’ and opened his bedroom door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come in!’ said Fledgeby. ‘This gentleman is only Pubsey and Co. of Saint + Mary Axe, that I am trying to make terms for an unfortunate friend with in + a matter of some dishonoured bills. But really Pubsey and Co. are so + strict with their debtors, and so hard to move, that I seem to be wasting + my time. Can’t I make <i>any </i>terms with you on my friend’s part, Mr Riah?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am but the representative of another, sir,’ returned the Jew in a low + voice. ‘I do as I am bidden by my principal. It is not my capital that is + invested in the business. It is not my profit that arises therefrom.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha ha!’ laughed Fledgeby. ‘Lammle?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha ha!’ laughed Lammle. ‘Yes. Of course. We know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Devilish good, ain’t it, Lammle?’ said Fledgeby, unspeakably amused by + his hidden joke. + </p> +<p> + ‘Always the same, always the same!’ said Lammle. ‘Mr—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Riah, Pubsey and Co. Saint Mary Axe,’ Fledgeby put in, as he wiped away + the tears that trickled from his eyes, so rare was his enjoyment of his + secret joke. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Riah is bound to observe the invariable forms for such cases made and + provided,’ said Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘He is only the representative of another!’ cried Fledgeby. ‘Does as he is + told by his principal! Not his capital that’s invested in the business. + Oh, that’s good! Ha ha ha ha!’ Mr Lammle joined in the laugh and looked + knowing; and the more he did both, the more exquisite the secret joke + became for Mr Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘However,’ said that fascinating gentleman, wiping his eyes again, ‘if we + go on in this way, we shall seem to be almost making game of Mr Riah, or + of Pubsey and Co. Saint Mary Axe, or of somebody: which is far from our + intention. Mr Riah, if you would have the kindness to step into the next + room for a few moments while I speak with Mr Lammle here, I should like to + try to make terms with you once again before you go.’ + </p> +<p> + The old man, who had never raised his eyes during the whole transaction of + Mr Fledgeby’s joke, silently bowed and passed out by the door which + Fledgeby opened for him. Having closed it on him, Fledgeby returned to + Lammle, standing with his back to the bedroom fire, with one hand under + his coat-skirts, and all his whiskers in the other. + </p> +<p> + ‘Halloa!’ said Fledgeby. ‘There’s something wrong!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you know it?’ demanded Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Because you show it,’ replied Fledgeby in unintentional rhyme. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well then; there is,’ said Lammle; ‘there <i>is</i> something wrong; the whole + thing’s wrong.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say!’ remonstrated Fascination very slowly, and sitting down with his + hands on his knees to stare at his glowering friend with his back to the + fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you, Fledgeby,’ repeated Lammle, with a sweep of his right arm, + ‘the whole thing’s wrong. The game’s up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What game’s up?’ demanded Fledgeby, as slowly as before, and more + sternly. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>The </i>game. <i>Our </i>game. Read that.’ + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby took a note from his extended hand and read it aloud. ‘Alfred + Lammle, Esquire. Sir: Allow Mrs Podsnap and myself to express our united + sense of the polite attentions of Mrs Alfred Lammle and yourself towards + our daughter, Georgiana. Allow us also, wholly to reject them for the + future, and to communicate our final desire that the two families may + become entire strangers. I have the honour to be, Sir, your most obedient + and very humble servant, <i>John Podsnap</i>.’ Fledgeby looked at the three blank + sides of this note, quite as long and earnestly as at the first expressive + side, and then looked at Lammle, who responded with another extensive + sweep of his right arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘Whose doing is this?’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Impossible to imagine,’ said Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps,’ suggested Fledgeby, after reflecting with a very discontented + brow, ‘somebody has been giving you a bad character.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Or you,’ said Lammle, with a deeper frown. + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby appeared to be on the verge of some mutinous expressions, when + his hand happened to touch his nose. A certain remembrance connected with + that feature operating as a timely warning, he took it thoughtfully + between his thumb and forefinger, and pondered; Lammle meanwhile eyeing + him with furtive eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ said Fledgeby. ‘This won’t improve with talking about. If we ever + find out who did it, we’ll mark that person. There’s nothing more to be + said, except that you undertook to do what circumstances prevent your + doing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And that you undertook to do what you might have done by this time, if + you had made a prompter use of circumstances,’ snarled Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah! That,’ remarked Fledgeby, with his hands in the Turkish trousers, + ‘is matter of opinion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Fledgeby,’ said Lammle, in a bullying tone, ‘am I to understand that + you in any way reflect upon me, or hint dissatisfaction with me, in this + affair?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Fledgeby; ‘provided you have brought my promissory note in your + pocket, and now hand it over.’ + </p> +<p> + Lammle produced it, not without reluctance. Fledgeby looked at it, + identified it, twisted it up, and threw it into the fire. They both looked + at it as it blazed, went out, and flew in feathery ash up the chimney. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Now</i>, Mr Fledgeby,’ said Lammle, as before; ‘am I to understand that you + in any way reflect upon me, or hint dissatisfaction with me, in this + affair?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Finally and unreservedly no?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Fledgeby, my hand.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby took it, saying, ‘And if we ever find out who did this, we’ll + mark that person. And in the most friendly manner, let me mention one + thing more. I don’t know what your circumstances are, and I don’t ask. You + have sustained a loss here. Many men are liable to be involved at times, + and you may be, or you may not be. But whatever you do, Lammle, don’t—don’t—don’t, + I beg of you—ever fall into the hands of Pubsey and Co. in the next + room, for they are grinders. Regular flayers and grinders, my dear + Lammle,’ repeated Fledgeby with a peculiar relish, ‘and they’ll skin you + by the inch, from the nape of your neck to the sole of your foot, and + grind every inch of your skin to tooth-powder. You have seen what Mr Riah + is. Never fall into his hands, Lammle, I beg of you as a friend!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle, disclosing some alarm at the solemnity of this affectionate + adjuration, demanded why the devil he ever should fall into the hands of + Pubsey and Co.? + </p> +<p> + ‘To confess the fact, I was made a little uneasy,’ said the candid + Fledgeby, ‘by the manner in which that Jew looked at you when he heard + your name. I didn’t like his eye. But it may have been the heated fancy of + a friend. Of course if you are sure that you have no personal security + out, which you may not be quite equal to meeting, and which can have got + into his hands, it must have been fancy. Still, I didn’t like his eye.’ + </p> +<p> + The brooding Lammle, with certain white dints coming and going in his + palpitating nose, looked as if some tormenting imp were pinching it. + Fledgeby, watching him with a twitch in his mean face which did duty there + for a smile, looked very like the tormentor who was pinching. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I mustn’t keep him waiting too long,’ said Fledgeby, ‘or he’ll + revenge it on my unfortunate friend. How’s your very clever and agreeable + wife? She knows we have broken down?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I showed her the letter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very much surprised?’ asked Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think she would have been more so,’ answered Lammle, ‘if there had been + more go in <i>you</i>?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!—She lays it upon me, then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Fledgeby, I will not have my words misconstrued.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t break out, Lammle,’ urged Fledgeby, in a submissive tone, ‘because + there’s no occasion. I only asked a question. Then she don’t lay it upon + me? To ask another question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good,’ said Fledgeby, plainly seeing that she did. ‘My compliments + to her. Good-bye!’ + </p> +<p> + They shook hands, and Lammle strode out pondering. Fledgeby saw him into + the fog, and, returning to the fire and musing with his face to it, + stretched the legs of the rose-coloured Turkish trousers wide apart, and + meditatively bent his knees, as if he were going down upon them. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have a pair of whiskers, Lammle, which I never liked,’ murmured + Fledgeby, ‘and which money can’t produce; you are boastful of your manners + and your conversation; you wanted to pull my nose, and you have let me in + for a failure, and your wife says I am the cause of it. I’ll bowl you + down. I will, though I have no whiskers,’ here he rubbed the places where + they were due, ‘and no manners, and no conversation!’ + </p> +<p> + Having thus relieved his noble mind, he collected the legs of the Turkish + trousers, straightened himself on his knees, and called out to Riah in the + next room, ‘Halloa, you sir!’ At sight of the old man re-entering with a + gentleness monstrously in contrast with the character he had given him, Mr + Fledgeby was so tickled again, that he exclaimed, laughing, ‘Good! Good! + Upon my soul it is uncommon good!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, old ’un,’ proceeded Fledgeby, when he had had his laugh out, ‘you’ll + buy up these lots that I mark with my pencil—there’s a tick there, + and a tick there, and a tick there—and I wager two-pence you’ll + afterwards go on squeezing those Christians like the Jew you are. Now, + next you’ll want a cheque—or you’ll say you want it, though you’ve + capital enough somewhere, if one only knew where, but you’d be peppered + and salted and grilled on a gridiron before you’d own to it—and that + cheque I’ll write.’ + </p> +<p> + When he had unlocked a drawer and taken a key from it to open another + drawer, in which was another key that opened another drawer, in which was + another key that opened another drawer, in which was the cheque book; and + when he had written the cheque; and when, reversing the key and drawer + process, he had placed his cheque book in safety again; he beckoned the + old man, with the folded cheque, to come and take it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Old ’un,’ said Fledgeby, when the Jew had put it in his pocketbook, and + was putting that in the breast of his outer garment; ‘so much at present + for my affairs. Now a word about affairs that are not exactly mine. Where + is she?’ + </p> +<p> + With his hand not yet withdrawn from the breast of his garment, Riah + started and paused. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oho!’ said Fledgeby. ‘Didn’t expect it! Where have you hidden her?’ + </p> +<p> + Showing that he was taken by surprise, the old man looked at his master + with some passing confusion, which the master highly enjoyed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is she in the house I pay rent and taxes for in Saint Mary Axe?’ demanded + Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is she in your garden up atop of that house—gone up to be dead, or + whatever the game is?’ asked Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where is she then?’ + </p> +<p> + Riah bent his eyes upon the ground, as if considering whether he could + answer the question without breach of faith, and then silently raised them + to Fledgeby’s face, as if he could not. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come!’ said Fledgeby. ‘I won’t press that just now. But I want to know + this, and I will know this, mind you. What are you up to?’ + </p> +<p> + The old man, with an apologetic action of his head and hands, as not + comprehending the master’s meaning, addressed to him a look of mute + inquiry. + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t be a gallivanting dodger,’ said Fledgeby. ‘For you’re a + “regular pity the sorrows”, you know—if you <i>do</i> know any Christian + rhyme—“whose trembling limbs have borne him to”—et cetrer. + You’re one of the Patriarchs; you’re a shaky old card; and you can’t be in + love with this Lizzie?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O, sir!’ expostulated Riah. ‘O, sir, sir, sir!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then why,’ retorted Fledgeby, with some slight tinge of a blush, ‘don’t + you out with your reason for having your spoon in the soup at all?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, I will tell you the truth. But (your pardon for the stipulation) it + is in sacred confidence; it is strictly upon honour.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Honour too!’ cried Fledgeby, with a mocking lip. ‘Honour among Jews. + Well. Cut away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is upon honour, sir?’ the other still stipulated, with respectful + firmness. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, certainly. Honour bright,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + The old man, never bidden to sit down, stood with an earnest hand laid on + the back of the young man’s easy chair. The young man sat looking at the + fire with a face of listening curiosity, ready to check him off and catch + him tripping. + </p> +<p> + ‘Cut away,’ said Fledgeby. ‘Start with your motive.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, I have no motive but to help the helpless.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby could only express the feelings to which this incredible + statement gave rise in his breast, by a prodigiously long derisive sniff. + </p> +<p> + ‘How I came to know, and much to esteem and to respect, this damsel, I + mentioned when you saw her in my poor garden on the house-top,’ said the + Jew. + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you?’ said Fledgeby, distrustfully. ‘Well. Perhaps you did, though.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The better I knew her, the more interest I felt in her fortunes. They + gathered to a crisis. I found her beset by a selfish and ungrateful + brother, beset by an unacceptable wooer, beset by the snares of a more + powerful lover, beset by the wiles of her own heart.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She took to one of the chaps then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, it was only natural that she should incline towards him, for he had + many and great advantages. But he was not of her station, and to marry her + was not in his mind. Perils were closing round her, and the circle was + fast darkening, when I—being as you have said, sir, too old and + broken to be suspected of any feeling for her but a father’s—stepped + in, and counselled flight. I said, “My daughter, there are times of moral + danger when the hardest virtuous resolution to form is flight, and when + the most heroic bravery is flight.” She answered, she had had this in her + thoughts; but whither to fly without help she knew not, and there were + none to help her. I showed her there was one to help her, and it was I. + And she is gone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What did you do with her?’ asked Fledgeby, feeling his cheek. + </p> +<p> + ‘I placed her,’ said the old man, ‘at a distance;’ with a grave smooth + outward sweep from one another of his two open hands at arm’s length; ‘at + a distance—among certain of our people, where her industry would + serve her, and where she could hope to exercise it, unassailed from any + quarter.’ + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby’s eyes had come from the fire to notice the action of his hands + when he said ‘at a distance.’ Fledgeby now tried (very unsuccessfully) to + imitate that action, as he shook his head and said, ‘Placed her in that + direction, did you? Oh you circular old dodger!’ + </p> +<p> + With one hand across his breast and the other on the easy chair, Riah, + without justifying himself, waited for further questioning. But, that it + was hopeless to question him on that one reserved point, Fledgeby, with + his small eyes too near together, saw full well. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie,’ said Fledgeby, looking at the fire again, and then looking up. + ‘Humph, Lizzie. You didn’t tell me the other name in your garden atop of + the house. I’ll be more communicative with you. The other name’s Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + Riah bent his head in assent. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here, you sir,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I have a notion I know something of + the inveigling chap, the powerful one. Has he anything to do with the + law?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nominally, I believe it his calling.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought so. Name anything like Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, not at all like.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come, old ’un,’ said Fledgeby, meeting his eyes with a wink, ‘say the + name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By Jupiter!’ cried Fledgeby. ‘That one, is it? I thought it might be the + other, but I never dreamt of that one! I shouldn’t object to your baulking + either of the pair, dodger, for they are both conceited enough; but that + one is as cool a customer as ever I met with. Got a beard besides, and + presumes upon it. Well done, old ’un! Go on and prosper!’ + </p> +<p> + Brightened by this unexpected commendation, Riah asked were there more + instructions for him? + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Fledgeby, ‘you may toddle now, Judah, and grope about on the + orders you have got.’ Dismissed with those pleasing words, the old man + took his broad hat and staff, and left the great presence: more as if he + were some superior creature benignantly blessing Mr Fledgeby, than the + poor dependent on whom he set his foot. Left alone, Mr Fledgeby locked his + outer door, and came back to his fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well done you!’ said Fascination to himself. ‘Slow, you may be; sure, you + are!’ This he twice or thrice repeated with much complacency, as he again + dispersed the legs of the Turkish trousers and bent the knees. + </p> +<p> + ‘A tidy shot that, I flatter myself,’ he then soliloquised. ‘And a Jew + brought down with it! Now, when I heard the story told at Lammle’s, I + didn’t make a jump at Riah. Not a hit of it; I got at him by degrees.’ + Herein he was quite accurate; it being his habit, not to jump, or leap, or + make an upward spring, at anything in life, but to crawl at everything. + </p> +<p> + ‘I got at him,’ pursued Fledgeby, feeling for his whisker, ‘by degrees. If + your Lammles or your Lightwoods had got at him anyhow, they would have + asked him the question whether he hadn’t something to do with that gal’s + disappearance. I knew a better way of going to work. Having got behind the + hedge, and put him in the light, I took a shot at him and brought him down + plump. Oh! It don’t count for much, being a Jew, in a match against <i>me</i>!’ + </p> +<p> + Another dry twist in place of a smile, made his face crooked here. + </p> +<p> + ‘As to Christians,’ proceeded Fledgeby, ‘look out, fellow-Christians, + particularly you that lodge in Queer Street! I have got the run of Queer + Street now, and you shall see some games there. To work a lot of power + over you and you not know it, knowing as you think yourselves, would be + almost worth laying out money upon. But when it comes to squeezing a + profit out of you into the bargain, it’s something like!’ + </p> +<p> + With this apostrophe Mr Fledgeby appropriately proceeded to divest himself + of his Turkish garments, and invest himself with Christian attire. Pending + which operation, and his morning ablutions, and his anointing of himself + with the last infallible preparation for the production of luxuriant and + glossy hair upon the human countenance (quacks being the only sages he + believed in besides usurers), the murky fog closed about him and shut him + up in its sooty embrace. If it had never let him out any more, the world + would have had no irreparable loss, but could have easily replaced him + from its stock on hand. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> +<h3> + A RESPECTED FRIEND IN A NEW ASPECT + </h3> +<p> + In the evening of this same foggy day when the yellow window-blind of + Pubsey and Co. was drawn down upon the day’s work, Riah the Jew once more + came forth into Saint Mary Axe. But this time he carried no bag, and was + not bound on his master’s affairs. He passed over London Bridge, and + returned to the Middlesex shore by that of Westminster, and so, ever + wading through the fog, waded to the doorstep of the dolls’ dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren expected him. He could see her through the window by the light + of her low fire—carefully banked up with damp cinders that it might + last the longer and waste the less when she was out—sitting waiting + for him in her bonnet. His tap at the glass roused her from the musing + solitude in which she sat, and she came to the door to open it; aiding her + steps with a little crutch-stick. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good evening, godmother!’ said Miss Jenny Wren. + </p> +<p> + The old man laughed, and gave her his arm to lean on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Won’t you come in and warm yourself, godmother?’ asked Miss Jenny Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not if you are ready, Cinderella, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ exclaimed Miss Wren, delighted. ‘Now you <i>are </i>a clever old boy! If + we gave prizes at this establishment (but we only keep blanks), you should + have the first silver medal, for taking me up so quick.’ As she spake + thus, Miss Wren removed the key of the house-door from the keyhole and put + it in her pocket, and then bustlingly closed the door, and tried it as + they both stood on the step. Satisfied that her dwelling was safe, she + drew one hand through the old man’s arm and prepared to ply her + crutch-stick with the other. But the key was an instrument of such + gigantic proportions, that before they started Riah proposed to carry it. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no! I’ll carry it myself,’ returned Miss Wren. ‘I’m awfully + lopsided, you know, and stowed down in my pocket it’ll trim the ship. To + let you into a secret, godmother, I wear my pocket on my high side, o’ + purpose.’ + </p> +<p> + With that they began their plodding through the fog. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, it was truly sharp of you, godmother,’ resumed Miss Wren with great + approbation, ‘to understand me. But, you see, you <i>are </i>so like the fairy + godmother in the bright little books! You look so unlike the rest of + people, and so much as if you had changed yourself into that shape, just + this moment, with some benevolent object. Boh!’ cried Miss Jenny, putting + her face close to the old man’s. ‘I can see your features, godmother, + behind the beard.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Does the fancy go to my changing other objects too, Jenny?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! That it does! If you’d only borrow my stick and tap this piece of + pavement—this dirty stone that my foot taps—it would start up + a coach and six. I say! Let’s believe so!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With all my heart,’ replied the good old man. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I’ll tell you what I must ask you to do, godmother. I must ask you to + be so kind as give my child a tap, and change him altogether. O my child + has been such a bad, bad child of late! It worries me nearly out of my + wits. Not done a stroke of work these ten days. Has had the horrors, too, + and fancied that four copper-coloured men in red wanted to throw him into + a fiery furnace.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But that’s dangerous, Jenny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dangerous, godmother? My child is always dangerous, more or less. He + might’—here the little creature glanced back over her shoulder at + the sky—‘be setting the house on fire at this present moment. I + don’t know who would have a child, for my part! It’s no use shaking him. I + have shaken him till I have made myself giddy. “Why don’t you mind your + Commandments and honour your parent, you naughty old boy?” I said to him + all the time. But he only whimpered and stared at me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What shall be changed, after him?’ asked Riah in a compassionately + playful voice. + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my word, godmother, I am afraid I must be selfish next, and get you + to set me right in the back and the legs. It’s a little thing to you with + your power, godmother, but it’s a great deal to poor weak aching me.’ + </p> +<p> + There was no querulous complaining in the words, but they were not the + less touching for that. + </p> +<p> + ‘And then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and then—<i>you </i>know, godmother. We’ll both jump up into the + coach and six and go to Lizzie. This reminds me, godmother, to ask you a + serious question. You are as wise as wise can be (having been brought up + by the fairies), and you can tell me this: Is it better to have had a good + thing and lost it, or never to have had it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Explain, god-daughter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I feel so much more solitary and helpless without Lizzie now, than I used + to feel before I knew her.’ (Tears were in her eyes as she said so.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Some beloved companionship fades out of most lives, my dear,’ said the + Jew,—‘that of a wife, and a fair daughter, and a son of promise, has + faded out of my own life—but the happiness was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Miss Wren thoughtfully, by no means convinced, and chopping the + exclamation with that sharp little hatchet of hers; ‘then I tell you what + change I think you had better begin with, godmother. You had better change + Is into Was and Was into Is, and keep them so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Would that suit your case? Would you not be always in pain then?’ asked + the old man tenderly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Right!’ exclaimed Miss Wren with another chop. ‘You have changed me + wiser, godmother.—Not,’ she added with the quaint hitch of her chin + and eyes, ‘that you need be a very wonderful godmother to do that deed.’ + </p> +<p> + Thus conversing, and having crossed Westminster Bridge, they traversed the + ground that Riah had lately traversed, and new ground likewise; for, when + they had recrossed the Thames by way of London Bridge, they struck down by + the river and held their still foggier course that way. + </p> +<p> + But previously, as they were going along, Jenny twisted her venerable + friend aside to a brilliantly-lighted toy-shop window, and said: ‘Now look + at ’em! All my work!’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0416m " src="images/0416m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0416m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0416.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-3073826084832000512"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + This referred to a dazzling semicircle of dolls in all the colours of the + rainbow, who were dressed for presentation at court, for going to balls, + for going out driving, for going out on horseback, for going out walking, + for going to get married, for going to help other dolls to get married, + for all the gay events of life. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pretty, pretty, pretty!’ said the old man with a clap of his hands. ‘Most + elegant taste!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Glad you like ’em,’ returned Miss Wren, loftily. ‘But the fun is, + godmother, how I make the great ladies try my dresses on. Though it’s the + hardest part of my business, and would be, even if my back were not bad + and my legs queer.’ + </p> +<p> + He looked at her as not understanding what she said. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless you, godmother,’ said Miss Wren, ‘I have to scud about town at all + hours. If it was only sitting at my bench, cutting out and sewing, it + would be comparatively easy work; but it’s the trying-on by the great + ladies that takes it out of me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How, the trying-on?’ asked Riah. + </p> +<p> + ‘What a mooney godmother you are, after all!’ returned Miss Wren. ‘Look + here. There’s a Drawing Room, or a grand day in the Park, or a Show, or a + Fete, or what you like. Very well. I squeeze among the crowd, and I look + about me. When I see a great lady very suitable for my business, I say + “You’ll do, my dear!” and I take particular notice of her, and run home + and cut her out and baste her. Then another day, I come scudding back + again to try on, and then I take particular notice of her again. Sometimes + she plainly seems to say, ‘How that little creature is staring!’ and + sometimes likes it and sometimes don’t, but much more often yes than no. + All the time I am only saying to myself, “I must hollow out a bit here; I + must slope away there;” and I am making a perfect slave of her, with + making her try on my doll’s dress. Evening parties are severer work for + me, because there’s only a doorway for a full view, and what with hobbling + among the wheels of the carriages and the legs of the horses, I fully + expect to be run over some night. However, there I have ’em, just the + same. When they go bobbing into the hall from the carriage, and catch a + glimpse of my little physiognomy poked out from behind a policeman’s cape + in the rain, I dare say they think I am wondering and admiring with all my + eyes and heart, but they little think they’re only working for my dolls! + There was Lady Belinda Whitrose. I made her do double duty in one night. I + said when she came out of the carriage, “<i>you’ll</i> do, my dear!” and I ran + straight home and cut her out and basted her. Back I came again, and + waited behind the men that called the carriages. Very bad night too. At + last, “Lady Belinda Whitrose’s carriage! Lady Belinda Whitrose coming + down!” And I made her try on—oh! and take pains about it too—before + she got seated. That’s Lady Belinda hanging up by the waist, much too near + the gaslight for a wax one, with her toes turned in.’ + </p> +<p> + When they had plodded on for some time nigh the river, Riah asked the way + to a certain tavern called the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters. Following the + directions he received, they arrived, after two or three puzzled stoppages + for consideration, and some uncertain looking about them, at the door of + Miss Abbey Potterson’s dominions. A peep through the glass portion of the + door revealed to them the glories of the bar, and Miss Abbey herself + seated in state on her snug throne, reading the newspaper. To whom, with + deference, they presented themselves. + </p> +<p> + Taking her eyes off her newspaper, and pausing with a suspended expression + of countenance, as if she must finish the paragraph in hand before + undertaking any other business whatever, Miss Abbey demanded, with some + slight asperity: ‘Now then, what’s for you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Could we see Miss Potterson?’ asked the old man, uncovering his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘You not only could, but you can and you do,’ replied the hostess. + </p> +<p> + ‘Might we speak with you, madam?’ + </p> +<p> + By this time Miss Abbey’s eyes had possessed themselves of the small + figure of Miss Jenny Wren. For the closer observation of which, Miss Abbey + laid aside her newspaper, rose, and looked over the half-door of the bar. + The crutch-stick seemed to entreat for its owner leave to come in and rest + by the fire; so, Miss Abbey opened the half-door, and said, as though + replying to the crutch-stick: + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, come in and rest by the fire.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My name is Riah,’ said the old man, with courteous action, ‘and my + avocation is in London city. This, my young companion—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop a bit,’ interposed Miss Wren. ‘I’ll give the lady my card.’ She + produced it from her pocket with an air, after struggling with the + gigantic door-key which had got upon the top of it and kept it down. Miss + Abbey, with manifest tokens of astonishment, took the diminutive document, + and found it to run concisely thus:— + </p> +<p class="bordered centered"> + MISS JENNY WREN<br> + DOLLS’ DRESSMAKER.<br> + ——<br> + <i>Dolls attended at their own residences.</i> + </p> +<p> + ‘Lud!’ exclaimed Miss Potterson, staring. And dropped the card. + </p> +<p> + ‘We take the liberty of coming, my young companion and I, madam,’ said + Riah, ‘on behalf of Lizzie Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Potterson was stooping to loosen the bonnet-strings of the dolls’ + dressmaker. She looked round rather angrily, and said: ‘Lizzie Hexam is a + very proud young woman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She would be so proud,’ returned Riah, dexterously, ‘to stand well in + your good opinion, that before she quitted London for—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For where, in the name of the Cape of Good Hope?’ asked Miss Potterson, + as though supposing her to have emigrated. + </p> +<p> + ‘For the country,’ was the cautious answer,—‘she made us promise to + come and show you a paper, which she left in our hands for that special + purpose. I am an unserviceable friend of hers, who began to know her after + her departure from this neighbourhood. She has been for some time living + with my young companion, and has been a helpful and a comfortable friend + to her. Much needed, madam,’ he added, in a lower voice. ‘Believe me; if + you knew all, much needed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can believe that,’ said Miss Abbey, with a softening glance at the + little creature. + </p> +<p> + ‘And if it’s proud to have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that + never tires, and a touch that never hurts,’ Miss Jenny struck in, flushed, + ‘she is proud. And if it’s not, she is <i>not</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + Her set purpose of contradicting Miss Abbey point blank, was so far from + offending that dread authority, as to elicit a gracious smile. ‘You do + right, child,’ said Miss Abbey, ‘to speak well of those who deserve well + of you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Right or wrong,’ muttered Miss Wren, inaudibly, with a visible hitch of + her chin, ‘I mean to do it, and you may make up your mind to <i>that</i>, old + lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here is the paper, madam,’ said the Jew, delivering into Miss Potterson’s + hands the original document drawn up by Rokesmith, and signed by + Riderhood. ‘Will you please to read it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But first of all,’ said Miss Abbey, ‘—did you ever taste shrub, + child?’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren shook her head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Should you like to?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Should if it’s good,’ returned Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall try. And, if you find it good, I’ll mix some for you with hot + water. Put your poor little feet on the fender. It’s a cold, cold night, + and the fog clings so.’ As Miss Abbey helped her to turn her chair, her + loosened bonnet dropped on the floor. ‘Why, what lovely hair!’ cried Miss + Abbey. ‘And enough to make wigs for all the dolls in the world. What a + quantity!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Call <i>that </i>a quantity?’ returned Miss Wren. ‘Poof! What do you say to the + rest of it?’ As she spoke, she untied a band, and the golden stream fell + over herself and over the chair, and flowed down to the ground. Miss + Abbey’s admiration seemed to increase her perplexity. She beckoned the Jew + towards her, as she reached down the shrub-bottle from its niche, and + whispered: + </p> +<p> + ‘Child, or woman?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Child in years,’ was the answer; ‘woman in self-reliance and trial.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are talking about Me, good people,’ thought Miss Jenny, sitting in + her golden bower, warming her feet. ‘I can’t hear what you say, but I know + your tricks and your manners!’ + </p> +<p> + The shrub, when tasted from a spoon, perfectly harmonizing with Miss + Jenny’s palate, a judicious amount was mixed by Miss Potterson’s skilful + hands, whereof Riah too partook. After this preliminary, Miss Abbey read + the document; and, as often as she raised her eyebrows in so doing, the + watchful Miss Jenny accompanied the action with an expressive and emphatic + sip of the shrub and water. + </p> +<p> + ‘As far as this goes,’ said Miss Abbey Potterson, when she had read it + several times, and thought about it, ‘it proves (what didn’t much need + proving) that Rogue Riderhood is a villain. I have my doubts whether he is + not the villain who solely did the deed; but I have no expectation of + those doubts ever being cleared up now. I believe I did Lizzie’s father + wrong, but never Lizzie’s self; because when things were at the worst I + trusted her, had perfect confidence in her, and tried to persuade her to + come to me for a refuge. I am very sorry to have done a man wrong, + particularly when it can’t be undone. Be kind enough to let Lizzie know + what I say; not forgetting that if she will come to the Porters, after + all, bygones being bygones, she will find a home at the Porters, and a + friend at the Porters. She knows Miss Abbey of old, remind her, and she + knows what-like the home, and what-like the friend, is likely to turn out. + I am generally short and sweet—or short and sour, according as it + may be and as opinions vary—’ remarked Miss Abbey, ‘and that’s about + all I have got to say, and enough too.’ + </p> +<p> + But before the shrub and water was sipped out, Miss Abbey bethought + herself that she would like to keep a copy of the paper by her. ‘It’s not + long, sir,’ said she to Riah, ‘and perhaps you wouldn’t mind just jotting + it down.’ The old man willingly put on his spectacles, and, standing at + the little desk in the corner where Miss Abbey filed her receipts and kept + her sample phials (customers’ scores were interdicted by the strict + administration of the Porters), wrote out the copy in a fair round + character. As he stood there, doing his methodical penmanship, his ancient + scribelike figure intent upon the work, and the little dolls’ dressmaker + sitting in her golden bower before the fire, Miss Abbey had her doubts + whether she had not dreamed those two rare figures into the bar of the Six + Jolly Fellowships, and might not wake with a nod next moment and find them + gone. + </p> +<p> + Miss Abbey had twice made the experiment of shutting her eyes and opening + them again, still finding the figures there, when, dreamlike, a confused + hubbub arose in the public room. As she started up, and they all three + looked at one another, it became a noise of clamouring voices and of the + stir of feet; then all the windows were heard to be hastily thrown up, and + shouts and cries came floating into the house from the river. A moment + more, and Bob Gliddery came clattering along the passage, with the noise + of all the nails in his boots condensed into every separate nail. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is it?’ asked Miss Abbey. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s summut run down in the fog, ma’am,’ answered Bob. ‘There’s ever so + many people in the river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell ’em to put on all the kettles!’ cried Miss Abbey. ‘See that the + boiler’s full. Get a bath out. Hang some blankets to the fire. Heat some + stone bottles. Have your senses about you, you girls down stairs, and use + ’em.’ + </p> +<p> + While Miss Abbey partly delivered these directions to Bob—whom she + seized by the hair, and whose head she knocked against the wall, as a + general injunction to vigilance and presence of mind—and partly + hailed the kitchen with them—the company in the public room, + jostling one another, rushed out to the causeway, and the outer noise + increased. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come and look,’ said Miss Abbey to her visitors. They all three hurried + to the vacated public room, and passed by one of the windows into the + wooden verandah overhanging the river. + </p> +<p> + ‘Does anybody down there know what has happened?’ demanded Miss Abbey, in + her voice of authority. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s a steamer, Miss Abbey,’ cried one blurred figure in the fog. + </p> +<p> + ‘It always <i>is</i> a steamer, Miss Abbey,’ cried another. + </p> +<p> + ‘Them’s her lights, Miss Abbey, wot you see a-blinking yonder,’ cried + another. + </p> +<p> + ‘She’s a-blowing off her steam, Miss Abbey, and that’s what makes the fog + and the noise worse, don’t you see?’ explained another. + </p> +<p> + Boats were putting off, torches were lighting up, people were rushing + tumultuously to the water’s edge. Some man fell in with a splash, and was + pulled out again with a roar of laughter. The drags were called for. A cry + for the life-buoy passed from mouth to mouth. It was impossible to make + out what was going on upon the river, for every boat that put off sculled + into the fog and was lost to view at a boat’s length. Nothing was clear + but that the unpopular steamer was assailed with reproaches on all sides. + She was the Murderer, bound for Gallows Bay; she was the Manslaughterer, + bound for Penal Settlement; her captain ought to be tried for his life; + her crew ran down men in row-boats with a relish; she mashed up Thames + lightermen with her paddles; she fired property with her funnels; she + always was, and she always would be, wreaking destruction upon somebody or + something, after the manner of all her kind. The whole bulk of the fog + teemed with such taunts, uttered in tones of universal hoarseness. All the + while, the steamer’s lights moved spectrally a very little, as she lay-to, + waiting the upshot of whatever accident had happened. Now, she began + burning blue-lights. These made a luminous patch about her, as if she had + set the fog on fire, and in the patch—the cries changing their note, + and becoming more fitful and more excited—shadows of men and boats + could be seen moving, while voices shouted: ‘There!’ ‘There again!’ ‘A + couple more strokes a-head!’ ‘Hurrah!’ ‘Look out!’ ‘Hold on!’ ‘Haul in!’ + and the like. Lastly, with a few tumbling clots of blue fire, the night + closed in dark again, the wheels of the steamer were heard revolving, and + her lights glided smoothly away in the direction of the sea. + </p> +<p> + It appeared to Miss Abbey and her two companions that a considerable time + had been thus occupied. There was now as eager a set towards the shore + beneath the house as there had been from it; and it was only on the first + boat of the rush coming in that it was known what had occurred. + </p> +<p> + ‘If that’s Tom Tootle,’ Miss Abbey made proclamation, in her most + commanding tones, ‘let him instantly come underneath here.’ + </p> +<p> + The submissive Tom complied, attended by a crowd. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is it, Tootle?’ demanded Miss Abbey. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s a foreign steamer, miss, run down a wherry.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How many in the wherry?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘One man, Miss Abbey.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Found?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. He’s been under water a long time, Miss; but they’ve grappled up the + body.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let ’em bring it here. You, Bob Gliddery, shut the house-door and stand + by it on the inside, and don’t you open till I tell you. Any police down + there?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here, Miss Abbey,’ was official rejoinder. + </p> +<p> + ‘After they have brought the body in, keep the crowd out, will you? And + help Bob Gliddery to shut ’em out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘All right, Miss Abbey.’ + </p> +<p> + The autocratic landlady withdrew into the house with Riah and Miss Jenny, + and disposed those forces, one on either side of her, within the half-door + of the bar, as behind a breastwork. + </p> +<p> + ‘You two stand close here,’ said Miss Abbey, ‘and you’ll come to no hurt, + and see it brought in. Bob, you stand by the door.’ + </p> +<p> + That sentinel, smartly giving his rolled shirt-sleeves an extra and a + final tuck on his shoulders, obeyed. + </p> +<p> + Sound of advancing voices, sound of advancing steps. Shuffle and talk + without. Momentary pause. Two peculiarly blunt knocks or pokes at the + door, as if the dead man arriving on his back were striking at it with the + soles of his motionless feet. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s the stretcher, or the shutter, whichever of the two they are + carrying,’ said Miss Abbey, with experienced ear. ‘Open, you Bob!’ + </p> +<p> + Door opened. Heavy tread of laden men. A halt. A rush. Stoppage of rush. + Door shut. Baffled boots from the vexed souls of disappointed outsiders. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come on, men!’ said Miss Abbey; for so potent was she with her subjects + that even then the bearers awaited her permission. ‘First floor.’ + </p> +<p> + The entry being low, and the staircase being low, they so took up the + burden they had set down, as to carry that low. The recumbent figure, in + passing, lay hardly as high as the half door. + </p> +<p> + Miss Abbey started back at sight of it. ‘Why, good God!’ said she, turning + to her two companions, ‘that’s the very man who made the declaration we + have just had in our hands. That’s Riderhood!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> +<h3> + THE SAME RESPECTED FRIEND IN MORE ASPECTS THAN ONE + </h3> +<p> + In sooth, it is Riderhood and no other, or it is the outer husk and shell + of Riderhood and no other, that is borne into Miss Abbey’s first-floor + bedroom. Supple to twist and turn as the Rogue has ever been, he is + sufficiently rigid now; and not without much shuffling of attendant feet, + and tilting of his bier this way and that way, and peril even of his + sliding off it and being tumbled in a heap over the balustrades, can he be + got up stairs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Fetch a doctor,’ quoth Miss Abbey. And then, ‘Fetch his daughter.’ On + both of which errands, quick messengers depart. + </p> +<p> + The doctor-seeking messenger meets the doctor halfway, coming under convoy + of police. Doctor examines the dank carcase, and pronounces, not + hopefully, that it is worth while trying to reanimate the same. All the + best means are at once in action, and everybody present lends a hand, and + a heart and soul. No one has the least regard for the man; with them all, + he has been an object of avoidance, suspicion, and aversion; but the spark + of life within him is curiously separable from himself now, and they have + a deep interest in it, probably because it <i>is</i> life, and they are living + and must die. + </p> +<p> + In answer to the doctor’s inquiry how did it happen, and was anyone to + blame, Tom Tootle gives in his verdict, unavoidable accident and no one to + blame but the sufferer. ‘He was slinking about in his boat,’ says Tom, + ‘which slinking were, not to speak ill of the dead, the manner of the man, + when he come right athwart the steamer’s bows and she cut him in two.’ Mr + Tootle is so far figurative, touching the dismemberment, as that he means + the boat, and not the man. For, the man lies whole before them. + </p> +<p> + Captain Joey, the bottle-nosed regular customer in the glazed hat, is a + pupil of the much-respected old school, and (having insinuated himself + into the chamber, in the execution of the important service of carrying + the drowned man’s neck-kerchief) favours the doctor with a sagacious + old-scholastic suggestion that the body should be hung up by the heels, + ‘sim’lar’, says Captain Joey, ‘to mutton in a butcher’s shop,’ and should + then, as a particularly choice manoeuvre for promoting easy respiration, + be rolled upon casks. These scraps of the wisdom of the captain’s + ancestors are received with such speechless indignation by Miss Abbey, + that she instantly seizes the Captain by the collar, and without a single + word ejects him, not presuming to remonstrate, from the scene. + </p> +<p> + There then remain, to assist the doctor and Tom, only those three other + regular customers, Bob Glamour, William Williams, and Jonathan (family + name of the latter, if any, unknown to man-kind), who are quite enough. + Miss Abbey having looked in to make sure that nothing is wanted, descends + to the bar, and there awaits the result, with the gentle Jew and Miss + Jenny Wren. + </p> +<p> + If you are not gone for good, Mr Riderhood, it would be something to know + where you are hiding at present. This flabby lump of mortality that we + work so hard at with such patient perseverance, yields no sign of you. If + you are gone for good, Rogue, it is very solemn, and if you are coming + back, it is hardly less so. Nay, in the suspense and mystery of the latter + question, involving that of where you may be now, there is a solemnity + even added to that of death, making us who are in attendance alike afraid + to look on you and to look off you, and making those below start at the + least sound of a creaking plank in the floor. + </p> +<p> + Stay! Did that eyelid tremble? So the doctor, breathing low, and closely + watching, asks himself. + </p> +<p> + No. + </p> +<p> + Did that nostril twitch? + </p> +<p> + No. + </p> +<p> + This artificial respiration ceasing, do I feel any faint flutter under my + hand upon the chest? + </p> +<p> + No. + </p> +<p> + Over and over again No. No. But try over and over again, nevertheless. + </p> +<p> + See! A token of life! An indubitable token of life! The spark may smoulder + and go out, or it may glow and expand, but see! The four rough fellows, + seeing, shed tears. Neither Riderhood in this world, nor Riderhood in the + other, could draw tears from them; but a striving human soul between the + two can do it easily. + </p> +<p> + He is struggling to come back. Now, he is almost here, now he is far away + again. Now he is struggling harder to get back. And yet—like us all, + when we swoon—like us all, every day of our lives when we wake—he + is instinctively unwilling to be restored to the consciousness of this + existence, and would be left dormant, if he could. + </p> +<p> + Bob Gliddery returns with Pleasant Riderhood, who was out when sought for, + and hard to find. She has a shawl over her head, and her first action, + when she takes it off weeping, and curtseys to Miss Abbey, is to wind her + hair up. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Miss Abbey, for having father here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am bound to say, girl, I didn’t know who it was,’ returns Miss Abbey; + ‘but I hope it would have been pretty much the same if I had known.’ + </p> +<p> + Poor Pleasant, fortified with a sip of brandy, is ushered into the + first-floor chamber. She could not express much sentiment about her father + if she were called upon to pronounce his funeral oration, but she has a + greater tenderness for him than he ever had for her, and crying bitterly + when she sees him stretched unconscious, asks the doctor, with clasped + hands: ‘Is there no hope, sir? O poor father! Is poor father dead?’ + </p> +<p> + To which the doctor, on one knee beside the body, busy and watchful, only + rejoins without looking round: ‘Now, my girl, unless you have the + self-command to be perfectly quiet, I cannot allow you to remain in the + room.’ + </p> +<p> + Pleasant, consequently, wipes her eyes with her back-hair, which is in + fresh need of being wound up, and having got it out of the way, watches + with terrified interest all that goes on. Her natural woman’s aptitude + soon renders her able to give a little help. Anticipating the doctor’s + want of this or that, she quietly has it ready for him, and so by degrees + is intrusted with the charge of supporting her father’s head upon her arm. + </p> +<p> + It is something so new to Pleasant to see her father an object of sympathy + and interest, to find any one very willing to tolerate his society in this + world, not to say pressingly and soothingly entreating him to belong to + it, that it gives her a sensation she never experienced before. Some hazy + idea that if affairs could remain thus for a long time it would be a + respectable change, floats in her mind. Also some vague idea that the old + evil is drowned out of him, and that if he should happily come back to + resume his occupation of the empty form that lies upon the bed, his spirit + will be altered. In which state of mind she kisses the stony lips, and + quite believes that the impassive hand she chafes will revive a tender + hand, if it revive ever. + </p> +<p> + Sweet delusion for Pleasant Riderhood. But they minister to him with such + extraordinary interest, their anxiety is so keen, their vigilance is so + great, their excited joy grows so intense as the signs of life strengthen, + that how can she resist it, poor thing! And now he begins to breathe + naturally, and he stirs, and the doctor declares him to have come back + from that inexplicable journey where he stopped on the dark road, and to + be here. + </p> +<p> + Tom Tootle, who is nearest to the doctor when he says this, grasps the + doctor fervently by the hand. Bob Glamour, William Williams, and Jonathan + of the no surname, all shake hands with one another round, and with the + doctor too. Bob Glamour blows his nose, and Jonathan of the no surname is + moved to do likewise, but lacking a pocket handkerchief abandons that + outlet for his emotion. Pleasant sheds tears deserving her own name, and + her sweet delusion is at its height. + </p> +<p> + There is intelligence in his eyes. He wants to ask a question. He wonders + where he is. Tell him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Father, you were run down on the river, and are at Miss Abbey + Potterson’s.’ + </p> +<p> + He stares at his daughter, stares all around him, closes his eyes, and + lies slumbering on her arm. + </p> +<p> + The short-lived delusion begins to fade. The low, bad, unimpressible face + is coming up from the depths of the river, or what other depths, to the + surface again. As he grows warm, the doctor and the four men cool. As his + lineaments soften with life, their faces and their hearts harden to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘He will do now,’ says the doctor, washing his hands, and looking at the + patient with growing disfavour. + </p> +<p> + ‘Many a better man,’ moralizes Tom Tootle with a gloomy shake of the head, + ‘ain’t had his luck.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s to be hoped he’ll make a better use of his life,’ says Bob Glamour, + ‘than I expect he will.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Or than he done afore,’ adds William Williams. + </p> +<p> + ‘But no, not he!’ says Jonathan of the no surname, clinching the + quartette. + </p> +<p> + They speak in a low tone because of his daughter, but she sees that they + have all drawn off, and that they stand in a group at the other end of the + room, shunning him. It would be too much to suspect them of being sorry + that he didn’t die when he had done so much towards it, but they clearly + wish that they had had a better subject to bestow their pains on. + Intelligence is conveyed to Miss Abbey in the bar, who reappears on the + scene, and contemplates from a distance, holding whispered discourse with + the doctor. The spark of life was deeply interesting while it was in + abeyance, but now that it has got established in Mr Riderhood, there + appears to be a general desire that circumstances had admitted of its + being developed in anybody else, rather than that gentleman. + </p> +<p> + ‘However,’ says Miss Abbey, cheering them up, ‘you have done your duty + like good and true men, and you had better come down and take something at + the expense of the Porters.’ + </p> +<p> + This they all do, leaving the daughter watching the father. To whom, in + their absence, Bob Gliddery presents himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘His gills looks rum; don’t they?’ says Bob, after inspecting the patient. + </p> +<p> + Pleasant faintly nods. + </p> +<p> + ‘His gills’ll look rummer when he wakes; won’t they?’ says Bob. + </p> +<p> + Pleasant hopes not. Why? + </p> +<p> + ‘When he finds himself here, you know,’ Bob explains. ‘Cause Miss Abbey + forbid him the house and ordered him out of it. But what you may call the + Fates ordered him into it again. Which is rumness; ain’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He wouldn’t have come here of his own accord,’ returns poor Pleasant, + with an effort at a little pride. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ retorts Bob. ‘Nor he wouldn’t have been let in, if he had.’ + </p> +<p> + The short delusion is quite dispelled now. As plainly as she sees on her + arm the old father, unimproved, Pleasant sees that everybody there will + cut him when he recovers consciousness. ‘I’ll take him away ever so soon + as I can,’ thinks Pleasant with a sigh; ‘he’s best at home.’ + </p> +<p> + Presently they all return, and wait for him to become conscious that they + will all be glad to get rid of him. Some clothes are got together for him + to wear, his own being saturated with water, and his present dress being + composed of blankets. + </p> +<p> + Becoming more and more uncomfortable, as though the prevalent dislike were + finding him out somewhere in his sleep and expressing itself to him, the + patient at last opens his eyes wide, and is assisted by his daughter to + sit up in bed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Riderhood,’ says the doctor, ‘how do you feel?’ + </p> +<p> + He replies gruffly, ‘Nothing to boast on.’ Having, in fact, returned to + life in an uncommonly sulky state. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mean to preach; but I hope,’ says the doctor, gravely shaking his + head, ‘that this escape may have a good effect upon you, Riderhood.’ + </p> +<p> + The patient’s discontented growl of a reply is not intelligible; his + daughter, however, could interpret, if she would, that what he says is, he + ‘don’t want no Poll-Parroting’. + </p> +<p> + Mr Riderhood next demands his shirt; and draws it on over his head (with + his daughter’s help) exactly as if he had just had a Fight. + </p> +<p> + ‘Warn’t it a steamer?’ he pauses to ask her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, father.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll have the law on her, bust her! and make her pay for it.’ + </p> +<p> + He then buttons his linen very moodily, twice or thrice stopping to + examine his arms and hands, as if to see what punishment he has received + in the Fight. He then doggedly demands his other garments, and slowly gets + them on, with an appearance of great malevolence towards his late opponent + and all the spectators. He has an impression that his nose is bleeding, + and several times draws the back of his hand across it, and looks for the + result, in a pugilistic manner, greatly strengthening that incongruous + resemblance. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where’s my fur cap?’ he asks in a surly voice, when he has shuffled his + clothes on. + </p> +<p> + ‘In the river,’ somebody rejoins. + </p> +<p> + ‘And warn’t there no honest man to pick it up? O’ course there was though, + and to cut off with it arterwards. You are a rare lot, all on you!’ + </p> +<p> + Thus, Mr Riderhood: taking from the hands of his daughter, with special + ill-will, a lent cap, and grumbling as he pulls it down over his ears. + Then, getting on his unsteady legs, leaning heavily upon her, and + growling, ‘Hold still, can’t you? What! You must be a staggering next, + must you?’ he takes his departure out of the ring in which he has had that + little turn-up with Death. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0429m " src="images/0429m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0429m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0429.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6472161888560182952"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> +<h3> + A HAPPY RETURN OF THE DAY + </h3> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Wilfer had seen a full quarter of a hundred more anniversaries + of their wedding day than Mr and Mrs Lammle had seen of theirs, but they + still celebrated the occasion in the bosom of their family. Not that these + celebrations ever resulted in anything particularly agreeable, or that the + family was ever disappointed by that circumstance on account of having + looked forward to the return of the auspicious day with sanguine + anticipations of enjoyment. It was kept morally, rather as a Fast than a + Feast, enabling Mrs Wilfer to hold a sombre darkling state, which + exhibited that impressive woman in her choicest colours. + </p> +<p> + The noble lady’s condition on these delightful occasions was one + compounded of heroic endurance and heroic forgiveness. Lurid indications + of the better marriages she might have made, shone athwart the awful gloom + of her composure, and fitfully revealed the cherub as a little monster + unaccountably favoured by Heaven, who had possessed himself of a blessing + for which many of his superiors had sued and contended in vain. So firmly + had this his position towards his treasure become established, that when + the anniversary arrived, it always found him in an apologetic state. It is + not impossible that his modest penitence may have even gone the length of + sometimes severely reproving him for that he ever took the liberty of + making so exalted a character his wife. + </p> +<p> + As for the children of the union, their experience of these festivals had + been sufficiently uncomfortable to lead them annually to wish, when out of + their tenderest years, either that Ma had married somebody else instead of + much-teased Pa, or that Pa had married somebody else instead of Ma. When + there came to be but two sisters left at home, the daring mind of Bella on + the next of these occasions scaled the height of wondering with droll + vexation ‘what on earth Pa ever could have seen in Ma, to induce him to + make such a little fool of himself as to ask her to have him.’ + </p> +<p> + The revolving year now bringing the day round in its orderly sequence, + Bella arrived in the Boffin chariot to assist at the celebration. It was + the family custom when the day recurred, to sacrifice a pair of fowls on + the altar of Hymen; and Bella had sent a note beforehand, to intimate that + she would bring the votive offering with her. So, Bella and the fowls, by + the united energies of two horses, two men, four wheels, and a + plum-pudding carriage dog with as uncomfortable a collar on as if he had + been George the Fourth, were deposited at the door of the parental + dwelling. They were there received by Mrs Wilfer in person, whose dignity + on this, as on most special occasions, was heightened by a mysterious + toothache. + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall not require the carriage at night,’ said Bella. ‘I shall walk + back.’ + </p> +<p> + The male domestic of Mrs Boffin touched his hat, and in the act of + departure had an awful glare bestowed upon him by Mrs Wilfer, intended to + carry deep into his audacious soul the assurance that, whatever his + private suspicions might be, male domestics in livery were no rarity + there. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, dear Ma,’ said Bella, ‘and how do you do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am as well, Bella,’ replied Mrs Wilfer, ‘as can be expected.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear me, Ma,’ said Bella; ‘you talk as if one was just born!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s exactly what Ma has been doing,’ interposed Lavvy, over the + maternal shoulder, ‘ever since we got up this morning. It’s all very well + to laugh, Bella, but anything more exasperating it is impossible to + conceive.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer, with a look too full of majesty to be accompanied by any + words, attended both her daughters to the kitchen, where the sacrifice was + to be prepared. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith,’ said she, resignedly, ‘has been so polite as to place his + sitting-room at our disposal to-day. You will therefore, Bella, be + entertained in the humble abode of your parents, so far in accordance with + your present style of living, that there will be a drawing-room for your + reception as well as a dining-room. Your papa invited Mr Rokesmith to + partake of our lowly fare. In excusing himself on account of a particular + engagement, he offered the use of his apartment.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella happened to know that he had no engagement out of his own room at Mr + Boffin’s, but she approved of his staying away. ‘We should only have put + one another out of countenance,’ she thought, ‘and we do that quite often + enough as it is.’ + </p> +<p> + Yet she had sufficient curiosity about his room, to run up to it with the + least possible delay, and make a close inspection of its contents. It was + tastefully though economically furnished, and very neatly arranged. There + were shelves and stands of books, English, French, and Italian; and in a + portfolio on the writing-table there were sheets upon sheets of memoranda + and calculations in figures, evidently referring to the Boffin property. + On that table also, carefully backed with canvas, varnished, mounted, and + rolled like a map, was the placard descriptive of the murdered man who had + come from afar to be her husband. She shrank from this ghostly surprise, + and felt quite frightened as she rolled and tied it up again. Peeping + about here and there, she came upon a print, a graceful head of a pretty + woman, elegantly framed, hanging in the corner by the easy chair. ‘Oh, + indeed, sir!’ said Bella, after stopping to ruminate before it. ‘Oh, + indeed, sir! I fancy I can guess whom you think <i>that’s</i> like. But I’ll tell + you what it’s much more like—your impudence!’ Having said which she + decamped: not solely because she was offended, but because there was + nothing else to look at. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Ma,’ said Bella, reappearing in the kitchen with some remains of a + blush, ‘you and Lavvy think magnificent me fit for nothing, but I intend + to prove the contrary. I mean to be Cook today.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hold!’ rejoined her majestic mother. ‘I cannot permit it. Cook, in that + dress!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As for my dress, Ma,’ returned Bella, merrily searching in a + dresser-drawer, ‘I mean to apron it and towel it all over the front; and + as to permission, I mean to do without.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>You </i>cook?’ said Mrs Wilfer. ‘<i>You</i>, who never cooked when you were at + home?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Ma,’ returned Bella; ‘that is precisely the state of the case.’ + </p> +<p> + She girded herself with a white apron, and busily with knots and pins + contrived a bib to it, coming close and tight under her chin, as if it had + caught her round the neck to kiss her. Over this bib her dimples looked + delightful, and under it her pretty figure not less so. ‘Now, Ma,’ said + Bella, pushing back her hair from her temples with both hands, ‘what’s + first?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘First,’ returned Mrs Wilfer solemnly, ‘if you persist in what I cannot + but regard as conduct utterly incompatible with the equipage in which you + arrived—’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Which I do, Ma.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘First, then, you put the fowls down to the fire.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To—be—sure!’ cried Bella; ‘and flour them, and twirl them + round, and there they go!’ sending them spinning at a great rate. ‘What’s + next, Ma?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Next,’ said Mrs Wilfer with a wave of her gloves, expressive of + abdication under protest from the culinary throne, ‘I would recommend + examination of the bacon in the saucepan on the fire, and also of the + potatoes by the application of a fork. Preparation of the greens will + further become necessary if you persist in this unseemly demeanour.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As of course I do, Ma.’ + </p> +<p> + Persisting, Bella gave her attention to one thing and forgot the other, + and gave her attention to the other and forgot the third, and remembering + the third was distracted by the fourth, and made amends whenever she went + wrong by giving the unfortunate fowls an extra spin, which made their + chance of ever getting cooked exceedingly doubtful. But it was pleasant + cookery too. Meantime Miss Lavinia, oscillating between the kitchen and + the opposite room, prepared the dining-table in the latter chamber. This + office she (always doing her household spiriting with unwillingness) + performed in a startling series of whisks and bumps; laying the + table-cloth as if she were raising the wind, putting down the glasses and + salt-cellars as if she were knocking at the door, and clashing the knives + and forks in a skirmishing manner suggestive of hand-to-hand conflict. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look at Ma,’ whispered Lavinia to Bella when this was done, and they + stood over the roasting fowls. ‘If one was the most dutiful child in + existence (of course on the whole one hopes one is), isn’t she enough to + make one want to poke her with something wooden, sitting there bolt + upright in a corner?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only suppose,’ returned Bella, ‘that poor Pa was to sit bolt upright in + another corner.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, he couldn’t do it,’ said Lavvy. ‘Pa would loll directly. But + indeed I do not believe there ever was any human creature who could keep + so bolt upright as Ma, ‘or put such an amount of aggravation into one + back! What’s the matter, Ma? Ain’t you well, Ma?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Doubtless I am very well,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, turning her eyes upon her + youngest born, with scornful fortitude. ‘What should be the matter with + Me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t seem very brisk, Ma,’ retorted Lavvy the bold. + </p> +<p> + ‘Brisk?’ repeated her parent, ‘Brisk? Whence the low expression, Lavinia? + If I am uncomplaining, if I am silently contented with my lot, let that + suffice for my family.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Ma,’ returned Lavvy, ‘since you will force it out of me, I must + respectfully take leave to say that your family are no doubt under the + greatest obligations to you for having an annual toothache on your wedding + day, and that it’s very disinterested in you, and an immense blessing to + them. Still, on the whole, it is possible to be too boastful even of that + boon.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You incarnation of sauciness,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘do you speak like that + to me? On this day, of all days in the year? Pray do you know what would + have become of you, if I had not bestowed my hand upon R. W., your father, + on this day?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Ma,’ replied Lavvy, ‘I really do not; and, with the greatest respect + for your abilities and information, I very much doubt if you do either.’ + </p> +<p> + Whether or no the sharp vigour of this sally on a weak point of Mrs + Wilfer’s entrenchments might have routed that heroine for the time, is + rendered uncertain by the arrival of a flag of truce in the person of Mr + George Sampson: bidden to the feast as a friend of the family, whose + affections were now understood to be in course of transference from Bella + to Lavinia, and whom Lavinia kept—possibly in remembrance of his bad + taste in having overlooked her in the first instance—under a course + of stinging discipline. + </p> +<p> + ‘I congratulate you, Mrs Wilfer,’ said Mr George Sampson, who had + meditated this neat address while coming along, ‘on the day.’ Mrs Wilfer + thanked him with a magnanimous sigh, and again became an unresisting prey + to that inscrutable toothache. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am surprised,’ said Mr Sampson feebly, ‘that Miss Bella condescends to + cook.’ + </p> +<p> + Here Miss Lavinia descended on the ill-starred young gentleman with a + crushing supposition that at all events it was no business of his. This + disposed of Mr Sampson in a melancholy retirement of spirit, until the + cherub arrived, whose amazement at the lovely woman’s occupation was + great. + </p> +<p> + However, she persisted in dishing the dinner as well as cooking it, and + then sat down, bibless and apronless, to partake of it as an illustrious + guest: Mrs Wilfer first responding to her husband’s cheerful ‘For what we + are about to receive—’ with a sepulchral Amen, calculated to cast a + damp upon the stoutest appetite. + </p> +<p> + ‘But what,’ said Bella, as she watched the carving of the fowls, ‘makes + them pink inside, I wonder, Pa! Is it the breed?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I don’t think it’s the breed, my dear,’ returned Pa. ‘I rather think + it is because they are not done.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They ought to be,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I am aware they ought to be, my dear,’ rejoined her father, ‘but + they—ain’t.’ + </p> +<p> + So, the gridiron was put in requisition, and the good-tempered cherub, who + was often as un-cherubically employed in his own family as if he had been + in the employment of some of the Old Masters, undertook to grill the + fowls. Indeed, except in respect of staring about him (a branch of the + public service to which the pictorial cherub is much addicted), this + domestic cherub discharged as many odd functions as his prototype; with + the difference, say, that he performed with a blacking-brush on the + family’s boots, instead of performing on enormous wind instruments and + double-basses, and that he conducted himself with cheerful alacrity to + much useful purpose, instead of foreshortening himself in the air with the + vaguest intentions. + </p> +<p> + Bella helped him with his supplemental cookery, and made him very happy, + but put him in mortal terror too by asking him when they sat down at table + again, how he supposed they cooked fowls at the Greenwich dinners, and + whether he believed they really were such pleasant dinners as people said? + His secret winks and nods of remonstrance, in reply, made the mischievous + Bella laugh until she choked, and then Lavinia was obliged to slap her on + the back, and then she laughed the more. + </p> +<p> + But her mother was a fine corrective at the other end of the table; to + whom her father, in the innocence of his good-fellowship, at intervals + appealed with: ‘My dear, I am afraid you are not enjoying yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why so, R. W.?’ she would sonorously reply. + </p> +<p> + ‘Because, my dear, you seem a little out of sorts.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all,’ would be the rejoinder, in exactly the same tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would you take a merry-thought, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you. I will take whatever you please, R. W.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, but my dear, do you like it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I like it as well as I like anything, R. W.’ The stately woman would + then, with a meritorious appearance of devoting herself to the general + good, pursue her dinner as if she were feeding somebody else on high + public grounds. + </p> +<p> + Bella had brought dessert and two bottles of wine, thus shedding + unprecedented splendour on the occasion. Mrs Wilfer did the honours of the + first glass by proclaiming: ‘R. W. I drink to you. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, my dear. And I to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pa and Ma!’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Permit me,’ Mrs Wilfer interposed, with outstretched glove. ‘No. I think + not. I drank to your papa. If, however, you insist on including me, I can + in gratitude offer no objection.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, Lor, Ma,’ interposed Lavvy the bold, ‘isn’t it the day that made you + and Pa one and the same? I have no patience!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By whatever other circumstance the day may be marked, it is not the day, + Lavinia, on which I will allow a child of mine to pounce upon me. I beg—nay, + command!—that you will not pounce. R. W., it is appropriate to + recall that it is for you to command and for me to obey. It is your house, + and you are master at your own table. Both our healths!’ Drinking the + toast with tremendous stiffness. + </p> +<p> + ‘I really am a little afraid, my dear,’ hinted the cherub meekly, ‘that + you are not enjoying yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘On the contrary,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, ‘quite so. Why should I not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought, my dear, that perhaps your face might—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My face might be a martyrdom, but what would that import, or who should + know it, if I smiled?’ + </p> +<p> + And she did smile; manifestly freezing the blood of Mr George Sampson by + so doing. For that young gentleman, catching her smiling eye, was so very + much appalled by its expression as to cast about in his thoughts + concerning what he had done to bring it down upon himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘The mind naturally falls,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘shall I say into a reverie, + or shall I say into a retrospect? on a day like this.’ + </p> +<p> + Lavvy, sitting with defiantly folded arms, replied (but not audibly), ‘For + goodness’ sake say whichever of the two you like best, Ma, and get it + over.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The mind,’ pursued Mrs Wilfer in an oratorical manner, ‘naturally reverts + to Papa and Mamma—I here allude to my parents—at a period + before the earliest dawn of this day. I was considered tall; perhaps I + was. Papa and Mamma were unquestionably tall. I have rarely seen a finer + woman than my mother; never than my father.’ + </p> +<p> + The irrepressible Lavvy remarked aloud, ‘Whatever grandpapa was, he wasn’t + a female.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your grandpapa,’ retorted Mrs Wilfer, with an awful look, and in an awful + tone, ‘was what I describe him to have been, and would have struck any of + his grandchildren to the earth who presumed to question it. It was one of + mamma’s cherished hopes that I should become united to a tall member of + society. It may have been a weakness, but if so, it was equally the + weakness, I believe, of King Frederick of Prussia.’ These remarks being + offered to Mr George Sampson, who had not the courage to come out for + single combat, but lurked with his chest under the table and his eyes cast + down, Mrs Wilfer proceeded, in a voice of increasing sternness and + impressiveness, until she should force that skulker to give himself up. + ‘Mamma would appear to have had an indefinable foreboding of what + afterwards happened, for she would frequently urge upon me, “Not a little + man. Promise me, my child, not a little man. Never, never, never, marry a + little man!” Papa also would remark to me (he possessed extraordinary + humour), “that a family of whales must not ally themselves with sprats.” + His company was eagerly sought, as may be supposed, by the wits of the + day, and our house was their continual resort. I have known as many as + three copper-plate engravers exchanging the most exquisite sallies and + retorts there, at one time.’ (Here Mr Sampson delivered himself captive, + and said, with an uneasy movement on his chair, that three was a large + number, and it must have been highly entertaining.) ‘Among the most + prominent members of that distinguished circle, was a gentleman measuring + six feet four in height. <i>He</i> was <i>not </i>an engraver.’ (Here Mr Sampson said, + with no reason whatever, Of course not.) ‘This gentleman was so obliging + as to honour me with attentions which I could not fail to understand.’ + (Here Mr Sampson murmured that when it came to that, you could always + tell.) ‘I immediately announced to both my parents that those attentions + were misplaced, and that I could not favour his suit. They inquired was he + too tall? I replied it was not the stature, but the intellect was too + lofty. At our house, I said, the tone was too brilliant, the pressure was + too high, to be maintained by me, a mere woman, in every-day domestic + life. I well remember mamma’s clasping her hands, and exclaiming “This + will end in a little man!”’ (Here Mr Sampson glanced at his host and shook + his head with despondency.) ‘She afterwards went so far as to predict that + it would end in a little man whose mind would be below the average, but + that was in what I may denominate a paroxysm of maternal disappointment. + Within a month,’ said Mrs Wilfer, deepening her voice, as if she were + relating a terrible ghost story, ‘within a-month, I first saw R. W. my + husband. Within a year, I married him. It is natural for the mind to + recall these dark coincidences on the present day.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson at length released from the custody of Mrs Wilfer’s eye, now + drew a long breath, and made the original and striking remark that there + was no accounting for these sort of presentiments. R. W. scratched his + head and looked apologetically all round the table until he came to his + wife, when observing her as it were shrouded in a more sombre veil than + before, he once more hinted, ‘My dear, I am really afraid you are not + altogether enjoying yourself?’ To which she once more replied, ‘On the + contrary, R. W. Quite so.’ + </p> +<p> + The wretched Mr Sampson’s position at this agreeable entertainment was + truly pitiable. For, not only was he exposed defenceless to the harangues + of Mrs Wilfer, but he received the utmost contumely at the hands of + Lavinia; who, partly to show Bella that she (Lavinia) could do what she + liked with him, and partly to pay him off for still obviously admiring + Bella’s beauty, led him the life of a dog. Illuminated on the one hand by + the stately graces of Mrs Wilfer’s oratory, and shadowed on the other by + the checks and frowns of the young lady to whom he had devoted himself in + his destitution, the sufferings of this young gentleman were distressing + to witness. If his mind for the moment reeled under them, it may be urged, + in extenuation of its weakness, that it was constitutionally a + knock-knee’d mind and never very strong upon its legs. + </p> +<p> + The rosy hours were thus beguiled until it was time for Bella to have Pa’s + escort back. The dimples duly tied up in the bonnet-strings and the + leave-taking done, they got out into the air, and the cherub drew a long + breath as if he found it refreshing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, dear Pa,’ said Bella, ‘the anniversary may be considered over.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear,’ returned the cherub, ‘there’s another of ’em gone.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella drew his arm closer through hers as they walked along, and gave it a + number of consolatory pats. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said, as if she had + spoken; ‘I am all right, my dear. Well, and how do you get on, Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not at all improved, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ain’t you really though?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa. On the contrary, I am worse.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lor!’ said the cherub. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am worse, Pa. I make so many calculations how much a year I must have + when I marry, and what is the least I can manage to do with, that I am + beginning to get wrinkles over my nose. Did you notice any wrinkles over + my nose this evening, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + Pa laughing at this, Bella gave him two or three shakes. + </p> +<p> + ‘You won’t laugh, sir, when you see your lovely woman turning haggard. You + had better be prepared in time, I can tell you. I shall not be able to + keep my greediness for money out of my eyes long, and when you see it + there you’ll be sorry, and serve you right for not being warned in time. + Now, sir, we entered into a bond of confidence. Have you anything to + impart?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought it was you who was to impart, my love.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! did you indeed, sir? Then why didn’t you ask me, the moment we came + out? The confidences of lovely women are not to be slighted. However, I + forgive you this once, and look here, Pa; that’s’—Bella laid the + little forefinger of her right glove on her lip, and then laid it on her + father’s lip—‘that’s a kiss for you. And now I am going seriously to + tell you—let me see how many—four secrets. Mind! Serious, + grave, weighty secrets. Strictly between ourselves.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Number one, my dear?’ said her father, settling her arm comfortably and + confidentially. + </p> +<p> + ‘Number one,’ said Bella, ‘will electrify you, Pa. Who do you think has’—she + was confused here in spite of her merry way of beginning ‘has made an + offer to me?’ + </p> +<p> + Pa looked in her face, and looked at the ground, and looked in her face + again, and declared he could never guess. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t tell me so, my dear!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mis—ter Roke—smith, Pa,’ said Bella separating the syllables + for emphasis. ‘What do you say to <i>that</i>?’ + </p> +<p> + Pa answered quietly with the counter-question, ‘What did <i>you </i>say to that, + my love?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I said No,’ returned Bella sharply. ‘Of course.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Of course,’ said her father, meditating. + </p> +<p> + ‘And I told him why I thought it a betrayal of trust on his part, and an + affront to me,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. To be sure. I am astonished indeed. I wonder he committed himself + without seeing more of his way first. Now I think of it, I suspect he + always has admired you though, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A hackney coachman may admire me,’ remarked Bella, with a touch of her + mother’s loftiness. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s highly probable, my love. Number two, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Number two, Pa, is much to the same purpose, though not so preposterous. + Mr Lightwood would propose to me, if I would let him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I understand, my dear, that you don’t intend to let him?’ + </p> +<p> + Bella again saying, with her former emphasis, ‘Why, of course not!’ her + father felt himself bound to echo, ‘Of course not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t care for him,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s enough,’ her father interposed. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa, it’s <i>not </i>enough,’ rejoined Bella, giving him another shake or + two. ‘Haven’t I told you what a mercenary little wretch I am? It only + becomes enough when he has no money, and no clients, and no expectations, + and no anything but debts.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah!’ said the cherub, a little depressed. ‘Number three, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Number three, Pa, is a better thing. A generous thing, a noble thing, a + delightful thing. Mrs Boffin has herself told me, as a secret, with her + own kind lips—and truer lips never opened or closed in this life, I + am sure—that they wish to see me well married; and that when I marry + with their consent they will portion me most handsomely.’ Here the + grateful girl burst out crying very heartily. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t cry, my darling,’ said her father, with his hand to his eyes; ‘it’s + excusable in me to be a little overcome when I find that my dear favourite + child is, after all disappointments, to be so provided for and so raised + in the world; but don’t <i>you </i>cry, don’t <i>you </i>cry. I am very thankful. I + congratulate you with all my heart, my dear.’ The good soft little fellow, + drying his eyes, here, Bella put her arms round his neck and tenderly + kissed him on the high road, passionately telling him he was the best of + fathers and the best of friends, and that on her wedding-morning she would + go down on her knees to him and beg his pardon for having ever teased him + or seemed insensible to the worth of such a patient, sympathetic, genial, + fresh young heart. At every one of her adjectives she redoubled her + kisses, and finally kissed his hat off, and then laughed immoderately when + the wind took it and he ran after it. + </p> +<p> + When he had recovered his hat and his breath, and they were going on again + once more, said her father then: ‘Number four, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + Bella’s countenance fell in the midst of her mirth. ‘After all, perhaps I + had better put off number four, Pa. Let me try once more, if for never so + short a time, to hope that it may not really be so.’ + </p> +<p> + The change in her, strengthened the cherub’s interest in number four, and + he said quietly: ‘May not be so, my dear? May not be how, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + Bella looked at him pensively, and shook her head. + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet I know right well it is so, Pa. I know it only too well.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My love,’ returned her father, ‘you make me quite uncomfortable. Have you + said No to anybody else, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes to anybody?’ he suggested, lifting up his eyebrows. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is there anybody else who would take his chance between Yes and No, if + you would let him, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not that I know of, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There can’t be somebody who won’t take his chance when you want him to?’ + said the cherub, as a last resource. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, of course not, Pa,’ said Bella, giving him another shake or two. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, of course not,’ he assented. ‘Bella, my dear, I am afraid I must + either have no sleep to-night, or I must press for number four.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Pa, there is no good in number four! I am so sorry for it, I am so + unwilling to believe it, I have tried so earnestly not to see it, that it + is very hard to tell, even to you. But Mr Boffin is being spoilt by + prosperity, and is changing every day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Bella, I hope and trust not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have hoped and trusted not too, Pa; but every day he changes for the + worse, and for the worse. Not to me—he is always much the same to me—but + to others about him. Before my eyes he grows suspicious, capricious, hard, + tyrannical, unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is + my benefactor. And yet, Pa, think how terrible the fascination of money + is! I see this, and hate this, and dread this, and don’t know but that + money might make a much worse change in me. And yet I have money always in + my thoughts and my desires; and the whole life I place before myself is + money, money, money, and what money can make of life!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0038"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> +<h3> + THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN FALLS INTO BAD COMPANY + </h3> +<p> + Were Bella Wilfer’s bright and ready little wits at fault, or was the + Golden Dustman passing through the furnace of proof and coming out dross? + Ill news travels fast. We shall know full soon. + </p> +<p> + On that very night of her return from the Happy Return, something chanced + which Bella closely followed with her eyes and ears. There was an + apartment at the side of the Boffin mansion, known as Mr Boffin’s room. + Far less grand than the rest of the house, it was far more comfortable, + being pervaded by a certain air of homely snugness, which upholstering + despotism had banished to that spot when it inexorably set its face + against Mr Boffin’s appeals for mercy in behalf of any other chamber. + Thus, although a room of modest situation—for its windows gave on + Silas Wegg’s old corner—and of no pretensions to velvet, satin, or + gilding, it had got itself established in a domestic position analogous to + that of an easy dressing-gown or pair of slippers; and whenever the family + wanted to enjoy a particularly pleasant fireside evening, they enjoyed it, + as an institution that must be, in Mr Boffin’s room. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Boffin were reported sitting in this room, when Bella got back. + Entering it, she found the Secretary there too; in official attendance it + would appear, for he was standing with some papers in his hand by a table + with shaded candles on it, at which Mr Boffin was seated thrown back in + his easy chair. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are busy, sir,’ said Bella, hesitating at the door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, my dear, not at all. You’re one of ourselves. We never make + company of you. Come in, come in. Here’s the old lady in her usual place.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin adding her nod and smile of welcome to Mr Boffin’s words, Bella + took her book to a chair in the fireside corner, by Mrs Boffin’s + work-table. Mr Boffin’s station was on the opposite side. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Rokesmith,’ said the Golden Dustman, so sharply rapping the table to + bespeak his attention as Bella turned the leaves of her book, that she + started; ‘where were we?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You were saying, sir,’ returned the Secretary, with an air of some + reluctance and a glance towards those others who were present, ‘that you + considered the time had come for fixing my salary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be above calling it wages, man,’ said Mr Boffin, testily. ‘What the + deuce! I never talked of any salary when I was in service.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My wages,’ said the Secretary, correcting himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Rokesmith, you are not proud, I hope?’ observed Mr Boffin, eyeing him + askance. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope not, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because I never was, when I was poor,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Poverty and pride + don’t go at all well together. Mind that. How can they go well together? + Why it stands to reason. A man, being poor, has nothing to be proud of. + It’s nonsense.’ + </p> +<p> + With a slight inclination of his head, and a look of some surprise, the + Secretary seemed to assent by forming the syllables of the word ‘nonsense’ + on his lips. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, concerning these same wages,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Sit down.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary sat down. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why didn’t you sit down before?’ asked Mr Boffin, distrustfully. ‘I hope + that wasn’t pride? But about these wages. Now, I’ve gone into the matter, + and I say two hundred a year. What do you think of it? Do you think it’s + enough?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you. It is a fair proposal.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t say, you know,’ Mr Boffin stipulated, ‘but what it may be more + than enough. And I’ll tell you why, Rokesmith. A man of property, like me, + is bound to consider the market-price. At first I didn’t enter into that + as much as I might have done; but I’ve got acquainted with other men of + property since, and I’ve got acquainted with the duties of property. I + mustn’t go putting the market-price up, because money may happen not to be + an object with me. A sheep is worth so much in the market, and I ought to + give it and no more. A secretary is worth so much in the market, and I + ought to give it and no more. However, I don’t mind stretching a point + with you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin, you are very good,’ replied the Secretary, with an effort. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then we put the figure,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘at two hundred a year. Then the + figure’s disposed of. Now, there must be no misunderstanding regarding + what I buy for two hundred a year. If I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and + out. Similarly, if I pay for a secretary, I buy <i>him </i>out and out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In other words, you purchase my whole time?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly I do. Look here,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘it ain’t that I want to + occupy your whole time; you can take up a book for a minute or two when + you’ve nothing better to do, though I think you’ll a’most always find + something useful to do. But I want to keep you in attendance. It’s + convenient to have you at all times ready on the premises. Therefore, + betwixt your breakfast and your supper,—on the premises I expect to + find you.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary bowed. + </p> +<p> + ‘In bygone days, when I was in service myself,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘I + couldn’t go cutting about at my will and pleasure, and you won’t expect to + go cutting about at your will and pleasure. You’ve rather got into a habit + of that, lately; but perhaps it was for want of a right specification + betwixt us. Now, let there be a right specification betwixt us, and let it + be this. If you want leave, ask for it.’ + </p> +<p> + Again the Secretary bowed. His manner was uneasy and astonished, and + showed a sense of humiliation. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll have a bell,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘hung from this room to yours, and + when I want you, I’ll touch it. I don’t call to mind that I have anything + more to say at the present moment.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary rose, gathered up his papers, and withdrew. Bella’s eyes + followed him to the door, lighted on Mr Boffin complacently thrown back in + his easy chair, and drooped over her book. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have let that chap, that young man of mine,’ said Mr Boffin, taking a + trot up and down the room, ‘get above his work. It won’t do. I must have + him down a peg. A man of property owes a duty to other men of property, + and must look sharp after his inferiors.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella felt that Mrs Boffin was not comfortable, and that the eyes of that + good creature sought to discover from her face what attention she had + given to this discourse, and what impression it had made upon her. For + which reason Bella’s eyes drooped more engrossedly over her book, and she + turned the page with an air of profound absorption in it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Noddy,’ said Mrs Boffin, after thoughtfully pausing in her work. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ returned the Golden Dustman, stopping short in his trot. + </p> +<p> + ‘Excuse my putting it to you, Noddy, but now really! Haven’t you been a + little strict with Mr Rokesmith to-night? Haven’t you been a little—just + a little little—not quite like your old self?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, old woman, I hope so,’ returned Mr Boffin, cheerfully, if not + boastfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hope so, deary?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Our old selves wouldn’t do here, old lady. Haven’t you found that out + yet? Our old selves would be fit for nothing here but to be robbed and + imposed upon. Our old selves weren’t people of fortune; our new selves + are; it’s a great difference.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Mrs Boffin, pausing in her work again, softly to draw a long + breath and to look at the fire. ‘A great difference.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And we must be up to the difference,’ pursued her husband; ‘we must be + equal to the change; that’s what we must be. We’ve got to hold our own + now, against everybody (for everybody’s hand is stretched out to be dipped + into our pockets), and we have got to recollect that money makes money, as + well as makes everything else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mentioning recollecting,’ said Mrs Boffin, with her work abandoned, her + eyes upon the fire, and her chin upon her hand, ‘do you recollect, Noddy, + how you said to Mr Rokesmith when he first came to see us at the Bower, + and you engaged him—how you said to him that if it had pleased + Heaven to send John Harmon to his fortune safe, we could have been content + with the one Mound which was our legacy, and should never have wanted the + rest?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, I remember, old lady. But we hadn’t tried what it was to have the + rest then. Our new shoes had come home, but we hadn’t put ’em on. We’re + wearing ’em now, we’re wearing ’em, and must step out accordingly.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin took up her work again, and plied her needle in silence. + </p> +<p> + ‘As to Rokesmith, that young man of mine,’ said Mr Boffin, dropping his + voice and glancing towards the door with an apprehension of being + overheard by some eavesdropper there, ‘it’s the same with him as with the + footmen. I have found out that you must either scrunch them, or let them + scrunch you. If you ain’t imperious with ’em, they won’t believe in your + being any better than themselves, if as good, after the stories (lies + mostly) that they have heard of your beginnings. There’s nothing betwixt + stiffening yourself up, and throwing yourself away; take my word for that, + old lady.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella ventured for a moment to look stealthily towards him under her + eyelashes, and she saw a dark cloud of suspicion, covetousness, and + conceit, overshadowing the once open face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hows’ever,’ said he, ‘this isn’t entertaining to Miss Bella. Is it, + Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + A deceiving Bella she was, to look at him with that pensively abstracted + air, as if her mind were full of her book, and she had not heard a single + word! + </p> +<p> + ‘Hah! Better employed than to attend to it,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘That’s + right, that’s right. Especially as you have no call to be told how to + value yourself, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + Colouring a little under this compliment, Bella returned, ‘I hope sir, you + don’t think me vain?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a bit, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘But I think it’s very creditable in + you, at your age, to be so well up with the pace of the world, and to know + what to go in for. You are right. Go in for money, my love. Money’s the + article. You’ll make money of your good looks, and of the money Mrs Boffin + and me will have the pleasure of settling upon you, and you’ll live and + die rich. That’s the state to live and die in!’ said Mr Boffin, in an + unctuous manner. ‘R—r—rich!’ + </p> +<p> + There was an expression of distress in Mrs Boffin’s face, as, after + watching her husband’s, she turned to their adopted girl, and said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t mind him, Bella, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘What! Not mind him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mean that,’ said Mrs Boffin, with a worried look, ‘but I mean, + don’t believe him to be anything but good and generous, Bella, because he + is the best of men. No, I must say that much, Noddy. You are always the + best of men.’ + </p> +<p> + She made the declaration as if he were objecting to it: which assuredly he + was not in any way. + </p> +<p> + ‘And as to you, my dear Bella,’ said Mrs Boffin, still with that + distressed expression, ‘he is so much attached to you, whatever he says, + that your own father has not a truer interest in you and can hardly like + you better than he does.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Says too!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘Whatever he says! Why, I say so, openly. + Give me a kiss, my dear child, in saying Good Night, and let me confirm + what my old lady tells you. I am very fond of you, my dear, and I am + entirely of your mind, and you and I will take care that you shall be + rich. These good looks of yours (which you have some right to be vain of; + my dear, though you are not, you know) are worth money, and you shall make + money of ’em. The money you will have, will be worth money, and you shall + make money of that too. There’s a golden ball at your feet. Good night, my + dear.’ + </p> +<p> + Somehow, Bella was not so well pleased with this assurance and this + prospect as she might have been. Somehow, when she put her arms round Mrs + Boffin’s neck and said Good Night, she derived a sense of unworthiness + from the still anxious face of that good woman and her obvious wish to + excuse her husband. ‘Why, what need to excuse him?’ thought Bella, sitting + down in her own room. ‘What he said was very sensible, I am sure, and very + true, I am sure. It is only what I often say to myself. Don’t I like it + then? No, I don’t like it, and, though he is my liberal benefactor, I + disparage him for it. Then pray,’ said Bella, sternly putting the question + to herself in the looking-glass as usual, ‘what do you mean by this, you + inconsistent little Beast?’ + </p> +<p> + The looking-glass preserving a discreet ministerial silence when thus + called upon for explanation, Bella went to bed with a weariness upon her + spirit which was more than the weariness of want of sleep. And again in + the morning, she looked for the cloud, and for the deepening of the cloud, + upon the Golden Dustman’s face. + </p> +<p> + She had begun by this time to be his frequent companion in his morning + strolls about the streets, and it was at this time that he made her a + party to his engaging in a curious pursuit. Having been hard at work in + one dull enclosure all his life, he had a child’s delight in looking at + shops. It had been one of the first novelties and pleasures of his + freedom, and was equally the delight of his wife. For many years their + only walks in London had been taken on Sundays when the shops were shut; + and when every day in the week became their holiday, they derived an + enjoyment from the variety and fancy and beauty of the display in the + windows, which seemed incapable of exhaustion. As if the principal streets + were a great Theatre and the play were childishly new to them, Mr and Mrs + Boffin, from the beginning of Bella’s intimacy in their house, had been + constantly in the front row, charmed with all they saw and applauding + vigorously. But now, Mr Boffin’s interest began to centre in book-shops; + and more than that—for that of itself would not have been much—in + one exceptional kind of book. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0446m " src="images/0446m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0446m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0446.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7000078703672146298"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Look in here, my dear,’ Mr Boffin would say, checking Bella’s arm at a + bookseller’s window; ‘you can read at sight, and your eyes are as sharp as + they’re bright. Now, look well about you, my dear, and tell me if you see + any book about a Miser.’ + </p> +<p> + If Bella saw such a book, Mr Boffin would instantly dart in and buy it. + And still, as if they had not found it, they would seek out another + book-shop, and Mr Boffin would say, ‘Now, look well all round, my dear, + for a Life of a Miser, or any book of that sort; any Lives of odd + characters who may have been Misers.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella, thus directed, would examine the window with the greatest + attention, while Mr Boffin would examine her face. The moment she pointed + out any book as being entitled Lives of eccentric personages, Anecdotes of + strange characters, Records of remarkable individuals, or anything to that + purpose, Mr Boffin’s countenance would light up, and he would instantly + dart in and buy it. Size, price, quality, were of no account. Any book + that seemed to promise a chance of miserly biography, Mr Boffin purchased + without a moment’s delay and carried home. Happening to be informed by a + bookseller that a portion of the Annual Register was devoted to + ‘Characters’, Mr Boffin at once bought a whole set of that ingenious + compilation, and began to carry it home piecemeal, confiding a volume to + Bella, and bearing three himself. The completion of this labour occupied + them about a fortnight. When the task was done, Mr Boffin, with his + appetite for Misers whetted instead of satiated, began to look out again. + </p> +<p> + It very soon became unnecessary to tell Bella what to look for, and an + understanding was established between her and Mr Boffin that she was + always to look for Lives of Misers. Morning after morning they roamed + about the town together, pursuing this singular research. Miserly + literature not being abundant, the proportion of failures to successes may + have been as a hundred to one; still Mr Boffin, never wearied, remained as + avaricious for misers as he had been at the first onset. It was curious + that Bella never saw the books about the house, nor did she ever hear from + Mr Boffin one word of reference to their contents. He seemed to save up + his Misers as they had saved up their money. As they had been greedy for + it, and secret about it, and had hidden it, so he was greedy for them, and + secret about them, and hid them. But beyond all doubt it was to be + noticed, and was by Bella very clearly noticed, that, as he pursued the + acquisition of those dismal records with the ardour of Don Quixote for his + books of chivalry, he began to spend his money with a more sparing hand. + And often when he came out of a shop with some new account of one of those + wretched lunatics, she would almost shrink from the sly dry chuckle with + which he would take her arm again and trot away. It did not appear that + Mrs Boffin knew of this taste. He made no allusion to it, except in the + morning walks when he and Bella were always alone; and Bella, partly under + the impression that he took her into his confidence by implication, and + partly in remembrance of Mrs Boffin’s anxious face that night, held the + same reserve. + </p> +<p> + While these occurrences were in progress, Mrs Lammle made the discovery + that Bella had a fascinating influence over her. The Lammles, originally + presented by the dear Veneerings, visited the Boffins on all grand + occasions, and Mrs Lammle had not previously found this out; but now the + knowledge came upon her all at once. It was a most extraordinary thing + (she said to Mrs Boffin); she was foolishly susceptible of the power of + beauty, but it wasn’t altogether that; she never had been able to resist a + natural grace of manner, but it wasn’t altogether that; it was more than + that, and there was no name for the indescribable extent and degree to + which she was captivated by this charming girl. + </p> +<p> + This charming girl having the words repeated to her by Mrs Boffin (who was + proud of her being admired, and would have done anything to give her + pleasure), naturally recognized in Mrs Lammle a woman of penetration and + taste. Responding to the sentiments, by being very gracious to Mrs Lammle, + she gave that lady the means of so improving her opportunity, as that the + captivation became reciprocal, though always wearing an appearance of + greater sobriety on Bella’s part than on the enthusiastic Sophronia’s. + Howbeit, they were so much together that, for a time, the Boffin chariot + held Mrs Lammle oftener than Mrs Boffin: a preference of which the latter + worthy soul was not in the least jealous, placidly remarking, ‘Mrs Lammle + is a younger companion for her than I am, and Lor! she’s more + fashionable.’ + </p> +<p> + But between Bella Wilfer and Georgiana Podsnap there was this one + difference, among many others, that Bella was in no danger of being + captivated by Alfred. She distrusted and disliked him. Indeed, her + perception was so quick, and her observation so sharp, that after all she + mistrusted his wife too, though with her giddy vanity and wilfulness she + squeezed the mistrust away into a corner of her mind, and blocked it up + there. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle took the friendliest interest in Bella’s making a good match. + Mrs Lammle said, in a sportive way, she really must show her beautiful + Bella what kind of wealthy creatures she and Alfred had on hand, who would + as one man fall at her feet enslaved. Fitting occasion made, Mrs Lammle + accordingly produced the most passable of those feverish, boastful, and + indefinably loose gentlemen who were always lounging in and out of the + City on questions of the Bourse and Greek and Spanish and India and + Mexican and par and premium and discount and three-quarters and + seven-eighths. Who in their agreeable manner did homage to Bella as if she + were a compound of fine girl, thorough-bred horse, well-built drag, and + remarkable pipe. But without the least effect, though even Mr Fledgeby’s + attractions were cast into the scale. + </p> +<p> + ‘I fear, Bella dear,’ said Mrs Lammle one day in the chariot, ‘that you + will be very hard to please.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t expect to be pleased, dear,’ said Bella, with a languid turn of + her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly, my love,’ returned Sophronia, shaking her head, and smiling her + best smile, ‘it would not be very easy to find a man worthy of your + attractions.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The question is not a man, my dear,’ said Bella, coolly, ‘but an + establishment.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My love,’ returned Mrs Lammle, ‘your prudence amazes me—where <i>did</i> + you study life so well!—you are right. In such a case as yours, the + object is a fitting establishment. You could not descend to an inadequate + one from Mr Boffin’s house, and even if your beauty alone could not + command it, it is to be assumed that Mr and Mrs Boffin will—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! they have already,’ Bella interposed. + </p> +<p> + ‘No! Have they really?’ + </p> +<p> + A little vexed by a suspicion that she had spoken precipitately, and + withal a little defiant of her own vexation, Bella determined not to + retreat. + </p> +<p> + ‘That is to say,’ she explained, ‘they have told me they mean to portion + me as their adopted child, if you mean that. But don’t mention it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mention it!’ replied Mrs Lammle, as if she were full of awakened feeling + at the suggestion of such an impossibility. ‘Men-tion it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mind telling you, Mrs Lammle—’ Bella began again. + </p> +<p> + ‘My love, say Sophronia, or I must not say Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + With a little short, petulant ‘Oh!’ Bella complied. ‘Oh!—Sophronia + then—I don’t mind telling you, Sophronia, that I am convinced I have + no heart, as people call it; and that I think that sort of thing is + nonsense.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Brave girl!’ murmured Mrs Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘And so,’ pursued Bella, ‘as to seeking to please myself, I don’t; except + in the one respect I have mentioned. I am indifferent otherwise.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you can’t help pleasing, Bella,’ said Mrs Lammle, rallying her with + an arch look and her best smile, ‘you can’t help making a proud and an + admiring husband. You may not care to please yourself, and you may not + care to please him, but you are not a free agent as to pleasing: you are + forced to do that, in spite of yourself, my dear; so it may be a question + whether you may not as well please yourself too, if you can.’ + </p> +<p> + Now, the very grossness of this flattery put Bella upon proving that she + actually did please in spite of herself. She had a misgiving that she was + doing wrong—though she had an indistinct foreshadowing that some + harm might come of it thereafter, she little thought what consequences it + would really bring about—but she went on with her confidence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t talk of pleasing in spite of one’s self, dear,’ said Bella. ‘I have + had enough of that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay?’ cried Mrs Lammle. ‘Am I already corroborated, Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never mind, Sophronia, we will not speak of it any more. Don’t ask me + about it.’ + </p> +<p> + This plainly meaning Do ask me about it, Mrs Lammle did as she was + requested. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me, Bella. Come, my dear. What provoking burr has been + inconveniently attracted to the charming skirts, and with difficulty + shaken off?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Provoking indeed,’ said Bella, ‘and no burr to boast of! But don’t ask + me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall I guess?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You would never guess. What would you say to our Secretary?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear! The hermit Secretary, who creeps up and down the back stairs, + and is never seen!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know about his creeping up and down the back stairs,’ said Bella, + rather contemptuously, ‘further than knowing that he does no such thing; + and as to his never being seen, I should be content never to have seen + him, though he is quite as visible as you are. But I pleased <i>him </i>(for my + sins) and he had the presumption to tell me so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The man never made a declaration to you, my dear Bella!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you sure of that, Sophronia?’ said Bella. ‘I am not. In fact, I am + sure of the contrary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The man must be mad,’ said Mrs Lammle, with a kind of resignation. + </p> +<p> + ‘He appeared to be in his senses,’ returned Bella, tossing her head, ‘and + he had plenty to say for himself. I told him my opinion of his declaration + and his conduct, and dismissed him. Of course this has all been very + inconvenient to me, and very disagreeable. It has remained a secret, + however. That word reminds me to observe, Sophronia, that I have glided on + into telling you the secret, and that I rely upon you never to mention + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mention it!’ repeated Mrs Lammle with her former feeling. ‘Men-tion it!’ + </p> +<p> + This time Sophronia was so much in earnest that she found it necessary to + bend forward in the carriage and give Bella a kiss. A Judas order of kiss; + for she thought, while she yet pressed Bella’s hand after giving it, ‘Upon + your own showing, you vain heartless girl, puffed up by the doting folly + of a dustman, I need have no relenting towards <i>you</i>. If my husband, who + sends me here, should form any schemes for making <i>you </i>a victim, I should + certainly not cross him again.’ In those very same moments, Bella was + thinking, ‘Why am I always at war with myself? Why have I told, as if upon + compulsion, what I knew all along I ought to have withheld? Why am I + making a friend of this woman beside me, in spite of the whispers against + her that I hear in my heart?’ + </p> +<p> + As usual, there was no answer in the looking-glass when she got home and + referred these questions to it. Perhaps if she had consulted some better + oracle, the result might have been more satisfactory; but she did not, and + all things consequent marched the march before them. + </p> +<p> + On one point connected with the watch she kept on Mr Boffin, she felt very + inquisitive, and that was the question whether the Secretary watched him + too, and followed the sure and steady change in him, as she did? Her very + limited intercourse with Mr Rokesmith rendered this hard to find out. + Their communication now, at no time extended beyond the preservation of + commonplace appearances before Mr and Mrs Boffin; and if Bella and the + Secretary were ever left alone together by any chance, he immediately + withdrew. She consulted his face when she could do so covertly, as she + worked or read, and could make nothing of it. He looked subdued; but he + had acquired a strong command of feature, and, whenever Mr Boffin spoke to + him in Bella’s presence, or whatever revelation of himself Mr Boffin made, + the Secretary’s face changed no more than a wall. A slightly knitted brow, + that expressed nothing but an almost mechanical attention, and a + compression of the mouth, that might have been a guard against a scornful + smile—these she saw from morning to night, from day to day, from + week to week, monotonous, unvarying, set, as in a piece of sculpture. + </p> +<p> + The worst of the matter was, that it thus fell out insensibly—and + most provokingly, as Bella complained to herself, in her impetuous little + manner—that her observation of Mr Boffin involved a continual + observation of Mr Rokesmith. ‘Won’t <i>that </i>extract a look from him?’—‘Can + it be possible <i>that </i>makes no impression on him?’ Such questions Bella + would propose to herself, often as many times in a day as there were hours + in it. Impossible to know. Always the same fixed face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Can he be so base as to sell his very nature for two hundred a year?’ + Bella would think. And then, ‘But why not? It’s a mere question of price + with others besides him. I suppose I would sell mine, if I could get + enough for it.’ And so she would come round again to the war with herself. + </p> +<p> + A kind of illegibility, though a different kind, stole over Mr Boffin’s + face. Its old simplicity of expression got masked by a certain craftiness + that assimilated even his good-humour to itself. His very smile was + cunning, as if he had been studying smiles among the portraits of his + misers. Saving an occasional burst of impatience, or coarse assertion of + his mastery, his good-humour remained to him, but it had now a sordid + alloy of distrust; and though his eyes should twinkle and all his face + should laugh, he would sit holding himself in his own arms, as if he had + an inclination to hoard himself up, and must always grudgingly stand on + the defensive. + </p> +<p> + What with taking heed of these two faces, and what with feeling conscious + that the stealthy occupation must set some mark on her own, Bella soon + began to think that there was not a candid or a natural face among them + all but Mrs Boffin’s. None the less because it was far less radiant than + of yore, faithfully reflecting in its anxiety and regret every line of + change in the Golden Dustman’s. + </p> +<p> + ‘Rokesmith,’ said Mr Boffin one evening when they were all in his room + again, and he and the Secretary had been going over some accounts, ‘I am + spending too much money. Or leastways, you are spending too much for me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are rich, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + The sharpness of the retort was next to telling the Secretary that he + lied. But it brought no change of expression into the set face. + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you I am not rich,’ repeated Mr Boffin, ‘and I won’t have it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are not rich, sir?’ repeated the Secretary, in measured words. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ returned Mr Boffin, ‘if I am, that’s my business. I am not going + to spend at this rate, to please you, or anybody. You wouldn’t like it, if + it was your money.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Even in that impossible case, sir, I—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hold your tongue!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘You oughtn’t to like it in any case. + There! I didn’t mean to be rude, but you put me out so, and after all I’m + master. I didn’t intend to tell you to hold your tongue. I beg your + pardon. Don’t hold your tongue. Only, don’t contradict. Did you ever come + across the life of Mr Elwes?’ referring to his favourite subject at last. + </p> +<p> + ‘The miser?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, people called him a miser. People are always calling other people + something. Did you ever read about him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He never owned to being rich, and yet he might have bought me twice over. + Did you ever hear of Daniel Dancer?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Another miser? Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He was a good ’un,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘and he had a sister worthy of him. + They never called themselves rich neither. If they <i>had </i>called themselves + rich, most likely they wouldn’t have been so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They lived and died very miserably. Did they not, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I don’t know that they did,’ said Mr Boffin, curtly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then they are not the Misers I mean. Those abject wretches—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t call names, Rokesmith,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘—That exemplary brother and sister—lived and died in the + foulest and filthiest degradation.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They pleased themselves,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘and I suppose they could have + done no more if they had spent their money. But however, I ain’t going to + fling mine away. Keep the expenses down. The fact is, you ain’t enough + here, Rokesmith. It wants constant attention in the littlest things. Some + of us will be dying in a workhouse next.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As the persons you have cited,’ quietly remarked the Secretary, ‘thought + they would, if I remember, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And very creditable in ’em too,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Very independent in + ’em! But never mind them just now. Have you given notice to quit your + lodgings?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Under your direction, I have, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I tell you what,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘pay the quarter’s rent—pay + the quarter’s rent, it’ll be the cheapest thing in the end—and come + here at once, so that you may be always on the spot, day and night, and + keep the expenses down. You’ll charge the quarter’s rent to me, and we + must try and save it somewhere. You’ve got some lovely furniture; haven’t + you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The furniture in my rooms is my own.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then we shan’t have to buy any for you. In case you was to think it,’ + said Mr Boffin, with a look of peculiar shrewdness, ‘so honourably + independent in you as to make it a relief to your mind, to make that + furniture over to me in the light of a set-off against the quarter’s rent, + why ease your mind, ease your mind. I don’t ask it, but I won’t stand in + your way if you should consider it due to yourself. As to your room, + choose any empty room at the top of the house.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Any empty room will do for me,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘You can take your pick,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘and it’ll be as good as eight + or ten shillings a week added to your income. I won’t deduct for it; I + look to you to make it up handsomely by keeping the expenses down. Now, if + you’ll show a light, I’ll come to your office-room and dispose of a letter + or two.’ + </p> +<p> + On that clear, generous face of Mrs Boffin’s, Bella had seen such traces + of a pang at the heart while this dialogue was being held, that she had + not the courage to turn her eyes to it when they were left alone. Feigning + to be intent on her embroidery, she sat plying her needle until her busy + hand was stopped by Mrs Boffin’s hand being lightly laid upon it. Yielding + to the touch, she felt her hand carried to the good soul’s lips, and felt + a tear fall on it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, my loved husband!’ said Mrs Boffin. ‘This is hard to see and hear. + But my dear Bella, believe me that in spite of all the change in him, he + is the best of men.’ + </p> +<p> + He came back, at the moment when Bella had taken the hand comfortingly + between her own. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ said he, mistrustfully looking in at the door. ‘What’s she telling + you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She is only praising you, sir,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Praising me? You are sure? Not blaming me for standing on my own defence + against a crew of plunderers, who could suck me dry by driblets? Not + blaming me for getting a little hoard together?’ + </p> +<p> + He came up to them, and his wife folded her hands upon his shoulder, and + shook her head as she laid it on her hands. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, there, there!’ urged Mr Boffin, not unkindly. ‘Don’t take on, old + lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I can’t bear to see you so, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nonsense! Recollect we are not our old selves. Recollect, we must scrunch + or be scrunched. Recollect, we must hold our own. Recollect, money makes + money. Don’t you be uneasy, Bella, my child; don’t you be doubtful. The + more I save, the more you shall have.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella thought it was well for his wife that she was musing with her + affectionate face on his shoulder; for there was a cunning light in his + eyes as he said all this, which seemed to cast a disagreeable illumination + on the change in him, and make it morally uglier. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0039"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> +<h3> + THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN FALLS INTO WORSE COMPANY + </h3> +<p> + It had come to pass that Mr Silas Wegg now rarely attended the minion of + fortune and the worm of the hour, at his (the worm’s and minion’s) own + house, but lay under general instructions to await him within a certain + margin of hours at the Bower. Mr Wegg took this arrangement in great + dudgeon, because the appointed hours were evening hours, and those he + considered precious to the progress of the friendly move. But it was quite + in character, he bitterly remarked to Mr Venus, that the upstart who had + trampled on those eminent creatures, Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt + Jane, and Uncle Parker, should oppress his literary man. + </p> +<p> + The Roman Empire having worked out its destruction, Mr Boffin next + appeared in a cab with Rollin’s Ancient History, which valuable work being + found to possess lethargic properties, broke down, at about the period + when the whole of the army of Alexander the Macedonian (at that time about + forty thousand strong) burst into tears simultaneously, on his being taken + with a shivering fit after bathing. The Wars of the Jews, likewise + languishing under Mr Wegg’s generalship, Mr Boffin arrived in another cab + with Plutarch: whose Lives he found in the sequel extremely entertaining, + though he hoped Plutarch might not expect him to believe them all. What to + believe, in the course of his reading, was Mr Boffin’s chief literary + difficulty indeed; for some time he was divided in his mind between half, + all, or none; at length, when he decided, as a moderate man, to compound + with half, the question still remained, which half? And that + stumbling-block he never got over. + </p> +<p> + One evening, when Silas Wegg had grown accustomed to the arrival of his + patron in a cab, accompanied by some profane historian charged with + unutterable names of incomprehensible peoples, of impossible descent, + waging wars any number of years and syllables long, and carrying + illimitable hosts and riches about, with the greatest ease, beyond the + confines of geography—one evening the usual time passed by, and no + patron appeared. After half an hour’s grace, Mr Wegg proceeded to the + outer gate, and there executed a whistle, conveying to Mr Venus, if + perchance within hearing, the tidings of his being at home and disengaged. + Forth from the shelter of a neighbouring wall, Mr Venus then emerged. + </p> +<p> + ‘Brother in arms,’ said Mr Wegg, in excellent spirits, ‘welcome!’ + </p> +<p> + In return, Mr Venus gave him a rather dry good evening. + </p> +<p> + ‘Walk in, brother,’ said Silas, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘and take + your seat in my chimley corner; for what says the ballad? + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “No malice to dread, sir,<br> + And no falsehood to fear,<br> + But truth to delight me, Mr Venus,<br> + And I forgot what to cheer.<br> + Li toddle de om dee.<br> + And something to guide,<br> + My ain fireside, sir,<br> + My ain fireside.”’ + </p> +<p> + With this quotation (depending for its neatness rather on the spirit than + the words), Mr Wegg conducted his guest to his hearth. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you come, brother,’ said Mr Wegg, in a hospitable glow, ‘you come + like I don’t know what—exactly like it—I shouldn’t know you + from it—shedding a halo all around you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What kind of halo?’ asked Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘’Ope sir,’ replied Silas. ‘That’s <i>your </i>halo.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus appeared doubtful on the point, and looked rather discontentedly + at the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘We’ll devote the evening, brother,’ exclaimed Wegg, ‘to prosecute our + friendly move. And arterwards, crushing a flowing wine-cup—which I + allude to brewing rum and water—we’ll pledge one another. For what + says the Poet? + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “And you needn’t, Mr Venus, be your black bottle,<br> + For surely I’ll be mine,<br> + And we’ll take a glass with a slice of lemon in it to which you’re partial,<br> + For auld lang syne.”’ + </p> +<p> + This flow of quotation and hospitality in Wegg indicated his observation + of some little querulousness on the part of Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, as to the friendly move,’ observed the last-named gentleman, rubbing + his knees peevishly, ‘one of my objections to it is, that it <i>don’t</i> move.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Rome, brother,’ returned Wegg: ‘a city which (it may not be generally + known) originated in twins and a wolf; and ended in Imperial marble: + wasn’t built in a day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did I say it was?’ asked Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, you did not, brother. Well-inquired.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I do say,’ proceeded Venus, ‘that I am taken from among my trophies + of anatomy, am called upon to exchange my human warious for mere + coal-ashes warious, and nothing comes of it. I think I must give up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir!’ remonstrated Wegg, enthusiastically. ‘No, Sir! + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Charge, Chester, charge,<br> + On, Mr Venus, on!” + </p> +<p> + Never say die, sir! A man of your mark!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not so much saying it that I object to,’ returned Mr Venus, ‘as + doing it. And having got to do it whether or no, I can’t afford to waste + my time on groping for nothing in cinders.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But think how little time you have given to the move, sir, after all,’ + urged Wegg. ‘Add the evenings so occupied together, and what do they come + to? And you, sir, harmonizer with myself in opinions, views, and feelings, + you with the patience to fit together on wires the whole framework of + society—I allude to the human skelinton—you to give in so + soon!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t like it,’ returned Mr Venus moodily, as he put his head between + his knees and stuck up his dusty hair. ‘And there’s no encouragement to go + on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not them Mounds without,’ said Mr Wegg, extending his right hand with an + air of solemn reasoning, ‘encouragement? Not them Mounds now looking down + upon us?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They’re too big,’ grumbled Venus. ‘What’s a scratch here and a scrape + there, a poke in this place and a dig in the other, to them. Besides; what + have we found?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What <i>have </i>we found?’ cried Wegg, delighted to be able to acquiesce. ‘Ah! + There I grant you, comrade. Nothing. But on the contrary, comrade, what + <i>may </i>we find? There you’ll grant me. Anything.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t like it,’ pettishly returned Venus as before. ‘I came into it + without enough consideration. And besides again. Isn’t your own Mr Boffin + well acquainted with the Mounds? And wasn’t he well acquainted with the + deceased and his ways? And has he ever showed any expectation of finding + anything?’ + </p> +<p> + At that moment wheels were heard. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I should be loth,’ said Mr Wegg, with an air of patient injury, ‘to + think so ill of him as to suppose him capable of coming at this time of + night. And yet it sounds like him.’ + </p> +<p> + A ring at the yard bell. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is him,’ said Mr Wegg, ‘and he is capable of it. I am sorry, because I + could have wished to keep up a little lingering fragment of respect for + him.’ + </p> +<p> + Here Mr Boffin was heard lustily calling at the yard gate, ‘Halloa! Wegg! + Halloa!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Keep your seat, Mr Venus,’ said Wegg. ‘He may not stop.’ And then called + out, ‘Halloa, sir! Halloa! I’m with you directly, sir! Half a minute, Mr + Boffin. Coming, sir, as fast as my leg will bring me!’ And so with a show + of much cheerful alacrity stumped out to the gate with a light, and there, + through the window of a cab, descried Mr Boffin inside, blocked up with + books. + </p> +<p> + ‘Here! lend a hand, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin excitedly, ‘I can’t get out till + the way is cleared for me. This is the Annual Register, Wegg, in a + cab-full of wollumes. Do you know him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Know the Animal Register, sir?’ returned the Impostor, who had caught the + name imperfectly. ‘For a trifling wager, I think I could find any Animal + in him, blindfold, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And here’s Kirby’s Wonderful Museum,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘and Caulfield’s + Characters, and Wilson’s. Such Characters, Wegg, such Characters! I must + have one or two of the best of ’em to-night. It’s amazing what places they + used to put the guineas in, wrapped up in rags. Catch hold of that pile of + wollumes, Wegg, or it’ll bulge out and burst into the mud. Is there anyone + about, to help?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s a friend of mine, sir, that had the intention of spending the + evening with me when I gave you up—much against my will—for + the night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Call him out,’ cried Mr Boffin in a bustle; ‘get him to bear a hand. + Don’t drop that one under your arm. It’s Dancer. Him and his sister made + pies of a dead sheep they found when they were out a walking. Where’s your + friend? Oh, here’s your friend. Would you be so good as help Wegg and + myself with these books? But don’t take Jemmy Taylor of Southwark, nor yet + Jemmy Wood of Gloucester. These are the two Jemmys. I’ll carry them + myself.’ + </p> +<p> + Not ceasing to talk and bustle, in a state of great excitement, Mr Boffin + directed the removal and arrangement of the books, appearing to be in some + sort beside himself until they were all deposited on the floor, and the + cab was dismissed. + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ said Mr Boffin, gloating over them. ‘There they are, like the + four-and-twenty fiddlers—all of a row. Get on your spectacles, Wegg; + I know where to find the best of ’em, and we’ll have a taste at once of + what we have got before us. What’s your friend’s name?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg presented his friend as Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ cried Mr Boffin, catching at the name. ‘Of Clerkenwell?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of Clerkenwell, sir,’ said Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, I’ve heard of you,’ cried Mr Boffin, ‘I heard of you in the old + man’s time. You knew him. Did you ever buy anything of him?’ With piercing + eagerness. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir,’ returned Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘But he showed you things; didn’t he?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus, with a glance at his friend, replied in the affirmative. + </p> +<p> + ‘What did he show you?’ asked Mr Boffin, putting his hands behind him, and + eagerly advancing his head. ‘Did he show you boxes, little cabinets, + pocket-books, parcels, anything locked or sealed, anything tied up?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you a judge of china?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus again shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Because if he had ever showed you a teapot, I should be glad to know of + it,’ said Mr Boffin. And then, with his right hand at his lips, repeated + thoughtfully, ‘a Teapot, a Teapot’, and glanced over the books on the + floor, as if he knew there was something interesting connected with a + teapot, somewhere among them. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg and Mr Venus looked at one another wonderingly: and Mr Wegg, in + fitting on his spectacles, opened his eyes wide, over their rims, and + tapped the side of his nose: as an admonition to Venus to keep himself + generally wide awake. + </p> +<p> + ‘A Teapot,’ repeated Mr Boffin, continuing to muse and survey the books; + ‘a Teapot, a Teapot. Are you ready, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am at your service, sir,’ replied that gentleman, taking his usual seat + on the usual settle, and poking his wooden leg under the table before it. + ‘Mr Venus, would you make yourself useful, and take a seat beside me, sir, + for the conveniency of snuffing the candles?’ + </p> +<p> + Venus complying with the invitation while it was yet being given, Silas + pegged at him with his wooden leg, to call his particular attention to Mr + Boffin standing musing before the fire, in the space between the two + settles. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hem! Ahem!’ coughed Mr Wegg to attract his employer’s attention. ‘Would + you wish to commence with an Animal, sir—from the Register?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘no, Wegg.’ With that, producing a little book from + his breast-pocket, he handed it with great care to the literary gentlemen, + and inquired, ‘What do you call that, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This, sir,’ replied Silas, adjusting his spectacles, and referring to the + title-page, ‘is Merryweather’s Lives and Anecdotes of Misers. Mr Venus, + would you make yourself useful and draw the candles a little nearer, sir?’ + This to have a special opportunity of bestowing a stare upon his comrade. + </p> +<p> + ‘Which of ’em have you got in that lot?’ asked Mr Boffin. ‘Can you find + out pretty easy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, sir,’ replied Silas, turning to the table of contents and slowly + fluttering the leaves of the book, ‘I should say they must be pretty well + all here, sir; here’s a large assortment, sir; my eye catches John Overs, + sir, John Little, sir, Dick Jarrel, John Elwes, the Reverend Mr Jones of + Blewbury, Vulture Hopkins, Daniel Dancer—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give us Dancer, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + With another stare at his comrade, Silas sought and found the place. + </p> +<p> + ‘Page a hundred and nine, Mr Boffin. Chapter eight. Contents of chapter, + “His birth and estate. His garments and outward appearance. Miss Dancer + and her feminine graces. The Miser’s Mansion. The finding of a treasure. + The Story of the Mutton Pies. A Miser’s Idea of Death. Bob, the Miser’s + cur. Griffiths and his Master. How to turn a penny. A substitute for a + Fire. The Advantages of keeping a Snuff-box. The Miser dies without a + Shirt. The Treasures of a Dunghill—”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh? What’s that?’ demanded Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘“The Treasures,” sir,’ repeated Silas, reading very distinctly, ‘“of a + Dunghill.” Mr Venus, sir, would you obleege with the snuffers?’ This, to + secure attention to his adding with his lips only, ‘Mounds!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin drew an arm-chair into the space where he stood, and said, + seating himself and slyly rubbing his hands: + </p> +<p> + ‘Give us Dancer.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg pursued the biography of that eminent man through its various + phases of avarice and dirt, through Miss Dancer’s death on a sick regimen + of cold dumpling, and through Mr Dancer’s keeping his rags together with a + hayband, and warming his dinner by sitting upon it, down to the + consolatory incident of his dying naked in a sack. After which he read on + as follows: + </p> +<p> + ‘“The house, or rather the heap of ruins, in which Mr Dancer lived, and + which at his death devolved to the right of Captain Holmes, was a most + miserable, decayed building, for it had not been repaired for more than + half a century.”’ + </p> +<p> + (Here Mr Wegg eyes his comrade and the room in which they sat: which had + not been repaired for a long time.) + </p> +<p> + ‘“But though poor in external structure, the ruinous fabric was very rich + in the interior. It took many weeks to explore its whole contents; and + Captain Holmes found it a very agreeable task to dive into the miser’s + secret hoards.”’ + </p> +<p> + (Here Mr Wegg repeated ‘secret hoards’, and pegged his comrade again.) + </p> +<p> + ‘“One of Mr Dancer’s richest escretoires was found to be a dungheap in the + cowhouse; a sum but little short of two thousand five hundred pounds was + contained in this rich piece of manure; and in an old jacket, carefully + tied, and strongly nailed down to the manger, in bank notes and gold were + found five hundred pounds more.”’ + </p> +<p> + (Here Mr Wegg’s wooden leg started forward under the table, and slowly + elevated itself as he read on.) + </p> +<p> + ‘“Several bowls were discovered filled with guineas and half-guineas; and + at different times on searching the corners of the house they found + various parcels of bank notes. Some were crammed into the crevices of the + wall”’; + </p> +<p> + (Here Mr Venus looked at the wall.) + </p> +<p> + ‘“Bundles were hid under the cushions and covers of the chairs”’; + </p> +<p> + (Here Mr Venus looked under himself on the settle.) + </p> +<p> + ‘“Some were reposing snugly at the back of the drawers; and notes + amounting to six hundred pounds were found neatly doubled up in the inside + of an old teapot. In the stable the Captain found jugs full of old dollars + and shillings. The chimney was not left unsearched, and paid very well for + the trouble; for in nineteen different holes, all filled with soot, were + found various sums of money, amounting together to more than two hundred + pounds.”’ + </p> +<p> + On the way to this crisis Mr Wegg’s wooden leg had gradually elevated + itself more and more, and he had nudged Mr Venus with his opposite elbow + deeper and deeper, until at length the preservation of his balance became + incompatible with the two actions, and he now dropped over sideways upon + that gentleman, squeezing him against the settle’s edge. Nor did either of + the two, for some few seconds, make any effort to recover himself; both + remaining in a kind of pecuniary swoon. + </p> +<p> + But the sight of Mr Boffin sitting in the arm-chair hugging himself, with + his eyes upon the fire, acted as a restorative. Counterfeiting a sneeze to + cover their movements, Mr Wegg, with a spasmodic ‘Tish-ho!’ pulled himself + and Mr Venus up in a masterly manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let’s have some more,’ said Mr Boffin, hungrily. + </p> +<p> + ‘John Elwes is the next, sir. Is it your pleasure to take John Elwes?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Let’s hear what John did.’ + </p> +<p> + He did not appear to have hidden anything, so went off rather flatly. But + an exemplary lady named Wilcocks, who had stowed away gold and silver in a + pickle-pot in a clock-case, a canister-full of treasure in a hole under + her stairs, and a quantity of money in an old rat-trap, revived the + interest. To her succeeded another lady, claiming to be a pauper, whose + wealth was found wrapped up in little scraps of paper and old rag. To her, + another lady, apple-woman by trade, who had saved a fortune of ten + thousand pounds and hidden it ‘here and there, in cracks and corners, + behind bricks and under the flooring.’ To her, a French gentleman, who had + crammed up his chimney, rather to the detriment of its drawing powers, ‘a + leather valise, containing twenty thousand francs, gold coins, and a large + quantity of precious stones,’ as discovered by a chimneysweep after his + death. By these steps Mr Wegg arrived at a concluding instance of the + human Magpie: + </p> +<p> + ‘Many years ago, there lived at Cambridge a miserly old couple of the name + of Jardine: they had two sons: the father was a perfect miser, and at his + death one thousand guineas were discovered secreted in his bed. The two + sons grew up as parsimonious as their sire. When about twenty years of + age, they commenced business at Cambridge as drapers, and they continued + there until their death. The establishment of the Messrs Jardine was the + most dirty of all the shops in Cambridge. Customers seldom went in to + purchase, except perhaps out of curiosity. The brothers were most + disreputable-looking beings; for, although surrounded with gay apparel as + their staple in trade, they wore the most filthy rags themselves. It is + said that they had no bed, and, to save the expense of one, always slept + on a bundle of packing-cloths under the counter. In their housekeeping + they were penurious in the extreme. A joint of meat did not grace their + board for twenty years. Yet when the first of the brothers died, the + other, much to his surprise, found large sums of money which had been + secreted even from him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘Even from him, you see! There was only two of + ’em, and yet one of ’em hid from the other.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus, who since his introduction to the French gentleman, had been + stooping to peer up the chimney, had his attention recalled by the last + sentence, and took the liberty of repeating it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you like it?’ asked Mr Boffin, turning suddenly. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you like what Wegg’s been a-reading?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus answered that he found it extremely interesting. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then come again,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘and hear some more. Come when you + like; come the day after to-morrow, half an hour sooner. There’s plenty + more; there’s no end to it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus expressed his acknowledgments and accepted the invitation. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s wonderful what’s been hid, at one time and another,’ said Mr Boffin, + ruminating; ‘truly wonderful.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Meaning sir,’ observed Wegg, with a propitiatory face to draw him out, + and with another peg at his friend and brother, ‘in the way of money?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Money,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Ah! And papers.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg, in a languid transport, again dropped over on Mr Venus, and again + recovering himself, masked his emotions with a sneeze. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tish-ho! Did you say papers too, sir? Been hidden, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hidden and forgot,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Why the bookseller that sold me the + Wonderful Museum—where’s the Wonderful Museum?’ He was on his knees + on the floor in a moment, groping eagerly among the books. + </p> +<p> + ‘Can I assist you, sir?’ asked Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I have got it; here it is,’ said Mr Boffin, dusting it with the + sleeve of his coat. ‘Wollume four. I know it was the fourth wollume, that + the bookseller read it to me out of. Look for it, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas took the book and turned the leaves. + </p> +<p> + ‘Remarkable petrefaction, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, that’s not it,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘It can’t have been a petrefaction.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Memoirs of General John Reid, commonly called The Walking Rushlight, sir? + With portrait?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, nor yet him,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Remarkable case of a person who swallowed a crown-piece, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To hide it?’ asked Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, no, sir,’ replied Wegg, consulting the text, ‘it appears to have + been done by accident. Oh! This next must be it. “Singular discovery of a + will, lost twenty-one years.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s it!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘Read that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘“A most extraordinary case,”’ read Silas Wegg aloud, ‘“was tried at the + last Maryborough assizes in Ireland. It was briefly this. Robert Baldwin, + in March 1782, made his will, in which he devised the lands now in + question, to the children of his youngest son; soon after which his + faculties failed him, and he became altogether childish and died, above + eighty years old. The defendant, the eldest son, immediately afterwards + gave out that his father had destroyed the will; and no will being found, + he entered into possession of the lands in question, and so matters + remained for twenty-one years, the whole family during all that time + believing that the father had died without a will. But after twenty-one + years the defendant’s wife died, and he very soon afterwards, at the age + of seventy-eight, married a very young woman: which caused some anxiety to + his two sons, whose poignant expressions of this feeling so exasperated + their father, that he in his resentment executed a will to disinherit his + eldest son, and in his fit of anger showed it to his second son, who + instantly determined to get at it, and destroy it, in order to preserve + the property to his brother. With this view, he broke open his father’s + desk, where he found—not his father’s will which he sought after, + but the will of his grandfather, which was then altogether forgotten in + the family.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘See what men put away and forget, or mean to + destroy, and don’t!’ He then added in a slow tone, ‘As—ton—ish—ing!’ + And as he rolled his eyes all round the room, Wegg and Venus likewise + rolled their eyes all round the room. And then Wegg, singly, fixed his + eyes on Mr Boffin looking at the fire again; as if he had a mind to spring + upon him and demand his thoughts or his life. + </p> +<p> + ‘However, time’s up for to-night,’ said Mr Boffin, waving his hand after a + silence. ‘More, the day after to-morrow. Range the books upon the shelves, + Wegg. I dare say Mr Venus will be so kind as help you.’ + </p> +<p> + While speaking, he thrust his hand into the breast of his outer coat, and + struggled with some object there that was too large to be got out easily. + What was the stupefaction of the friendly movers when this object at last + emerging, proved to be a much-dilapidated dark lantern! + </p> +<p> + Without at all noticing the effect produced by this little instrument, Mr + Boffin stood it on his knee, and, producing a box of matches, deliberately + lighted the candle in the lantern, blew out the kindled match, and cast + the end into the fire. ‘I’m going, Wegg,’ he then announced, ‘to take a + turn about the place and round the yard. I don’t want you. Me and this + same lantern have taken hundreds—thousands—of such turns in + our time together.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I couldn’t think, sir—not on any account, I couldn’t,’—Wegg + was politely beginning, when Mr Boffin, who had risen and was going + towards the door, stopped: + </p> +<p> + ‘I have told you that I don’t want you, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg looked intelligently thoughtful, as if that had not occurred to his + mind until he now brought it to bear on the circumstance. He had nothing + for it but to let Mr Boffin go out and shut the door behind him. But, the + instant he was on the other side of it, Wegg clutched Venus with both + hands, and said in a choking whisper, as if he were being strangled: + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Venus, he must be followed, he must be watched, he mustn’t be lost + sight of for a moment.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why mustn’t he?’ asked Venus, also strangling. + </p> +<p> + ‘Comrade, you might have noticed I was a little elewated in spirits when + you come in to-night. I’ve found something.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What have you found?’ asked Venus, clutching him with both hands, so that + they stood interlocked like a couple of preposterous gladiators. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s no time to tell you now. I think he must have gone to look for + it. We must have an eye upon him instantly.’ + </p> +<p> + Releasing each other, they crept to the door, opened it softly, and peeped + out. It was a cloudy night, and the black shadow of the Mounds made the + dark yard darker. ‘If not a double swindler,’ whispered Wegg, ‘why a dark + lantern? We could have seen what he was about, if he had carried a light + one. Softly, this way.’ + </p> +<p> + Cautiously along the path that was bordered by fragments of crockery set + in ashes, the two stole after him. They could hear him at his peculiar + trot, crushing the loose cinders as he went. ‘He knows the place by + heart,’ muttered Silas, ‘and don’t need to turn his lantern on, confound + him!’ But he did turn it on, almost in that same instant, and flashed its + light upon the first of the Mounds. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is that the spot?’ asked Venus in a whisper. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s warm,’ said Silas in the same tone. ‘He’s precious warm. He’s close. + I think he must be going to look for it. What’s that he’s got in his + hand?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A shovel,’ answered Venus. ‘And he knows how to use it, remember, fifty + times as well as either of us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If he looks for it and misses it, partner,’ suggested Wegg, ‘what shall + we do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘First of all, wait till he does,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + Discreet advice too, for he darkened his lantern again, and the mound + turned black. After a few seconds, he turned the light on once more, and + was seen standing at the foot of the second mound, slowly raising the + lantern little by little until he held it up at arm’s length, as if he + were examining the condition of the whole surface. + </p> +<p> + ‘That can’t be the spot too?’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Wegg, ‘he’s getting cold.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It strikes me,’ whispered Venus, ‘that he wants to find out whether any + one has been groping about there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hush!’ returned Wegg, ‘he’s getting colder and colder.—Now he’s + freezing!’ + </p> +<p> + This exclamation was elicited by his having turned the lantern off again, + and on again, and being visible at the foot of the third mound. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, he’s going up it!’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shovel and all!’ said Wegg. + </p> +<p> + At a nimbler trot, as if the shovel over his shoulder stimulated him by + reviving old associations, Mr Boffin ascended the ‘serpentining walk’, up + the Mound which he had described to Silas Wegg on the occasion of their + beginning to decline and fall. On striking into it he turned his lantern + off. The two followed him, stooping low, so that their figures might make + no mark in relief against the sky when he should turn his lantern on + again. Mr Venus took the lead, towing Mr Wegg, in order that his + refractory leg might be promptly extricated from any pitfalls it should + dig for itself. They could just make out that the Golden Dustman stopped + to breathe. Of course they stopped too, instantly. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is his own Mound,’ whispered Wegg, as he recovered his wind, ‘this + one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why all three are his own,’ returned Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘So he thinks; but he’s used to call this his own, because it’s the one + first left to him; the one that was his legacy when it was all he took + under the will.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When he shows his light,’ said Venus, keeping watch upon his dusky figure + all the time, ‘drop lower and keep closer.’ + </p> +<p> + He went on again, and they followed again. Gaining the top of the Mound, + he turned on his light—but only partially—and stood it on the + ground. A bare lopsided weatherbeaten pole was planted in the ashes there, + and had been there many a year. Hard by this pole, his lantern stood: + lighting a few feet of the lower part of it and a little of the ashy + surface around, and then casting off a purposeless little clear trail of + light into the air. + </p> +<p> + ‘He can never be going to dig up the pole!’ whispered Venus as they + dropped low and kept close. + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps it’s holler and full of something,’ whispered Wegg. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0466m " src="images/0466m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0466m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0466.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-8599844408903251613"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + He was going to dig, with whatsoever object, for he tucked up his cuffs + and spat on his hands, and then went at it like an old digger as he was. + He had no design upon the pole, except that he measured a shovel’s length + from it before beginning, nor was it his purpose to dig deep. Some dozen + or so of expert strokes sufficed. Then, he stopped, looked down into the + cavity, bent over it, and took out what appeared to be an ordinary + case-bottle: one of those squat, high-shouldered, short-necked glass + bottles which the Dutchman is said to keep his Courage in. As soon as he + had done this, he turned off his lantern, and they could hear that he was + filling up the hole in the dark. The ashes being easily moved by a skilful + hand, the spies took this as a hint to make off in good time. Accordingly, + Mr Venus slipped past Mr Wegg and towed him down. But Mr Wegg’s descent + was not accomplished without some personal inconvenience, for his + self-willed leg sticking into the ashes about half way down, and time + pressing, Mr Venus took the liberty of hauling him from his tether by the + collar: which occasioned him to make the rest of the journey on his back, + with his head enveloped in the skirts of his coat, and his wooden leg + coming last, like a drag. So flustered was Mr Wegg by this mode of + travelling, that when he was set on the level ground with his intellectual + developments uppermost, he was quite unconscious of his bearings, and had + not the least idea where his place of residence was to be found, until Mr + Venus shoved him into it. Even then he staggered round and round, weakly + staring about him, until Mr Venus with a hard brush brushed his senses + into him and the dust out of him. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin came down leisurely, for this brushing process had been well + accomplished, and Mr Venus had had time to take his breath, before he + reappeared. That he had the bottle somewhere about him could not be + doubted; where, was not so clear. He wore a large rough coat, buttoned + over, and it might be in any one of half a dozen pockets. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the matter, Wegg?’ said Mr Boffin. ‘You are as pale as a candle.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg replied, with literal exactness, that he felt as if he had had a + turn. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bile,’ said Mr Boffin, blowing out the light in the lantern, shutting it + up, and stowing it away in the breast of his coat as before. ‘Are you + subject to bile, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg again replied, with strict adherence to truth, that he didn’t + think he had ever had a similar sensation in his head, to anything like + the same extent. + </p> +<p> + ‘Physic yourself to-morrow, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘to be in order for + next night. By-the-by, this neighbourhood is going to have a loss, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A loss, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Going to lose the Mounds.’ + </p> +<p> + The friendly movers made such an obvious effort not to look at one + another, that they might as well have stared at one another with all their + might. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you parted with them, Mr Boffin?’ asked Silas. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes; they’re going. Mine’s as good as gone already.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You mean the little one of the three, with the pole atop, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mr Boffin, rubbing his ear in his old way, with that new touch + of craftiness added to it. ‘It has fetched a penny. It’ll begin to be + carted off to-morrow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you been out to take leave of your old friend, sir?’ asked Silas, + jocosely. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘What the devil put that in your head?’ + </p> +<p> + He was so sudden and rough, that Wegg, who had been hovering closer and + closer to his skirts, despatching the back of his hand on exploring + expeditions in search of the bottle’s surface, retired two or three paces. + </p> +<p> + ‘No offence, sir,’ said Wegg, humbly. ‘No offence.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin eyed him as a dog might eye another dog who wanted his bone; and + actually retorted with a low growl, as the dog might have retorted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-night,’ he said, after having sunk into a moody silence, with his + hands clasped behind him, and his eyes suspiciously wandering about Wegg.—‘No! + stop there. I know the way out, and I want no light.’ + </p> +<p> + Avarice, and the evening’s legends of avarice, and the inflammatory effect + of what he had seen, and perhaps the rush of his ill-conditioned blood to + his brain in his descent, wrought Silas Wegg to such a pitch of insatiable + appetite, that when the door closed he made a swoop at it and drew Venus + along with him. + </p> +<p> + ‘He mustn’t go,’ he cried. ‘We mustn’t let him go? He has got that bottle + about him. We must have that bottle.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you wouldn’t take it by force?’ said Venus, restraining him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Wouldn’t I? Yes I would. I’d take it by any force, I’d have it at any + price! Are you so afraid of one old man as to let him go, you coward?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am so afraid of you, as not to let <i>you </i>go,’ muttered Venus, sturdily, + clasping him in his arms. + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you hear him?’ retorted Wegg. ‘Did you hear him say that he was + resolved to disappoint us? Did you hear him say, you cur, that he was + going to have the Mounds cleared off, when no doubt the whole place will + be rummaged? If you haven’t the spirit of a mouse to defend your rights, I + have. Let me go after him.’ + </p> +<p> + As in his wildness he was making a strong struggle for it, Mr Venus deemed + it expedient to lift him, throw him, and fall with him; well knowing that, + once down, he would not be up again easily with his wooden leg. So they + both rolled on the floor, and, as they did so, Mr Boffin shut the gate. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0040"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> +<h3> + THE FRIENDLY MOVE TAKES UP A STRONG POSITION + </h3> +<p> + The friendly movers sat upright on the floor, panting and eyeing one + another, after Mr Boffin had slammed the gate and gone away. In the weak + eyes of Venus, and in every reddish dust-coloured hair in his shock of + hair, there was a marked distrust of Wegg and an alertness to fly at him + on perceiving the smallest occasion. In the hard-grained face of Wegg, and + in his stiff knotty figure (he looked like a German wooden toy), there was + expressed a politic conciliation, which had no spontaneity in it. Both + were flushed, flustered, and rumpled, by the late scuffle; and Wegg, in + coming to the ground, had received a humming knock on the back of his + devoted head, which caused him still to rub it with an air of having been + highly—but disagreeably—astonished. Each was silent for some + time, leaving it to the other to begin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Brother,’ said Wegg, at length breaking the silence, ‘you were right, and + I was wrong. I forgot myself.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus knowingly cocked his shock of hair, as rather thinking Mr Wegg + had remembered himself, in respect of appearing without any disguise. + </p> +<p> + ‘But comrade,’ pursued Wegg, ‘it was never your lot to know Miss + Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, nor Uncle Parker.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus admitted that he had never known those distinguished persons, and + added, in effect, that he had never so much as desired the honour of their + acquaintance. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t say that, comrade!’ retorted Wegg: ‘No, don’t say that! Because, + without having known them, you never can fully know what it is to be + stimilated to frenzy by the sight of the Usurper.’ + </p> +<p> + Offering these excusatory words as if they reflected great credit on + himself, Mr Wegg impelled himself with his hands towards a chair in a + corner of the room, and there, after a variety of awkward gambols, + attained a perpendicular position. Mr Venus also rose. + </p> +<p> + ‘Comrade,’ said Wegg, ‘take a seat. Comrade, what a speaking countenance + is yours!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus involuntarily smoothed his countenance, and looked at his hand, + as if to see whether any of its speaking properties came off. + </p> +<p> + ‘For clearly do I know, mark you,’ pursued Wegg, pointing his words with + his forefinger, ‘clearly do I know what question your expressive features + puts to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What question?’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘The question,’ returned Wegg, with a sort of joyful affability, ‘why I + didn’t mention sooner, that I had found something. Says your speaking + countenance to me: “Why didn’t you communicate that, when I first come in + this evening? Why did you keep it back till you thought Mr Boffin had come + to look for the article?” Your speaking countenance,’ said Wegg, ‘puts it + plainer than language. Now, you can’t read in my face what answer I give?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I can’t,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘I knew it! And why not?’ returned Wegg, with the same joyful candour. + ‘Because I lay no claims to a speaking countenance. Because I am well + aware of my deficiencies. All men are not gifted alike. But I can answer + in words. And in what words? These. I wanted to give you a delightful sap—pur—<i>ize!</i>’ + </p> +<p> + Having thus elongated and emphasized the word Surprise, Mr Wegg shook his + friend and brother by both hands, and then clapped him on both knees, like + an affectionate patron who entreated him not to mention so small a service + as that which it had been his happy privilege to render. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your speaking countenance,’ said Wegg, ‘being answered to its + satisfaction, only asks then, “What have you found?” Why, I hear it say + the words!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well?’ retorted Venus snappishly, after waiting in vain. ‘If you hear it + say the words, why don’t you answer it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hear me out!’ said Wegg. ‘I’m a-going to. Hear me out! Man and brother, + partner in feelings equally with undertakings and actions, I have found a + cash-box.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—Hear me out!’ said Wegg. (He tried to reserve whatever he could, + and, whenever disclosure was forced upon him, broke into a radiant gush of + Hear me out.) ‘On a certain day, sir—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When?’ said Venus bluntly. + </p> +<p> + ‘N—no,’ returned Wegg, shaking his head at once observantly, + thoughtfully, and playfully. ‘No, sir! That’s not your expressive + countenance which asks that question. That’s your voice; merely your + voice. To proceed. On a certain day, sir, I happened to be walking in the + yard—taking my lonely round—for in the words of a friend of my + own family, the author of All’s Well arranged as a duett: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Deserted, as you will remember, Mr Venus, by the waning + moon,<br> + When stars, it will occur to you before I mention it, proclaim + night’s cheerless noon,<br> + On tower, fort, or tented ground,<br> + The sentry walks his lonely round,<br> + The sentry walks;” + </p> +<p> + —under those circumstances, sir, I happened to be walking in the + yard early one afternoon, and happened to have an iron rod in my hand, + with which I have been sometimes accustomed to beguile the monotony of a + literary life, when I struck it against an object not necessary to trouble + you by naming—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is necessary. What object?’ demanded Venus, in a wrathful tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘—Hear me out!’ said Wegg. ‘The Pump.—When I struck it against + the Pump, and found, not only that the top was loose and opened with a + lid, but that something in it rattled. That something, comrade, I + discovered to be a small flat oblong cash-box. Shall I say it was + disappointingly light?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There were papers in it,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘There your expressive countenance speaks indeed!’ cried Wegg. ‘A paper. + The box was locked, tied up, and sealed, and on the outside was a + parchment label, with the writing, “<i>My Will, John Harmon, Temporarily + Deposited Here.</i>”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We must know its contents,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘—Hear me out!’ cried Wegg. ‘I said so, and I broke the box open.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Without coming to me!’ exclaimed Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Exactly so, sir!’ returned Wegg, blandly and buoyantly. ‘I see I take you + with me! Hear, hear, hear! Resolved, as your discriminating good sense + perceives, that if you was to have a sap—pur—<i>ize</i>, it should be + a complete one! Well, sir. And so, as you have honoured me by + anticipating, I examined the document. Regularly executed, regularly + witnessed, very short. Inasmuch as he has never made friends, and has ever + had a rebellious family, he, John Harmon, gives to Nicodemus Boffin the + Little Mound, which is quite enough for him, and gives the whole rest and + residue of his property to the Crown.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The date of the will that has been proved, must be looked to,’ remarked + Venus. ‘It may be later than this one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—Hear me out!’ cried Wegg. ‘I said so. I paid a shilling (never + mind your sixpence of it) to look up that will. Brother, that will is + dated months before this will. And now, as a fellow-man, and as a partner + in a friendly move,’ added Wegg, benignantly taking him by both hands + again, and clapping him on both knees again, ‘say have I completed my + labour of love to your perfect satisfaction, and are you sap—pur—<i>ized</i>?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus contemplated his fellow-man and partner with doubting eyes, and + then rejoined stiffly: + </p> +<p> + ‘This is great news indeed, Mr Wegg. There’s no denying it. But I could + have wished you had told it me before you got your fright to-night, and I + could have wished you had ever asked me as your partner what we were to + do, before you thought you were dividing a responsibility.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—Hear me out!’ cried Wegg. ‘I knew you was a-going to say so. But + alone I bore the anxiety, and alone I’ll bear the blame!’ This with an air + of great magnanimity. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Venus. ‘Let’s see this will and this box.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I understand, brother,’ returned Wegg with considerable reluctance, + ‘that it is your wish to see this will and this—?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus smote the table with his hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘—Hear me out!’ said Wegg. ‘Hear me out! I’ll go and fetch ’em.’ + </p> +<p> + After being some time absent, as if in his covetousness he could hardly + make up his mind to produce the treasure to his partner, he returned with + an old leathern hat-box, into which he had put the other box, for the + better preservation of commonplace appearances, and for the disarming of + suspicion. ‘But I don’t half like opening it here,’ said Silas in a low + voice, looking around: ‘he might come back, he may not be gone; we don’t + know what he may be up to, after what we’ve seen.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s something in that,’ assented Venus. ‘Come to my place.’ + </p> +<p> + Jealous of the custody of the box, and yet fearful of opening it under the + existing circumstances, Wegg hesitated. ‘Come, I tell you,’ repeated + Venus, chafing, ‘to my place.’ Not very well seeing his way to a refusal, + Mr Wegg then rejoined in a gush, ‘—Hear me out!—Certainly.’ So + he locked up the Bower and they set forth: Mr Venus taking his arm, and + keeping it with remarkable tenacity. + </p> +<p> + They found the usual dim light burning in the window of Mr Venus’s + establishment, imperfectly disclosing to the public the usual pair of + preserved frogs, sword in hand, with their point of honour still + unsettled. Mr Venus had closed his shop door on coming out, and now opened + it with the key and shut it again as soon as they were within; but not + before he had put up and barred the shutters of the shop window. ‘No one + can get in without being let in,’ said he then, ‘and we couldn’t be more + snug than here.’ So he raked together the yet warm cinders in the rusty + grate, and made a fire, and trimmed the candle on the little counter. As + the fire cast its flickering gleams here and there upon the dark greasy + walls; the Hindoo baby, the African baby, the articulated English baby, + the assortment of skulls, and the rest of the collection, came starting to + their various stations as if they had all been out, like their master and + were punctual in a general rendezvous to assist at the secret. The French + gentleman had grown considerably since Mr Wegg last saw him, being now + accommodated with a pair of legs and a head, though his arms were yet in + abeyance. To whomsoever the head had originally belonged, Silas Wegg would + have regarded it as a personal favour if he had not cut quite so many + teeth. + </p> +<p> + Silas took his seat in silence on the wooden box before the fire, and + Venus dropping into his low chair produced from among his skeleton hands, + his tea-tray and tea-cups, and put the kettle on. Silas inwardly approved + of these preparations, trusting they might end in Mr Venus’s diluting his + intellect. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, sir,’ said Venus, ‘all is safe and quiet. Let us see this + discovery.’ + </p> +<p> + With still reluctant hands, and not without several glances towards the + skeleton hands, as if he mistrusted that a couple of them might spring + forth and clutch the document, Wegg opened the hat-box and revealed the + cash-box, opened the cash-box and revealed the will. He held a corner of + it tight, while Venus, taking hold of another corner, searchingly and + attentively read it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Was I correct in my account of it, partner?’ said Mr Wegg at length. + </p> +<p> + ‘Partner, you were,’ said Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg thereupon made an easy, graceful movement, as though he would fold + it up; but Mr Venus held on by his corner. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir,’ said Mr Venus, winking his weak eyes and shaking his head. ‘No, + partner. The question is now brought up, who is going to take care of + this. Do you know who is going to take care of this, partner?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am,’ said Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh dear no, partner,’ retorted Venus. ‘That’s a mistake. I am. Now look + here, Mr Wegg. I don’t want to have any words with you, and still less do + I want to have any anatomical pursuits with you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean?’ said Wegg, quickly. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean, partner,’ replied Venus, slowly, ‘that it’s hardly possible for a + man to feel in a more amiable state towards another man than I do towards + you at this present moment. But I am on my own ground, I am surrounded by + the trophies of my art, and my tools is very handy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean, Mr Venus?’ asked Wegg again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am surrounded, as I have observed,’ said Mr Venus, placidly, ‘by the + trophies of my art. They are numerous, my stock of human warious is large, + the shop is pretty well crammed, and I don’t just now want any more + trophies of my art. But I like my art, and I know how to exercise my art.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No man better,’ assented Mr Wegg, with a somewhat staggered air. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s the Miscellanies of several human specimens,’ said Venus, + ‘(though you mightn’t think it) in the box on which you’re sitting. + There’s the Miscellanies of several human specimens, in the lovely + compo-one behind the door’; with a nod towards the French gentleman. ‘It + still wants a pair of arms. I <i>don’t</i> say that I’m in any hurry for ’em.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You must be wandering in your mind, partner,’ Silas remonstrated. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ll excuse me if I wander,’ returned Venus; ‘I am sometimes rather + subject to it. I like my art, and I know how to exercise my art, and I + mean to have the keeping of this document.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But what has that got to do with your art, partner?’ asked Wegg, in an + insinuating tone. + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus winked his chronically-fatigued eyes both at once, and adjusting + the kettle on the fire, remarked to himself, in a hollow voice, ‘She’ll + bile in a couple of minutes.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas Wegg glanced at the kettle, glanced at the shelves, glanced at the + French gentleman behind the door, and shrank a little as he glanced at Mr + Venus winking his red eyes, and feeling in his waistcoat pocket—as + for a lancet, say—with his unoccupied hand. He and Venus were + necessarily seated close together, as each held a corner of the document, + which was but a common sheet of paper. + </p> +<p> + ‘Partner,’ said Wegg, even more insinuatingly than before, ‘I propose that + we cut it in half, and each keep a half.’ + </p> +<p> + Venus shook his shock of hair, as he replied, ‘It wouldn’t do to mutilate + it, partner. It might seem to be cancelled.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Partner,’ said Wegg, after a silence, during which they had contemplated + one another, ‘don’t your speaking countenance say that you’re a-going to + suggest a middle course?’ + </p> +<p> + Venus shook his shock of hair as he replied, ‘Partner, you have kept this + paper from me once. You shall never keep it from me again. I offer you the + box and the label to take care of, but I’ll take care of the paper.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas hesitated a little longer, and then suddenly releasing his corner, + and resuming his buoyant and benignant tone, exclaimed, ‘What’s life + without trustfulness! What’s a fellow-man without honour! You’re welcome + to it, partner, in a spirit of trust and confidence.’ + </p> +<p> + Continuing to wink his red eyes both together—but in a + self-communing way, and without any show of triumph—Mr Venus folded + the paper now left in his hand, and locked it in a drawer behind him, and + pocketed the key. He then proposed ‘A cup of tea, partner?’ To which Mr + Wegg returned, ‘Thank’ee, partner,’ and the tea was made and poured out. + </p> +<p> + ‘Next,’ said Venus, blowing at his tea in his saucer, and looking over it + at his confidential friend, ‘comes the question, What’s the course to be + pursued?’ + </p> +<p> + On this head, Silas Wegg had much to say. Silas had to say That, he would + beg to remind his comrade, brother, and partner, of the impressive + passages they had read that evening; of the evident parallel in Mr + Boffin’s mind between them and the late owner of the Bower, and the + present circumstances of the Bower; of the bottle; and of the box. That, + the fortunes of his brother and comrade, and of himself were evidently + made, inasmuch as they had but to put their price upon this document, and + get that price from the minion of fortune and the worm of the hour: who + now appeared to be less of a minion and more of a worm than had been + previously supposed. That, he considered it plain that such price was + stateable in a single expressive word, and that the word was, ‘Halves!’ + That, the question then arose when ‘Halves!’ should be called. That, here + he had a plan of action to recommend, with a conditional clause. That, the + plan of action was that they should lie by with patience; that, they + should allow the Mounds to be gradually levelled and cleared away, while + retaining to themselves their present opportunity of watching the process—which + would be, he conceived, to put the trouble and cost of daily digging and + delving upon somebody else, while they might nightly turn such complete + disturbance of the dust to the account of their own private investigations—and + that, when the Mounds were gone, and they had worked those chances for + their own joint benefit solely, they should then, and not before, explode + on the minion and worm. But here came the conditional clause, and to this + he entreated the special attention of his comrade, brother, and partner. + It was not to be borne that the minion and worm should carry off any of + that property which was now to be regarded as their own property. When he, + Mr Wegg, had seen the minion surreptitiously making off with that bottle, + and its precious contents unknown, he had looked upon him in the light of + a mere robber, and, as such, would have despoiled him of his ill-gotten + gain, but for the judicious interference of his comrade, brother, and + partner. Therefore, the conditional clause he proposed was, that, if the + minion should return in his late sneaking manner, and if, being closely + watched, he should be found to possess himself of anything, no matter + what, the sharp sword impending over his head should be instantly shown + him, he should be strictly examined as to what he knew or suspected, + should be severely handled by them his masters, and should be kept in a + state of abject moral bondage and slavery until the time when they should + see fit to permit him to purchase his freedom at the price of half his + possessions. If, said Mr Wegg by way of peroration, he had erred in saying + only ‘Halves!’ he trusted to his comrade, brother, and partner not to + hesitate to set him right, and to reprove his weakness. It might be more + according to the rights of things, to say Two-thirds; it might be more + according to the rights of things, to say Three-fourths. On those points + he was ever open to correction. + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus, having wafted his attention to this discourse over three + successive saucers of tea, signified his concurrence in the views + advanced. Inspirited hereby, Mr Wegg extended his right hand, and declared + it to be a hand which never yet. Without entering into more minute + particulars. Mr Venus, sticking to his tea, briefly professed his belief + as polite forms required of him, that it <i>was </i>a hand which never yet. But + contented himself with looking at it, and did not take it to his bosom. + </p> +<p> + ‘Brother,’ said Wegg, when this happy understanding was established, ‘I + should like to ask you something. You remember the night when I first + looked in here, and found you floating your powerful mind in tea?’ + </p> +<p> + Still swilling tea, Mr Venus nodded assent. + </p> +<p> + ‘And there you sit, sir,’ pursued Wegg with an air of thoughtful + admiration, ‘as if you had never left off! There you sit, sir, as if you + had an unlimited capacity of assimilating the flagrant article! There you + sit, sir, in the midst of your works, looking as if you’d been called upon + for Home, Sweet Home, and was obleeging the company! + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “A exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,<br> + O give you your lowly Preparations again,<br> + The birds stuffed so sweetly that can’t be expected to come at + your call,<br> + Give you these with the peace of mind dearer than all.<br> + Home, Home, Home, sweet Home!” + </p> +<p> + —Be it ever,’ added Mr Wegg in prose as he glanced about the shop, + ‘ever so ghastly, all things considered there’s no place like it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You said you’d like to ask something; but you haven’t asked it,’ remarked + Venus, very unsympathetic in manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your peace of mind,’ said Wegg, offering condolence, ‘your peace of mind + was in a poor way that night. <i>How’s</i> it going on? <i>is</i> it looking up at all?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She does not wish,’ replied Mr Venus with a comical mixture of indignant + obstinacy and tender melancholy, ‘to regard herself, nor yet to be + regarded, in that particular light. There’s no more to be said.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, dear me, dear me!’ exclaimed Wegg with a sigh, but eyeing him while + pretending to keep him company in eyeing the fire, ‘such is Woman! And I + remember you said that night, sitting there as I sat here—said that + night when your peace of mind was first laid low, that you had taken an + interest in these very affairs. Such is coincidence!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her father,’ rejoined Venus, and then stopped to swallow more tea, ‘her + father was mixed up in them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You didn’t mention her name, sir, I think?’ observed Wegg, pensively. + ‘No, you didn’t mention her name that night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pleasant Riderhood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In—deed!’ cried Wegg. ‘Pleasant Riderhood. There’s something moving + in the name. Pleasant. Dear me! Seems to express what she might have been, + if she hadn’t made that unpleasant remark—and what she ain’t, in + consequence of having made it. Would it at all pour balm into your wounds, + Mr Venus, to inquire how you came acquainted with her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was down at the water-side,’ said Venus, taking another gulp of tea and + mournfully winking at the fire—‘looking for parrots’—taking + another gulp and stopping. + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg hinted, to jog his attention: ‘You could hardly have been out + parrot-shooting, in the British climate, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no,’ said Venus fretfully. ‘I was down at the water-side, looking + for parrots brought home by sailors, to buy for stuffing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, ay, ay, sir!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—And looking for a nice pair of rattlesnakes, to articulate for a + Museum—when I was doomed to fall in with her and deal with her. It + was just at the time of that discovery in the river. Her father had seen + the discovery being towed in the river. I made the popularity of the + subject a reason for going back to improve the acquaintance, and I have + never since been the man I was. My very bones is rendered flabby by + brooding over it. If they could be brought to me loose, to sort, I should + hardly have the face to claim ’em as mine. To such an extent have I fallen + off under it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg, less interested than he had been, glanced at one particular shelf + in the dark. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why I remember, Mr Venus,’ he said in a tone of friendly commiseration + ‘(for I remember every word that falls from you, sir), I remember that you + said that night, you had got up there—and then your words was, + “Never mind.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—The parrot that I bought of her,’ said Venus, with a despondent + rise and fall of his eyes. ‘Yes; there it lies on its side, dried up; + except for its plumage, very like myself. I’ve never had the heart to + prepare it, and I never shall have now.’ + </p> +<p> + With a disappointed face, Silas mentally consigned this parrot to regions + more than tropical, and, seeming for the time to have lost his power of + assuming an interest in the woes of Mr Venus, fell to tightening his + wooden leg as a preparation for departure: its gymnastic performances of + that evening having severely tried its constitution. + </p> +<p> + After Silas had left the shop, hat-box in hand, and had left Mr Venus to + lower himself to oblivion-point with the requisite weight of tea, it + greatly preyed on his ingenuous mind that he had taken this artist into + partnership at all. He bitterly felt that he had overreached himself in + the beginning, by grasping at Mr Venus’s mere straws of hints, now shown + to be worthless for his purpose. Casting about for ways and means of + dissolving the connexion without loss of money, reproaching himself for + having been betrayed into an avowal of his secret, and complimenting + himself beyond measure on his purely accidental good luck, he beguiled the + distance between Clerkenwell and the mansion of the Golden Dustman. + </p> +<p> + For, Silas Wegg felt it to be quite out of the question that he could lay + his head upon his pillow in peace, without first hovering over Mr Boffin’s + house in the superior character of its Evil Genius. Power (unless it be + the power of intellect or virtue) has ever the greatest attraction for the + lowest natures; and the mere defiance of the unconscious house-front, with + his power to strip the roof off the inhabiting family like the roof of a + house of cards, was a treat which had a charm for Silas Wegg. + </p> +<p> + As he hovered on the opposite side of the street, exulting, the carriage + drove up. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0479m " src="images/0479m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0479m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0479.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4762706274665298719"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘There’ll shortly be an end of <i>you</i>,’ said Wegg, threatening it with the + hat-box. ‘<i>Your </i>varnish is fading.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin descended and went in. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look out for a fall, my Lady Dustwoman,’ said Wegg. + </p> +<p> + Bella lightly descended, and ran in after her. + </p> +<p> + ‘How brisk we are!’ said Wegg. ‘You won’t run so gaily to your old shabby + home, my girl. You’ll have to go there, though.’ + </p> +<p> + A little while, and the Secretary came out. + </p> +<p> + ‘I was passed over for you,’ said Wegg. ‘But you had better provide + yourself with another situation, young man.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin’s shadow passed upon the blinds of three large windows as he + trotted down the room, and passed again as he went back. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yoop!’ cried Wegg. ‘You’re there, are you? Where’s the bottle? You would + give your bottle for my box, Dustman!’ + </p> +<p> + Having now composed his mind for slumber, he turned homeward. Such was the + greed of the fellow, that his mind had shot beyond halves, two-thirds, + three-fourths, and gone straight to spoliation of the whole. ‘Though that + wouldn’t quite do,’ he considered, growing cooler as he got away. ‘That’s + what would happen to him if he didn’t buy us up. We should get nothing by + that.’ + </p> +<p> + We so judge others by ourselves, that it had never come into his head + before, that he might not buy us up, and might prove honest, and prefer to + be poor. It caused him a slight tremor as it passed; but a very slight + one, for the idle thought was gone directly. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s grown too fond of money for that,’ said Wegg; ‘he’s grown too fond + of money.’ The burden fell into a strain or tune as he stumped along the + pavements. All the way home he stumped it out of the rattling streets, + <i>piano </i>with his own foot, and <i>forte </i>with his wooden leg, ‘He’s <i>grown </i>too + <i>fond of money for that, he’s grown too fond of money</i>.’ + </p> +<p> + Even next day Silas soothed himself with this melodious strain, when he + was called out of bed at daybreak, to set open the yard-gate and admit the + train of carts and horses that came to carry off the little Mound. And all + day long, as he kept unwinking watch on the slow process which promised to + protract itself through many days and weeks, whenever (to save himself + from being choked with dust) he patrolled a little cinderous beat he + established for the purpose, without taking his eyes from the diggers, he + still stumped to the tune: He’s <i>grown too fond of money for that, he’s + grown too fond of money.</i>’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0041"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> +<h3> + THE END OF A LONG JOURNEY + </h3> +<p> + The train of carts and horses came and went all day from dawn to + nightfall, making little or no daily impression on the heap of ashes, + though, as the days passed on, the heap was seen to be slowly melting. My + lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, when you in the course of your + dust-shovelling and cinder-raking have piled up a mountain of pretentious + failure, you must off with your honourable coats for the removal of it, + and fall to the work with the power of all the queen’s horses and all the + queen’s men, or it will come rushing down and bury us alive. + </p> +<p> + Yes, verily, my lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, adapting your + Catechism to the occasion, and by God’s help so you must. For when we have + got things to the pass that with an enormous treasure at disposal to + relieve the poor, the best of the poor detest our mercies, hide their + heads from us, and shame us by starving to death in the midst of us, it is + a pass impossible of prosperity, impossible of continuance. It may not be + so written in the Gospel according to Podsnappery; you may not ‘find these + words’ for the text of a sermon, in the Returns of the Board of Trade; but + they have been the truth since the foundations of the universe were laid, + and they will be the truth until the foundations of the universe are + shaken by the Builder. This boastful handiwork of ours, which fails in its + terrors for the professional pauper, the sturdy breaker of windows and the + rampant tearer of clothes, strikes with a cruel and a wicked stab at the + stricken sufferer, and is a horror to the deserving and unfortunate. We + must mend it, lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, or in its own + evil hour it will mar every one of us. + </p> +<p> + Old Betty Higden fared upon her pilgrimage as many ruggedly honest + creatures, women and men, fare on their toiling way along the roads of + life. Patiently to earn a spare bare living, and quietly to die, untouched + by workhouse hands—this was her highest sublunary hope. + </p> +<p> + Nothing had been heard of her at Mr Boffin’s house since she trudged off. + The weather had been hard and the roads had been bad, and her spirit was + up. A less stanch spirit might have been subdued by such adverse + influences; but the loan for her little outfit was in no part repaid, and + it had gone worse with her than she had foreseen, and she was put upon + proving her case and maintaining her independence. + </p> +<p> + Faithful soul! When she had spoken to the Secretary of that ‘deadness that + steals over me at times’, her fortitude had made too little of it. Oftener + and ever oftener, it came stealing over her; darker and ever darker, like + the shadow of advancing Death. That the shadow should be deep as it came + on, like the shadow of an actual presence, was in accordance with the laws + of the physical world, for all the Light that shone on Betty Higden lay + beyond Death. + </p> +<p> + The poor old creature had taken the upward course of the river Thames as + her general track; it was the track in which her last home lay, and of + which she had last had local love and knowledge. She had hovered for a + little while in the near neighbourhood of her abandoned dwelling, and had + sold, and knitted and sold, and gone on. In the pleasant towns of + Chertsey, Walton, Kingston, and Staines, her figure came to be quite well + known for some short weeks, and then again passed on. + </p> +<p> + She would take her stand in market-places, where there were such things, + on market days; at other times, in the busiest (that was seldom very busy) + portion of the little quiet High Street; at still other times she would + explore the outlying roads for great houses, and would ask leave at the + Lodge to pass in with her basket, and would not often get it. But ladies + in carriages would frequently make purchases from her trifling stock, and + were usually pleased with her bright eyes and her hopeful speech. In these + and her clean dress originated a fable that she was well to do in the + world: one might say, for her station, rich. As making a comfortable + provision for its subject which costs nobody anything, this class of fable + has long been popular. + </p> +<p> + In those pleasant little towns on Thames, you may hear the fall of the + water over the weirs, or even, in still weather, the rustle of the rushes; + and from the bridge you may see the young river, dimpled like a young + child, playfully gliding away among the trees, unpolluted by the + defilements that lie in wait for it on its course, and as yet out of + hearing of the deep summons of the sea. It were too much to pretend that + Betty Higden made out such thoughts; no; but she heard the tender river + whispering to many like herself, ‘Come to me, come to me! When the cruel + shame and terror you have so long fled from, most beset you, come to me! I + am the Relieving Officer appointed by eternal ordinance to do my work; I + am not held in estimation according as I shirk it. My breast is softer + than the pauper-nurse’s; death in my arms is peacefuller than among the + pauper-wards. Come to me!’ + </p> +<p> + There was abundant place for gentler fancies too, in her untutored mind. + Those gentlefolks and their children inside those fine houses, could they + think, as they looked out at her, what it was to be really hungry, really + cold? Did they feel any of the wonder about her, that she felt about them? + Bless the dear laughing children! If they could have seen sick Johnny in + her arms, would they have cried for pity? If they could have seen dead + Johnny on that little bed, would they have understood it? Bless the dear + children for his sake, anyhow! So with the humbler houses in the little + street, the inner firelight shining on the panes as the outer twilight + darkened. When the families gathered in-doors there, for the night, it was + only a foolish fancy to feel as if it were a little hard in them to close + the shutter and blacken the flame. So with the lighted shops, and + speculations whether their masters and mistresses taking tea in a + perspective of back-parlour—not so far within but that the flavour + of tea and toast came out, mingled with the glow of light, into the street—ate + or drank or wore what they sold, with the greater relish because they + dealt in it. So with the churchyard on a branch of the solitary way to the + night’s sleeping-place. ‘Ah me! The dead and I seem to have it pretty much + to ourselves in the dark and in this weather! But so much the better for + all who are warmly housed at home.’ The poor soul envied no one in + bitterness, and grudged no one anything. + </p> +<p> + But, the old abhorrence grew stronger on her as she grew weaker, and it + found more sustaining food than she did in her wanderings. Now, she would + light upon the shameful spectacle of some desolate creature—or some + wretched ragged groups of either sex, or of both sexes, with children + among them, huddled together like the smaller vermin for a little warmth—lingering + and lingering on a doorstep, while the appointed evader of the public + trust did his dirty office of trying to weary them out and so get rid of + them. Now, she would light upon some poor decent person, like herself, + going afoot on a pilgrimage of many weary miles to see some worn-out + relative or friend who had been charitably clutched off to a great blank + barren Union House, as far from old home as the County Jail (the + remoteness of which is always its worst punishment for small rural + offenders), and in its dietary, and in its lodging, and in its tending of + the sick, a much more penal establishment. Sometimes she would hear a + newspaper read out, and would learn how the Registrar General cast up the + units that had within the last week died of want and of exposure to the + weather: for which that Recording Angel seemed to have a regular fixed + place in his sum, as if they were its halfpence. All such things she would + hear discussed, as we, my lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, in + our unapproachable magnificence never hear them, and from all such things + she would fly with the wings of raging Despair. + </p> +<p> + This is not to be received as a figure of speech. Old Betty Higden however + tired, however footsore, would start up and be driven away by her awakened + horror of falling into the hands of Charity. It is a remarkable Christian + improvement, to have made a pursuing Fury of the Good Samaritan; but it + was so in this case, and it is a type of many, many, many. + </p> +<p> + Two incidents united to intensify the old unreasoning abhorrence—granted + in a previous place to be unreasoning, because the people always are + unreasoning, and invariably make a point of producing all their smoke + without fire. + </p> +<p> + One day she was sitting in a market-place on a bench outside an inn, with + her little wares for sale, when the deadness that she strove against came + over her so heavily that the scene departed from before her eyes; when it + returned, she found herself on the ground, her head supported by some + good-natured market-women, and a little crowd about her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you better now, mother?’ asked one of the women. ‘Do you think you + can do nicely now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have I been ill then?’ asked old Betty. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have had a faint like,’ was the answer, ‘or a fit. It ain’t that + you’ve been a-struggling, mother, but you’ve been stiff and numbed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ said Betty, recovering her memory. ‘It’s the numbness. Yes. It comes + over me at times.’ + </p> +<p> + Was it gone? the women asked her. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s gone now,’ said Betty. ‘I shall be stronger than I was afore. Many + thanks to ye, my dears, and when you come to be as old as I am, may others + do as much for you!’ + </p> +<p> + They assisted her to rise, but she could not stand yet, and they supported + her when she sat down again upon the bench. + </p> +<p> + ‘My head’s a bit light, and my feet are a bit heavy,’ said old Betty, + leaning her face drowsily on the breast of the woman who had spoken + before. ‘They’ll both come nat’ral in a minute. There’s nothing more the + matter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ask her,’ said some farmers standing by, who had come out from their + market-dinner, ‘who belongs to her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are there any folks belonging to you, mother?’ said the woman. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes sure,’ answered Betty. ‘I heerd the gentleman say it, but I couldn’t + answer quick enough. There’s plenty belonging to me. Don’t ye fear for me, + my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But are any of ’em near here?’ said the men’s voices; the women’s voices + chiming in when it was said, and prolonging the strain. + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite near enough,’ said Betty, rousing herself. ‘Don’t ye be afeard for + me, neighbours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you are not fit to travel. Where are you going?’ was the next + compassionate chorus she heard. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m a going to London when I’ve sold out all,’ said Betty, rising with + difficulty. ‘I’ve right good friends in London. I want for nothing. I + shall come to no harm. Thankye. Don’t ye be afeard for me.’ + </p> +<p> + A well-meaning bystander, yellow-legginged and purple-faced, said hoarsely + over his red comforter, as she rose to her feet, that she ‘oughtn’t to be + let to go’. + </p> +<p> + ‘For the Lord’s love don’t meddle with me!’ cried old Betty, all her fears + crowding on her. ‘I am quite well now, and I must go this minute.’ + </p> +<p> + She caught up her basket as she spoke and was making an unsteady rush away + from them, when the same bystander checked her with his hand on her + sleeve, and urged her to come with him and see the parish-doctor. + Strengthening herself by the utmost exercise of her resolution, the poor + trembling creature shook him off, almost fiercely, and took to flight. Nor + did she feel safe until she had set a mile or two of by-road between + herself and the marketplace, and had crept into a copse, like a hunted + animal, to hide and recover breath. Not until then for the first time did + she venture to recall how she had looked over her shoulder before turning + out of the town, and had seen the sign of the White Lion hanging across + the road, and the fluttering market booths, and the old grey church, and + the little crowd gazing after her but not attempting to follow her. + </p> +<p> + The second frightening incident was this. She had been again as bad, and + had been for some days better, and was travelling along by a part of the + road where it touched the river, and in wet seasons was so often + overflowed by it that there were tall white posts set up to mark the way. + A barge was being towed towards her, and she sat down on the bank to rest + and watch it. As the tow-rope was slackened by a turn of the stream and + dipped into the water, such a confusion stole into her mind that she + thought she saw the forms of her dead children and dead grandchildren + peopling the barge, and waving their hands to her in solemn measure; then, + as the rope tightened and came up, dropping diamonds, it seemed to vibrate + into two parallel ropes and strike her, with a twang, though it was far + off. When she looked again, there was no barge, no river, no daylight, and + a man whom she had never before seen held a candle close to her face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Missis,’ said he; ‘where did you come from and where are you going + to?’ + </p> +<p> + The poor soul confusedly asked the counter-question where she was? + </p> +<p> + ‘I am the Lock,’ said the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘The Lock?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am the Deputy Lock, on job, and this is the Lock-house. (Lock or Deputy + Lock, it’s all one, while the t’other man’s in the hospital.) What’s your + Parish?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Parish!’ She was up from the truckle-bed directly, wildly feeling about + her for her basket, and gazing at him in affright. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ll be asked the question down town,’ said the man. ‘They won’t let + you be more than a Casual there. They’ll pass you on to your settlement, + Missis, with all speed. You’re not in a state to be let come upon strange + parishes ’ceptin as a Casual.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘’Twas the deadness again!’ murmured Betty Higden, with her hand to her + head. + </p> +<p> + ‘It was the deadness, there’s not a doubt about it,’ returned the man. ‘I + should have thought the deadness was a mild word for it, if it had been + named to me when we brought you in. Have you got any friends, Missis?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The best of friends, Master.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should recommend your looking ’em up if you consider ’em game to do + anything for you,’ said the Deputy Lock. ‘Have you got any money?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Just a morsel of money, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you want to keep it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sure I do!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, you know,’ said the Deputy Lock, shrugging his shoulders with his + hands in his pockets, and shaking his head in a sulkily ominous manner, + ‘the parish authorities down town will have it out of you, if you go on, + you may take your Alfred David.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I’ll not go on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They’ll make you pay, as fur as your money will go,’ pursued the Deputy, + ‘for your relief as a Casual and for your being passed to your Parish.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank ye kindly, Master, for your warning, thank ye for your shelter, and + good night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop a bit,’ said the Deputy, striking in between her and the door. ‘Why + are you all of a shake, and what’s your hurry, Missis?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Master, Master,’ returned Betty Higden, ‘I’ve fought against the + Parish and fled from it, all my life, and I want to die free of it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said the Deputy, with deliberation, ‘as I ought to let you + go. I’m a honest man as gets my living by the sweat of my brow, and I may + fall into trouble by letting you go. I’ve fell into trouble afore now, by + George, and I know what it is, and it’s made me careful. You might be took + with your deadness again, half a mile off—or half of half a quarter, + for the matter of that—and then it would be asked, Why did that + there honest Deputy Lock, let her go, instead of putting her safe with the + Parish? That’s what a man of his character ought to have done, it would be + argueyfied,’ said the Deputy Lock, cunningly harping on the strong string + of her terror; ‘he ought to have handed her over safe to the Parish. That + was to be expected of a man of his merits.’ + </p> +<p> + As he stood in the doorway, the poor old careworn wayworn woman burst into + tears, and clasped her hands, as if in a very agony she prayed to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘As I’ve told you, Master, I’ve the best of friends. This letter will show + how true I spoke, and they will be thankful for me.’ + </p> +<p> + The Deputy Lock opened the letter with a grave face, which underwent no + change as he eyed its contents. But it might have done, if he could have + read them. + </p> +<p> + ‘What amount of small change, Missis,’ he said, with an abstracted air, + after a little meditation, ‘might you call a morsel of money?’ + </p> +<p> + Hurriedly emptying her pocket, old Betty laid down on the table, a + shilling, and two sixpenny pieces, and a few pence. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I was to let you go instead of handing you over safe to the Parish,’ + said the Deputy, counting the money with his eyes, ‘might it be your own + free wish to leave that there behind you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take it, Master, take it, and welcome and thankful!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m a man,’ said the Deputy, giving her back the letter, and pocketing + the coins, one by one, ‘as earns his living by the sweat of his brow;’ + here he drew his sleeve across his forehead, as if this particular portion + of his humble gains were the result of sheer hard labour and virtuous + industry; ‘and I won’t stand in your way. Go where you like.’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0488m " src="images/0488m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0488m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0488.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6612835358069968391"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + She was gone out of the Lock-house as soon as he gave her this permission, + and her tottering steps were on the road again. But, afraid to go back and + afraid to go forward; seeing what she fled from, in the sky-glare of the + lights of the little town before her, and leaving a confused horror of it + everywhere behind her, as if she had escaped it in every stone of every + market-place; she struck off by side ways, among which she got bewildered + and lost. That night she took refuge from the Samaritan in his latest + accredited form, under a farmer’s rick; and if—worth thinking of, + perhaps, my fellow-Christians—the Samaritan had in the lonely night, + ‘passed by on the other side’, she would have most devoutly thanked High + Heaven for her escape from him. + </p> +<p> + The morning found her afoot again, but fast declining as to the clearness + of her thoughts, though not as to the steadiness of her purpose. + Comprehending that her strength was quitting her, and that the struggle of + her life was almost ended, she could neither reason out the means of + getting back to her protectors, nor even form the idea. The overmastering + dread, and the proud stubborn resolution it engendered in her to die + undegraded, were the two distinct impressions left in her failing mind. + Supported only by a sense that she was bent on conquering in her life-long + fight, she went on. + </p> +<p> + The time was come, now, when the wants of this little life were passing + away from her. She could not have swallowed food, though a table had been + spread for her in the next field. The day was cold and wet, but she + scarcely knew it. She crept on, poor soul, like a criminal afraid of being + taken, and felt little beyond the terror of falling down while it was yet + daylight, and being found alive. She had no fear that she would live + through another night. + </p> +<p> + Sewn in the breast of her gown, the money to pay for her burial was still + intact. If she could wear through the day, and then lie down to die under + cover of the darkness, she would die independent. If she were captured + previously, the money would be taken from her as a pauper who had no right + to it, and she would be carried to the accursed workhouse. Gaining her + end, the letter would be found in her breast, along with the money, and + the gentlefolks would say when it was given back to them, ‘She prized it, + did old Betty Higden; she was true to it; and while she lived, she would + never let it be disgraced by falling into the hands of those that she held + in horror.’ Most illogical, inconsequential, and light-headed, this; but + travellers in the valley of the shadow of death are apt to be + light-headed; and worn-out old people of low estate have a trick of + reasoning as indifferently as they live, and doubtless would appreciate + our Poor Law more philosophically on an income of ten thousand a year. + </p> +<p> + So, keeping to byways, and shunning human approach, this troublesome old + woman hid herself, and fared on all through the dreary day. Yet so unlike + was she to vagrant hiders in general, that sometimes, as the day advanced, + there was a bright fire in her eyes, and a quicker beating at her feeble + heart, as though she said exultingly, ‘The Lord will see me through it!’ + </p> +<p> + By what visionary hands she was led along upon that journey of escape from + the Samaritan; by what voices, hushed in the grave, she seemed to be + addressed; how she fancied the dead child in her arms again, and times + innumerable adjusted her shawl to keep it warm; what infinite variety of + forms of tower and roof and steeple the trees took; how many furious + horsemen rode at her, crying, ‘There she goes! Stop! Stop, Betty Higden!’ + and melted away as they came close; be these things left untold. Faring on + and hiding, hiding and faring on, the poor harmless creature, as though + she were a Murderess and the whole country were up after her, wore out the + day, and gained the night. + </p> +<p> + ‘Water-meadows, or such like,’ she had sometimes murmured, on the day’s + pilgrimage, when she had raised her head and taken any note of the real + objects about her. There now arose in the darkness, a great building, full + of lighted windows. Smoke was issuing from a high chimney in the rear of + it, and there was the sound of a water-wheel at the side. Between her and + the building, lay a piece of water, in which the lighted windows were + reflected, and on its nearest margin was a plantation of trees. ‘I humbly + thank the Power and the Glory,’ said Betty Higden, holding up her withered + hands, ‘that I have come to my journey’s end!’ + </p> +<p> + She crept among the trees to the trunk of a tree whence she could see, + beyond some intervening trees and branches, the lighted windows, both in + their reality and their reflection in the water. She placed her orderly + little basket at her side, and sank upon the ground, supporting herself + against the tree. It brought to her mind the foot of the Cross, and she + committed herself to Him who died upon it. Her strength held out to enable + her to arrange the letter in her breast, so as that it could be seen that + she had a paper there. It had held out for this, and it departed when this + was done. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am safe here,’ was her last benumbed thought. ‘When I am found dead at + the foot of the Cross, it will be by some of my own sort; some of the + working people who work among the lights yonder. I cannot see the lighted + windows now, but they are there. I am thankful for all!’ + </p> +<p> + The darkness gone, and a face bending down. + </p> +<p> + ‘It cannot be the boofer lady?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t understand what you say. Let me wet your lips again with this + brandy. I have been away to fetch it. Did you think that I was long gone?’ + </p> +<p> + It is as the face of a woman, shaded by a quantity of rich dark hair. It + is the earnest face of a woman who is young and handsome. But all is over + with me on earth, and this must be an Angel. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have I been long dead?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t understand what you say. Let me wet your lips again. I hurried + all I could, and brought no one back with me, lest you should die of the + shock of strangers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Am I not dead?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I cannot understand what you say. Your voice is so low and broken that I + cannot hear you. Do you hear me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you mean Yes?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I was coming from my work just now, along the path outside (I was up with + the night-hands last night), and I heard a groan, and found you lying + here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What work, deary?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you ask what work? At the paper-mill.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where is it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your face is turned up to the sky, and you can’t see it. It is close by. + You can see my face, here, between you and the sky?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dare I lift you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not yet.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not even lift your head to get it on my arm? I will do it by very gentle + degrees. You shall hardly feel it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not yet. Paper. Letter.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This paper in your breast?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless ye!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let me wet your lips again. Am I to open it? To read it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless ye!’ + </p> +<p> + She reads it with surprise, and looks down with a new expression and an + added interest on the motionless face she kneels beside. + </p> +<p> + ‘I know these names. I have heard them often.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you send it, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I cannot understand you. Let me wet your lips again, and your forehead. + There. O poor thing, poor thing!’ These words through her fast-dropping + tears. ‘What was it that you asked me? Wait till I bring my ear quite + close.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you send it, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will I send it to the writers? Is that your wish? Yes, certainly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ll not give it up to any one but them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As you must grow old in time, and come to your dying hour, my dear, + you’ll not give it up to any one but them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Most solemnly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never to the Parish!’ with a convulsed struggle. + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Most solemnly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor let the Parish touch me, not yet so much as look at me!’ with another + struggle. + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Faithfully.’ + </p> +<p> + A look of thankfulness and triumph lights the worn old face. + </p> +<p> + The eyes, which have been darkly fixed upon the sky, turn with meaning in + them towards the compassionate face from which the tears are dropping, and + a smile is on the aged lips as they ask: + </p> +<p> + ‘What is your name, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My name is Lizzie Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must be sore disfigured. Are you afraid to kiss me?’ + </p> +<p> + The answer is, the ready pressure of her lips upon the cold but smiling + mouth. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless ye! <i>Now </i>lift me, my love.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie Hexam very softly raised the weather-stained grey head, and lifted + her as high as Heaven. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0042"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 9 + </h2> +<h3> + SOMEBODY BECOMES THE SUBJECT OF A PREDICTION + </h3> +<p> + ‘“We give thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased thee to deliver this + our sister out of the miseries of this sinful world.”’ So read the + Reverend Frank Milvey in a not untroubled voice, for his heart misgave him + that all was not quite right between us and our sister—or say our + sister in Law—Poor Law—and that we sometimes read these words + in an awful manner, over our Sister and our Brother too. + </p> +<p> + And Sloppy—on whom the brave deceased had never turned her back + until she ran away from him, knowing that otherwise he would not be + separated from her—Sloppy could not in his conscience as yet find + the hearty thanks required of it. Selfish in Sloppy, and yet excusable, it + may be humbly hoped, because our sister had been more than his mother. + </p> +<p> + The words were read above the ashes of Betty Higden, in a corner of a + churchyard near the river; in a churchyard so obscure that there was + nothing in it but grass-mounds, not so much as one single tombstone. It + might not be to do an unreasonably great deal for the diggers and hewers, + in a registering age, if we ticketed their graves at the common charge; so + that a new generation might know which was which: so that the soldier, + sailor, emigrant, coming home, should be able to identify the + resting-place of father, mother, playmate, or betrothed. For, we turn up + our eyes and say that we are all alike in death, and we might turn them + down and work the saying out in this world, so far. It would be + sentimental, perhaps? But how say ye, my lords and gentleman and + honourable boards, shall we not find good standing-room left for a little + sentiment, if we look into our crowds? + </p> +<p> + Near unto the Reverend Frank Milvey as he read, stood his little wife, + John Rokesmith the Secretary, and Bella Wilfer. These, over and above + Sloppy, were the mourners at the lowly grave. Not a penny had been added + to the money sewn in her dress: what her honest spirit had so long + projected, was fulfilled. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ve took it in my head,’ said Sloppy, laying it, inconsolable, against + the church door, when all was done: ‘I’ve took it in my wretched head that + I might have sometimes turned a little harder for her, and it cuts me deep + to think so now.’ + </p> +<p> + The Reverend Frank Milvey, comforting Sloppy, expounded to him how the + best of us were more or less remiss in our turnings at our respective + Mangles—some of us very much so—and how we were all a halting, + failing, feeble, and inconstant crew. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>She </i>warn’t, sir,’ said Sloppy, taking this ghostly counsel rather ill, in + behalf of his late benefactress. ‘Let us speak for ourselves, sir. She + went through with whatever duty she had to do. She went through with me, + she went through with the Minders, she went through with herself, she went + through with everythink. O Mrs Higden, Mrs Higden, you was a woman and a + mother and a mangler in a million million!’ + </p> +<p> + With those heartfelt words, Sloppy removed his dejected head from the + church door, and took it back to the grave in the corner, and laid it down + there, and wept alone. ‘Not a very poor grave,’ said the Reverend Frank + Milvey, brushing his hand across his eyes, ‘when it has that homely figure + on it. Richer, I think, than it could be made by most of the sculpture in + Westminster Abbey!’ + </p> +<p> + They left him undisturbed, and passed out at the wicket-gate. The + water-wheel of the paper-mill was audible there, and seemed to have a + softening influence on the bright wintry scene. They had arrived but a + little while before, and Lizzie Hexam now told them the little she could + add to the letter in which she had enclosed Mr Rokesmith’s letter and had + asked for their instructions. This was merely how she had heard the groan, + and what had afterwards passed, and how she had obtained leave for the + remains to be placed in that sweet, fresh, empty store-room of the mill + from which they had just accompanied them to the churchyard, and how the + last requests had been religiously observed. + </p> +<p> + ‘I could not have done it all, or nearly all, of myself,’ said Lizzie. ‘I + should not have wanted the will; but I should not have had the power, + without our managing partner.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Surely not the Jew who received us?’ said Mrs Milvey. + </p> +<p> + (‘My dear,’ observed her husband in parenthesis, ‘why not?’) + </p> +<p> + ‘The gentleman certainly is a Jew,’ said Lizzie, ‘and the lady, his wife, + is a Jewess, and I was first brought to their notice by a Jew. But I think + there cannot be kinder people in the world.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But suppose they try to convert you!’ suggested Mrs Milvey, bristling in + her good little way, as a clergyman’s wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘To do what, ma’am?’ asked Lizzie, with a modest smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘To make you change your religion,’ said Mrs Milvey. + </p> +<p> + Lizzie shook her head, still smiling. ‘They have never asked me what my + religion is. They asked me what my story was, and I told them. They asked + me to be industrious and faithful, and I promised to be so. They most + willingly and cheerfully do their duty to all of us who are employed here, + and we try to do ours to them. Indeed they do much more than their duty to + us, for they are wonderfully mindful of us in many ways.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is easy to see you’re a favourite, my dear,’ said little Mrs Milvey, + not quite pleased. + </p> +<p> + ‘It would be very ungrateful in me to say I am not,’ returned Lizzie, ‘for + I have been already raised to a place of confidence here. But that makes + no difference in their following their own religion and leaving all of us + to ours. They never talk of theirs to us, and they never talk of ours to + us. If I was the last in the mill, it would be just the same. They never + asked me what religion that poor thing had followed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ said Mrs Milvey, aside to the Reverend Frank, ‘I wish you would + talk to her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ said the Reverend Frank aside to his good little wife, ‘I think + I will leave it to somebody else. The circumstances are hardly favourable. + There are plenty of talkers going about, my love, and she will soon find + one.’ + </p> +<p> + While this discourse was interchanging, both Bella and the Secretary + observed Lizzie Hexam with great attention. Brought face to face for the + first time with the daughter of his supposed murderer, it was natural that + John Harmon should have his own secret reasons for a careful scrutiny of + her countenance and manner. Bella knew that Lizzie’s father had been + falsely accused of the crime which had had so great an influence on her + own life and fortunes; and her interest, though it had no secret springs, + like that of the Secretary, was equally natural. Both had expected to see + something very different from the real Lizzie Hexam, and thus it fell out + that she became the unconscious means of bringing them together. + </p> +<p> + For, when they had walked on with her to the little house in the clean + village by the paper-mill, where Lizzie had a lodging with an elderly + couple employed in the establishment, and when Mrs Milvey and Bella had + been up to see her room and had come down, the mill bell rang. This called + Lizzie away for the time, and left the Secretary and Bella standing rather + awkwardly in the small street; Mrs Milvey being engaged in pursuing the + village children, and her investigations whether they were in danger of + becoming children of Israel; and the Reverend Frank being engaged—to + say the truth—in evading that branch of his spiritual functions, and + getting out of sight surreptitiously. + </p> +<p> + Bella at length said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Hadn’t we better talk about the commission we have undertaken, Mr + Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By all means,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose,’ faltered Bella, ‘that we <i>are </i>both commissioned, or we + shouldn’t both be here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose so,’ was the Secretary’s answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘When I proposed to come with Mr and Mrs Milvey,’ said Bella, ‘Mrs Boffin + urged me to do so, in order that I might give her my small report—it’s + not worth anything, Mr Rokesmith, except for it’s being a woman’s—which + indeed with you may be a fresh reason for it’s being worth nothing—of + Lizzie Hexam.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin,’ said the Secretary, ‘directed me to come for the same + purpose.’ + </p> +<p> + As they spoke they were leaving the little street and emerging on the + wooded landscape by the river. + </p> +<p> + ‘You think well of her, Mr Rokesmith?’ pursued Bella, conscious of making + all the advances. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think highly of her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am so glad of that! Something quite refined in her beauty, is there + not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her appearance is very striking.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is a shade of sadness upon her that is quite touching. At least I—I + am not setting up my own poor opinion, you know, Mr Rokesmith,’ said + Bella, excusing and explaining herself in a pretty shy way; ‘I am + consulting you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I noticed that sadness. I hope it may not,’ said the Secretary in a lower + voice, ‘be the result of the false accusation which has been retracted.’ + </p> +<p> + When they had passed on a little further without speaking, Bella, after + stealing a glance or two at the Secretary, suddenly said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Mr Rokesmith, don’t be hard with me, don’t be stern with me; be + magnanimous! I want to talk with you on equal terms.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary as suddenly brightened, and returned: ‘Upon my honour I had + no thought but for you. I forced myself to be constrained, lest you might + misinterpret my being more natural. There. It’s gone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ said Bella, holding out her little hand. ‘Forgive me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No!’ cried the Secretary, eagerly. ‘Forgive <i>me</i>!’ For there were tears in + her eyes, and they were prettier in his sight (though they smote him on + the heart rather reproachfully too) than any other glitter in the world. + </p> +<p> + When they had walked a little further: + </p> +<p> + ‘You were going to speak to me,’ said the Secretary, with the shadow so + long on him quite thrown off and cast away, ‘about Lizzie Hexam. So was I + going to speak to you, if I could have begun.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now that you <i>can </i>begin, sir,’ returned Bella, with a look as if she + italicized the word by putting one of her dimples under it, ‘what were you + going to say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You remember, of course, that in her short letter to Mrs Boffin—short, + but containing everything to the purpose—she stipulated that either + her name, or else her place of residence, must be kept strictly a secret + among us.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella nodded Yes. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is my duty to find out why she made that stipulation. I have it in + charge from Mr Boffin to discover, and I am very desirous for myself to + discover, whether that retracted accusation still leaves any stain upon + her. I mean whether it places her at any disadvantage towards any one, + even towards herself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Bella, nodding thoughtfully; ‘I understand. That seems wise, + and considerate.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You may not have noticed, Miss Wilfer, that she has the same kind of + interest in you, that you have in her. Just as you are attracted by her + beaut—by her appearance and manner, she is attracted by yours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I certainly have <i>not </i>noticed it,’ returned Bella, again italicizing with + the dimple, ‘and I should have given her credit for—’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary with a smile held up his hand, so plainly interposing ‘not + for better taste’, that Bella’s colour deepened over the little piece of + coquetry she was checked in. + </p> +<p> + ‘And so,’ resumed the Secretary, ‘if you would speak with her alone before + we go away from here, I feel quite sure that a natural and easy confidence + would arise between you. Of course you would not be asked to betray it; + and of course you would not, if you were. But if you do not object to put + this question to her—to ascertain for us her own feeling in this one + matter—you can do so at a far greater advantage than I or any else + could. Mr Boffin is anxious on the subject. And I am,’ added the Secretary + after a moment, ‘for a special reason, very anxious.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall be happy, Mr Rokesmith,’ returned Bella, ‘to be of the least use; + for I feel, after the serious scene of to-day, that I am useless enough in + this world.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t say that,’ urged the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, but I mean that,’ said Bella, raising her eyebrows. + </p> +<p> + ‘No one is useless in this world,’ retorted the Secretary, ‘who lightens + the burden of it for any one else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I assure you I <i>don’t</i>, Mr Rokesmith,’ said Bella, half-crying. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not for your father?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear, loving, self-forgetting, easily-satisfied Pa! Oh, yes! He thinks + so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is enough if he only thinks so,’ said the Secretary. ‘Excuse the + interruption: I don’t like to hear you depreciate yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But <i>you </i>once depreciated <i>me</i>, sir,’ thought Bella, pouting, ‘and I hope + you may be satisfied with the consequences you brought upon your head!’ + However, she said nothing to that purpose; she even said something to a + different purpose. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith, it seems so long since we spoke together naturally, that I + am embarrassed in approaching another subject. Mr Boffin. You know I am + very grateful to him; don’t you? You know I feel a true respect for him, + and am bound to him by the strong ties of his own generosity; now don’t + you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Unquestionably. And also that you are his favourite companion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That makes it,’ said Bella, ‘so very difficult to speak of him. But—. + Does he treat you well?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You see how he treats me,’ the Secretary answered, with a patient and yet + proud air. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and I see it with pain,’ said Bella, very energetically. + </p> +<p> + The Secretary gave her such a radiant look, that if he had thanked her a + hundred times, he could not have said as much as the look said. + </p> +<p> + ‘I see it with pain,’ repeated Bella, ‘and it often makes me miserable. + Miserable, because I cannot bear to be supposed to approve of it, or have + any indirect share in it. Miserable, because I cannot bear to be forced to + admit to myself that Fortune is spoiling Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Miss Wilfer,’ said the Secretary, with a beaming face, ‘if you could know + with what delight I make the discovery that Fortune isn’t spoiling <i>you</i>, + you would know that it more than compensates me for any slight at any + other hands.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, don’t speak of <i>me</i>,’ said Bella, giving herself an impatient little + slap with her glove. ‘You don’t know me as well as—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As you know yourself?’ suggested the Secretary, finding that she stopped. + ‘<i>Do</i> you know yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know quite enough of myself,’ said Bella, with a charming air of being + inclined to give herself up as a bad job, ‘and I don’t improve upon + acquaintance. But Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That Mr Boffin’s manner to me, or consideration for me, is not what it + used to be,’ observed the Secretary, ‘must be admitted. It is too plain to + be denied.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you disposed to deny it, Mr Rokesmith?’ asked Bella, with a look of + wonder. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ought I not to be glad to do so, if I could: though it were only for my + own sake?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Truly,’ returned Bella, ‘it must try you very much, and—you must + please promise me that you won’t take ill what I am going to add, Mr + Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I promise it with all my heart.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—And it must sometimes, I should think,’ said Bella, hesitating, ‘a + little lower you in your own estimation?’ + </p> +<p> + Assenting with a movement of his head, though not at all looking as if it + did, the Secretary replied: + </p> +<p> + ‘I have very strong reasons, Miss Wilfer, for bearing with the drawbacks + of my position in the house we both inhabit. Believe that they are not all + mercenary, although I have, through a series of strange fatalities, faded + out of my place in life. If what you see with such a gracious and good + sympathy is calculated to rouse my pride, there are other considerations + (and those you do not see) urging me to quiet endurance. The latter are by + far the stronger.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think I have noticed, Mr Rokesmith,’ said Bella, looking at him with + curiosity, as not quite making him out, ‘that you repress yourself, and + force yourself, to act a passive part.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are right. I repress myself and force myself to act a part. It is not + in tameness of spirit that I submit. I have a settled purpose.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And a good one, I hope,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘And a good one, I hope,’ he answered, looking steadily at her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sometimes I have fancied, sir,’ said Bella, turning away her eyes, ‘that + your great regard for Mrs Boffin is a very powerful motive with you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are right again; it is. I would do anything for her, bear anything + for her. There are no words to express how I esteem that good, good + woman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As I do too! May I ask you one thing more, Mr Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Anything more.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course you see that she really suffers, when Mr Boffin shows how he is + changing?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I see it, every day, as you see it, and am grieved to give her pain.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To give her pain?’ said Bella, repeating the phrase quickly, with her + eyebrows raised. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am generally the unfortunate cause of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps she says to you, as she often says to me, that he is the best of + men, in spite of all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I often overhear her, in her honest and beautiful devotion to him, saying + so to you,’ returned the Secretary, with the same steady look, ‘but I + cannot assert that she ever says so to me.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella met the steady look for a moment with a wistful, musing little look + of her own, and then, nodding her pretty head several times, like a + dimpled philosopher (of the very best school) who was moralizing on Life, + heaved a little sigh, and gave up things in general for a bad job, as she + had previously been inclined to give up herself. + </p> +<p> + But, for all that, they had a very pleasant walk. The trees were bare of + leaves, and the river was bare of water-lilies; but the sky was not bare + of its beautiful blue, and the water reflected it, and a delicious wind + ran with the stream, touching the surface crisply. Perhaps the old mirror + was never yet made by human hands, which, if all the images it has in its + time reflected could pass across its surface again, would fail to reveal + some scene of horror or distress. But the great serene mirror of the river + seemed as if it might have reproduced all it had ever reflected between + those placid banks, and brought nothing to the light save what was + peaceful, pastoral, and blooming. + </p> +<p> + So, they walked, speaking of the newly filled-up grave, and of Johnny, and + of many things. So, on their return, they met brisk Mrs Milvey coming to + seek them, with the agreeable intelligence that there was no fear for the + village children, there being a Christian school in the village, and no + worse Judaical interference with it than to plant its garden. So, they got + back to the village as Lizzie Hexam was coming from the paper-mill, and + Bella detached herself to speak with her in her own home. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am afraid it is a poor room for you,’ said Lizzie, with a smile of + welcome, as she offered the post of honour by the fireside. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not so poor as you think, my dear,’ returned Bella, ‘if you knew all.’ + Indeed, though attained by some wonderful winding narrow stairs, which + seemed to have been erected in a pure white chimney, and though very low + in the ceiling, and very rugged in the floor, and rather blinking as to + the proportions of its lattice window, it was a pleasanter room than that + despised chamber once at home, in which Bella had first bemoaned the + miseries of taking lodgers. + </p> +<p> + The day was closing as the two girls looked at one another by the + fireside. The dusky room was lighted by the fire. The grate might have + been the old brazier, and the glow might have been the old hollow down by + the flare. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s quite new to me,’ said Lizzie, ‘to be visited by a lady so nearly of + my own age, and so pretty, as you. It’s a pleasure to me to look at you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have nothing left to begin with,’ returned Bella, blushing, ‘because I + was going to say that it was a pleasure to me to look at you, Lizzie. But + we can begin without a beginning, can’t we?’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie took the pretty little hand that was held out in as pretty a little + frankness. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, dear,’ said Bella, drawing her chair a little nearer, and taking + Lizzie’s arm as if they were going out for a walk, ‘I am commissioned with + something to say, and I dare say I shall say it wrong, but I won’t if I + can help it. It is in reference to your letter to Mr and Mrs Boffin, and + this is what it is. Let me see. Oh yes! This is what it is.’ + </p> +<p> + With this exordium, Bella set forth that request of Lizzie’s touching + secrecy, and delicately spoke of that false accusation and its retraction, + and asked might she beg to be informed whether it had any bearing, near or + remote, on such request. ‘I feel, my dear,’ said Bella, quite amazing + herself by the business-like manner in which she was getting on, ‘that the + subject must be a painful one to you, but I am mixed up in it also; for—I + don’t know whether you may know it or suspect it—I am the + willed-away girl who was to have been married to the unfortunate + gentleman, if he had been pleased to approve of me. So I was dragged into + the subject without my consent, and you were dragged into it without your + consent, and there is very little to choose between us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I had no doubt,’ said Lizzie, ‘that you were the Miss Wilfer I have often + heard named. Can you tell me who my unknown friend is?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Unknown friend, my dear?’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Who caused the charge against poor father to be contradicted, and sent me + the written paper.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella had never heard of him. Had no notion who he was. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should have been glad to thank him,’ returned Lizzie. ‘He has done a + great deal for me. I must hope that he will let me thank him some day. You + asked me has it anything to do—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It or the accusation itself,’ Bella put in. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Has either anything to do with my wishing to live quite secret and + retired here? No.’ + </p> +<p> + As Lizzie Hexam shook her head in giving this reply and as her glance + sought the fire, there was a quiet resolution in her folded hands, not + lost on Bella’s bright eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you lived much alone?’ asked Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. It’s nothing new to me. I used to be always alone many hours + together, in the day and in the night, when poor father was alive.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have a brother, I have been told?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have a brother, but he is not friendly with me. He is a very good boy + though, and has raised himself by his industry. I don’t complain of him.’ + </p> +<p> + As she said it, with her eyes upon the fire-glow, there was an + instantaneous escape of distress into her face. Bella seized the moment to + touch her hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie, I wish you would tell me whether you have any friend of your own + sex and age.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have lived that lonely kind of life, that I have never had one,’ was + the answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor I neither,’ said Bella. ‘Not that my life has been lonely, for I + could have sometimes wished it lonelier, instead of having Ma going on + like the Tragic Muse with a face-ache in majestic corners, and Lavvy being + spiteful—though of course I am very fond of them both. I wish you + could make a friend of me, Lizzie. Do you think you could? I have no more + of what they call character, my dear, than a canary-bird, but I know I am + trustworthy.’ + </p> +<p> + The wayward, playful, affectionate nature, giddy for want of the weight of + some sustaining purpose, and capricious because it was always fluttering + among little things, was yet a captivating one. To Lizzie it was so new, + so pretty, at once so womanly and so childish, that it won her completely. + And when Bella said again, ‘Do you think you could, Lizzie?’ with her + eyebrows raised, her head inquiringly on one side, and an odd doubt about + it in her own bosom, Lizzie showed beyond all question that she thought + she could. + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me, my dear,’ said Bella, ‘what is the matter, and why you live like + this.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie presently began, by way of prelude, ‘You must have many lovers—’ + when Bella checked her with a little scream of astonishment. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, I haven’t one!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not one?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! Perhaps one,’ said Bella. ‘I am sure I don’t know. I <i>had </i>one, but + what he may think about it at the present time I can’t say. Perhaps I have + half a one (of course I don’t count that Idiot, George Sampson). However, + never mind me. I want to hear about you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is a certain man,’ said Lizzie, ‘a passionate and angry man, who + says he loves me, and who I must believe does love me. He is the friend of + my brother. I shrank from him within myself when my brother first brought + him to me; but the last time I saw him he terrified me more than I can + say.’ There she stopped. + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you come here to escape from him, Lizzie?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I came here immediately after he so alarmed me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you afraid of him here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not timid generally, but I am always afraid of him. I am afraid to + see a newspaper, or to hear a word spoken of what is done in London, lest + he should have done some violence.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you are not afraid of him for yourself, dear?’ said Bella, after + pondering on the words. + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be even that, if I met him about here. I look round for him + always, as I pass to and fro at night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you afraid of anything he may do to himself in London, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. He might be fierce enough even to do some violence to himself, but I + don’t think of that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then it would almost seem, dear,’ said Bella quaintly, ‘as if there must + be somebody else?’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie put her hands before her face for a moment before replying: ‘The + words are always in my ears, and the blow he struck upon a stone wall as + he said them is always before my eyes. I have tried hard to think it not + worth remembering, but I cannot make so little of it. His hand was + trickling down with blood as he said to me, “Then I hope that I may never + kill him!’ + </p> +<p> + Rather startled, Bella made and clasped a girdle of her arms round + Lizzie’s waist, and then asked quietly, in a soft voice, as they both + looked at the fire: + </p> +<p> + ‘Kill him! Is this man so jealous, then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of a gentleman,’ said Lizzie. ‘—I hardly know how to tell you—of + a gentleman far above me and my way of life, who broke father’s death to + me, and has shown an interest in me since.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Does he love you?’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie shook her head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Does he admire you?’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie ceased to shake her head, and pressed her hand upon her living + girdle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it through his influence that you came here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O no! And of all the world I wouldn’t have him know that I am here, or + get the least clue where to find me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie, dear! Why?’ asked Bella, in amazement at this burst. But then + quickly added, reading Lizzie’s face: ‘No. Don’t say why. That was a + foolish question of mine. I see, I see.’ + </p> +<p> + There was silence between them. Lizzie, with a drooping head, glanced down + at the glow in the fire where her first fancies had been nursed, and her + first escape made from the grim life out of which she had plucked her + brother, foreseeing her reward. + </p> +<p> + ‘You know all now,’ she said, raising her eyes to Bella’s. ‘There is + nothing left out. This is my reason for living secret here, with the aid + of a good old man who is my true friend. For a short part of my life at + home with father, I knew of things—don’t ask me what—that I + set my face against, and tried to better. I don’t think I could have done + more, then, without letting my hold on father go; but they sometimes lie + heavy on my mind. By doing all for the best, I hope I may wear them out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And wear out too,’ said Bella soothingly, ‘this weakness, Lizzie, in + favour of one who is not worthy of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I don’t want to wear that out,’ was the flushed reply, ‘nor do I want + to believe, nor do I believe, that he is not worthy of it. What should I + gain by that, and how much should I lose!’ + </p> +<p> + Bella’s expressive little eyebrows remonstrated with the fire for some + short time before she rejoined: + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t think that I press you, Lizzie; but wouldn’t you gain in peace, and + hope, and even in freedom? Wouldn’t it be better not to live a secret life + in hiding, and not to be shut out from your natural and wholesome + prospects? Forgive my asking you, would that be no gain?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Does a woman’s heart that—that has that weakness in it which you + have spoken of,’ returned Lizzie, ‘seek to gain anything?’ + </p> +<p> + The question was so directly at variance with Bella’s views in life, as + set forth to her father, that she said internally, ‘There, you little + mercenary wretch! Do you hear that? Ain’t you ashamed of your self?’ and + unclasped the girdle of her arms, expressly to give herself a penitential + poke in the side. + </p> +<p> + ‘But you said, Lizzie,’ observed Bella, returning to her subject when she + had administered this chastisement, ‘that you would lose, besides. Would + you mind telling me what you would lose, Lizzie?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should lose some of the best recollections, best encouragements, and + best objects, that I carry through my daily life. I should lose my belief + that if I had been his equal, and he had loved me, I should have tried + with all my might to make him better and happier, as he would have made + me. I should lose almost all the value that I put upon the little learning + I have, which is all owing to him, and which I conquered the difficulties + of, that he might not think it thrown away upon me. I should lose a kind + of picture of him—or of what he might have been, if I had been a + lady, and he had loved me—which is always with me, and which I + somehow feel that I could not do a mean or a wrong thing before. I should + leave off prizing the remembrance that he has done me nothing but good + since I have known him, and that he has made a change within me, like—like + the change in the grain of these hands, which were coarse, and cracked, + and hard, and brown when I rowed on the river with father, and are + softened and made supple by this new work as you see them now.’ + </p> +<p> + They trembled, but with no weakness, as she showed them. + </p> +<p> + ‘Understand me, my dear;’ thus she went on. ‘I have never dreamed of the + possibility of his being anything to me on this earth but the kind picture + that I know I could not make you understand, if the understanding was not + in your own breast already. I have no more dreamed of the possibility of + <i>my</i> being his wife, than he ever has—and words could not be stronger + than that. And yet I love him. I love him so much, and so dearly, that + when I sometimes think my life may be but a weary one, I am proud of it + and glad of it. I am proud and glad to suffer something for him, even + though it is of no service to him, and he will never know of it or care + for it.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella sat enchained by the deep, unselfish passion of this girl or woman + of her own age, courageously revealing itself in the confidence of her + sympathetic perception of its truth. And yet she had never experienced + anything like it, or thought of the existence of anything like it. + </p> +<p> + ‘It was late upon a wretched night,’ said Lizzie, ‘when his eyes first + looked at me in my old river-side home, very different from this. His eyes + may never look at me again. I would rather that they never did; I hope + that they never may. But I would not have the light of them taken out of + my life, for anything my life can give me. I have told you everything now, + my dear. If it comes a little strange to me to have parted with it, I am + not sorry. I had no thought of ever parting with a single word of it, a + moment before you came in; but you came in, and my mind changed.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella kissed her on the cheek, and thanked her warmly for her confidence. + ‘I only wish,’ said Bella, ‘I was more deserving of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘More deserving of it?’ repeated Lizzie, with an incredulous smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mean in respect of keeping it,’ said Bella, ‘because any one + should tear me to bits before getting at a syllable of it—though + there’s no merit in that, for I am naturally as obstinate as a Pig. What I + mean is, Lizzie, that I am a mere impertinent piece of conceit, and you + shame me.’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie put up the pretty brown hair that came tumbling down, owing to the + energy with which Bella shook her head; and she remonstrated while thus + engaged, ‘My dear!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, it’s all very well to call me your dear,’ said Bella, with a pettish + whimper, ‘and I am glad to be called so, though I have slight enough claim + to be. But I <i>am</i> such a nasty little thing!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear!’ urged Lizzie again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Such a shallow, cold, worldly, Limited little brute!’ said Bella, + bringing out her last adjective with culminating force. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you think,’ inquired Lizzie with her quiet smile, the hair being now + secured, ‘that I don’t know better?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Do</i> you know better though?’ said Bella. ‘Do you really believe you know + better? Oh, I should be so glad if you did know better, but I am so very + much afraid that I must know best!’ + </p> +<p> + Lizzie asked her, laughing outright, whether she ever saw her own face or + heard her own voice? + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose so,’ returned Bella; ‘I look in the glass often enough, and I + chatter like a Magpie.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have seen your face, and heard your voice, at any rate,’ said Lizzie, + ‘and they have tempted me to say to you—with a certainty of not + going wrong—what I thought I should never say to any one. Does that + look ill?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I hope it doesn’t,’ pouted Bella, stopping herself in something + between a humoured laugh and a humoured sob. + </p> +<p> + ‘I used once to see pictures in the fire,’ said Lizzie playfully, ‘to + please my brother. Shall I tell you what I see down there where the fire + is glowing?’ + </p> +<p> + They had risen, and were standing on the hearth, the time being come for + separating; each had drawn an arm around the other to take leave. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall I tell you,’ asked Lizzie, ‘what I see down there?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Limited little b?’ suggested Bella with her eyebrows raised. + </p> +<p> + ‘A heart well worth winning, and well won. A heart that, once won, goes + through fire and water for the winner, and never changes, and is never + daunted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Girl’s heart?’ asked Bella, with accompanying eyebrows.</p> +<p>Lizzie nodded. + ‘And the figure to which it belongs—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is yours,’ suggested Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Most clearly and distinctly yours.’ + </p> +<p> + So the interview terminated with pleasant words on both sides, and with + many reminders on the part of Bella that they were friends, and pledges + that she would soon come down into that part of the country again. There + with Lizzie returned to her occupation, and Bella ran over to the little + inn to rejoin her company. + </p> +<p> + ‘You look rather serious, Miss Wilfer,’ was the Secretary’s first remark. + </p> +<p> + ‘I feel rather serious,’ returned Miss Wilfer. + </p> +<p> + She had nothing else to tell him but that Lizzie Hexam’s secret had no + reference whatever to the cruel charge, or its withdrawal. Oh yes though! + said Bella; she might as well mention one other thing; Lizzie was very + desirous to thank her unknown friend who had sent her the written + retractation. Was she, indeed? observed the Secretary. Ah! Bella asked + him, had he any notion who that unknown friend might be? He had no notion + whatever. + </p> +<p> + They were on the borders of Oxfordshire, so far had poor old Betty Higden + strayed. They were to return by the train presently, and, the station + being near at hand, the Reverend Frank and Mrs Frank, and Sloppy and Bella + and the Secretary, set out to walk to it. Few rustic paths are wide enough + for five, and Bella and the Secretary dropped behind. + </p> +<p> + ‘Can you believe, Mr Rokesmith,’ said Bella, ‘that I feel as if whole + years had passed since I went into Lizzie Hexam’s cottage?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We have crowded a good deal into the day,’ he returned, ‘and you were + much affected in the churchyard. You are over-tired.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I am not at all tired. I have not quite expressed what I mean. I + don’t mean that I feel as if a great space of time had gone by, but that I + feel as if much had happened—to myself, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For good, I hope?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope so,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are cold; I felt you tremble. Pray let me put this wrapper of mine + about you. May I fold it over this shoulder without injuring your dress? + Now, it will be too heavy and too long. Let me carry this end over my arm, + as you have no arm to give me.’ + </p> +<p> + Yes she had though. How she got it out, in her muffled state, Heaven + knows; but she got it out somehow—there it was—and slipped it + through the Secretary’s. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have had a long and interesting talk with Lizzie, Mr Rokesmith, and she + gave me her full confidence.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She could not withhold it,’ said the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wonder how you come,’ said Bella, stopping short as she glanced at him, + ‘to say to me just what she said about it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I infer that it must be because I feel just as she felt about it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And how was that, do you mean to say, sir?’ asked Bella, moving again. + </p> +<p> + ‘That if you were inclined to win her confidence—anybody’s + confidence—you were sure to do it.’ + </p> +<p> + The railway, at this point, knowingly shutting a green eye and opening a + red one, they had to run for it. As Bella could not run easily so wrapped + up, the Secretary had to help her. When she took her opposite place in the + carriage corner, the brightness in her face was so charming to behold, + that on her exclaiming, ‘What beautiful stars and what a glorious night!’ + the Secretary said ‘Yes,’ but seemed to prefer to see the night and the + stars in the light of her lovely little countenance, to looking out of + window. + </p> +<p> + O boofer lady, fascinating boofer lady! If I were but legally executor of + Johnny’s will! If I had but the right to pay your legacy and to take your + receipt!—Something to this purpose surely mingled with the blast of + the train as it cleared the stations, all knowingly shutting up their + green eyes and opening their red ones when they prepared to let the boofer + lady pass. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0043"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 10 + </h2> +<h3> + SCOUTS OUT + </h3> +<p> + ‘And so, Miss Wren,’ said Mr Eugene Wrayburn, ‘I cannot persuade you to + dress me a doll?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ replied Miss Wren snappishly; ‘if you want one, go and buy one at + the shop.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And my charming young goddaughter,’ said Mr Wrayburn plaintively, ‘down + in Hertfordshire—’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Humbugshire you mean, I think,’ interposed Miss Wren.) + </p> +<p> + ‘—is to be put upon the cold footing of the general public, and is + to derive no advantage from my private acquaintance with the Court + Dressmaker?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If it’s any advantage to your charming godchild—and oh, a precious + godfather she has got!’—replied Miss Wren, pricking at him in the + air with her needle, ‘to be informed that the Court Dressmaker knows your + tricks and your manners, you may tell her so by post, with my + compliments.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren was busy at her work by candle-light, and Mr Wrayburn, half + amused and half vexed, and all idle and shiftless, stood by her bench + looking on. Miss Wren’s troublesome child was in the corner in deep + disgrace, and exhibiting great wretchedness in the shivering stage of + prostration from drink. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ugh, you disgraceful boy!’ exclaimed Miss Wren, attracted by the sound of + his chattering teeth, ‘I wish they’d all drop down your throat and play at + dice in your stomach! Boh, wicked child! Bee-baa, black sheep!’ + </p> +<p> + On her accompanying each of these reproaches with a threatening stamp of + the foot, the wretched creature protested with a whine. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pay five shillings for you indeed!’ Miss Wren proceeded; ‘how many hours + do you suppose it costs me to earn five shillings, you infamous boy?—Don’t + cry like that, or I’ll throw a doll at you. Pay five shillings fine for + you indeed. Fine in more ways than one, I think! I’d give the dustman five + shillings, to carry you off in the dust cart.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no,’ pleaded the absurd creature. ‘Please!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s enough to break his mother’s heart, is this boy,’ said Miss Wren, + half appealing to Eugene. ‘I wish I had never brought him up. He’d be + sharper than a serpent’s tooth, if he wasn’t as dull as ditch water. Look + at him. There’s a pretty object for a parent’s eyes!’ + </p> +<p> + Assuredly, in his worse than swinish state (for swine at least fatten on + their guzzling, and make themselves good to eat), he was a pretty object + for any eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘A muddling and a swipey old child,’ said Miss Wren, rating him with great + severity, ‘fit for nothing but to be preserved in the liquor that destroys + him, and put in a great glass bottle as a sight for other swipey children + of his own pattern,—if he has no consideration for his liver, has he + none for his mother?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Deration, oh don’t!’ cried the subject of these angry remarks. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh don’t and oh don’t,’ pursued Miss Wren. ‘It’s oh do and oh do. And why + do you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Won’t do so any more. Won’t indeed. Pray!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ said Miss Wren, covering her eyes with her hand. ‘I can’t bear to + look at you. Go up stairs and get me my bonnet and shawl. Make yourself + useful in some way, bad boy, and let me have your room instead of your + company, for one half minute.’ + </p> +<p> + Obeying her, he shambled out, and Eugene Wrayburn saw the tears exude from + between the little creature’s fingers as she kept her hand before her + eyes. He was sorry, but his sympathy did not move his carelessness to do + anything but feel sorry. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m going to the Italian Opera to try on,’ said Miss Wren, taking away + her hand after a little while, and laughing satirically to hide that she + had been crying; ‘I must see your back before I go, Mr Wrayburn. Let me + first tell you, once for all, that it’s of no use your paying visits to + me. You wouldn’t get what you want, of me, no, not if you brought pincers + with you to tear it out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you so obstinate on the subject of a doll’s dress for my godchild?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ returned Miss Wren with a hitch of her chin, ‘I am so obstinate. And + of course it’s on the subject of a doll’s dress—or <i>ad</i>dress—whichever + you like. Get along and give it up!’ + </p> +<p> + Her degraded charge had come back, and was standing behind her with the + bonnet and shawl. + </p> +<p> + ‘Give ’em to me and get back into your corner, you naughty old thing!’ + said Miss Wren, as she turned and espied him. ‘No, no, I won’t have your + help. Go into your corner, this minute!’ + </p> +<p> + The miserable man, feebly rubbing the back of his faltering hands downward + from the wrists, shuffled on to his post of disgrace; but not without a + curious glance at Eugene in passing him, accompanied with what seemed as + if it might have been an action of his elbow, if any action of any limb or + joint he had, would have answered truly to his will. Taking no more + particular notice of him than instinctively falling away from the + disagreeable contact, Eugene, with a lazy compliment or so to Miss Wren, + begged leave to light his cigar, and departed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now you prodigal old son,’ said Jenny, shaking her head and her emphatic + little forefinger at her burden, ‘you sit there till I come back. You dare + to move out of your corner for a single instant while I’m gone, and I’ll + know the reason why.’ + </p> +<p> + With this admonition, she blew her work candles out, leaving him to the + light of the fire, and, taking her big door-key in her pocket and her + crutch-stick in her hand, marched off. + </p> +<p> + Eugene lounged slowly towards the Temple, smoking his cigar, but saw no + more of the dolls’ dressmaker, through the accident of their taking + opposite sides of the street. He lounged along moodily, and stopped at + Charing Cross to look about him, with as little interest in the crowd as + any man might take, and was lounging on again, when a most unexpected + object caught his eyes. No less an object than Jenny Wren’s bad boy trying + to make up his mind to cross the road. + </p> +<p> + A more ridiculous and feeble spectacle than this tottering wretch making + unsteady sallies into the roadway, and as often staggering back again, + oppressed by terrors of vehicles that were a long way off or were nowhere, + the streets could not have shown. Over and over again, when the course was + perfectly clear, he set out, got half way, described a loop, turned, and + went back again; when he might have crossed and re-crossed half a dozen + times. Then, he would stand shivering on the edge of the pavement, looking + up the street and looking down, while scores of people jostled him, and + crossed, and went on. Stimulated in course of time by the sight of so many + successes, he would make another sally, make another loop, would all but + have his foot on the opposite pavement, would see or imagine something + coming, and would stagger back again. There, he would stand making + spasmodic preparations as if for a great leap, and at last would decide on + a start at precisely the wrong moment, and would be roared at by drivers, + and would shrink back once more, and stand in the old spot shivering, with + the whole of the proceedings to go through again. + </p> +<p> + ‘It strikes me,’ remarked Eugene coolly, after watching him for some + minutes, ‘that my friend is likely to be rather behind time if he has any + appointment on hand.’ With which remark he strolled on, and took no + further thought of him. + </p> +<p> + Lightwood was at home when he got to the Chambers, and had dined alone + there. Eugene drew a chair to the fire by which he was having his wine and + reading the evening paper, and brought a glass, and filled it for good + fellowship’s sake. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mortimer, you are the express picture of contented industry, + reposing (on credit) after the virtuous labours of the day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Eugene, you are the express picture of discontented idleness not + reposing at all. Where have you been?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been,’ replied Wrayburn, ‘—about town. I have turned up at + the present juncture, with the intention of consulting my highly + intelligent and respected solicitor on the position of my affairs.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your highly intelligent and respected solicitor is of opinion that your + affairs are in a bad way, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Though whether,’ said Eugene thoughtfully, ‘that can be intelligently + said, now, of the affairs of a client who has nothing to lose and who + cannot possibly be made to pay, may be open to question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have fallen into the hands of the Jews, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear boy,’ returned the debtor, very composedly taking up his glass, + ‘having previously fallen into the hands of some of the Christians, I can + bear it with philosophy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have had an interview to-day, Eugene, with a Jew, who seems determined + to press us hard. Quite a Shylock, and quite a Patriarch. A picturesque + grey-headed and grey-bearded old Jew, in a shovel-hat and gaberdine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not,’ said Eugene, pausing in setting down his glass, ‘surely not my + worthy friend Mr Aaron?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He calls himself Mr Riah.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By-the-by,’ said Eugene, ‘it comes into my mind that—no doubt with + an instinctive desire to receive him into the bosom of our Church—I + gave him the name of Aaron!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, Eugene,’ returned Lightwood, ‘you are more ridiculous than usual. + Say what you mean.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Merely, my dear fellow, that I have the honour and pleasure of a speaking + acquaintance with such a Patriarch as you describe, and that I address him + as Mr Aaron, because it appears to me Hebraic, expressive, appropriate, + and complimentary. Notwithstanding which strong reasons for its being his + name, it may not be his name.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I believe you are the absurdest man on the face of the earth,’ said + Lightwood, laughing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, I assure you. Did he mention that he knew me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He did not. He only said of you that he expected to be paid by you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Which looks,’ remarked Eugene with much gravity, ‘like <i>not </i>knowing me. I + hope it may not be my worthy friend Mr Aaron, for, to tell you the truth, + Mortimer, I doubt he may have a prepossession against me. I strongly + suspect him of having had a hand in spiriting away Lizzie.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Everything,’ returned Lightwood impatiently, ‘seems, by a fatality, to + bring us round to Lizzie. “About town” meant about Lizzie, just now, + Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My solicitor, do you know,’ observed Eugene, turning round to the + furniture, ‘is a man of infinite discernment!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did it not, Eugene?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes it did, Mortimer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet, Eugene, you know you do not really care for her.’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene Wrayburn rose, and put his hands in his pockets, and stood with a + foot on the fender, indolently rocking his body and looking at the fire. + After a prolonged pause, he replied: ‘I don’t know that. I must ask you + not to say that, as if we took it for granted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But if you do care for her, so much the more should you leave her to + herself.’ + </p> +<p> + Having again paused as before, Eugene said: ‘I don’t know that, either. + But tell me. Did you ever see me take so much trouble about anything, as + about this disappearance of hers? I ask, for information.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Eugene, I wish I ever had!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you have not? Just so. You confirm my own impression. Does that look + as if I cared for her? I ask, for information.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I asked <i>you </i>for information, Eugene,’ said Mortimer reproachfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear boy, I know it, but I can’t give it. I thirst for information. What + do I mean? If my taking so much trouble to recover her does not mean that + I care for her, what does it mean? “If Peter Piper picked a peck of + pickled pepper, where’s the peck,” &c.?’ + </p> +<p> + Though he said this gaily, he said it with a perplexed and inquisitive + face, as if he actually did not know what to make of himself. ‘Look on to + the end—’ Lightwood was beginning to remonstrate, when he caught at + the words: + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! See now! That’s exactly what I am incapable of doing. How very acute + you are, Mortimer, in finding my weak place! When we were at school + together, I got up my lessons at the last moment, day by day and bit by + bit; now we are out in life together, I get up my lessons in the same way. + In the present task I have not got beyond this:—I am bent on finding + Lizzie, and I mean to find her, and I will take any means of finding her + that offer themselves. Fair means or foul means, are all alike to me. I + ask you—for information—what does that mean? When I have found + her I may ask you—also for information—what do I mean now? But + it would be premature in this stage, and it’s not the character of my + mind.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood was shaking his head over the air with which his friend held + forth thus—an air so whimsically open and argumentative as almost to + deprive what he said of the appearance of evasion—when a shuffling + was heard at the outer door, and then an undecided knock, as though some + hand were groping for the knocker. ‘The frolicsome youth of the + neighbourhood,’ said Eugene, ‘whom I should be delighted to pitch from + this elevation into the churchyard below, without any intermediate + ceremonies, have probably turned the lamp out. I am on duty to-night, and + will see to the door.’ + </p> +<p> + His friend had barely had time to recall the unprecedented gleam of + determination with which he had spoken of finding this girl, and which had + faded out of him with the breath of the spoken words, when Eugene came + back, ushering in a most disgraceful shadow of a man, shaking from head to + foot, and clothed in shabby grease and smear. + </p> +<p> + ‘This interesting gentleman,’ said Eugene, ‘is the son—the + occasionally rather trying son, for he has his failings—of a lady of + my acquaintance. My dear Mortimer—Mr Dolls.’ Eugene had no idea what + his name was, knowing the little dressmaker’s to be assumed, but presented + him with easy confidence under the first appellation that his associations + suggested. + </p> +<p> + ‘I gather, my dear Mortimer,’ pursued Eugene, as Lightwood stared at the + obscene visitor, ‘from the manner of Mr Dolls—which is occasionally + complicated—that he desires to make some communication to me. I have + mentioned to Mr Dolls that you and I are on terms of confidence, and have + requested Mr Dolls to develop his views here.’ + </p> +<p> + The wretched object being much embarrassed by holding what remained of his + hat, Eugene airily tossed it to the door, and put him down in a chair. + </p> +<p> + ‘It will be necessary, I think,’ he observed, ‘to wind up Mr Dolls, before + anything to any mortal purpose can be got out of him. Brandy, Mr Dolls, or—?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Threepenn’orth Rum,’ said Mr Dolls. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0513m " src="images/0513m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0513m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0513.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-3357077695640046892"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + A judiciously small quantity of the spirit was given him in a wine-glass, + and he began to convey it to his mouth, with all kinds of falterings and + gyrations on the road. + </p> +<p> + ‘The nerves of Mr Dolls,’ remarked Eugene to Lightwood, ‘are considerably + unstrung. And I deem it on the whole expedient to fumigate Mr Dolls.’ + </p> +<p> + He took the shovel from the grate, sprinkled a few live ashes on it, and + from a box on the chimney-piece took a few pastiles, which he set upon + them; then, with great composure began placidly waving the shovel in front + of Mr Dolls, to cut him off from his company. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lord bless my soul, Eugene!’ cried Lightwood, laughing again, ‘what a mad + fellow you are! Why does this creature come to see you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We shall hear,’ said Wrayburn, very observant of his face withal. ‘Now + then. Speak out. Don’t be afraid. State your business, Dolls.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mist Wrayburn!’ said the visitor, thickly and huskily. ‘—’<i>tis </i>Mist + Wrayburn, ain’t?’ With a stupid stare. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course it is. Look at me. What do you want?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Dolls collapsed in his chair, and faintly said ‘Threepenn’orth Rum.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you do me the favour, my dear Mortimer, to wind up Mr Dolls again?’ + said Eugene. ‘I am occupied with the fumigation.’ + </p> +<p> + A similar quantity was poured into his glass, and he got it to his lips by + similar circuitous ways. Having drunk it, Mr Dolls, with an evident fear + of running down again unless he made haste, proceeded to business. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mist Wrayburn. Tried to nudge you, but you wouldn’t. You want that + drection. You want t’know where she lives. <i>Do</i> you Mist Wrayburn?’ + </p> +<p> + With a glance at his friend, Eugene replied to the question sternly, ‘I + do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am er man,’ said Mr Dolls, trying to smite himself on the breast, but + bringing his hand to bear upon the vicinity of his eye, ‘er do it. I am er + man er do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What are you the man to do?’ demanded Eugene, still sternly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Er give up that drection.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you got it?’ + </p> +<p> + With a most laborious attempt at pride and dignity, Mr Dolls rolled his + head for some time, awakening the highest expectations, and then answered, + as if it were the happiest point that could possibly be expected of him: + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean then?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Dolls, collapsing in the drowsiest manner after his late intellectual + triumph, replied: ‘Threepenn’orth Rum.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Wind him up again, my dear Mortimer,’ said Wrayburn; ‘wind him up again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, Eugene,’ urged Lightwood in a low voice, as he complied, ‘can you + stoop to the use of such an instrument as this?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I said,’ was the reply, made with that former gleam of determination, + ‘that I would find her out by any means, fair or foul. These are foul, and + I’ll take them—if I am not first tempted to break the head of Mr + Dolls with the fumigator. Can you get the direction? Do you mean that? + Speak! If that’s what you have come for, say how much you want.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ten shillings—Threepenn’orths Rum,’ said Mr Dolls. + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall have it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Fifteen shillings—Threepenn’orths Rum,’ said Mr Dolls, making an + attempt to stiffen himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall have it. Stop at that. How will you get the direction you talk + of?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am er man,’ said Mr Dolls, with majesty, ‘er get it, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How will you get it, I ask you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am ill-used vidual,’ said Mr Dolls. ‘Blown up morning t’night. Called + names. She makes Mint money, sir, and never stands Threepenn’orth Rum.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Get on,’ rejoined Eugene, tapping his palsied head with the fire-shovel, + as it sank on his breast. ‘What comes next?’ + </p> +<p> + Making a dignified attempt to gather himself together, but, as it were, + dropping half a dozen pieces of himself while he tried in vain to pick up + one, Mr Dolls, swaying his head from side to side, regarded his questioner + with what he supposed to be a haughty smile and a scornful glance. + </p> +<p> + ‘She looks upon me as mere child, sir. I am <i>not </i>mere child, sir. Man. Man + talent. Lerrers pass betwixt ’em. Postman lerrers. Easy for man talent er + get drection, as get his own drection.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Get it then,’ said Eugene; adding very heartily under his breath, ‘—You + Brute! Get it, and bring it here to me, and earn the money for sixty + threepenn’orths of rum, and drink them all, one a top of another, and + drink yourself dead with all possible expedition.’ The latter clauses of + these special instructions he addressed to the fire, as he gave it back + the ashes he had taken from it, and replaced the shovel. + </p> +<p> + Mr Dolls now struck out the highly unexpected discovery that he had been + insulted by Lightwood, and stated his desire to ‘have it out with him’ on + the spot, and defied him to come on, upon the liberal terms of a sovereign + to a halfpenny. Mr Dolls then fell a crying, and then exhibited a tendency + to fall asleep. This last manifestation as by far the most alarming, by + reason of its threatening his prolonged stay on the premises, necessitated + vigorous measures. Eugene picked up his worn-out hat with the tongs, + clapped it on his head, and, taking him by the collar—all this at + arm’s length—conducted him down stairs and out of the precincts into + Fleet Street. There, he turned his face westward, and left him. + </p> +<p> + When he got back, Lightwood was standing over the fire, brooding in a + sufficiently low-spirited manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll wash my hands of Mr Dolls physically—’ said Eugene, ‘and be + with you again directly, Mortimer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I would much prefer,’ retorted Mortimer, ‘your washing your hands of Mr + Dolls, morally, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So would I,’ said Eugene; ‘but you see, dear boy, I can’t do without + him.’ + </p> +<p> + In a minute or two he resumed his chair, as perfectly unconcerned as + usual, and rallied his friend on having so narrowly escaped the prowess of + their muscular visitor. + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t be amused on this theme,’ said Mortimer, restlessly. ‘You can + make almost any theme amusing to me, Eugene, but not this.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ cried Eugene, ‘I am a little ashamed of it myself, and therefore + let us change the subject.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is so deplorably underhanded,’ said Mortimer. ‘It is so unworthy of + you, this setting on of such a shameful scout.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We have changed the subject!’ exclaimed Eugene, airily. ‘We have found a + new one in that word, scout. Don’t be like Patience on a mantelpiece + frowning at Dolls, but sit down, and I’ll tell you something that you + really will find amusing. Take a cigar. Look at this of mine. I light it—draw + one puff—breathe the smoke out—there it goes—it’s Dolls!—it’s + gone—and being gone you are a man again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your subject,’ said Mortimer, after lighting a cigar, and comforting + himself with a whiff or two, ‘was scouts, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Exactly. Isn’t it droll that I never go out after dark, but I find myself + attended, always by one scout, and often by two?’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood took his cigar from his lips in surprise, and looked at his + friend, as if with a latent suspicion that there must be a jest or hidden + meaning in his words. + </p> +<p> + ‘On my honour, no,’ said Wrayburn, answering the look and smiling + carelessly; ‘I don’t wonder at your supposing so, but on my honour, no. I + say what I mean. I never go out after dark, but I find myself in the + ludicrous situation of being followed and observed at a distance, always + by one scout, and often by two.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you sure, Eugene?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sure? My dear boy, they are always the same.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But there’s no process out against you. The Jews only threaten. They have + done nothing. Besides, they know where to find you, and I represent you. + Why take the trouble?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Observe the legal mind!’ remarked Eugene, turning round to the furniture + again, with an air of indolent rapture. ‘Observe the dyer’s hand, + assimilating itself to what it works in,—or would work in, if + anybody would give it anything to do. Respected solicitor, it’s not that. + The schoolmaster’s abroad.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The schoolmaster?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay! Sometimes the schoolmaster and the pupil are both abroad. Why, how + soon you rust in my absence! You don’t understand yet? Those fellows who + were here one night. They are the scouts I speak of, as doing me the + honour to attend me after dark.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How long has this been going on?’ asked Lightwood, opposing a serious + face to the laugh of his friend. + </p> +<p> + ‘I apprehend it has been going on, ever since a certain person went off. + Probably, it had been going on some little time before I noticed it: which + would bring it to about that time.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you think they suppose you to have inveigled her away?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mortimer, you know the absorbing nature of my professional + occupations; I really have not had leisure to think about it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you asked them what they want? Have you objected?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why should I ask them what they want, dear fellow, when I am indifferent + what they want? Why should I express objection, when I don’t object?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are in your most reckless mood. But you called the situation just + now, a ludicrous one; and most men object to that, even those who are + utterly indifferent to everything else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You charm me, Mortimer, with your reading of my weaknesses. (By-the-by, + that very word, Reading, in its critical use, always charms me. An + actress’s Reading of a chambermaid, a dancer’s Reading of a hornpipe, a + singer’s Reading of a song, a marine painter’s Reading of the sea, the + kettle-drum’s Reading of an instrumental passage, are phrases ever + youthful and delightful.) I was mentioning your perception of my + weaknesses. I own to the weakness of objecting to occupy a ludicrous + position, and therefore I transfer the position to the scouts.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish, Eugene, you would speak a little more soberly and plainly, if it + were only out of consideration for my feeling less at ease than you do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then soberly and plainly, Mortimer, I goad the schoolmaster to madness. I + make the schoolmaster so ridiculous, and so aware of being made + ridiculous, that I see him chafe and fret at every pore when we cross one + another. The amiable occupation has been the solace of my life, since I + was baulked in the manner unnecessary to recall. I have derived + inexpressible comfort from it. I do it thus: I stroll out after dark, + stroll a little way, look in at a window and furtively look out for the + schoolmaster. Sooner or later, I perceive the schoolmaster on the watch; + sometimes accompanied by his hopeful pupil; oftener, pupil-less. Having + made sure of his watching me, I tempt him on, all over London. One night I + go east, another night north, in a few nights I go all round the compass. + Sometimes, I walk; sometimes, I proceed in cabs, draining the pocket of + the schoolmaster who then follows in cabs. I study and get up abstruse No + Thoroughfares in the course of the day. With Venetian mystery I seek those + No Thoroughfares at night, glide into them by means of dark courts, tempt + the schoolmaster to follow, turn suddenly, and catch him before he can + retreat. Then we face one another, and I pass him as unaware of his + existence, and he undergoes grinding torments. Similarly, I walk at a + great pace down a short street, rapidly turn the corner, and, getting out + of his view, as rapidly turn back. I catch him coming on post, again pass + him as unaware of his existence, and again he undergoes grinding torments. + Night after night his disappointment is acute, but hope springs eternal in + the scholastic breast, and he follows me again to-morrow. Thus I enjoy the + pleasures of the chase, and derive great benefit from the healthful + exercise. When I do not enjoy the pleasures of the chase, for anything I + know he watches at the Temple Gate all night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This is an extraordinary story,’ observed Lightwood, who had heard it out + with serious attention. ‘I don’t like it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a little hipped, dear fellow,’ said Eugene; ‘you have been too + sedentary. Come and enjoy the pleasures of the chase.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you mean that you believe he is watching now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have not the slightest doubt he is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you seen him to-night?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I forgot to look for him when I was last out,’ returned Eugene with the + calmest indifference; ‘but I dare say he was there. Come! Be a British + sportsman and enjoy the pleasures of the chase. It will do you good.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood hesitated; but, yielding to his curiosity, rose. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bravo!’ cried Eugene, rising too. ‘Or, if Yoicks would be in better + keeping, consider that I said Yoicks. Look to your feet, Mortimer, for we + shall try your boots. When you are ready, I am—need I say with a Hey + Ho Chivey, and likewise with a Hark Forward, Hark Forward, Tantivy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will nothing make you serious?’ said Mortimer, laughing through his + gravity. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am always serious, but just now I am a little excited by the glorious + fact that a southerly wind and a cloudy sky proclaim a hunting evening. + Ready? So. We turn out the lamp and shut the door, and take the field.’ + </p> +<p> + As the two friends passed out of the Temple into the public street, Eugene + demanded with a show of courteous patronage in which direction Mortimer + would you like the run to be? ‘There is a rather difficult country about + Bethnal Green,’ said Eugene, ‘and we have not taken in that direction + lately. What is your opinion of Bethnal Green?’ Mortimer assented to + Bethnal Green, and they turned eastward. ‘Now, when we come to St Paul’s + churchyard,’ pursued Eugene, ‘we’ll loiter artfully, and I’ll show you the + schoolmaster.’ But, they both saw him, before they got there; alone, and + stealing after them in the shadow of the houses, on the opposite side of + the way. + </p> +<p> + ‘Get your wind,’ said Eugene, ‘for I am off directly. Does it occur to you + that the boys of Merry England will begin to deteriorate in an educational + light, if this lasts long? The schoolmaster can’t attend to me and the + boys too. Got your wind? I am off!’ + </p> +<p> + At what a rate he went, to breathe the schoolmaster; and how he then + lounged and loitered, to put his patience to another kind of wear; what + preposterous ways he took, with no other object on earth than to + disappoint and punish him; and how he wore him out by every piece of + ingenuity that his eccentric humour could devise; all this Lightwood + noted, with a feeling of astonishment that so careless a man could be so + wary, and that so idle a man could take so much trouble. At last, far on + in the third hour of the pleasures of the chase, when he had brought the + poor dogging wretch round again into the City, he twisted Mortimer up a + few dark entries, twisted him into a little square court, twisted him + sharp round again, and they almost ran against Bradley Headstone. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you see, as I was saying, Mortimer,’ remarked Eugene aloud with the + utmost coolness, as though there were no one within hearing by themselves: + ‘and you see, as I was saying—undergoing grinding torments.’ + </p> +<p> + It was not too strong a phrase for the occasion. Looking like the hunted + and not the hunter, baffled, worn, with the exhaustion of deferred hope + and consuming hate and anger in his face, white-lipped, wild-eyed, + draggle-haired, seamed with jealousy and anger, and torturing himself with + the conviction that he showed it all and they exulted in it, he went by + them in the dark, like a haggard head suspended in the air: so completely + did the force of his expression cancel his figure. + </p> +<p> + Mortimer Lightwood was not an extraordinarily impressible man, but this + face impressed him. He spoke of it more than once on the remainder of the + way home, and more than once when they got home. + </p> +<p> + They had been abed in their respective rooms two or three hours, when + Eugene was partly awakened by hearing a footstep going about, and was + fully awakened by seeing Lightwood standing at his bedside. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing wrong, Mortimer?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What fancy takes you, then, for walking about in the night?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am horribly wakeful.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How comes that about, I wonder!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, I cannot lose sight of that fellow’s face.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Odd!’ said Eugene with a light laugh, ‘I can.’ And turned over, and fell + asleep again. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0044"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 11 + </h2> +<h3> + IN THE DARK + </h3> +<p> + There was no sleep for Bradley Headstone on that night when Eugene + Wrayburn turned so easily in his bed; there was no sleep for little Miss + Peecher. Bradley consumed the lonely hours, and consumed himself in + haunting the spot where his careless rival lay a dreaming; little Miss + Peecher wore them away in listening for the return home of the master of + her heart, and in sorrowfully presaging that much was amiss with him. Yet + more was amiss with him than Miss Peecher’s simply arranged little + work-box of thoughts, fitted with no gloomy and dark recesses, could hold. + For, the state of the man was murderous. + </p> +<p> + The state of the man was murderous, and he knew it. More; he irritated it, + with a kind of perverse pleasure akin to that which a sick man sometimes + has in irritating a wound upon his body. Tied up all day with his + disciplined show upon him, subdued to the performance of his routine of + educational tricks, encircled by a gabbling crowd, he broke loose at night + like an ill-tamed wild animal. Under his daily restraint, it was his + compensation, not his trouble, to give a glance towards his state at + night, and to the freedom of its being indulged. If great criminals told + the truth—which, being great criminals, they do not—they would + very rarely tell of their struggles against the crime. Their struggles are + towards it. They buffet with opposing waves, to gain the bloody shore, not + to recede from it. This man perfectly comprehended that he hated his rival + with his strongest and worst forces, and that if he tracked him to Lizzie + Hexam, his so doing would never serve himself with her, or serve her. All + his pains were taken, to the end that he might incense himself with the + sight of the detested figure in her company and favour, in her place of + concealment. And he knew as well what act of his would follow if he did, + as he knew that his mother had borne him. Granted, that he may not have + held it necessary to make express mention to himself of the one familiar + truth any more than of the other. + </p> +<p> + He knew equally well that he fed his wrath and hatred, and that he + accumulated provocation and self-justification, by being made the nightly + sport of the reckless and insolent Eugene. Knowing all this,—and + still always going on with infinite endurance, pains, and perseverance, + could his dark soul doubt whither he went? + </p> +<p> + Baffled, exasperated, and weary, he lingered opposite the Temple gate when + it closed on Wrayburn and Lightwood, debating with himself should he go + home for that time or should he watch longer. Possessed in his jealousy by + the fixed idea that Wrayburn was in the secret, if it were not altogether + of his contriving, Bradley was as confident of getting the better of him + at last by sullenly sticking to him, as he would have been—and often + had been—of mastering any piece of study in the way of his vocation, + by the like slow persistent process. A man of rapid passions and sluggish + intelligence, it had served him often and should serve him again. + </p> +<p> + The suspicion crossed him as he rested in a doorway with his eyes upon the + Temple gate, that perhaps she was even concealed in that set of Chambers. + It would furnish another reason for Wrayburn’s purposeless walks, and it + might be. He thought of it and thought of it, until he resolved to steal + up the stairs, if the gatekeeper would let him through, and listen. So, + the haggard head suspended in the air flitted across the road, like the + spectre of one of the many heads erst hoisted upon neighbouring Temple + Bar, and stopped before the watchman. + </p> +<p> + The watchman looked at it, and asked: ‘Who for?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s very late.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He came back with Mr Lightwood, I know, near upon two hours ago. But if + he has gone to bed, I’ll put a paper in his letter-box. I am expected.’ + </p> +<p> + The watchman said no more, but opened the gate, though rather doubtfully. + Seeing, however, that the visitor went straight and fast in the right + direction, he seemed satisfied. + </p> +<p> + The haggard head floated up the dark staircase, and softly descended + nearer to the floor outside the outer door of the chambers. The doors of + the rooms within, appeared to be standing open. There were rays of + candlelight from one of them, and there was the sound of a footstep going + about. There were two voices. The words they uttered were not + distinguishable, but they were both the voices of men. In a few moments + the voices were silent, and there was no sound of footstep, and the inner + light went out. If Lightwood could have seen the face which kept him + awake, staring and listening in the darkness outside the door as he spoke + of it, he might have been less disposed to sleep, through the remainder of + the night. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not there,’ said Bradley; ‘but she might have been.’ The head arose to + its former height from the ground, floated down the stair-case again, and + passed on to the gate. A man was standing there, in parley with the + watchman. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said the watchman. ‘Here he is!’ + </p> +<p> + Perceiving himself to be the antecedent, Bradley looked from the watchman + to the man. + </p> +<p> + ‘This man is leaving a letter for Mr Lightwood,’ the watchman explained, + showing it in his hand; ‘and I was mentioning that a person had just gone + up to Mr Lightwood’s chambers. It might be the same business perhaps?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Bradley, glancing at the man, who was a stranger to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ the man assented in a surly way; ‘my letter—it’s wrote by my + daughter, but it’s mine—is about my business, and my business ain’t + nobody else’s business.’ + </p> +<p> + As Bradley passed out at the gate with an undecided foot, he heard it shut + behind him, and heard the footstep of the man coming after him. + </p> +<p> + ‘’Scuse me,’ said the man, who appeared to have been drinking and rather + stumbled at him than touched him, to attract his attention: ‘but might you + be acquainted with the T’other Governor?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With whom?’ asked Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘With,’ returned the man, pointing backward over his right shoulder with + his right thumb, ‘the T’other Governor?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why look here,’ hooking his proposition on his left-hand fingers with the + forefinger of his right. ‘There’s two Governors, ain’t there? One and one, + two—Lawyer Lightwood, my first finger, he’s one, ain’t he? Well; + might you be acquainted with my middle finger, the T’other?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know quite as much of him,’ said Bradley, with a frown and a distant + look before him, ‘as I want to know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hooroar!’ cried the man. ‘Hooroar T’other t’other Governor. Hooroar + T’otherest Governor! I am of your way of thinkin’.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t make such a noise at this dead hour of the night. What are you + talking about?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here, T’otherest Governor,’ replied the man, becoming hoarsely + confidential. ‘The T’other Governor he’s always joked his jokes agin me, + owing, as I believe, to my being a honest man as gets my living by the + sweat of my brow. Which he ain’t, and he don’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What is that to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘T’otherest Governor,’ returned the man in a tone of injured innocence, + ‘if you don’t care to hear no more, don’t hear no more. You begun it. You + said, and likeways showed pretty plain, as you warn’t by no means friendly + to him. But I don’t seek to force my company nor yet my opinions on no + man. I am a honest man, that’s what I am. Put me in the dock anywhere—I + don’t care where—and I says, “My Lord, I am a honest man.” Put me in + the witness-box anywhere—I don’t care where—and I says the + same to his lordship, and I kisses the book. I don’t kiss my coat-cuff; I + kisses the book.’ + </p> +<p> + It was not so much in deference to these strong testimonials to character, + as in his restless casting about for any way or help towards the discovery + on which he was concentrated, that Bradley Headstone replied: ‘You needn’t + take offence. I didn’t mean to stop you. You were too—loud in the + open street; that was all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘’Totherest Governor,’ replied Mr Riderhood, mollified and mysterious, ‘I + know wot it is to be loud, and I know wot it is to be soft. Nat’rally I + do. It would be a wonder if I did not, being by the Chris’en name of + Roger, which took it arter my own father, which took it from his own + father, though which of our fam’ly fust took it nat’ral I will not in any + ways mislead you by undertakin’ to say. And wishing that your elth may be + better than your looks, which your inside must be bad indeed if it’s on + the footing of your out.’ + </p> +<p> + Startled by the implication that his face revealed too much of his mind, + Bradley made an effort to clear his brow. It might be worth knowing what + this strange man’s business was with Lightwood, or Wrayburn, or both, at + such an unseasonable hour. He set himself to find out, for the man might + prove to be a messenger between those two. + </p> +<p> + ‘You call at the Temple late,’ he remarked, with a lumbering show of ease. + </p> +<p> + ‘Wish I may die,’ cried Mr Riderhood, with a hoarse laugh, ‘if I warn’t a + goin’ to say the self-same words to you, T’otherest Governor!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It chanced so with me,’ said Bradley, looking disconcertedly about him. + </p> +<p> + ‘And it chanced so with me,’ said Riderhood. ‘But I don’t mind telling you + how. Why should I mind telling you? I’m a Deputy Lock-keeper up the river, + and I was off duty yes’day, and I shall be on to-morrow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, and I come to London to look arter my private affairs. My private + affairs is to get appinted to the Lock as reg’lar keeper at fust hand, and + to have the law of a busted B’low-Bridge steamer which drownded of me. I + ain’t a goin’ to be drownded and not paid for it!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley looked at him, as though he were claiming to be a Ghost. + </p> +<p> + ‘The steamer,’ said Mr Riderhood, obstinately, ‘run me down and drownded + of me. Interference on the part of other parties brought me round; but I + never asked ’em to bring me round, nor yet the steamer never asked ’em to + it. I mean to be paid for the life as the steamer took.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was that your business at Mr Lightwood’s chambers in the middle of the + night?’ asked Bradley, eyeing him with distrust. + </p> +<p> + ‘That and to get a writing to be fust-hand Lock Keeper. A recommendation + in writing being looked for, who else ought to give it to me? As I says in + the letter in my daughter’s hand, with my mark put to it to make it good + in law, Who but you, Lawyer Lightwood, ought to hand over this here + stifficate, and who but you ought to go in for damages on my account agin + the Steamer? For (as I says under my mark) I have had trouble enough along + of you and your friend. If you, Lawyer Lightwood, had backed me good and + true, and if the T’other Governor had took me down correct (I says under + my mark), I should have been worth money at the present time, instead of + having a barge-load of bad names chucked at me, and being forced to eat my + words, which is a unsatisfying sort of food wotever a man’s appetite! And + when you mention the middle of the night, T’otherest Governor,’ growled Mr + Riderhood, winding up his monotonous summary of his wrongs, ‘throw your + eye on this here bundle under my arm, and bear in mind that I’m a walking + back to my Lock, and that the Temple laid upon my line of road.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone’s face had changed during this latter recital, and he + had observed the speaker with a more sustained attention. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you know,’ said he, after a pause, during which they walked on side by + side, ‘that I believe I could tell you your name, if I tried?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Prove your opinion,’ was the answer, accompanied with a stop and a stare. + ‘Try.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your name is Riderhood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m blest if it ain’t,’ returned that gentleman. ‘But I don’t know + your’n.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s quite another thing,’ said Bradley. ‘I never supposed you did.’ + </p> +<p> + As Bradley walked on meditating, the Rogue walked on at his side + muttering. The purport of the muttering was: ‘that Rogue Riderhood, by + George! seemed to be made public property on, now, and that every man + seemed to think himself free to handle his name as if it was a Street + Pump.’ The purport of the meditating was: ‘Here is an instrument. Can I + use it?’ + </p> +<p> + They had walked along the Strand, and into Pall Mall, and had turned + up-hill towards Hyde Park Corner; Bradley Headstone waiting on the pace + and lead of Riderhood, and leaving him to indicate the course. So slow + were the schoolmaster’s thoughts, and so indistinct his purposes when they + were but tributary to the one absorbing purpose or rather when, like dark + trees under a stormy sky, they only lined the long vista at the end of + which he saw those two figures of Wrayburn and Lizzie on which his eyes + were fixed—that at least a good half-mile was traversed before he + spoke again. Even then, it was only to ask: + </p> +<p> + ‘Where is your Lock?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Twenty mile and odd—call it five-and-twenty mile and odd, if you + like—up stream,’ was the sullen reply. + </p> +<p> + ‘How is it called?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Plashwater Weir Mill Lock.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose I was to offer you five shillings; what then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, then, I’d take it,’ said Mr Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + The schoolmaster put his hand in his pocket, and produced two half-crowns, + and placed them in Mr Riderhood’s palm: who stopped at a convenient + doorstep to ring them both, before acknowledging their receipt. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s one thing about you, T’otherest Governor,’ said Riderhood, faring + on again, ‘as looks well and goes fur. You’re a ready money man. Now;’ + when he had carefully pocketed the coins on that side of himself which was + furthest from his new friend; ‘what’s this for?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, o’ course I know <i>that</i>,’ said Riderhood, as arguing something that + was self-evident. ‘O’ course I know very well as no man in his right + senses would suppose as anythink would make me give it up agin when I’d + once got it. But what do you want for it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know that I want anything for it. Or if I do want anything for + it, I don’t know what it is.’ Bradley gave this answer in a stolid, + vacant, and self-communing manner, which Mr Riderhood found very + extraordinary. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have no goodwill towards this Wrayburn,’ said Bradley, coming to the + name in a reluctant and forced way, as if he were dragged to it. + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Neither have I.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood nodded, and asked: ‘Is it for that?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s as much for that as anything else. It’s something to be agreed with, + on a subject that occupies so much of one’s thoughts.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It don’t agree with <i>you</i>,’ returned Mr Riderhood, bluntly. ‘No! It don’t, + T’otherest Governor, and it’s no use a lookin’ as if you wanted to make + out that it did. I tell you it rankles in you. It rankles in you, rusts in + you, and pisons you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Say that it does so,’ returned Bradley with quivering lips; ‘is there no + cause for it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cause enough, I’ll bet a pound!’ cried Mr Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Haven’t you yourself declared that the fellow has heaped provocations, + insults, and affronts on you, or something to that effect? He has done the + same by me. He is made of venomous insults and affronts, from the crown of + his head to the sole of his foot. Are you so hopeful or so stupid, as not + to know that he and the other will treat your application with contempt, + and light their cigars with it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shouldn’t wonder if they did, by George!’ said Riderhood, turning + angry. + </p> +<p> + ‘If they did! They will. Let me ask you a question. I know something more + than your name about you; I knew something about Gaffer Hexam. When did + you last set eyes upon his daughter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When did I last set eyes upon his daughter, T’otherest Governor?’ + repeated Mr Riderhood, growing intentionally slower of comprehension as + the other quickened in his speech. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. Not to speak to her. To see her—anywhere?’ + </p> +<p> + The Rogue had got the clue he wanted, though he held it with a clumsy + hand. Looking perplexedly at the passionate face, as if he were trying to + work out a sum in his mind, he slowly answered: + </p> +<p> + ‘I ain’t set eyes upon her—never once—not since the day of + Gaffer’s death.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You know her well, by sight?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should think I did! No one better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you know him as well?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who’s him?’ asked Riderhood, taking off his hat and rubbing his forehead, + as he directed a dull look at his questioner. + </p> +<p> + ‘Curse the name! Is it so agreeable to you that you want to hear it + again?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! <i>him</i>!’ said Riderhood, who had craftily worked the schoolmaster into + this corner, that he might again take note of his face under its evil + possession. ‘I’d know <i>him </i>among a thousand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you—’ Bradley tried to ask it quietly; but, do what he might + with his voice, he could not subdue his face;—‘did you ever see them + together?’ + </p> +<p> + (The Rogue had got the clue in both hands now.) + </p> +<p> + ‘I see ’em together, T’otherest Governor, on the very day when Gaffer was + towed ashore.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley could have hidden a reserved piece of information from the sharp + eyes of a whole inquisitive class, but he could not veil from the eyes of + the ignorant Riderhood the withheld question next in his breast. ‘You + shall put it plain if you want it answered,’ thought the Rogue, doggedly; + ‘I ain’t a-going a wolunteering.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! was he insolent to her too?’ asked Bradley after a struggle. ‘Or + did he make a show of being kind to her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He made a show of being most uncommon kind to her,’ said Riderhood. ‘By + George! now I—’ + </p> +<p> + His flying off at a tangent was indisputably natural. Bradley looked at + him for the reason. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now I think of it,’ said Mr Riderhood, evasively, for he was substituting + those words for ‘Now I see you so jealous,’ which was the phrase really in + his mind; ‘P’r’aps he went and took me down wrong, a purpose, on account + o’ being sweet upon her!’ + </p> +<p> + The baseness of confirming him in this suspicion or pretence of one (for + he could not have really entertained it), was a line’s breadth beyond the + mark the schoolmaster had reached. The baseness of communing and + intriguing with the fellow who would have set that stain upon her, and + upon her brother too, was attained. The line’s breadth further, lay + beyond. He made no reply, but walked on with a lowering face. + </p> +<p> + What he might gain by this acquaintance, he could not work out in his slow + and cumbrous thoughts. The man had an injury against the object of his + hatred, and that was something; though it was less than he supposed, for + there dwelt in the man no such deadly rage and resentment as burned in his + own breast. The man knew her, and might by a fortunate chance see her, or + hear of her; that was something, as enlisting one pair of eyes and ears + the more. The man was a bad man, and willing enough to be in his pay. That + was something, for his own state and purpose were as bad as bad could be, + and he seemed to derive a vague support from the possession of a congenial + instrument, though it might never be used. + </p> +<p> + Suddenly he stood still, and asked Riderhood point-blank if he knew where + she was? Clearly, he did not know. He asked Riderhood if he would be + willing, in case any intelligence of her, or of Wrayburn as seeking her or + associating with her, should fall in his way, to communicate it if it were + paid for? He would be very willing indeed. He was ‘agin ’em both,’ he said + with an oath, and for why? ’Cause they had both stood betwixt him and his + getting his living by the sweat of his brow. + </p> +<p> + ‘It will not be long then,’ said Bradley Headstone, after some more + discourse to this effect, ‘before we see one another again. Here is the + country road, and here is the day. Both have come upon me by surprise.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, T’otherest Governor,’ urged Mr Riderhood, ‘I don’t know where to + find you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is of no consequence. I know where to find you, and I’ll come to your + Lock.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, T’otherest Governor,’ urged Mr Riderhood again, ‘no luck never come + yet of a dry acquaintance. Let’s wet it, in a mouth-fill of rum and milk, + T’otherest Governor.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley assenting, went with him into an early public-house, haunted by + unsavoury smells of musty hay and stale straw, where returning carts, + farmers’ men, gaunt dogs, fowls of a beery breed, and certain human + nightbirds fluttering home to roost, were solacing themselves after their + several manners; and where not one of the nightbirds hovering about the + sloppy bar failed to discern at a glance in the passion-wasted nightbird + with respectable feathers, the worst nightbird of all. + </p> +<p> + An inspiration of affection for a half-drunken carter going his way led to + Mr Riderhood’s being elevated on a high heap of baskets on a waggon, and + pursuing his journey recumbent on his back with his head on his bundle. + Bradley then turned to retrace his steps, and by-and-by struck off through + little-traversed ways, and by-and-by reached school and home. Up came the + sun to find him washed and brushed, methodically dressed in decent black + coat and waistcoat, decent formal black tie, and pepper-and-salt + pantaloons, with his decent silver watch in its pocket, and its decent + hair-guard round his neck: a scholastic huntsman clad for the field, with + his fresh pack yelping and barking around him. + </p> +<p> + Yet more really bewitched than the miserable creatures of the + much-lamented times, who accused themselves of impossibilities under a + contagion of horror and the strongly suggestive influences of Torture, he + had been ridden hard by Evil Spirits in the night that was newly gone. He + had been spurred and whipped and heavily sweated. If a record of the sport + had usurped the places of the peaceful texts from Scripture on the wall, + the most advanced of the scholars might have taken fright and run away + from the master. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0045"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 12 + </h2> +<h3> + MEANING MISCHIEF + </h3> +<p> + Up came the sun, streaming all over London, and in its glorious + impartiality even condescending to make prismatic sparkles in the whiskers + of Mr Alfred Lammle as he sat at breakfast. In need of some brightening + from without, was Mr Alfred Lammle, for he had the air of being dull + enough within, and looked grievously discontented. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Alfred Lammle faced her lord. The happy pair of swindlers, with the + comfortable tie between them that each had swindled the other, sat moodily + observant of the tablecloth. Things looked so gloomy in the + breakfast-room, albeit on the sunny side of Sackville Street, that any of + the family tradespeople glancing through the blinds might have taken the + hint to send in his account and press for it. But this, indeed, most of + the family tradespeople had already done, without the hint. + </p> +<p> + ‘It seems to me,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘that you have had no money at all, + ever since we have been married.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What seems to you,’ said Mr Lammle, ‘to have been the case, may possibly + have been the case. It doesn’t matter.’ + </p> +<p> + Was it the speciality of Mr and Mrs Lammle, or does it ever obtain with + other loving couples? In these matrimonial dialogues they never addressed + each other, but always some invisible presence that appeared to take a + station about midway between them. Perhaps the skeleton in the cupboard + comes out to be talked to, on such domestic occasions? + </p> +<p> + ‘I have never seen any money in the house,’ said Mrs Lammle to the + skeleton, ‘except my own annuity. That I swear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You needn’t take the trouble of swearing,’ said Mr Lammle to the + skeleton; ‘once more, it doesn’t matter. You never turned your annuity to + so good an account.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good an account! In what way?’ asked Mrs Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘In the way of getting credit, and living well,’ said Mr Lammle. Perhaps + the skeleton laughed scornfully on being intrusted with this question and + this answer; certainly Mrs Lammle did, and Mr Lammle did. + </p> +<p> + ‘And what is to happen next?’ asked Mrs Lammle of the skeleton. + </p> +<p> + ‘Smash is to happen next,’ said Mr Lammle to the same authority. + </p> +<p> + After this, Mrs Lammle looked disdainfully at the skeleton—but + without carrying the look on to Mr Lammle—and drooped her eyes. + After that, Mr Lammle did exactly the same thing, and drooped <i>his </i>eyes. A + servant then entering with toast, the skeleton retired into the closet, + and shut itself up. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia,’ said Mr Lammle, when the servant had withdrawn. And then, + very much louder: ‘Sophronia!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Attend to me, if you please.’ He eyed her sternly until she did attend, + and then went on. ‘I want to take counsel with you. Come, come; no more + trifling. You know our league and covenant. We are to work together for + our joint interest, and you are as knowing a hand as I am. We shouldn’t be + together, if you were not. What’s to be done? We are hemmed into a corner. + What shall we do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you no scheme on foot that will bring in anything?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle plunged into his whiskers for reflection, and came out hopeless: + ‘No; as adventurers we are obliged to play rash games for chances of high + winnings, and there has been a run of luck against us.’ + </p> +<p> + She was resuming, ‘Have you nothing—’ when he stopped her. + </p> +<p> + ‘We, Sophronia. We, we, we.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have we nothing to sell?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Deuce a bit. I have given a Jew a bill of sale on this furniture, and he + could take it to-morrow, to-day, now. He would have taken it before now, I + believe, but for Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What has Fledgeby to do with him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Knew him. Cautioned me against him before I got into his claws. Couldn’t + persuade him then, in behalf of somebody else.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you mean that Fledgeby has at all softened him towards you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Us, Sophronia. Us, us, us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Towards us?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean that the Jew has not yet done what he might have done, and that + Fledgeby takes the credit of having got him to hold his hand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you believe Fledgeby?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, I never believe anybody. I never have, my dear, since I + believed you. But it looks like it.’ + </p> +<p> + Having given her this back-handed reminder of her mutinous observations to + the skeleton, Mr Lammle rose from table—perhaps, the better to + conceal a smile, and a white dint or two about his nose—and took a + turn on the carpet and came to the hearthrug. + </p> +<p> + ‘If we could have packed the brute off with Georgiana;—but however; + that’s spilled milk.’ + </p> +<p> + As Lammle, standing gathering up the skirts of his dressing-gown with his + back to the fire, said this, looking down at his wife, she turned pale and + looked down at the ground. With a sense of disloyalty upon her, and + perhaps with a sense of personal danger—for she was afraid of him—even + afraid of his hand and afraid of his foot, though he had never done her + violence—she hastened to put herself right in his eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘If we could borrow money, Alfred—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Beg money, borrow money, or steal money. It would be all one to us, + Sophronia,’ her husband struck in. + </p> +<p> + ‘—Then, we could weather this?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No doubt. To offer another original and undeniable remark, Sophronia, two + and two make four.’ + </p> +<p> + But, seeing that she was turning something in her mind, he gathered up the + skirts of his dressing-gown again, and, tucking them under one arm, and + collecting his ample whiskers in his other hand, kept his eye upon her, + silently. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is natural, Alfred,’ she said, looking up with some timidity into his + face, ‘to think in such an emergency of the richest people we know, and + the simplest.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Just so, Sophronia.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The Boffins.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Just so, Sophronia.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is there nothing to be done with them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What is there to be done with them, Sophronia?’ + </p> +<p> + She cast about in her thoughts again, and he kept his eye upon her as + before. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course I have repeatedly thought of the Boffins, Sophronia,’ he + resumed, after a fruitless silence; ‘but I have seen my way to nothing. + They are well guarded. That infernal Secretary stands between them and—people + of merit.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If he could be got rid of?’ said she, brightening a little, after more + casting about. + </p> +<p> + ‘Take time, Sophronia,’ observed her watchful husband, in a patronizing + manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘If working him out of the way could be presented in the light of a + service to Mr Boffin?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Take time, Sophronia.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘We have remarked lately, Alfred, that the old man is turning very + suspicious and distrustful.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Miserly too, my dear; which is far the most unpromising for us. + Nevertheless, take time, Sophronia, take time.’ + </p> +<p> + She took time and then said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose we should address ourselves to that tendency in him of which we + have made ourselves quite sure. Suppose my conscience—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And we know what a conscience it is, my soul. Yes?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose my conscience should not allow me to keep to myself any longer + what that upstart girl told me of the Secretary’s having made a + declaration to her. Suppose my conscience should oblige me to repeat it to + Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I rather like that,’ said Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose I so repeated it to Mr Boffin, as to insinuate that my sensitive + delicacy and honour—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good words, Sophronia.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—As to insinuate that <i>our </i>sensitive delicacy and honour,’ she + resumed, with a bitter stress upon the phrase, ‘would not allow us to be + silent parties to so mercenary and designing a speculation on the + Secretary’s part, and so gross a breach of faith towards his confiding + employer. Suppose I had imparted my virtuous uneasiness to my excellent + husband, and he had said, in his integrity, “Sophronia, you must + immediately disclose this to Mr Boffin.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Once more, Sophronia,’ observed Lammle, changing the leg on which he + stood, ‘I rather like that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You remark that he is well guarded,’ she pursued. ‘I think so too. But if + this should lead to his discharging his Secretary, there would be a weak + place made.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go on expounding, Sophronia. I begin to like this very much.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Having, in our unimpeachable rectitude, done him the service of opening + his eyes to the treachery of the person he trusted, we shall have + established a claim upon him and a confidence with him. Whether it can be + made much of, or little of, we must wait—because we can’t help it—to + see. Probably we shall make the most of it that is to be made.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Probably,’ said Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you think it impossible,’ she asked, in the same cold plotting way, + ‘that you might replace the Secretary?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not impossible, Sophronia. It might be brought about. At any rate it + might be skilfully led up to.’ + </p> +<p> + She nodded her understanding of the hint, as she looked at the fire. ‘Mr + Lammle,’ she said, musingly: not without a slight ironical touch: ‘Mr + Lammle would be so delighted to do anything in his power. Mr Lammle, + himself a man of business as well as a capitalist. Mr Lammle, accustomed + to be intrusted with the most delicate affairs. Mr Lammle, who has managed + my own little fortune so admirably, but who, to be sure, began to make his + reputation with the advantage of being a man of property, above + temptation, and beyond suspicion.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle smiled, and even patted her on the head. In his sinister relish + of the scheme, as he stood above her, making it the subject of his + cogitations, he seemed to have twice as much nose on his face as he had + ever had in his life. + </p> +<p> + He stood pondering, and she sat looking at the dusty fire without moving, + for some time. But, the moment he began to speak again she looked up with + a wince and attended to him, as if that double-dealing of hers had been in + her mind, and the fear were revived in her of his hand or his foot. + </p> +<p> + ‘It appears to me, Sophronia, that you have omitted one branch of the + subject. Perhaps not, for women understand women. We might oust the girl + herself?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle shook her head. ‘She has an immensely strong hold upon them + both, Alfred. Not to be compared with that of a paid secretary.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But the dear child,’ said Lammle, with a crooked smile, ‘ought to have + been open with her benefactor and benefactress. The darling love ought to + have reposed unbounded confidence in her benefactor and benefactress.’ + </p> +<p> + Sophronia shook her head again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! Women understand women,’ said her husband, rather disappointed. ‘I + don’t press it. It might be the making of our fortune to make a clean + sweep of them both. With me to manage the property, and my wife to manage + the people—Whew!’ + </p> +<p> + Again shaking her head, she returned: ‘They will never quarrel with the + girl. They will never punish the girl. We must accept the girl, rely upon + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ cried Lammle, shrugging his shoulders, ‘so be it: only always + remember that we don’t want her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, the sole remaining question is,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘when shall I + begin?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You cannot begin too soon, Sophronia. As I have told you, the condition + of our affairs is desperate, and may be blown upon at any moment.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must secure Mr Boffin alone, Alfred. If his wife was present, she would + throw oil upon the waters. I know I should fail to move him to an angry + outburst, if his wife was there. And as to the girl herself—as I am + going to betray her confidence, she is equally out of the question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It wouldn’t do to write for an appointment?’ said Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, certainly not. They would wonder among themselves why I wrote, and I + want to have him wholly unprepared.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Call, and ask to see him alone?’ suggested Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘I would rather not do that either. Leave it to me. Spare me the little + carriage for to-day, and for to-morrow (if I don’t succeed to-day), and + I’ll lie in wait for him.’ + </p> +<p> + It was barely settled when a manly form was seen to pass the windows and + heard to knock and ring. ‘Here’s Fledgeby,’ said Lammle. ‘He admires you, + and has a high opinion of you. I’ll be out. Coax him to use his influence + with the Jew. His name is Riah, of the House of Pubsey and Co.’ Adding + these words under his breath, lest he should be audible in the erect ears + of Mr Fledgeby, through two keyholes and the hall, Lammle, making signals + of discretion to his servant, went softly up stairs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Fledgeby,’ said Mrs Lammle, giving him a very gracious reception, ‘so + glad to see you! My poor dear Alfred, who is greatly worried just now + about his affairs, went out rather early. Dear Mr Fledgeby, do sit down.’ + </p> +<p> + Dear Mr Fledgeby did sit down, and satisfied himself (or, judging from the + expression of his countenance, <i>dis</i>satisfied himself) that nothing new had + occurred in the way of whisker-sprout since he came round the corner from + the Albany. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear Mr Fledgeby, it was needless to mention to you that my poor dear + Alfred is much worried about his affairs at present, for he has told me + what a comfort you are to him in his temporary difficulties, and what a + great service you have rendered him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Mr Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘I didn’t know,’ remarked Mr Fledgeby, trying a new part of his chair, + ‘but that Lammle might be reserved about his affairs.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not to me,’ said Mrs Lammle, with deep feeling. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, indeed?’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not to me, dear Mr Fledgeby. I am his wife.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I—I always understood so,’ said Mr Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘And as the wife of Alfred, may I, dear Mr Fledgeby, wholly without his + authority or knowledge, as I am sure your discernment will perceive, + entreat you to continue that great service, and once more use your + well-earned influence with Mr Riah for a little more indulgence? The name + I have heard Alfred mention, tossing in his dreams, <i>is</i> Riah; is it not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The name of the Creditor is Riah,’ said Mr Fledgeby, with a rather + uncompromising accent on his noun-substantive. ‘Saint Mary Axe. Pubsey and + Co.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh yes!’ exclaimed Mrs Lammle, clasping her hands with a certain gushing + wildness. ‘Pubsey and Co.!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The pleading of the feminine—’ Mr Fledgeby began, and there stuck + so long for a word to get on with, that Mrs Lammle offered him sweetly, + ‘Heart?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Fledgeby, ‘Gender—is ever what a man is bound to + listen to, and I wish it rested with myself. But this Riah is a nasty one, + Mrs Lammle; he really is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not if <i>you </i>speak to him, dear Mr Fledgeby.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my soul and body he is!’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Try. Try once more, dearest Mr Fledgeby. What is there you cannot do, if + you will!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ said Fledgeby, ‘you’re very complimentary to say so. I don’t + mind trying him again, at your request. But of course I can’t answer for + the consequences. Riah is a tough subject, and when he says he’ll do a + thing, he’ll do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Exactly so,’ cried Mrs Lammle, ‘and when he says to you he’ll wait, he’ll + wait.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘She is a devilish clever woman,’ thought Fledgeby. ‘I didn’t see that + opening, but she spies it out and cuts into it as soon as it’s +made.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘In point of fact, dear Mr Fledgeby,’ Mrs Lammle went on in a very + interesting manner, ‘not to affect concealment of Alfred’s hopes, to you + who are so much his friend, there is a distant break in his horizon.’ + </p> +<p> + This figure of speech seemed rather mysterious to Fascination Fledgeby, + who said, ‘There’s a what in his—eh?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Alfred, dear Mr Fledgeby, discussed with me this very morning before he + went out, some prospects he has, which might entirely change the aspect of + his present troubles.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Really?’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘O yes!’ Here Mrs Lammle brought her handkerchief into play. ‘And you + know, dear Mr Fledgeby—you who study the human heart, and study the + world—what an affliction it would be to lose position and to lose + credit, when ability to tide over a very short time might save all + appearances.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Fledgeby. ‘Then you think, Mrs Lammle, that if Lammle got time, + he wouldn’t burst up?—To use an expression,’ Mr Fledgeby + apologetically explained, ‘which is adopted in the Money Market.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed yes. Truly, truly, yes!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That makes all the difference,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I’ll make a point of + seeing Riah at once.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Blessings on you, dearest Mr Fledgeby!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all,’ said Fledgeby. She gave him her hand. ‘The hand,’ said Mr + Fledgeby, ‘of a lovely and superior-minded female is ever the repayment of + a—’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0535m " src="images/0535m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0535m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0535.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7793092496775896788"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Noble action!’ said Mrs Lammle, extremely anxious to get rid of him. + </p> +<p> + ‘It wasn’t what I was going to say,’ returned Fledgeby, who never would, + under any circumstances, accept a suggested expression, ‘but you’re very + complimentary. May I imprint a—a one—upon it? Good morning!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I may depend upon your promptitude, dearest Mr Fledgeby?’ + </p> +<p> + Said Fledgeby, looking back at the door and respectfully kissing his hand, + ‘You may depend upon it.’ + </p> +<p> + In fact, Mr Fledgeby sped on his errand of mercy through the streets, at + so brisk a rate that his feet might have been winged by all the good + spirits that wait on Generosity. They might have taken up their station in + his breast, too, for he was blithe and merry. There was quite a fresh + trill in his voice, when, arriving at the counting-house in St Mary Axe, + and finding it for the moment empty, he trolled forth at the foot of the + staircase: ‘Now, Judah, what are you up to there?’ + </p> +<p> + The old man appeared, with his accustomed deference. + </p> +<p> + ‘Halloa!’ said Fledgeby, falling back, with a wink. ‘You mean mischief, + Jerusalem!’ + </p> +<p> + The old man raised his eyes inquiringly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes you do,’ said Fledgeby. ‘Oh, you sinner! Oh, you dodger! What! You’re + going to act upon that bill of sale at Lammle’s, are you? Nothing will + turn you, won’t it? You won’t be put off for another single minute, won’t + you?’ + </p> +<p> + Ordered to immediate action by the master’s tone and look, the old man + took up his hat from the little counter where it lay. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have been told that he might pull through it, if you didn’t go in to + win, Wide-Awake; have you?’ said Fledgeby. ‘And it’s not your game that he + should pull through it; ain’t it? You having got security, and there being + enough to pay you? Oh, you Jew!’ + </p> +<p> + The old man stood irresolute and uncertain for a moment, as if there might + be further instructions for him in reserve. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I go, sir?’ he at length asked in a low voice. + </p> +<p> + ‘Asks me if he is going!’ exclaimed Fledgeby. ‘Asks me, as if he didn’t + know his own purpose! Asks me, as if he hadn’t got his hat on ready! Asks + me, as if his sharp old eye—why, it cuts like a knife—wasn’t + looking at his walking-stick by the door!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do I go, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you go?’ sneered Fledgeby. ‘Yes, you do go. Toddle, Judah!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0046"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 13 + </h2> +<h3> + GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME, AND HANG HIM + </h3> +<p> + Fascination Fledgeby, left alone in the counting-house, strolled about + with his hat on one side, whistling, and investigating the drawers, and + prying here and there for any small evidences of his being cheated, but + could find none. ‘Not his merit that he don’t cheat me,’ was Mr Fledgeby’s + commentary delivered with a wink, ‘but my precaution.’ He then with a lazy + grandeur asserted his rights as lord of Pubsey and Co. by poking his cane + at the stools and boxes, and spitting in the fireplace, and so loitered + royally to the window and looked out into the narrow street, with his + small eyes just peering over the top of Pubsey and Co.‘s blind. As a blind + in more senses than one, it reminded him that he was alone in the + counting-house with the front door open. He was moving away to shut it, + lest he should be injudiciously identified with the establishment, when he + was stopped by some one coming to the door. + </p> +<p> + This some one was the dolls’ dressmaker, with a little basket on her arm, + and her crutch stick in her hand. Her keen eyes had espied Mr Fledgeby + before Mr Fledgeby had espied her, and he was paralysed in his purpose of + shutting her out, not so much by her approaching the door, as by her + favouring him with a shower of nods, the instant he saw her. This + advantage she improved by hobbling up the steps with such despatch that + before Mr Fledgeby could take measures for her finding nobody at home, she + was face to face with him in the counting-house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hope I see you well, sir,’ said Miss Wren. ‘Mr Riah in?’ + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby had dropped into a chair, in the attitude of one waiting wearily. + ‘I suppose he will be back soon,’ he replied; ‘he has cut out and left me + expecting him back, in an odd way. Haven’t I seen you before?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Once before—if you had your eyesight,’ replied Miss Wren; the + conditional clause in an under-tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘When you were carrying on some games up at the top of the house. I + remember. How’s your friend?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have more friends than one, sir, I hope,’ replied Miss Wren. ‘Which + friend?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never mind,’ said Mr Fledgeby, shutting up one eye, ‘any of your friends, + all your friends. Are they pretty tolerable?’ + </p> +<p> + Somewhat confounded, Miss Wren parried the pleasantry, and sat down in a + corner behind the door, with her basket in her lap. By-and-by, she said, + breaking a long and patient silence: + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I am used to find Mr Riah at this time, and + so I generally come at this time. I only want to buy my poor little two + shillings’ worth of waste. Perhaps you’ll kindly let me have it, and I’ll + trot off to my work.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I let you have it?’ said Fledgeby, turning his head towards her; for he + had been sitting blinking at the light, and feeling his cheek. ‘Why, you + don’t really suppose that I have anything to do with the place, or the + business; do you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose?’ exclaimed Miss Wren. ‘He said, that day, you were the master!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The old cock in black said? Riah said? Why, he’d say anything.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well; but you said so too,’ returned Miss Wren. ‘Or at least you took on + like the master, and didn’t contradict him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘One of his dodges,’ said Mr Fledgeby, with a cool and contemptuous shrug. + ‘He’s made of dodges. He said to me, “Come up to the top of the house, + sir, and I’ll show you a handsome girl. But I shall call you the master.” + So I went up to the top of the house and he showed me the handsome girl + (very well worth looking at she was), and I was called the master. I don’t + know why. I dare say he don’t. He loves a dodge for its own sake; being,’ + added Mr Fledgeby, after casting about for an expressive phrase, ‘the + dodgerest of all the dodgers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my head!’ cried the dolls’ dressmaker, holding it with both her hands, + as if it were cracking. ‘You can’t mean what you say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can, my little woman, retorted Fledgeby, ‘and I do, I assure you.’ + </p> +<p> + This repudiation was not only an act of deliberate policy on Fledgeby’s + part, in case of his being surprised by any other caller, but was also a + retort upon Miss Wren for her over-sharpness, and a pleasant instance of + his humour as regarded the old Jew. ‘He has got a bad name as an old Jew, + and he is paid for the use of it, and I’ll have my money’s worth out of + him.’ This was Fledgeby’s habitual reflection in the way of business, and + it was sharpened just now by the old man’s presuming to have a secret from + him: though of the secret itself, as annoying somebody else whom he + disliked, he by no means disapproved. + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren with a fallen countenance sat behind the door looking + thoughtfully at the ground, and the long and patient silence had again set + in for some time, when the expression of Mr Fledgeby’s face betokened that + through the upper portion of the door, which was of glass, he saw some one + faltering on the brink of the counting-house. Presently there was a rustle + and a tap, and then some more rustling and another tap. Fledgeby taking no + notice, the door was at length softly opened, and the dried face of a mild + little elderly gentleman looked in. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Riah?’ said this visitor, very politely. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am waiting for him, sir,’ returned Mr Fledgeby. ‘He went out and left + me here. I expect him back every minute. Perhaps you had better take a + chair.’ + </p> +<p> + The gentleman took a chair, and put his hand to his forehead, as if he + were in a melancholy frame of mind. Mr Fledgeby eyed him aside, and seemed + to relish his attitude. + </p> +<p> + ‘A fine day, sir,’ remarked Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + The little dried gentleman was so occupied with his own depressed + reflections that he did not notice the remark until the sound of Mr + Fledgeby’s voice had died out of the counting-house. Then he started, and + said: ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I fear you spoke to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I said,’ remarked Fledgeby, a little louder than before, ‘it was a fine + day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon. Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + Again the little dried gentleman put his hand to his forehead, and again + Mr Fledgeby seemed to enjoy his doing it. When the gentleman changed his + attitude with a sigh, Fledgeby spake with a grin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Twemlow, I think?’ + </p> +<p> + The dried gentleman seemed much surprised. + </p> +<p> + ‘Had the pleasure of dining with you at Lammle’s,’ said Fledgeby. ‘Even + have the honour of being a connexion of yours. An unexpected sort of place + this to meet in; but one never knows, when one gets into the City, what + people one may knock up against. I hope you have your health, and are + enjoying yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + There might have been a touch of impertinence in the last words; on the + other hand, it might have been but the native grace of Mr Fledgeby’s + manner. Mr Fledgeby sat on a stool with a foot on the rail of another + stool, and his hat on. Mr Twemlow had uncovered on looking in at the door, + and remained so. Now the conscientious Twemlow, knowing what he had done + to thwart the gracious Fledgeby, was particularly disconcerted by this + encounter. He was as ill at ease as a gentleman well could be. He felt + himself bound to conduct himself stiffly towards Fledgeby, and he made him + a distant bow. Fledgeby made his small eyes smaller in taking special note + of his manner. The dolls’ dressmaker sat in her corner behind the door, + with her eyes on the ground and her hands folded on her basket, holding + her crutch-stick between them, and appearing to take no heed of anything. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s a long time,’ muttered Mr Fledgeby, looking at his watch. ‘What time + may you make it, Mr Twemlow?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Twemlow made it ten minutes past twelve, sir. + </p> +<p> + ‘As near as a toucher,’ assented Fledgeby. ‘I hope, Mr Twemlow, your + business here may be of a more agreeable character than mine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mr Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby again made his small eyes smaller, as he glanced with great + complacency at Twemlow, who was timorously tapping the table with a folded + letter. + </p> +<p> + ‘What I know of Mr Riah,’ said Fledgeby, with a very disparaging utterance + of his name, ‘leads me to believe that this is about the shop for + disagreeable business. I have always found him the bitingest and tightest + screw in London.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Twemlow acknowledged the remark with a little distant bow. It evidently + made him nervous. + </p> +<p> + ‘So much so,’ pursued Fledgeby, ‘that if it wasn’t to be true to a friend, + nobody should catch me waiting here a single minute. But if you have + friends in adversity, stand by them. That’s what I say and act up to.’ + </p> +<p> + The equitable Twemlow felt that this sentiment, irrespective of the + utterer, demanded his cordial assent. ‘You are very right, sir,’ he + rejoined with spirit. ‘You indicate the generous and manly course.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Glad to have your approbation,’ returned Fledgeby. ‘It’s a coincidence, + Mr Twemlow;’ here he descended from his perch, and sauntered towards him; + ‘that the friends I am standing by to-day are the friends at whose house I + met you! The Lammles. She’s a very taking and agreeable woman?’ + </p> +<p> + Conscience smote the gentle Twemlow pale. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And when she appealed to me this morning, to come and try what I could do + to pacify their creditor, this Mr Riah—that I certainly have gained + some little influence with in transacting business for another friend, but + nothing like so much as she supposes—and when a woman like that + spoke to me as her dearest Mr Fledgeby, and shed tears—why what + could I do, you know?’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow gasped ‘Nothing but come.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing but come. And so I came. But why,’ said Fledgeby, putting his + hands in his pockets and counterfeiting deep meditation, ‘why Riah should + have started up, when I told him that the Lammles entreated him to hold + over a Bill of Sale he has on all their effects; and why he should have + cut out, saying he would be back directly; and why he should have left me + here alone so long; I cannot understand.’ + </p> +<p> + The chivalrous Twemlow, Knight of the Simple Heart, was not in a condition + to offer any suggestion. He was too penitent, too remorseful. For the + first time in his life he had done an underhanded action, and he had done + wrong. He had secretly interposed against this confiding young man, for no + better real reason than because the young man’s ways were not his ways. + </p> +<p> + But, the confiding young man proceeded to heap coals of fire on his + sensitive head. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Twemlow; you see I am acquainted with the nature of + the affairs that are transacted here. Is there anything I can do for you + here? You have always been brought up as a gentleman, and never as a man + of business;’ another touch of possible impertinence in this place; ‘and + perhaps you are but a poor man of business. What else is to be expected!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am even a poorer man of business than I am a man, sir,’ returned + Twemlow, ‘and I could hardly express my deficiency in a stronger way. I + really do not so much as clearly understand my position in the matter on + which I am brought here. But there are reasons which make me very delicate + of accepting your assistance. I am greatly, greatly, disinclined to profit + by it. I don’t deserve it.’ + </p> +<p> + Good childish creature! Condemned to a passage through the world by such + narrow little dimly-lighted ways, and picking up so few specks or spots on + the road! + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps,’ said Fledgeby, ‘you may be a little proud of entering on the + topic,—having been brought up as a gentleman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not that, sir,’ returned Twemlow, ‘it’s not that. I hope I + distinguish between true pride and false pride.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have no pride at all, myself,’ said Fledgeby, ‘and perhaps I don’t cut + things so fine as to know one from t’other. But I know this is a place + where even a man of business needs his wits about him; and if mine can be + of any use to you here, you’re welcome to them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are very good,’ said Twemlow, faltering. ‘But I am most unwilling—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t, you know,’ proceeded Fledgeby with an ill-favoured glance, + ‘entertain the vanity of supposing that my wits could be of any use to you + in society, but they might be here. You cultivate society and society + cultivates you, but Mr Riah’s not society. In society, Mr Riah is kept + dark; eh, Mr Twemlow?’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow, much disturbed, and with his hand fluttering about his forehead, + replied: ‘Quite true.’ + </p> +<p> + The confiding young man besought him to state his case. The innocent + Twemlow, expecting Fledgeby to be astounded by what he should unfold, and + not for an instant conceiving the possibility of its happening every day, + but treating of it as a terrible phenomenon occurring in the course of + ages, related how that he had had a deceased friend, a married civil + officer with a family, who had wanted money for change of place or change + of post, and how he, Twemlow, had ‘given him his name,’ with the usual, + but in the eyes of Twemlow almost incredible result that he had been left + to repay what he had never had. How, in the course of years, he had + reduced the principal by trifling sums, ‘having,’ said Twemlow, ‘always to + observe great economy, being in the enjoyment of a fixed income limited in + extent, and that depending on the munificence of a certain nobleman,’ and + had always pinched the full interest out of himself with punctual pinches. + How he had come, in course of time, to look upon this one only debt of his + life as a regular quarterly drawback, and no worse, when ‘his name’ had + some way fallen into the possession of Mr Riah, who had sent him notice to + redeem it by paying up in full, in one plump sum, or take tremendous + consequences. This, with hazy remembrances of how he had been carried to + some office to ‘confess judgment’ (as he recollected the phrase), and how + he had been carried to another office where his life was assured for + somebody not wholly unconnected with the sherry trade whom he remembered + by the remarkable circumstance that he had a Straduarius violin to dispose + of, and also a Madonna, formed the sum and substance of Mr Twemlow’s + narrative. Through which stalked the shadow of the awful Snigsworth, eyed + afar off by money-lenders as Security in the Mist, and menacing Twemlow + with his baronial truncheon. + </p> +<p> + To all, Mr Fledgeby listened with the modest gravity becoming a confiding + young man who knew it all beforehand, and, when it was finished, seriously + shook his head. ‘I don’t like, Mr Twemlow,’ said Fledgeby, ‘I don’t like + Riah’s calling in the principal. If he’s determined to call it in, it must + come.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But supposing, sir,’ said Twemlow, downcast, ‘that it can’t come?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ retorted Fledgeby, ‘you must go, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ asked Twemlow, faintly. + </p> +<p> + ‘To prison,’ returned Fledgeby. Whereat Mr Twemlow leaned his innocent + head upon his hand, and moaned a little moan of distress and disgrace. + </p> +<p> + ‘However,’ said Fledgeby, appearing to pluck up his spirits, ‘we’ll hope + it’s not so bad as that comes to. If you’ll allow me, I’ll mention to Mr + Riah when he comes in, who you are, and I’ll tell him you’re my friend, + and I’ll say my say for you, instead of your saying it for yourself; I may + be able to do it in a more business-like way. You won’t consider it a + liberty?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I thank you again and again, sir,’ said Twemlow. ‘I am strong, strongly, + disinclined to avail myself of your generosity, though my helplessness + yields. For I cannot but feel that I—to put it in the mildest form + of speech—that I have done nothing to deserve it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where <i>can </i>he be?’ muttered Fledgeby, referring to his watch again. ‘What + <i>can </i>he have gone out for? Did you ever see him, Mr Twemlow?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is a thorough Jew to look at, but he is a more thorough Jew to deal + with. He’s worst when he’s quiet. If he’s quiet, I shall take it as a very + bad sign. Keep your eye upon him when he comes in, and, if he’s quiet, + don’t be hopeful. Here he is!—He looks quiet.’ + </p> +<p> + With these words, which had the effect of causing the harmless Twemlow + painful agitation, Mr Fledgeby withdrew to his former post, and the old + man entered the counting-house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, Mr Riah,’ said Fledgeby, ‘I thought you were lost!’ + </p> +<p> + The old man, glancing at the stranger, stood stock-still. He perceived + that his master was leading up to the orders he was to take, and he waited + to understand them. + </p> +<p> + ‘I really thought,’ repeated Fledgeby slowly, ‘that you were lost, Mr + Riah. Why, now I look at you—but no, you can’t have done it; no, you + can’t have done it!’ + </p> +<p> + Hat in hand, the old man lifted his head, and looked distressfully at + Fledgeby as seeking to know what new moral burden he was to bear. + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t have rushed out to get the start of everybody else, and put in + that bill of sale at Lammle’s?’ said Fledgeby. ‘Say you haven’t, Mr Riah.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir, I have,’ replied the old man in a low voice. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my eye!’ cried Fledgeby. ‘Tut, tut, tut! Dear, dear, dear! Well! I + knew you were a hard customer, Mr Riah, but I never thought you were as + hard as that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ said the old man, with great uneasiness, ‘I do as I am directed. I + am not the principal here. I am but the agent of a superior, and I have no + choice, no power.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t say so,’ retorted Fledgeby, secretly exultant as the old man + stretched out his hands, with a shrinking action of defending himself + against the sharp construction of the two observers. ‘Don’t play the tune + of the trade, Mr Riah. You’ve a right to get in your debts, if you’re + determined to do it, but don’t pretend what every one in your line + regularly pretends. At least, don’t do it to me. Why should you, Mr Riah? + You know I know all about you.’ + </p> +<p> + The old man clasped the skirt of his long coat with his disengaged hand, + and directed a wistful look at Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘And don’t,’ said Fledgeby, ‘don’t, I entreat you as a favour, Mr Riah, be + so devilish meek, for I know what’ll follow if you are. Look here, Mr + Riah. This gentleman is Mr Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + The Jew turned to him and bowed. That poor lamb bowed in return; polite, + and terrified. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have made such a failure,’ proceeded Fledgeby, ‘in trying to do + anything with you for my friend Lammle, that I’ve hardly a hope of doing + anything with you for my friend (and connexion indeed) Mr Twemlow. But I + do think that if you would do a favour for anybody, you would for me, and + I won’t fail for want of trying, and I’ve passed my promise to Mr Twemlow + besides. Now, Mr Riah, here is Mr Twemlow. Always good for his interest, + always coming up to time, always paying his little way. Now, why should + you press Mr Twemlow? You can’t have any spite against Mr Twemlow! Why not + be easy with Mr Twemlow?’ + </p> +<p> + The old man looked into Fledgeby’s little eyes for any sign of leave to be + easy with Mr Twemlow; but there was no sign in them. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Twemlow is no connexion of yours, Mr Riah,’ said Fledgeby; ‘you can’t + want to be even with him for having through life gone in for a gentleman + and hung on to his Family. If Mr Twemlow has a contempt for business, what + can it matter to you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But pardon me,’ interposed the gentle victim, ‘I have not. I should + consider it presumption.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There, Mr Riah!’ said Fledgeby, ‘isn’t that handsomely said? Come! Make + terms with me for Mr Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + The old man looked again for any sign of permission to spare the poor + little gentleman. No. Mr Fledgeby meant him to be racked. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very sorry, Mr Twemlow,’ said Riah. ‘I have my instructions. I am + invested with no authority for diverging from them. The money must be + paid.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In full and slap down, do you mean, Mr Riah?’ asked Fledgeby, to make + things quite explicit. + </p> +<p> + ‘In full, sir, and at once,’ was Riah’s answer. + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby shook his head deploringly at Twemlow, and mutely expressed in + reference to the venerable figure standing before him with eyes upon the + ground: ‘What a Monster of an Israelite this is!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Riah,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + The old man lifted up his eyes once more to the little eyes in Mr + Fledgeby’s head, with some reviving hope that the sign might be coming + yet. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Riah, it’s of no use my holding back the fact. There’s a certain great + party in the background in Mr Twemlow’s case, and you know it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know it,’ the old man admitted. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I’ll put it as a plain point of business, Mr Riah. Are you fully + determined (as a plain point of business) either to have that said great + party’s security, or that said great party’s money?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Fully determined,’ answered Riah, as he read his master’s face, and + learnt the book. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all caring for, and indeed as it seems to me rather enjoying,’ + said Fledgeby, with peculiar unction, ‘the precious kick-up and row that + will come off between Mr Twemlow and the said great party?’ + </p> +<p> + This required no answer, and received none. Poor Mr Twemlow, who had + betrayed the keenest mental terrors since his noble kinsman loomed in the + perspective, rose with a sigh to take his departure. ‘I thank you very + much, sir,’ he said, offering Fledgeby his feverish hand. ‘You have done + me an unmerited service. Thank you, thank you!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t mention it,’ answered Fledgeby. ‘It’s a failure so far, but I’ll + stay behind, and take another touch at Mr Riah.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do not deceive yourself Mr Twemlow,’ said the Jew, then addressing him + directly for the first time. ‘There is no hope for you. You must expect no + leniency here. You must pay in full, and you cannot pay too promptly, or + you will be put to heavy charges. Trust nothing to me, sir. Money, money, + money.’ When he had said these words in an emphatic manner, he + acknowledged Mr Twemlow’s still polite motion of his head, and that + amiable little worthy took his departure in the lowest spirits. + </p> +<p> + Fascination Fledgeby was in such a merry vein when the counting-house was + cleared of him, that he had nothing for it but to go to the window, and + lean his arms on the frame of the blind, and have his silent laugh out, + with his back to his subordinate. When he turned round again with a + composed countenance, his subordinate still stood in the same place, and + the dolls’ dressmaker sat behind the door with a look of horror. + </p> +<p> + ‘Halloa!’ cried Mr Fledgeby, ‘you’re forgetting this young lady, Mr Riah, + and she has been waiting long enough too. Sell her her waste, please, and + give her good measure if you can make up your mind to do the liberal thing + for once.’ + </p> +<p> + He looked on for a time, as the Jew filled her little basket with such + scraps as she was used to buy; but, his merry vein coming on again, he was + obliged to turn round to the window once more, and lean his arms on the + blind. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, my Cinderella dear,’ said the old man in a whisper, and with a + worn-out look, ‘the basket’s full now. Bless you! And get you gone!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t call me your Cinderella dear,’ returned Miss Wren. ‘O you cruel + godmother!’ + </p> +<p> + She shook that emphatic little forefinger of hers in his face at parting, + as earnestly and reproachfully as she had ever shaken it at her grim old + child at home. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are not the godmother at all!’ said she. ‘You are the Wolf in the + Forest, the wicked Wolf! And if ever my dear Lizzie is sold and betrayed, + I shall know who sold and betrayed her!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0047"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 14 + </h2> +<h3> + MR WEGG PREPARES A GRINDSTONE FOR MR BOFFIN’S NOSE + </h3> +<p> + Having assisted at a few more expositions of the lives of Misers, Mr Venus + became almost indispensable to the evenings at the Bower. The circumstance + of having another listener to the wonders unfolded by Wegg, or, as it + were, another calculator to cast up the guineas found in teapots, + chimneys, racks and mangers, and other such banks of deposit, seemed + greatly to heighten Mr Boffin’s enjoyment; while Silas Wegg, for his part, + though of a jealous temperament which might under ordinary circumstances + have resented the anatomist’s getting into favour, was so very anxious to + keep his eye on that gentleman—lest, being too much left to himself, + he should be tempted to play any tricks with the precious document in his + keeping—that he never lost an opportunity of commending him to Mr + Boffin’s notice as a third party whose company was much to be desired. + Another friendly demonstration towards him Mr Wegg now regularly + gratified. After each sitting was over, and the patron had departed, Mr + Wegg invariably saw Mr Venus home. To be sure, he as invariably requested + to be refreshed with a sight of the paper in which he was a joint + proprietor; but he never failed to remark that it was the great pleasure + he derived from Mr Venus’s improving society which had insensibly lured + him round to Clerkenwell again, and that, finding himself once more + attracted to the spot by the social powers of Mr V., he would beg leave to + go through that little incidental procedure, as a matter of form. ‘For + well I know, sir,’ Mr Wegg would add, ‘that a man of your delicate mind + would wish to be checked off whenever the opportunity arises, and it is + not for me to baulk your feelings.’ + </p> +<p> + A certain rustiness in Mr Venus, which never became so lubricated by the + oil of Mr Wegg but that he turned under the screw in a creaking and stiff + manner, was very noticeable at about this period. While assisting at the + literary evenings, he even went so far, on two or three occasions, as to + correct Mr Wegg when he grossly mispronounced a word, or made nonsense of + a passage; insomuch that Mr Wegg took to surveying his course in the day, + and to making arrangements for getting round rocks at night instead of + running straight upon them. Of the slightest anatomical reference he + became particularly shy, and, if he saw a bone ahead, would go any + distance out of his way rather than mention it by name. + </p> +<p> + The adverse destinies ordained that one evening Mr Wegg’s labouring bark + became beset by polysyllables, and embarrassed among a perfect archipelago + of hard words. It being necessary to take soundings every minute, and to + feel the way with the greatest caution, Mr Wegg’s attention was fully + employed. Advantage was taken of this dilemma by Mr Venus, to pass a scrap + of paper into Mr Boffin’s hand, and lay his finger on his own lip. + </p> +<p> + When Mr Boffin got home at night he found that the paper contained Mr + Venus’s card and these words: ‘Should be glad to be honoured with a call + respecting business of your own, about dusk on an early evening.’ + </p> +<p> + The very next evening saw Mr Boffin peeping in at the preserved frogs in + Mr Venus’s shop-window, and saw Mr Venus espying Mr Boffin with the + readiness of one on the alert, and beckoning that gentleman into his + interior. Responding, Mr Boffin was invited to seat himself on the box of + human miscellanies before the fire, and did so, looking round the place + with admiring eyes. The fire being low and fitful, and the dusk gloomy, + the whole stock seemed to be winking and blinking with both eyes, as Mr + Venus did. The French gentleman, though he had no eyes, was not at all + behind-hand, but appeared, as the flame rose and fell, to open and shut + his no eyes, with the regularity of the glass-eyed dogs and ducks and + birds. The big-headed babies were equally obliging in lending their + grotesque aid to the general effect. + </p> +<p> + ‘You see, Mr Venus, I’ve lost no time,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Here I am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here you are, sir,’ assented Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t like secrecy,’ pursued Mr Boffin—‘at least, not in a + general way I don’t—but I dare say you’ll show me good reason for + being secret so far.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think I shall, sir,’ returned Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘You don’t expect Wegg, I take it for granted?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir. I expect no one but the present company.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin glanced about him, as accepting under that inclusive + denomination the French gentleman and the circle in which he didn’t move, + and repeated, ‘The present company.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ said Mr Venus, ‘before entering upon business, I shall have to ask + you for your word and honour that we are in confidence.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let’s wait a bit and understand what the expression means,’ answered Mr + Boffin. ‘In confidence for how long? In confidence for ever and a day?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I take your hint, sir,’ said Venus; ‘you think you might consider the + business, when you came to know it, to be of a nature incompatible with + confidence on your part?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I might,’ said Mr Boffin with a cautious look. + </p> +<p> + ‘True, sir. Well, sir,’ observed Venus, after clutching at his dusty hair, + to brighten his ideas, ‘let us put it another way. I open the business + with you, relying upon your honour not to do anything in it, and not to + mention me in it, without my knowledge.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That sounds fair,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘I agree to that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have your word and honour, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My good fellow,’ retorted Mr Boffin, ‘you have my word; and how you can + have that, without my honour too, I don’t know. I’ve sorted a lot of dust + in my time, but I never knew the two things go into separate heaps.’ + </p> +<p> + This remark seemed rather to abash Mr Venus. He hesitated, and said, ‘Very + true, sir;’ and again, ‘Very true, sir,’ before resuming the thread of his + discourse. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin, if I confess to you that I fell into a proposal of which you + were the subject, and of which you oughtn’t to have been the subject, you + will allow me to mention, and will please take into favourable + consideration, that I was in a crushed state of mind at the time.’ + </p> +<p> + The Golden Dustman, with his hands folded on the top of his stout stick, + with his chin resting upon them, and with something leering and whimsical + in his eyes, gave a nod, and said, ‘Quite so, Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That proposal, sir, was a conspiring breach of your confidence, to such + an extent, that I ought at once to have made it known to you. But I + didn’t, Mr Boffin, and I fell into it.’ + </p> +<p> + Without moving eye or finger, Mr Boffin gave another nod, and placidly + repeated, ‘Quite so, Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not that I was ever hearty in it, sir,’ the penitent anatomist went on, + ‘or that I ever viewed myself with anything but reproach for having turned + out of the paths of science into the paths of—’ he was going to say + ‘villany,’ but, unwilling to press too hard upon himself, substituted with + great emphasis—‘Weggery.’ + </p> +<p> + Placid and whimsical of look as ever, Mr Boffin answered: + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite so, Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And now, sir,’ said Venus, ‘having prepared your mind in the rough, I + will articulate the details.’ With which brief professional exordium, he + entered on the history of the friendly move, and truly recounted it. One + might have thought that it would have extracted some show of surprise or + anger, or other emotion, from Mr Boffin, but it extracted nothing beyond + his former comment: + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite so, Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have astonished you, sir, I believe?’ said Mr Venus, pausing dubiously. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin simply answered as aforesaid: ‘Quite so, Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + By this time the astonishment was all on the other side. It did not, + however, so continue. For, when Venus passed to Wegg’s discovery, and from + that to their having both seen Mr Boffin dig up the Dutch bottle, that + gentleman changed colour, changed his attitude, became extremely restless, + and ended (when Venus ended) by being in a state of manifest anxiety, + trepidation, and confusion. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, sir,’ said Venus, finishing off; ‘you best know what was in that + Dutch bottle, and why you dug it up, and took it away. I don’t pretend to + know anything more about it than I saw. All I know is this: I am proud of + my calling after all (though it has been attended by one dreadful drawback + which has told upon my heart, and almost equally upon my skeleton), and I + mean to live by my calling. Putting the same meaning into other words, I + do not mean to turn a single dishonest penny by this affair. As the best + amends I can make you for having ever gone into it, I make known to you, + as a warning, what Wegg has found out. My opinion is, that Wegg is not to + be silenced at a modest price, and I build that opinion on his beginning + to dispose of your property the moment he knew his power. Whether it’s + worth your while to silence him at any price, you will decide for + yourself, and take your measures accordingly. As far as I am concerned, I + have no price. If I am ever called upon for the truth, I tell it, but I + want to do no more than I have now done and ended.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank’ee, Venus!’ said Mr Boffin, with a hearty grip of his hand; + ‘thank’ee, Venus, thank’ee, Venus!’ And then walked up and down the little + shop in great agitation. ‘But look here, Venus,’ he by-and-by resumed, + nervously sitting down again; ‘if I have to buy Wegg up, I shan’t buy him + any cheaper for your being out of it. Instead of his having half the money—it + was to have been half, I suppose? Share and share alike?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was to have been half, sir,’ answered Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Instead of that, he’ll now have all. I shall pay the same, if not more. + For you tell me he’s an unconscionable dog, a ravenous rascal.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you think, Venus,’ insinuated Mr Boffin, after looking at the fire + for a while—‘don’t you feel as if—you might like to pretend to + be in it till Wegg was bought up, and then ease your mind by handing over + to me what you had made believe to pocket?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No I don’t, sir,’ returned Venus, very positively. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not to make amends?’ insinuated Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir. It seems to me, after maturely thinking it over, that the best + amends for having got out of the square is to get back into the square.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Humph!’ mused Mr Boffin. ‘When you say the square, you mean—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean,’ said Venus, stoutly and shortly, ‘the right.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It appears to me,’ said Mr Boffin, grumbling over the fire in an injured + manner, ‘that the right is with me, if it’s anywhere. I have much more + right to the old man’s money than the Crown can ever have. What was the + Crown to him except the King’s Taxes? Whereas, me and my wife, we was all + in all to him.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus, with his head upon his hands, rendered melancholy by the + contemplation of Mr Boffin’s avarice, only murmured to steep himself in + the luxury of that frame of mind: ‘She did not wish so to regard herself, + nor yet to be so regarded.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And how am I to live,’ asked Mr Boffin, piteously, ‘if I’m to be going + buying fellows up out of the little that I’ve got? And how am I to set + about it? When am I to get my money ready? When am I to make a bid? You + haven’t told me when he threatens to drop down upon me.’ + </p> +<p> + Venus explained under what conditions, and with what views, the dropping + down upon Mr Boffin was held over until the Mounds should be cleared away. + Mr Boffin listened attentively. ‘I suppose,’ said he, with a gleam of + hope, ‘there’s no doubt about the genuineness and date of this confounded + will?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘None whatever,’ said Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where might it be deposited at present?’ asked Mr Boffin, in a wheedling + tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s in my possession, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it?’ he cried, with great eagerness. ‘Now, for any liberal sum of + money that could be agreed upon, Venus, would you put it in the fire?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir, I wouldn’t,’ interrupted Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor pass it over to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That would be the same thing. No, sir,’ said Mr Venus. + </p> +<p> + The Golden Dustman seemed about to pursue these questions, when a stumping + noise was heard outside, coming towards the door. ‘Hush! here’s Wegg!’ + said Venus. ‘Get behind the young alligator in the corner, Mr Boffin, and + judge him for yourself. I won’t light a candle till he’s gone; there’ll + only be the glow of the fire; Wegg’s well acquainted with the alligator, + and he won’t take particular notice of him. Draw your legs in, Mr Boffin, + at present I see a pair of shoes at the end of his tail. Get your head + well behind his smile, Mr Boffin, and you’ll lie comfortable there; you’ll + find plenty of room behind his smile. He’s a little dusty, but he’s very + like you in tone. Are you right, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin had but whispered an affirmative response, when Wegg came + stumping in. ‘Partner,’ said that gentleman in a sprightly manner, ‘how’s + yourself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tolerable,’ returned Mr Venus. ‘Not much to boast of.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In-deed!’ said Wegg: ‘sorry, partner, that you’re not picking up faster, + but your soul’s too large for your body, sir; that’s where it is. And + how’s our stock in trade, partner? Safe bind, safe find, partner? Is that + about it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you wish to see it?’ asked Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you please, partner,’ said Wegg, rubbing his hands. ‘I wish to see it + jintly with yourself. Or, in similar words to some that was set to music + some time back: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “I wish you to see it with your eyes,<br> + And I will pledge with mine.”’ + </p> +<p> + Turning his back and turning a key, Mr Venus produced the document, + holding on by his usual corner. Mr Wegg, holding on by the opposite + corner, sat down on the seat so lately vacated by Mr Boffin, and looked it + over. ‘All right, sir,’ he slowly and unwillingly admitted, in his + reluctance to loose his hold, ‘all right!’ And greedily watched his + partner as he turned his back again, and turned his key again. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s nothing new, I suppose?’ said Venus, resuming his low chair + behind the counter. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes there is, sir,’ replied Wegg; ‘there was something new this morning. + That foxey old grasper and griper—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin?’ inquired Venus, with a glance towards the alligator’s yard or + two of smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mister be blowed!’ cried Wegg, yielding to his honest indignation. + ‘Boffin. Dusty Boffin. That foxey old grunter and grinder, sir, turns into + the yard this morning, to meddle with our property, a menial tool of his + own, a young man by the name of Sloppy. Ecod, when I say to him, “What do + you want here, young man? This is a private yard,” he pulls out a paper + from Boffin’s other blackguard, the one I was passed over for. “This is to + authorize Sloppy to overlook the carting and to watch the work.” That’s + pretty strong, I think, Mr Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Remember he doesn’t know yet of our claim on the property,’ suggested + Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then he must have a hint of it,’ said Wegg, ‘and a strong one that’ll jog + his terrors a bit. Give him an inch, and he’ll take an ell. Let him alone + this time, and what’ll he do with our property next? I tell you what, Mr + Venus; it comes to this; I must be overbearing with Boffin, or I shall fly + into several pieces. I can’t contain myself when I look at him. Every time + I see him putting his hand in his pocket, I see him putting it into my + pocket. Every time I hear him jingling his money, I hear him taking + liberties with my money. Flesh and blood can’t bear it. No,’ said Mr Wegg, + greatly exasperated, ‘and I’ll go further. A wooden leg can’t bear it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, Mr Wegg,’ urged Venus, ‘it was your own idea that he should not be + exploded upon, till the Mounds were carted away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But it was likewise my idea, Mr Venus,’ retorted Wegg, ‘that if he came + sneaking and sniffing about the property, he should be threatened, given + to understand that he has no right to it, and be made our slave. Wasn’t + that my idea, Mr Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It certainly was, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It certainly was, as you say, partner,’ assented Wegg, put into a better + humour by the ready admission. ‘Very well. I consider his planting one of + his menial tools in the yard, an act of sneaking and sniffing. And his + nose shall be put to the grindstone for it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was not your fault, Mr Wegg, I must admit,’ said Venus, ‘that he got + off with the Dutch bottle that night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As you handsomely say again, partner! No, it was not my fault. I’d have + had that bottle out of him. Was it to be borne that he should come, like a + thief in the dark, digging among stuff that was far more ours than his + (seeing that we could deprive him of every grain of it, if he didn’t buy + us at our own figure), and carrying off treasure from its bowels? No, it + was not to be borne. And for that, too, his nose shall be put to the + grindstone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you propose to do it, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To put his nose to the grindstone? I propose,’ returned that estimable + man, ‘to insult him openly. And, if looking into this eye of mine, he + dares to offer a word in answer, to retort upon him before he can take his + breath, “Add another word to that, you dusty old dog, and you’re a + beggar.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose he says nothing, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ replied Wegg, ‘we shall have come to an understanding with very + little trouble, and I’ll break him and drive him, Mr Venus. I’ll put him + in harness, and I’ll bear him up tight, and I’ll break him and drive him. + The harder the old Dust is driven, sir, the higher he’ll pay. And I mean + to be paid high, Mr Venus, I promise you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You speak quite revengefully, Mr Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Revengefully, sir? Is it for him that I have declined and falled, night + after night? Is it for his pleasure that I’ve waited at home of an + evening, like a set of skittles, to be set up and knocked over, set up and + knocked over, by whatever balls—or books—he chose to bring + against me? Why, I’m a hundred times the man he is, sir; five hundred + times!’ + </p> +<p> + Perhaps it was with the malicious intent of urging him on to his worst + that Mr Venus looked as if he doubted that. + </p> +<p> + ‘What? Was it outside the house at present ockypied, to its disgrace, by + that minion of fortune and worm of the hour,’ said Wegg, falling back upon + his strongest terms of reprobation, and slapping the counter, ‘that I, + Silas Wegg, five hundred times the man he ever was, sat in all weathers, + waiting for a errand or a customer? Was it outside that very house as I + first set eyes upon him, rolling in the lap of luxury, when I was selling + halfpenny ballads there for a living? And am I to grovel in the dust for + <i>him </i>to walk over? No!’ + </p> +<p> + There was a grin upon the ghastly countenance of the French gentleman + under the influence of the firelight, as if he were computing how many + thousand slanderers and traitors array themselves against the fortunate, + on premises exactly answering to those of Mr Wegg. One might have fancied + that the big-headed babies were toppling over with their hydrocephalic + attempts to reckon up the children of men who transform their benefactors + into their injurers by the same process. The yard or two of smile on the + part of the alligator might have been invested with the meaning, ‘All + about this was quite familiar knowledge down in the depths of the slime, + ages ago.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But,’ said Wegg, possibly with some slight perception to the foregoing + effect, ‘your speaking countenance remarks, Mr Venus, that I’m duller and + savager than usual. Perhaps I <i>have </i>allowed myself to brood too much. + Begone, dull Care! ’Tis gone, sir. I’ve looked in upon you, and empire + resumes her sway. For, as the song says—subject to your correction, + sir— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “When the heart of a man is depressed with cares,<br> + The mist is dispelled if Venus appears.<br> + Like the notes of a fiddle, you sweetly, sir, sweetly,<br> + Raises our spirits and charms our ears.” + </p> +<p> + Good-night, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall have a word or two to say to you, Mr Wegg, before long,’ remarked + Venus, ‘respecting my share in the project we’ve been speaking of.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My time, sir,’ returned Wegg, ‘is yours. In the meanwhile let it be fully + understood that I shall not neglect bringing the grindstone to bear, nor + yet bringing Dusty Boffin’s nose to it. His nose once brought to it, shall + be held to it by these hands, Mr Venus, till the sparks flies out in + showers.’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0554m " src="images/0554m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0554m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0554.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7868646750086208074"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + With this agreeable promise Wegg stumped out, and shut the shop-door after + him. ‘Wait till I light a candle, Mr Boffin,’ said Venus, ‘and you’ll come + out more comfortable.’ So, he lighting a candle and holding it up at arm’s + length, Mr Boffin disengaged himself from behind the alligator’s smile, + with an expression of countenance so very downcast that it not only + appeared as if the alligator had the whole of the joke to himself, but + further as if it had been conceived and executed at Mr Boffin’s expense. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a treacherous fellow,’ said Mr Boffin, dusting his arms and legs + as he came forth, the alligator having been but musty company. ‘That’s a + dreadful fellow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The alligator, sir?’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Venus, no. The Serpent.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ll have the goodness to notice, Mr Boffin,’ remarked Venus, ‘that I + said nothing to him about my going out of the affair altogether, because I + didn’t wish to take you anyways by surprise. But I can’t be too soon out + of it for my satisfaction, Mr Boffin, and I now put it to you when it will + suit your views for me to retire?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank’ee, Venus, thank’ee, Venus; but I don’t know what to say,’ returned + Mr Boffin, ‘I don’t know what to do. He’ll drop down on me any way. He + seems fully determined to drop down; don’t he?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus opined that such was clearly his intention. + </p> +<p> + ‘You might be a sort of protection for me, if you remained in it,’ said Mr + Boffin; ‘you might stand betwixt him and me, and take the edge off him. + Don’t you feel as if you could make a show of remaining in it, Venus, till + I had time to turn myself round?’ + </p> +<p> + Venus naturally inquired how long Mr Boffin thought it might take him to + turn himself round? + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure I don’t know,’ was the answer, given quite at a loss. + ‘Everything is so at sixes and sevens. If I had never come into the + property, I shouldn’t have minded. But being in it, it would be very + trying to be turned out; now, don’t you acknowledge that it would, Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus preferred, he said, to leave Mr Boffin to arrive at his own + conclusions on that delicate question. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure I don’t know what to do,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘If I ask advice of + any one else, it’s only letting in another person to be bought out, and + then I shall be ruined that way, and might as well have given up the + property and gone slap to the workhouse. If I was to take advice of my + young man, Rokesmith, I should have to buy <i>him </i>out. Sooner or later, of + course, he’d drop down upon me, like Wegg. I was brought into the world to + be dropped down upon, it appears to me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus listened to these lamentations in silence, while Mr Boffin jogged + to and fro, holding his pockets as if he had a pain in them. + </p> +<p> + ‘After all, you haven’t said what you mean to do yourself, Venus. When you + do go out of it, how do you mean to go?’ + </p> +<p> + Venus replied that as Wegg had found the document and handed it to him, it + was his intention to hand it back to Wegg, with the declaration that he + himself would have nothing to say to it, or do with it, and that Wegg must + act as he chose, and take the consequences. + </p> +<p> + ‘And then he drops down with his whole weight upon <i>me</i>!’ cried Mr Boffin, + ruefully. ‘I’d sooner be dropped upon by you than by him, or even by you + jintly, than by him alone!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus could only repeat that it was his fixed intention to betake + himself to the paths of science, and to walk in the same all the days of + his life; not dropping down upon his fellow-creatures until they were + deceased, and then only to articulate them to the best of his humble + ability. + </p> +<p> + ‘How long could you be persuaded to keep up the appearance of remaining in + it?’ asked Mr Boffin, retiring on his other idea. ‘Could you be got to do + so, till the Mounds are gone?’ + </p> +<p> + No. That would protract the mental uneasiness of Mr Venus too long, he + said. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not if I was to show you reason now?’ demanded Mr Boffin; ‘not if I was + to show you good and sufficient reason?’ + </p> +<p> + If by good and sufficient reason Mr Boffin meant honest and unimpeachable + reason, that might weigh with Mr Venus against his personal wishes and + convenience. But he must add that he saw no opening to the possibility of + such reason being shown him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come and see me, Venus,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘at my house.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is the reason there, sir?’ asked Mr Venus, with an incredulous smile and + blink. + </p> +<p> + ‘It may be, or may not be,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘just as you view it. But in + the meantime don’t go out of the matter. Look here. Do this. Give me your + word that you won’t take any steps with Wegg, without my knowledge, just + as I have given you my word that I won’t without yours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Done, Mr Boffin!’ said Venus, after brief consideration. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank’ee, Venus, thank’ee, Venus! Done!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When shall I come to see you, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When you like. The sooner the better. I must be going now. Good-night, + Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-night, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And good-night to the rest of the present company,’ said Mr Boffin, + glancing round the shop. ‘They make a queer show, Venus, and I should like + to be better acquainted with them some day. Good-night, Venus, good-night! + Thankee, Venus, thankee, Venus!’ With that he jogged out into the street, + and jogged upon his homeward way. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I wonder,’ he meditated as he went along, nursing his stick, + ‘whether it can be, that Venus is setting himself to get the better of + Wegg? Whether it can be, that he means, when I have bought Wegg out, to + have me all to himself and to pick me clean to the bones!’ + </p> +<p> + It was a cunning and suspicious idea, quite in the way of his school of + Misers, and he looked very cunning and suspicious as he went jogging + through the streets. More than once or twice, more than twice or thrice, + say half a dozen times, he took his stick from the arm on which he nursed + it, and hit a straight sharp rap at the air with its head. Possibly the + wooden countenance of Mr Silas Wegg was incorporeally before him at those + moments, for he hit with intense satisfaction. + </p> +<p> + He was within a few streets of his own house, when a little private + carriage, coming in the contrary direction, passed him, turned round, and + passed him again. It was a little carriage of eccentric movement, for + again he heard it stop behind him and turn round, and again he saw it pass + him. Then it stopped, and then went on, out of sight. But, not far out of + sight, for, when he came to the corner of his own street, there it stood + again. + </p> +<p> + There was a lady’s face at the window as he came up with this carriage, + and he was passing it when the lady softly called to him by his name. + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon, Ma’am?’ said Mr Boffin, coming to a stop. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is Mrs Lammle,’ said the lady. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin went up to the window, and hoped Mrs Lammle was well. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not very well, dear Mr Boffin; I have fluttered myself by being—perhaps + foolishly—uneasy and anxious. I have been waiting for you some time. + Can I speak to you?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin proposed that Mrs Lammle should drive on to his house, a few + hundred yards further. + </p> +<p> + ‘I would rather not, Mr Boffin, unless you particularly wish it. I feel + the difficulty and delicacy of the matter so much that I would rather + avoid speaking to you at your own home. You must think this very strange?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin said no, but meant yes. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is because I am so grateful for the good opinion of all my friends, + and am so touched by it, that I cannot bear to run the risk of forfeiting + it in any case, even in the cause of duty. I have asked my husband (my + dear Alfred, Mr Boffin) whether it is the cause of duty, and he has most + emphatically said Yes. I wish I had asked him sooner. It would have spared + me much distress.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Can this be more dropping down upon me!’ thought Mr Boffin, quite + bewildered.) + </p> +<p> + ‘It was Alfred who sent me to you, Mr Boffin. Alfred said, “Don’t come + back, Sophronia, until you have seen Mr Boffin, and told him all. Whatever + he may think of it, he ought certainly to know it.” Would you mind coming + into the carriage?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin answered, ‘Not at all,’ and took his seat at Mrs Lammle’s side. + </p> +<p> + ‘Drive slowly anywhere,’ Mrs Lammle called to her coachman, ‘and don’t let + the carriage rattle.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It <i>must </i>be more dropping down, I think,’ said Mr Boffin to himself. ‘What + next?’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0048"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 15 + </h2> +<h3> + THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN AT HIS WORST + </h3> +<p> + The breakfast table at Mr Boffin’s was usually a very pleasant one, and + was always presided over by Bella. As though he began each new day in his + healthy natural character, and some waking hours were necessary to his + relapse into the corrupting influences of his wealth, the face and the + demeanour of the Golden Dustman were generally unclouded at that meal. It + would have been easy to believe then, that there was no change in him. It + was as the day went on that the clouds gathered, and the brightness of the + morning became obscured. One might have said that the shadows of avarice + and distrust lengthened as his own shadow lengthened, and that the night + closed around him gradually. + </p> +<p> + But, one morning long afterwards to be remembered, it was black midnight + with the Golden Dustman when he first appeared. His altered character had + never been so grossly marked. His bearing towards his Secretary was so + charged with insolent distrust and arrogance, that the latter rose and + left the table before breakfast was half done. The look he directed at the + Secretary’s retiring figure was so cunningly malignant, that Bella would + have sat astounded and indignant, even though he had not gone the length + of secretly threatening Rokesmith with his clenched fist as he closed the + door. This unlucky morning, of all mornings in the year, was the morning + next after Mr Boffin’s interview with Mrs Lammle in her little carriage. + </p> +<p> + Bella looked to Mrs Boffin’s face for comment on, or explanation of, this + stormy humour in her husband, but none was there. An anxious and a + distressed observation of her own face was all she could read in it. When + they were left alone together—which was not until noon, for Mr + Boffin sat long in his easy-chair, by turns jogging up and down the + breakfast-room, clenching his fist and muttering—Bella, in + consternation, asked her what had happened, what was wrong? ‘I am + forbidden to speak to you about it, Bella dear; I mustn’t tell you,’ was + all the answer she could get. And still, whenever, in her wonder and + dismay, she raised her eyes to Mrs Boffin’s face, she saw in it the same + anxious and distressed observation of her own. + </p> +<p> + Oppressed by her sense that trouble was impending, and lost in + speculations why Mrs Boffin should look at her as if she had any part in + it, Bella found the day long and dreary. It was far on in the afternoon + when, she being in her own room, a servant brought her a message from Mr + Boffin begging her to come to his. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin was there, seated on a sofa, and Mr Boffin was jogging up and + down. On seeing Bella he stopped, beckoned her to him, and drew her arm + through his. ‘Don’t be alarmed, my dear,’ he said, gently; ‘I am not angry + with you. Why you actually tremble! Don’t be alarmed, Bella my dear. I’ll + see you righted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘See me righted?’ thought Bella. And then repeated aloud in a tone of + astonishment: ‘see me righted, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, ay!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘See you righted. Send Mr Rokesmith here, you + sir.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella would have been lost in perplexity if there had been pause enough; + but the servant found Mr Rokesmith near at hand, and he almost immediately + presented himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shut the door, sir!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘I have got something to say to you + which I fancy you’ll not be pleased to hear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sorry to reply, Mr Boffin,’ returned the Secretary, as, having + closed the door, he turned and faced him, ‘that I think that very likely.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean?’ blustered Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean that it has become no novelty to me to hear from your lips what I + would rather not hear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Perhaps we shall change that,’ said Mr Boffin with a threatening roll + of his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope so,’ returned the Secretary. He was quiet and respectful; but + stood, as Bella thought (and was glad to think), on his manhood too. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, sir,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘look at this young lady on my arm.’ + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0561m " src="images/0561m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0561m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0561.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-1125361073881354396"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + Bella involuntarily raising her eyes, when this sudden reference was made + to herself, met those of Mr Rokesmith. He was pale and seemed agitated. + Then her eyes passed on to Mrs Boffin’s, and she met the look again. In a + flash it enlightened her, and she began to understand what she had done. + </p> +<p> + ‘I say to you, sir,’ Mr Boffin repeated, ‘look at this young lady on my + arm.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do so,’ returned the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + As his glance rested again on Bella for a moment, she thought there was + reproach in it. But it is possible that the reproach was within herself. + </p> +<p> + ‘How dare you, sir,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘tamper, unknown to me, with this + young lady? How dare you come out of your station, and your place in my + house, to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must decline to answer questions,’ said the Secretary, ‘that are so + offensively asked.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You decline to answer?’ retorted Mr Boffin. ‘You decline to answer, do + you? Then I’ll tell you what it is, Rokesmith; I’ll answer for you. There + are two sides to this matter, and I’ll take ’em separately. The first side + is, sheer Insolence. That’s the first side.’ + </p> +<p> + The Secretary smiled with some bitterness, as though he would have said, + ‘So I see and hear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was sheer Insolence in you, I tell you,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘even to + think of this young lady. This young lady was far above <i>you</i>. This young + lady was no match for <i>you</i>. This young lady was lying in wait (as she was + qualified to do) for money, and you had no money.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella hung her head and seemed to shrink a little from Mr Boffin’s + protecting arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘What are you, I should like to know,’ pursued Mr Boffin, ‘that you were + to have the audacity to follow up this young lady? This young lady was + looking about the market for a good bid; she wasn’t in it to be snapped up + by fellows that had no money to lay out; nothing to buy with.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Mr Boffin! Mrs Boffin, pray say something for me!’ murmured Bella, + disengaging her arm, and covering her face with her hands. + </p> +<p> + ‘Old lady,’ said Mr Boffin, anticipating his wife, ‘you hold your tongue. + Bella, my dear, don’t you let yourself be put out. I’ll right you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you don’t, you don’t right me!’ exclaimed Bella, with great emphasis. + ‘You wrong me, wrong me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you be put out, my dear,’ complacently retorted Mr Boffin. ‘I’ll + bring this young man to book. Now, you Rokesmith! You can’t decline to + hear, you know, as well as to answer. You hear me tell you that the first + side of your conduct was Insolence—Insolence and Presumption. Answer + me one thing, if you can. Didn’t this young lady tell you so herself?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did I, Mr Rokesmith?’ asked Bella with her face still covered. ‘O say, Mr + Rokesmith! Did I?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be distressed, Miss Wilfer; it matters very little now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! You can’t deny it, though!’ said Mr Boffin, with a knowing shake of + his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I have asked him to forgive me since,’ cried Bella; ‘and I would ask + him to forgive me now again, upon my knees, if it would spare him!’ + </p> +<p> + Here Mrs Boffin broke out a-crying. + </p> +<p> + ‘Old lady,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘stop that noise! Tender-hearted in you, Miss + Bella; but I mean to have it out right through with this young man, having + got him into a corner. Now, you Rokesmith. I tell you that’s one side of + your conduct—Insolence and Presumption. Now, I’m a-coming to the + other, which is much worse. This was a speculation of yours.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I indignantly deny it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s of no use your denying it; it doesn’t signify a bit whether you deny + it or not; I’ve got a head upon my shoulders, and it ain’t a baby’s. + What!’ said Mr Boffin, gathering himself together in his most suspicious + attitude, and wrinkling his face into a very map of curves and corners. + ‘Don’t I know what grabs are made at a man with money? If I didn’t keep my + eyes open, and my pockets buttoned, shouldn’t I be brought to the + workhouse before I knew where I was? Wasn’t the experience of Dancer, and + Elwes, and Hopkins, and Blewbury Jones, and ever so many more of ’em, + similar to mine? Didn’t everybody want to make grabs at what they’d got, + and bring ’em to poverty and ruin? Weren’t they forced to hide everything + belonging to ’em, for fear it should be snatched from ’em? Of course they + was. I shall be told next that they didn’t know human natur!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They! Poor creatures,’ murmured the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you say?’ asked Mr Boffin, snapping at him. ‘However, you needn’t + be at the trouble of repeating it, for it ain’t worth hearing, and won’t + go down with <i>me</i>. I’m a-going to unfold your plan, before this young lady; + I’m a-going to show this young lady the second view of you; and nothing + you can say will stave it off. (Now, attend here, Bella, my dear.) + Rokesmith, you’re a needy chap. You’re a chap that I pick up in the + street. Are you, or ain’t you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go on, Mr Boffin; don’t appeal to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not appeal to <i>you</i>,’ retorted Mr Boffin as if he hadn’t done so. ‘No, I + should hope not! Appealing to <i>you</i>, would be rather a rum course. As I was + saying, you’re a needy chap that I pick up in the street. You come and ask + me in the street to take you for a Secretary, and I take you. Very good.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very bad,’ murmured the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you say?’ asked Mr Boffin, snapping at him again. + </p> +<p> + He returned no answer. Mr Boffin, after eyeing him with a comical look of + discomfited curiosity, was fain to begin afresh. + </p> +<p> + ‘This Rokesmith is a needy young man that I take for my Secretary out of + the open street. This Rokesmith gets acquainted with my affairs, and gets + to know that I mean to settle a sum of money on this young lady. “Oho!” + says this Rokesmith;’ here Mr Boffin clapped a finger against his nose, + and tapped it several times with a sneaking air, as embodying Rokesmith + confidentially confabulating with his own nose; ‘“This will be a good + haul; I’ll go in for this!” And so this Rokesmith, greedy and hungering, + begins a-creeping on his hands and knees towards the money. Not so bad a + speculation either: for if this young lady had had less spirit, or had had + less sense, through being at all in the romantic line, by George he might + have worked it out and made it pay! But fortunately she was too many for + him, and a pretty figure he cuts now he is exposed. There he stands!’ said + Mr Boffin, addressing Rokesmith himself with ridiculous inconsistency. + ‘Look at him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your unfortunate suspicions, Mr Boffin—’ began the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘Precious unfortunate for you, I can tell you,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘—are not to be combated by any one, and I address myself to no such + hopeless task. But I will say a word upon the truth.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yah! Much you care about the truth,’ said Mr Boffin, with a snap of his + fingers. + </p> +<p> + ‘Noddy! My dear love!’ expostulated his wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘Old lady,’ returned Mr Boffin, ‘you keep still. I say to this Rokesmith + here, much he cares about the truth. I tell him again, much he cares about + the truth.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Our connexion being at an end, Mr Boffin,’ said the Secretary, ‘it can be + of very little moment to me what you say.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! You are knowing enough,’ retorted Mr Boffin, with a sly look, ‘to + have found out that our connexion’s at an end, eh? But you can’t get + beforehand with me. Look at this in my hand. This is your pay, on your + discharge. You can only follow suit. You can’t deprive me of the lead. + Let’s have no pretending that you discharge yourself. I discharge you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So that I go,’ remarked the Secretary, waving the point aside with his + hand, ‘it is all one to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it?’ said Mr Boffin. ‘But it’s two to me, let me tell you. Allowing a + fellow that’s found out, to discharge himself, is one thing; discharging + him for insolence and presumption, and likewise for designs upon his + master’s money, is another. One and one’s two; not one. (Old lady, don’t + you cut in. You keep still.)’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you said all you wish to say to me?’ demanded the Secretary. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know whether I have or not,’ answered Mr Boffin. ‘It depends.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps you will consider whether there are any other strong expressions + that you would like to bestow upon me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll consider that,’ said Mr Boffin, obstinately, ‘at my convenience, and + not at yours. You want the last word. It may not be suitable to let you + have it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Noddy! My dear, dear Noddy! You sound so hard!’ cried poor Mrs Boffin, + not to be quite repressed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Old lady,’ said her husband, but without harshness, ‘if you cut in when + requested not, I’ll get a pillow and carry you out of the room upon it. + What do you want to say, you Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To you, Mr Boffin, nothing. But to Miss Wilfer and to your good kind + wife, a word.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Out with it then,’ replied Mr Boffin, ‘and cut it short, for we’ve had + enough of you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have borne,’ said the Secretary, in a low voice, ‘with my false + position here, that I might not be separated from Miss Wilfer. To be near + her, has been a recompense to me from day to day, even for the undeserved + treatment I have had here, and for the degraded aspect in which she has + often seen me. Since Miss Wilfer rejected me, I have never again urged my + suit, to the best of my belief, with a spoken syllable or a look. But I + have never changed in my devotion to her, except—if she will forgive + my saying so—that it is deeper than it was, and better founded.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, mark this chap’s saying Miss Wilfer, when he means L.s.d.!’ cried Mr + Boffin, with a cunning wink. ‘Now, mark this chap’s making Miss Wilfer + stand for Pounds, Shillings, and Pence!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My feeling for Miss Wilfer,’ pursued the Secretary, without deigning to + notice him, ‘is not one to be ashamed of. I avow it. I love her. Let me go + where I may when I presently leave this house, I shall go into a blank + life, leaving her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Leaving L.s.d. behind me,’ said Mr Boffin, by way of commentary, with + another wink. + </p> +<p> + ‘That I am incapable,’ the Secretary went on, still without heeding him, + ‘of a mercenary project, or a mercenary thought, in connexion with Miss + Wilfer, is nothing meritorious in me, because any prize that I could put + before my fancy would sink into insignificance beside her. If the greatest + wealth or the highest rank were hers, it would only be important in my + sight as removing her still farther from me, and making me more hopeless, + if that could be. Say,’ remarked the Secretary, looking full at his late + master, ‘say that with a word she could strip Mr Boffin of his fortune and + take possession of it, she would be of no greater worth in my eyes than + she is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you think by this time, old lady,’ asked Mr Boffin, turning to + his wife in a bantering tone, ‘about this Rokesmith here, and his caring + for the truth? You needn’t say what you think, my dear, because I don’t + want you to cut in, but you can think it all the same. As to taking + possession of my property, I warrant you he wouldn’t do that himself if he + could.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ returned the Secretary, with another full look. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha, ha, ha!’ laughed Mr Boffin. ‘There’s nothing like a good ’un while + you <i>are </i>about it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been for a moment,’ said the Secretary, turning from him and + falling into his former manner, ‘diverted from the little I have to say. + My interest in Miss Wilfer began when I first saw her; even began when I + had only heard of her. It was, in fact, the cause of my throwing myself in + Mr Boffin’s way, and entering his service. Miss Wilfer has never known + this until now. I mention it now, only as a corroboration (though I hope + it may be needless) of my being free from the sordid design attributed to + me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, this is a very artful dog,’ said Mr Boffin, with a deep look. ‘This + is a longer-headed schemer than I thought him. See how patiently and + methodically he goes to work. He gets to know about me and my property, + and about this young lady, and her share in poor young John’s story, and + he puts this and that together, and he says to himself, “I’ll get in with + Boffin, and I’ll get in with this young lady, and I’ll work ’em both at + the same time, and I’ll bring my pigs to market somewhere.” I hear him say + it, bless you! I look at him, now, and I see him say it!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin pointed at the culprit, as it were in the act, and hugged + himself in his great penetration. + </p> +<p> + ‘But luckily he hadn’t to deal with the people he supposed, Bella, my + dear!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘No! Luckily he had to deal with you, and with me, + and with Daniel and Miss Dancer, and with Elwes, and with Vulture Hopkins, + and with Blewbury Jones and all the rest of us, one down t’other come on. + And he’s beat; that’s what he is; regularly beat. He thought to squeeze + money out of us, and he has done for himself instead, Bella my dear!’ + </p> +<p> + Bella my dear made no response, gave no sign of acquiescence. When she had + first covered her face she had sunk upon a chair with her hands resting on + the back of it, and had never moved since. There was a short silence at + this point, and Mrs Boffin softly rose as if to go to her. But, Mr Boffin + stopped her with a gesture, and she obediently sat down again and stayed + where she was. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s your pay, Mister Rokesmith,’ said the Golden Dustman, jerking the + folded scrap of paper he had in his hand, towards his late Secretary. ‘I + dare say you can stoop to pick it up, after what you have stooped to + here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have stooped to nothing but this,’ Rokesmith answered as he took it + from the ground; ‘and this is mine, for I have earned it by the hardest of + hard labour.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re a pretty quick packer, I hope,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘because the + sooner you are gone, bag and baggage, the better for all parties.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You need have no fear of my lingering.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s just one thing though,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘that I should like to + ask you before we come to a good riddance, if it was only to show this + young lady how conceited you schemers are, in thinking that nobody finds + out how you contradict yourselves.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ask me anything you wish to ask,’ returned Rokesmith, ‘but use the + expedition that you recommend.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You pretend to have a mighty admiration for this young lady?’ said Mr + Boffin, laying his hand protectingly on Bella’s head without looking down + at her. + </p> +<p> + ‘I do not pretend.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Well. You <i>have </i>a mighty admiration for this young lady—since + you are so particular?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you reconcile that, with this young lady’s being a weak-spirited, + improvident idiot, not knowing what was due to herself, flinging up her + money to the church-weathercocks, and racing off at a splitting pace for + the workhouse?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t understand you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you? Or won’t you? What else could you have made this young lady + out to be, if she had listened to such addresses as yours?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What else, if I had been so happy as to win her affections and possess + her heart?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Win her affections,’ retorted Mr Boffin, with ineffable contempt, ‘and + possess her heart! Mew says the cat, Quack-quack says the duck, + Bow-wow-wow says the dog! Win her affections and possess her heart! Mew, + Quack-quack, Bow-wow!’ + </p> +<p> + John Rokesmith stared at him in his outburst, as if with some faint idea + that he had gone mad. + </p> +<p> + ‘What is due to this young lady,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘is Money, and this + young lady right well knows it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You slander the young lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>You </i>slander the young lady; you with your affections and hearts and + trumpery,’ returned Mr Boffin. ‘It’s of a piece with the rest of your + behaviour. I heard of these doings of yours only last night, or you should + have heard of ’em from me, sooner, take your oath of it. I heard of ’em + from a lady with as good a headpiece as the best, and she knows this young + lady, and I know this young lady, and we all three know that it’s Money + she makes a stand for—money, money, money—and that you and + your affections and hearts are a Lie, sir!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Boffin,’ said Rokesmith, quietly turning to her, ‘for your delicate + and unvarying kindness I thank you with the warmest gratitude. Good-bye! + Miss Wilfer, good-bye!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And now, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin, laying his hand on Bella’s head again, + ‘you may begin to make yourself quite comfortable, and I hope you feel + that you’ve been righted.’ + </p> +<p> + But, Bella was so far from appearing to feel it, that she shrank from his + hand and from the chair, and, starting up in an incoherent passion of + tears, and stretching out her arms, cried, ‘O Mr Rokesmith, before you go, + if you could but make me poor again! O! Make me poor again, Somebody, I + beg and pray, or my heart will break if this goes on! Pa, dear, make me + poor again and take me home! I was bad enough there, but I have been so + much worse here. Don’t give me money, Mr Boffin, I won’t have money. Keep + it away from me, and only let me speak to good little Pa, and lay my head + upon his shoulder, and tell him all my griefs. Nobody else can understand + me, nobody else can comfort me, nobody else knows how unworthy I am, and + yet can love me like a little child. I am better with Pa than any one—more + innocent, more sorry, more glad!’ So, crying out in a wild way that she + could not bear this, Bella drooped her head on Mrs Boffin’s ready breast. + </p> +<p> + John Rokesmith from his place in the room, and Mr Boffin from his, looked + on at her in silence until she was silent herself. Then Mr Boffin observed + in a soothing and comfortable tone, ‘There, my dear, there; you are + righted now, and it’s <i>all </i>right. I don’t wonder, I’m sure, at your being a + little flurried by having a scene with this fellow, but it’s all over, my + dear, and you’re righted, and it’s—and it’s <i>all </i>right!’ Which Mr + Boffin repeated with a highly satisfied air of completeness and finality. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hate you!’ cried Bella, turning suddenly upon him, with a stamp of her + little foot—‘at least, I can’t hate you, but I don’t like you!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Hul—lo!</i>’ exclaimed Mr Boffin in an amazed under-tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re a scolding, unjust, abusive, aggravating, bad old creature!’ cried + Bella. ‘I am angry with my ungrateful self for calling you names; but you + are, you are; you know you are!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin stared here, and stared there, as misdoubting that he must be in + some sort of fit. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have heard you with shame,’ said Bella. ‘With shame for myself, and + with shame for you. You ought to be above the base tale-bearing of a + time-serving woman; but you are above nothing now.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, seeming to become convinced that this was a fit, rolled his + eyes and loosened his neckcloth. + </p> +<p> + ‘When I came here, I respected you and honoured you, and I soon loved + you,’ cried Bella. ‘And now I can’t bear the sight of you. At least, I + don’t know that I ought to go so far as that—only you’re a—you’re + a Monster!’ Having shot this bolt out with a great expenditure of force, + Bella hysterically laughed and cried together. + </p> +<p> + ‘The best wish I can wish you is,’ said Bella, returning to the charge, + ‘that you had not one single farthing in the world. If any true friend and + well-wisher could make you a bankrupt, you would be a Duck; but as a man + of property you are a Demon!’ + </p> +<p> + After despatching this second bolt with a still greater expenditure of + force, Bella laughed and cried still more. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith, pray stay one moment. Pray hear one word from me before you + go! I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my account. Out + of the depths of my heart I earnestly and truly beg your pardon.’ + </p> +<p> + As she stepped towards him, he met her. As she gave him her hand, he put + it to his lips, and said, ‘God bless you!’ No laughing was mixed with + Bella’s crying then; her tears were pure and fervent. + </p> +<p> + ‘There is not an ungenerous word that I have heard addressed to you—heard + with scorn and indignation, Mr Rokesmith—but it has wounded me far + more than you, for I have deserved it, and you never have. Mr Rokesmith, + it is to me you owe this perverted account of what passed between us that + night. I parted with the secret, even while I was angry with myself for + doing so. It was very bad in me, but indeed it was not wicked. I did it in + a moment of conceit and folly—one of my many such moments—one + of my many such hours—years. As I am punished for it severely, try + to forgive it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do with all my soul.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you. O thank you! Don’t part from me till I have said one other + word, to do you justice. The only fault you can be truly charged with, in + having spoken to me as you did that night—with how much delicacy and + how much forbearance no one but I can know or be grateful to you for—is, + that you laid yourself open to be slighted by a worldly shallow girl whose + head was turned, and who was quite unable to rise to the worth of what you + offered her. Mr Rokesmith, that girl has often seen herself in a pitiful + and poor light since, but never in so pitiful and poor a light as now, + when the mean tone in which she answered you—sordid and vain girl + that she was—has been echoed in her ears by Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + He kissed her hand again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin’s speeches were detestable to me, shocking to me,’ said Bella, + startling that gentleman with another stamp of her little foot. ‘It is + quite true that there was a time, and very lately, when I deserved to be + so “righted,” Mr Rokesmith; but I hope that I shall never deserve it + again!’ + </p> +<p> + He once more put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished it, and left + the room. Bella was hurrying back to the chair in which she had hidden her + face so long, when, catching sight of Mrs Boffin by the way, she stopped + at her. ‘He is gone,’ sobbed Bella indignantly, despairingly, in fifty + ways at once, with her arms round Mrs Boffin’s neck. ‘He has been most + shamefully abused, and most unjustly and most basely driven away, and I am + the cause of it!’ + </p> +<p> + All this time, Mr Boffin had been rolling his eyes over his loosened + neckerchief, as if his fit were still upon him. Appearing now to think + that he was coming to, he stared straight before him for a while, tied his + neckerchief again, took several long inspirations, swallowed several + times, and ultimately exclaimed with a deep sigh, as if he felt himself on + the whole better: ‘Well!’ + </p> +<p> + No word, good or bad, did Mrs Boffin say; but she tenderly took care of + Bella, and glanced at her husband as if for orders. Mr Boffin, without + imparting any, took his seat on a chair over against them, and there sat + leaning forward, with a fixed countenance, his legs apart, a hand on each + knee, and his elbows squared, until Bella should dry her eyes and raise + her head, which in the fulness of time she did. + </p> +<p> + ‘I must go home,’ said Bella, rising hurriedly. ‘I am very grateful to you + for all you have done for me, but I can’t stay here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My darling girl!’ remonstrated Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I can’t stay here,’ said Bella; ‘I can’t indeed.—Ugh! you + vicious old thing!’ (This to Mr Boffin.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be rash, my love,’ urged Mrs Boffin. ‘Think well of what you do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, you had better think well,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall never more think well of <i>you</i>,’ cried Bella, cutting him short, + with intense defiance in her expressive little eyebrows, and championship + of the late Secretary in every dimple. ‘No! Never again! Your money has + changed you to marble. You are a hard-hearted Miser. You are worse than + Dancer, worse than Hopkins, worse than Blackberry Jones, worse than any of + the wretches. And more!’ proceeded Bella, breaking into tears again, ‘you + were wholly undeserving of the Gentleman you have lost.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you don’t mean to say, Miss Bella,’ the Golden Dustman slowly + remonstrated, ‘that you set up Rokesmith against me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do!’ said Bella. ‘He is worth a Million of you.’ + </p> +<p> + Very pretty she looked, though very angry, as she made herself as tall as + she possibly could (which was not extremely tall), and utterly renounced + her patron with a lofty toss of her rich brown head. + </p> +<p> + ‘I would rather he thought well of me,’ said Bella, ‘though he swept the + street for bread, than that you did, though you splashed the mud upon him + from the wheels of a chariot of pure gold.—There!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well I’m sure!’ cried Mr Boffin, staring. + </p> +<p> + ‘And for a long time past, when you have thought you set yourself above + him, I have only seen you under his feet,’ said Bella—‘There! And + throughout I saw in him the master, and I saw in you the man—There! + And when you used him shamefully, I took his part and loved him—There! + I boast of it!’ + </p> +<p> + After which strong avowal Bella underwent reaction, and cried to any + extent, with her face on the back of her chair. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, look here,’ said Mr Boffin, as soon as he could find an opening for + breaking the silence and striking in. ‘Give me your attention, Bella. I am + not angry.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I <i>am</i>!’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I say,’ resumed the Golden Dustman, ‘I am not angry, and I mean kindly to + you, and I want to overlook this. So you’ll stay where you are, and we’ll + agree to say no more about it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I can’t stay here,’ cried Bella, rising hurriedly again; ‘I can’t + think of staying here. I must go home for good.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, don’t be silly,’ Mr Boffin reasoned. ‘Don’t do what you can’t undo; + don’t do what you’re sure to be sorry for.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall never be sorry for it,’ said Bella; ‘and I should always be + sorry, and should every minute of my life despise myself if I remained + here after what has happened.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At least, Bella,’ argued Mr Boffin, ‘let there be no mistake about it. + Look before you leap, you know. Stay where you are, and all’s well, and + all’s as it was to be. Go away, and you can never come back.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know that I can never come back, and that’s what I mean,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘You mustn’t expect,’ Mr Boffin pursued, ‘that I’m a-going to settle money + on you, if you leave us like this, because I am not. No, Bella! Be + careful! Not one brass farthing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Expect!’ said Bella, haughtily. ‘Do you think that any power on earth + could make me take it, if you did, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + But there was Mrs Boffin to part from, and, in the full flush of her + dignity, the impressible little soul collapsed again. Down upon her knees + before that good woman, she rocked herself upon her breast, and cried, and + sobbed, and folded her in her arms with all her might. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re a dear, a dear, the best of dears!’ cried Bella. ‘You’re the best + of human creatures. I can never be thankful enough to you, and I can never + forget you. If I should live to be blind and deaf I know I shall see and + hear you, in my fancy, to the last of my dim old days!’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin wept most heartily, and embraced her with all fondness; but + said not one single word except that she was her dear girl. She said that + often enough, to be sure, for she said it over and over again; but not one + word else. + </p> +<p> + Bella broke from her at length, and was going weeping out of the room, + when in her own little queer affectionate way, she half relented towards + Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very glad,’ sobbed Bella, ‘that I called you names, sir, because you + richly deserved it. But I am very sorry that I called you names, because + you used to be so different. Say good-bye!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-bye,’ said Mr Boffin, shortly. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I knew which of your hands was the least spoilt, I would ask you to + let me touch it,’ said Bella, ‘for the last time. But not because I repent + of what I have said to you. For I don’t. It’s true!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Try the left hand,’ said Mr Boffin, holding it out in a stolid manner; + ‘it’s the least used.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have been wonderfully good and kind to me,’ said Bella, ‘and I kiss + it for that. You have been as bad as bad could be to Mr Rokesmith, and I + throw it away for that. Thank you for myself, and good-bye!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-bye,’ said Mr Boffin as before. + </p> +<p> + Bella caught him round the neck and kissed him, and ran out for ever. + </p> +<p> + She ran up-stairs, and sat down on the floor in her own room, and cried + abundantly. But the day was declining and she had no time to lose. She + opened all the places where she kept her dresses; selected only those she + had brought with her, leaving all the rest; and made a great misshapen + bundle of them, to be sent for afterwards. + </p> +<p> + ‘I won’t take one of the others,’ said Bella, tying the knots of the + bundle very tight, in the severity of her resolution. ‘I’ll leave all the + presents behind, and begin again entirely on my own account.’ That the + resolution might be thoroughly carried into practice, she even changed the + dress she wore, for that in which she had come to the grand mansion. Even + the bonnet she put on, was the bonnet that had mounted into the Boffin + chariot at Holloway. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I am complete,’ said Bella. ‘It’s a little trying, but I have + steeped my eyes in cold water, and I won’t cry any more. You have been a + pleasant room to me, dear room. Adieu! We shall never see each other + again.’ + </p> +<p> + With a parting kiss of her fingers to it, she softly closed the door and + went with a light foot down the great staircase, pausing and listening as + she went, that she might meet none of the household. No one chanced to be + about, and she got down to the hall in quiet. The door of the late + Secretary’s room stood open. She peeped in as she passed, and divined from + the emptiness of his table, and the general appearance of things, that he + was already gone. Softly opening the great hall door, and softly closing + it upon herself, she turned and kissed it on the outside—insensible + old combination of wood and iron that it was!—before she ran away + from the house at a swift pace. + </p> +<p> + ‘That was well done!’ panted Bella, slackening in the next street, and + subsiding into a walk. ‘If I had left myself any breath to cry with, I + should have cried again. Now poor dear darling little Pa, you are going to + see your lovely woman unexpectedly.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0049"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 16 + </h2> +<h3> + THE FEAST OF THE THREE HOBGOBLINS + </h3> +<p> + The City looked unpromising enough, as Bella made her way along its gritty + streets. Most of its money-mills were slackening sail, or had left off + grinding for the day. The master-millers had already departed, and the + journeymen were departing. There was a jaded aspect on the business lanes + and courts, and the very pavements had a weary appearance, confused by the + tread of a million of feet. There must be hours of night to temper down + the day’s distraction of so feverish a place. As yet the worry of the + newly-stopped whirling and grinding on the part of the money-mills seemed + to linger in the air, and the quiet was more like the prostration of a + spent giant than the repose of one who was renewing his strength. + </p> +<p> + If Bella thought, as she glanced at the mighty Bank, how agreeable it + would be to have an hour’s gardening there, with a bright copper shovel, + among the money, still she was not in an avaricious vein. Much improved in + that respect, and with certain half-formed images which had little gold in + their composition, dancing before her bright eyes, she arrived in the + drug-flavoured region of Mincing Lane, with the sensation of having just + opened a drawer in a chemist’s shop. + </p> +<p> + The counting-house of Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles was pointed out by + an elderly female accustomed to the care of offices, who dropped upon + Bella out of a public-house, wiping her mouth, and accounted for its + humidity on natural principles well known to the physical sciences, by + explaining that she had looked in at the door to see what o’clock it was. + The counting-house was a wall-eyed ground floor by a dark gateway, and + Bella was considering, as she approached it, could there be any precedent + in the City for her going in and asking for R. Wilfer, when whom should + she see, sitting at one of the windows with the plate-glass sash raised, + but R. Wilfer himself, preparing to take a slight refection. + </p> +<p> + On approaching nearer, Bella discerned that the refection had the + appearance of a small cottage-loaf and a pennyworth of milk. + Simultaneously with this discovery on her part, her father discovered her, + and invoked the echoes of Mincing Lane to exclaim ‘My gracious me!’ + </p> +<p> + He then came cherubically flying out without a hat, and embraced her, and + handed her in. ‘For it’s after hours and I am all alone, my dear,’ he + explained, ‘and am having—as I sometimes do when they are all gone—a + quiet tea.’ + </p> +<p> + Looking round the office, as if her father were a captive and this his + cell, Bella hugged him and choked him to her heart’s content. + </p> +<p> + ‘I never was so surprised, my dear!’ said her father. ‘I couldn’t believe + my eyes. Upon my life, I thought they had taken to lying! The idea of your + coming down the Lane yourself! Why didn’t you send the footman down the + Lane, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have brought no footman with me, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh indeed! But you have brought the elegant turn-out, my love?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You never can have walked, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I have, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + He looked so very much astonished, that Bella could not make up her mind + to break it to him just yet. + </p> +<p> + ‘The consequence is, Pa, that your lovely woman feels a little faint, and + would very much like to share your tea.’ + </p> +<p> + The cottage loaf and the pennyworth of milk had been set forth on a sheet + of paper on the window-seat. The cherubic pocket-knife, with the first bit + of the loaf still on its point, lay beside them where it had been hastily + thrown down. Bella took the bit off, and put it in her mouth. ‘My dear + child,’ said her father, ‘the idea of your partaking of such lowly fare! + But at least you must have your own loaf and your own penn’orth. One + moment, my dear. The Dairy is just over the way and round the corner.’ + </p> +<p> + Regardless of Bella’s dissuasions he ran out, and quickly returned with + the new supply. ‘My dear child,’ he said, as he spread it on another piece + of paper before her, ‘the idea of a splendid—!’ and then looked at + her figure, and stopped short. + </p> +<p> + ‘What’s the matter, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘—of a splendid female,’ he resumed more slowly, ‘putting up with + such accommodation as the present!—Is that a new dress you have on, + my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa, an old one. Don’t you remember it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, I <i>thought </i>I remembered it, my dear!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You should, for you bought it, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I <i>thought </i>I bought it my dear!’ said the cherub, giving himself a + little shake, as if to rouse his faculties. + </p> +<p> + ‘And have you grown so fickle that you don’t like your own taste, Pa + dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my love,’ he returned, swallowing a bit of the cottage loaf with + considerable effort, for it seemed to stick by the way: ‘I should have + thought it was hardly sufficiently splendid for existing circumstances.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And so, Pa,’ said Bella, moving coaxingly to his side instead of + remaining opposite, ‘you sometimes have a quiet tea here all alone? I am + not in the tea’s way, if I draw my arm over your shoulder like this, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear, and no, my dear. Yes to the first question, and Certainly + Not to the second. Respecting the quiet tea, my dear, why you see the + occupations of the day are sometimes a little wearing; and if there’s + nothing interposed between the day and your mother, why <i>she </i>is sometimes a + little wearing, too.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear. So sometimes I put a quiet tea at the window here, with a + little quiet contemplation of the Lane (which comes soothing), between the + day, and domestic—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bliss,’ suggested Bella, sorrowfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘And domestic Bliss,’ said her father, quite contented to accept the + phrase. + </p> +<p> + Bella kissed him. ‘And it is in this dark dingy place of captivity, poor + dear, that you pass all the hours of your life when you are not at home?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at home, or not on the road there, or on the road here, my love. Yes. + You see that little desk in the corner?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In the dark corner, furthest both from the light and from the fireplace? + The shabbiest desk of all the desks?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, does it really strike you in that point of view, my dear?’ said her + father, surveying it artistically with his head on one side: ‘that’s mine. + That’s called Rumty’s Perch.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Whose Perch?’ asked Bella with great indignation. + </p> +<p> + ‘Rumty’s. You see, being rather high and up two steps they call it a + Perch. And they call <i>me</i> Rumty.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How dare they!’ exclaimed Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘They’re playful, Bella my dear; they’re playful. They’re more or less + younger than I am, and they’re playful. What does it matter? It might be + Surly, or Sulky, or fifty disagreeable things that I really shouldn’t like + to be considered. But Rumty! Lor, why not Rumty?’ + </p> +<p> + To inflict a heavy disappointment on this sweet nature, which had been, + through all her caprices, the object of her recognition, love, and + admiration from infancy, Bella felt to be the hardest task of her hard + day. ‘I should have done better,’ she thought, ‘to tell him at first; I + should have done better to tell him just now, when he had some slight + misgiving; he is quite happy again, and I shall make him wretched.’ + </p> +<p> + He was falling back on his loaf and milk, with the pleasantest composure, + and Bella stealing her arm a little closer about him, and at the same time + sticking up his hair with an irresistible propensity to play with him + founded on the habit of her whole life, had prepared herself to say: ‘Pa + dear, don’t be cast down, but I must tell you something disagreeable!’ + when he interrupted her in an unlooked-for manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘My gracious me!’ he exclaimed, invoking the Mincing Lane echoes as + before. ‘This is very extraordinary!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What is, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why here’s Mr Rokesmith now!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, Pa, no,’ cried Bella, greatly flurried. ‘Surely not.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes there is! Look here!’ + </p> +<p> + Sooth to say, Mr Rokesmith not only passed the window, but came into the + counting-house. And not only came into the counting-house, but, finding + himself alone there with Bella and her father, rushed at Bella and caught + her in his arms, with the rapturous words ‘My dear, dear girl; my gallant, + generous, disinterested, courageous, noble girl!’ And not only that even, + (which one might have thought astonishment enough for one dose), but + Bella, after hanging her head for a moment, lifted it up and laid it on + his breast, as if that were her head’s chosen and lasting resting-place! + </p> +<p> + ‘I knew you would come to him, and I followed you,’ said Rokesmith. ‘My + love, my life! You <i>are </i>mine?’ + </p> +<p> + To which Bella responded, ‘Yes, I <i>am</i> yours if you think me worth taking!’ + And after that, seemed to shrink to next to nothing in the clasp of his + arms, partly because it was such a strong one on his part, and partly + because there was such a yielding to it on hers. + </p> +<p> + The cherub, whose hair would have done for itself under the influence of + this amazing spectacle, what Bella had just now done for it, staggered + back into the window-seat from which he had risen, and surveyed the pair + with his eyes dilated to their utmost. + </p> +<p> + ‘But we must think of dear Pa,’ said Bella; ‘I haven’t told dear Pa; let + us speak to Pa.’ Upon which they turned to do so. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish first, my dear,’ remarked the cherub faintly, ‘that you’d have the + kindness to sprinkle me with a little milk, for I feel as if I was—Going.’ + </p> +<p> + In fact, the good little fellow had become alarmingly limp, and his senses + seemed to be rapidly escaping, from the knees upward. Bella sprinkled him + with kisses instead of milk, but gave him a little of that article to + drink; and he gradually revived under her caressing care. + </p> +<p> + ‘We’ll break it to you gently, dearest Pa,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ returned the cherub, looking at them both, ‘you broke so much + in the first—Gush, if I may so express myself—that I think I + am equal to a good large breakage now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wilfer,’ said John Rokesmith, excitedly and joyfully, ‘Bella takes me, + though I have no fortune, even no present occupation; nothing but what I + can get in the life before us. Bella takes me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I should rather have inferred, my dear sir,’ returned the cherub + feebly, ‘that Bella took you, from what I have within these few minutes + remarked.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t know, Pa,’ said Bella, ‘how ill I have used him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t know, sir,’ said Rokesmith, ‘what a heart she has!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t know, Pa,’ said Bella, ‘what a shocking creature I was growing, + when he saved me from myself!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t know, sir,’ said Rokesmith, ‘what a sacrifice she has made for + me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Bella,’ replied the cherub, still pathetically scared, ‘and my + dear John Rokesmith, if you will allow me so to call you—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes do, Pa, do!’ urged Bella. ‘I allow you, and my will is his law. Isn’t + it—dear John Rokesmith?’ + </p> +<p> + There was an engaging shyness in Bella, coupled with an engaging + tenderness of love and confidence and pride, in thus first calling him by + name, which made it quite excusable in John Rokesmith to do what he did. + What he did was, once more to give her the appearance of vanishing as + aforesaid. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, my dears,’ observed the cherub, ‘that if you could make it + convenient to sit one on one side of me, and the other on the other, we + should get on rather more consecutively, and make things rather plainer. + John Rokesmith mentioned, a while ago, that he had no present occupation.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘None,’ said Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa, none,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘From which I argue,’ proceeded the cherub, ‘that he has left Mr Boffin?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Pa. And so—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop a bit, my dear. I wish to lead up to it by degrees. And that Mr + Boffin has not treated him well?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Has treated him most shamefully, dear Pa!’ cried Bella with a flashing + face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Of which,’ pursued the cherub, enjoining patience with his hand, ‘a + certain mercenary young person distantly related to myself, could not + approve? Am I leading up to it right?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Could not approve, sweet Pa,’ said Bella, with a tearful laugh and a + joyful kiss. + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon which,’ pursued the cherub, ‘the certain mercenary young person + distantly related to myself, having previously observed and mentioned to + myself that prosperity was spoiling Mr Boffin, felt that she must not sell + her sense of what was right and what was wrong, and what was true and what + was false, and what was just and what was unjust, for any price that could + be paid to her by any one alive? Am I leading up to it right?’ + </p> +<p> + With another tearful laugh Bella joyfully kissed him again. + </p> +<p> + ‘And therefore—and therefore,’ the cherub went on in a glowing + voice, as Bella’s hand stole gradually up his waistcoat to his neck, ‘this + mercenary young person distantly related to myself, refused the price, + took off the splendid fashions that were part of it, put on the + comparatively poor dress that I had last given her, and trusting to my + supporting her in what was right, came straight to me. Have I led up to + it?’ + </p> +<p> + Bella’s hand was round his neck by this time, and her face was on it. + </p> +<p> + ‘The mercenary young person distantly related to myself,’ said her good + father, ‘did well! The mercenary young person distantly related to myself, + did not trust to me in vain! I admire this mercenary young person + distantly related to myself, more in this dress than if she had come to me + in China silks, Cashmere shawls, and Golconda diamonds. I love this young + person dearly. I say to the man of this young person’s heart, out of my + heart and with all of it, “My blessing on this engagement betwixt you, and + she brings you a good fortune when she brings you the poverty she has + accepted for your sake and the honest truth’s!”’ + </p> +<p> + The stanch little man’s voice failed him as he gave John Rokesmith his + hand, and he was silent, bending his face low over his daughter. But, not + for long. He soon looked up, saying in a sprightly tone: + </p> +<p> + ‘And now, my dear child, if you think you can entertain John Rokesmith for + a minute and a half, I’ll run over to the Dairy, and fetch <i>him </i>a cottage + loaf and a drink of milk, that we may all have tea together.’ + </p> +<p> + It was, as Bella gaily said, like the supper provided for the three + nursery hobgoblins at their house in the forest, without their thunderous + low growlings of the alarming discovery, ‘Somebody’s been drinking <i>my</i> + milk!’ It was a delicious repast; by far the most delicious that Bella, or + John Rokesmith, or even R. Wilfer had ever made. The uncongenial oddity of + its surroundings, with the two brass knobs of the iron safe of Chicksey, + Veneering, and Stobbles staring from a corner, like the eyes of some dull + dragon, only made it the more delightful. + </p> +<p> + ‘To think,’ said the cherub, looking round the office with unspeakable + enjoyment, ‘that anything of a tender nature should come off here, is what + tickles me. To think that ever I should have seen my Bella folded in the + arms of her future husband, <i>here</i>, you know!’ + </p> +<p> + It was not until the cottage loaves and the milk had for some time + disappeared, and the foreshadowings of night were creeping over Mincing + Lane, that the cherub by degrees became a little nervous, and said to + Bella, as he cleared his throat: + </p> +<p> + ‘Hem!—Have you thought at all about your mother, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And your sister Lavvy, for instance, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Pa. I think we had better not enter into particulars at home. I + think it will be quite enough to say that I had a difference with Mr + Boffin, and have left for good.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘John Rokesmith being acquainted with your Ma, my love,’ said her father, + after some slight hesitation, ‘I need have no delicacy in hinting before + him that you may perhaps find your Ma a little wearing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A little, patient Pa?’ said Bella with a tuneful laugh: the tune fuller + for being so loving in its tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! We’ll say, strictly in confidence among ourselves, wearing; we + won’t qualify it,’ the cherub stoutly admitted. ‘And your sister’s temper + is wearing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mind, Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you must prepare yourself you know, my precious,’ said her father, + with much gentleness, ‘for our looking very poor and meagre at home, and + being at the best but very uncomfortable, after Mr Boffin’s house.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mind, Pa. I could bear much harder trials—for John.’ + </p> +<p> + The closing words were not so softly and blushingly said but that John + heard them, and showed that he heard them by again assisting Bella to + another of those mysterious disappearances. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ said the cherub gaily, and not expressing disapproval, ‘when you—when + you come back from retirement, my love, and reappear on the surface, I + think it will be time to lock up and go.’ + </p> +<p> + If the counting-house of Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles had ever been + shut up by three happier people, glad as most people were to shut it up, + they must have been superlatively happy indeed. But first Bella mounted + upon Rumty’s Perch, and said, ‘Show me what you do here all day long, dear + Pa. Do you write like this?’ laying her round cheek upon her plump left + arm, and losing sight of her pen in waves of hair, in a highly + unbusiness-like manner. Though John Rokesmith seemed to like it. + </p> +<p> + So, the three hobgoblins, having effaced all traces of their feast, and + swept up the crumbs, came out of Mincing Lane to walk to Holloway; and if + two of the hobgoblins didn’t wish the distance twice as long as it was, + the third hobgoblin was much mistaken. Indeed, that modest spirit deemed + himself so much in the way of their deep enjoyment of the journey, that he + apologetically remarked: ‘I think, my dears, I’ll take the lead on the + other side of the road, and seem not to belong to you.’ Which he did, + cherubically strewing the path with smiles, in the absence of flowers. + </p> +<p> + It was almost ten o’clock when they stopped within view of Wilfer Castle; + and then, the spot being quiet and deserted, Bella began a series of + disappearances which threatened to last all night. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, John,’ the cherub hinted at last, ‘that if you can spare me the + young person distantly related to myself, I’ll take her in.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t spare her,’ answered John, ‘but I must lend her to you.—My + Darling!’ A word of magic which caused Bella instantly to disappear again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, dearest Pa,’ said Bella, when she became visible, ‘put your hand in + mine, and we’ll run home as fast as ever we can run, and get it over. Now, + Pa. Once!—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear,’ the cherub faltered, with something of a craven air, ‘I was + going to observe that if your mother—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You mustn’t hang back, sir, to gain time,’ cried Bella, putting out her + right foot; ‘do you see that, sir? That’s the mark; come up to the mark, + sir. Once! Twice! Three times and away, Pa!’ Off she skimmed, bearing the + cherub along, nor ever stopped, nor suffered him to stop, until she had + pulled at the bell. ‘Now, dear Pa,’ said Bella, taking him by both ears as + if he were a pitcher, and conveying his face to her rosy lips, ‘we are in + for it!’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Lavvy came out to open the gate, waited on by that attentive cavalier + and friend of the family, Mr George Sampson. ‘Why, it’s never Bella!’ + exclaimed Miss Lavvy starting back at the sight. And then bawled, ‘Ma! + Here’s Bella!’ + </p> +<p> + This produced, before they could get into the house, Mrs Wilfer. Who, + standing in the portal, received them with ghostly gloom, and all her + other appliances of ceremony. + </p> +<p> + ‘My child is welcome, though unlooked for,’ said she, at the time + presenting her cheek as if it were a cool slate for visitors to enrol + themselves upon. ‘You too, R. W., are welcome, though late. Does the male + domestic of Mrs Boffin hear me there?’ This deep-toned inquiry was cast + forth into the night, for response from the menial in question. + </p> +<p> + ‘There is no one waiting, Ma, dear,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘There is no one waiting?’ repeated Mrs Wilfer in majestic accents. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Ma, dear.’ + </p> +<p> + A dignified shiver pervaded Mrs Wilfer’s shoulders and gloves, as who + should say, ‘An Enigma!’ and then she marched at the head of the + procession to the family keeping-room, where she observed: + </p> +<p> + ‘Unless, R. W.:’ who started on being solemnly turned upon: ‘you have + taken the precaution of making some addition to our frugal supper on your + way home, it will prove but a distasteful one to Bella. Cold neck of + mutton and a lettuce can ill compete with the luxuries of Mr Boffin’s + board.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray don’t talk like that, Ma dear,’ said Bella; ‘Mr Boffin’s board is + nothing to me.’ + </p> +<p> + But, here Miss Lavinia, who had been intently eyeing Bella’s bonnet, + struck in with ‘Why, Bella!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Lavvy, I know.’ + </p> +<p> + The Irrepressible lowered her eyes to Bella’s dress, and stooped to look + at it, exclaiming again: ‘Why, Bella!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Lavvy, I know what I have got on. I was going to tell Ma when you + interrupted. I have left Mr Boffin’s house for good, Ma, and I have come + home again.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer spake no word, but, having glared at her offspring for a minute + or two in an awful silence, retired into her corner of state backward, and + sat down: like a frozen article on sale in a Russian market. + </p> +<p> + ‘In short, dear Ma,’ said Bella, taking off the depreciated bonnet and + shaking out her hair, ‘I have had a very serious difference with Mr Boffin + on the subject of his treatment of a member of his household, and it’s a + final difference, and there’s an end of all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I am bound to tell you, my dear,’ added R. W., submissively, ‘that + Bella has acted in a truly brave spirit, and with a truly right feeling. + And therefore I hope, my dear, you’ll not allow yourself to be greatly + disappointed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘George!’ said Miss Lavvy, in a sepulchral, warning voice, founded on her + mother’s; ‘George Sampson, speak! What did I tell you about those + Boffins?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson perceiving his frail bark to be labouring among shoals and + breakers, thought it safest not to refer back to any particular thing that + he had been told, lest he should refer back to the wrong thing. With + admirable seamanship he got his bark into deep water by murmuring ‘Yes + indeed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes! I told George Sampson, as George Sampson tells you,’ said Miss Lavvy, + ‘that those hateful Boffins would pick a quarrel with Bella, as soon as + her novelty had worn off. Have they done it, or have they not? Was I + right, or was I wrong? And what do you say to us, Bella, of your Boffins + now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lavvy and Ma,’ said Bella, ‘I say of Mr and Mrs Boffin what I always have + said; and I always shall say of them what I always have said. But nothing + will induce me to quarrel with any one to-night. I hope you are not sorry + to see me, Ma dear,’ kissing her; ‘and I hope you are not sorry to see me, + Lavvy,’ kissing her too; ‘and as I notice the lettuce Ma mentioned, on the + table, I’ll make the salad.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella playfully setting herself about the task, Mrs Wilfer’s impressive + countenance followed her with glaring eyes, presenting a combination of + the once popular sign of the Saracen’s Head, with a piece of Dutch + clock-work, and suggesting to an imaginative mind that from the + composition of the salad, her daughter might prudently omit the vinegar. + But no word issued from the majestic matron’s lips. And this was more + terrific to her husband (as perhaps she knew) than any flow of eloquence + with which she could have edified the company. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Ma dear,’ said Bella in due course, ‘the salad’s ready, and it’s + past supper-time.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer rose, but remained speechless. ‘George!’ said Miss Lavinia in + her voice of warning, ‘Ma’s chair!’ Mr Sampson flew to the excellent + lady’s back, and followed her up close chair in hand, as she stalked to + the banquet. Arrived at the table, she took her rigid seat, after + favouring Mr Sampson with a glare for himself, which caused the young + gentleman to retire to his place in much confusion. + </p> +<p> + The cherub not presuming to address so tremendous an object, transacted + her supper through the agency of a third person, as ‘Mutton to your Ma, + Bella, my dear’; and ‘Lavvy, I dare say your Ma would take some lettuce if + you were to put it on her plate.’ Mrs Wilfer’s manner of receiving those + viands was marked by petrified absence of mind; in which state, likewise, + she partook of them, occasionally laying down her knife and fork, as + saying within her own spirit, ‘What is this I am doing?’ and glaring at + one or other of the party, as if in indignant search of information. A + magnetic result of such glaring was, that the person glared at could not + by any means successfully pretend to be ignorant of the fact: so that a + bystander, without beholding Mrs Wilfer at all, must have known at whom + she was glaring, by seeing her refracted from the countenance of the + beglared one. + </p> +<p> + Miss Lavinia was extremely affable to Mr Sampson on this special occasion, + and took the opportunity of informing her sister why. + </p> +<p> + ‘It was not worth troubling you about, Bella, when you were in a sphere so + far removed from your family as to make it a matter in which you could be + expected to take very little interest,’ said Lavinia with a toss of her + chin; ‘but George Sampson is paying his addresses to me.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella was glad to hear it. Mr Sampson became thoughtfully red, and felt + called upon to encircle Miss Lavinia’s waist with his arm; but, + encountering a large pin in the young lady’s belt, scarified a finger, + uttered a sharp exclamation, and attracted the lightning of Mrs Wilfer’s + glare. + </p> +<p> + ‘George is getting on very well,’ said Miss Lavinia which might not have + been supposed at the moment—‘and I dare say we shall be married, one + of these days. I didn’t care to mention it when you were with your Bof—’ + here Miss Lavinia checked herself in a bounce, and added more placidly, + ‘when you were with Mr and Mrs Boffin; but now I think it sisterly to name + the circumstance.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Lavvy dear. I congratulate you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Bella. The truth is, George and I did discuss whether I should + tell you; but I said to George that you wouldn’t be much interested in so + paltry an affair, and that it was far more likely you would rather detach + yourself from us altogether, than have him added to the rest of us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That was a mistake, dear Lavvy,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘It turns out to be,’ replied Miss Lavinia; ‘but circumstances have + changed, you know, my dear. George is in a new situation, and his + prospects are very good indeed. I shouldn’t have had the courage to tell + you so yesterday, when you would have thought his prospects poor, and not + worth notice; but I feel quite bold tonight.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When did you begin to feel timid, Lavvy?’ inquired Bella, with a smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘I didn’t say that I ever felt timid, Bella,’ replied the Irrepressible. + ‘But perhaps I might have said, if I had not been restrained by delicacy + towards a sister’s feelings, that I have for some time felt independent; + too independent, my dear, to subject myself to have my intended match + (you’ll prick yourself again, George) looked down upon. It is not that I + could have blamed you for looking down upon it, when you were looking up + to a rich and great match, Bella; it is only that I was independent.’ + </p> +<p> + Whether the Irrepressible felt slighted by Bella’s declaration that she + would not quarrel, or whether her spitefulness was evoked by Bella’s + return to the sphere of Mr George Sampson’s courtship, or whether it was a + necessary fillip to her spirits that she should come into collision with + somebody on the present occasion,—anyhow she made a dash at her + stately parent now, with the greatest impetuosity. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma, pray don’t sit staring at me in that intensely aggravating manner! If + you see a black on my nose, tell me so; if you don’t, leave me alone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you address Me in those words?’ said Mrs Wilfer. ‘Do you presume?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t talk about presuming, Ma, for goodness’ sake. A girl who is old + enough to be engaged, is quite old enough to object to be stared at as if + she was a Clock.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Audacious one!’ said Mrs Wilfer. ‘Your grandmamma, if so addressed by one + of her daughters, at any age, would have insisted on her retiring to a + dark apartment.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My grandmamma,’ returned Lavvy, folding her arms and leaning back in her + chair, ‘wouldn’t have sat staring people out of countenance, I think.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She would!’ said Mrs Wilfer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then it’s a pity she didn’t know better,’ said Lavvy. ‘And if my + grandmamma wasn’t in her dotage when she took to insisting on people’s + retiring to dark apartments, she ought to have been. A pretty exhibition + my grandmamma must have made of herself! I wonder whether she ever + insisted on people’s retiring into the ball of St Paul’s; and if she did, + how she got them there!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Silence!’ proclaimed Mrs Wilfer. ‘I command silence!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have not the slightest intention of being silent, Ma,’ returned Lavinia + coolly, ‘but quite the contrary. I am not going to be eyed as if I had + come from the Boffins, and sit silent under it. I am not going to have + George Sampson eyed as if <i>he</i> had come from the Boffins, and sit silent + under it. If Pa thinks proper to be eyed as if <i>he</i> had come from the + Boffins also, well and good. I don’t choose to. And I won’t!’ + </p> +<p> + Lavinia’s engineering having made this crooked opening at Bella, Mrs + Wilfer strode into it. + </p> +<p> + ‘You rebellious spirit! You mutinous child! Tell me this, Lavinia. If in + violation of your mother’s sentiments, you had condescended to allow + yourself to be patronized by the Boffins, and if you had come from those + halls of slavery—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s mere nonsense, Ma,’ said Lavinia. + </p> +<p> + ‘How!’ exclaimed Mrs Wilfer, with sublime severity. + </p> +<p> + ‘Halls of slavery, Ma, is mere stuff and nonsense,’ returned the unmoved + Irrepressible. + </p> +<p> + ‘I say, presumptuous child, if you had come from the neighbourhood of + Portland Place, bending under the yoke of patronage and attended by its + domestics in glittering garb to visit me, do you think my deep-seated + feelings could have been expressed in looks?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘All I think about it, is,’ returned Lavinia, ‘that I should wish them + expressed to the right person.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And if,’ pursued her mother, ‘if making light of my warnings that the + face of Mrs Boffin alone was a face teeming with evil, you had clung to + Mrs Boffin instead of to me, and had after all come home rejected by Mrs + Boffin, trampled under foot by Mrs Boffin, and cast out by Mrs Boffin, do + you think my feelings could have been expressed in looks?’ + </p> +<p> + Lavinia was about replying to her honoured parent that she might as well + have dispensed with her looks altogether then, when Bella rose and said, + ‘Good night, dear Ma. I have had a tiring day, and I’ll go to bed.’ This + broke up the agreeable party. Mr George Sampson shortly afterwards took + his leave, accompanied by Miss Lavinia with a candle as far as the hall, + and without a candle as far as the garden gate; Mrs Wilfer, washing her + hands of the Boffins, went to bed after the manner of Lady Macbeth; and R. + W. was left alone among the dilapidations of the supper table, in a + melancholy attitude. + </p> +<p> + But, a light footstep roused him from his meditations, and it was Bella’s. + Her pretty hair was hanging all about her, and she had tripped down + softly, brush in hand, and barefoot, to say good-night to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear, you most unquestionably <i>are </i>a lovely woman,’ said the cherub, + taking up a tress in his hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here, sir,’ said Bella; ‘when your lovely woman marries, you shall + have that piece if you like, and she’ll make you a chain of it. Would you + prize that remembrance of the dear creature?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my precious.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you shall have it if you’re good, sir. I am very, very sorry, + dearest Pa, to have brought home all this trouble.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My pet,’ returned her father, in the simplest good faith, ‘don’t make + yourself uneasy about that. It really is not worth mentioning, because + things at home would have taken pretty much the same turn any way. If your + mother and sister don’t find one subject to get at times a little wearing + on, they find another. We’re never out of a wearing subject, my dear, I + assure you. I am afraid you find your old room with Lavvy, dreadfully + inconvenient, Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No I don’t, Pa; I don’t mind. Why don’t I mind, do you think, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my child, you used to complain of it when it wasn’t such a contrast + as it must be now. Upon my word, I can only answer, because you are so + much improved.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Pa. Because I am so thankful and so happy!’ + </p> +<p> + Here she choked him until her long hair made him sneeze, and then she + laughed until she made him laugh, and then she choked him again that they + might not be overheard. + </p> +<p> + ‘Listen, sir,’ said Bella. ‘Your lovely woman was told her fortune to + night on her way home. It won’t be a large fortune, because if the lovely + woman’s Intended gets a certain appointment that he hopes to get soon, she + will marry on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. But that’s at first, and + even if it should never be more, the lovely woman will make it quite + enough. But that’s not all, sir. In the fortune there’s a certain fair man—a + little man, the fortune-teller said—who, it seems, will always find + himself near the lovely woman, and will always have kept, expressly for + him, such a peaceful corner in the lovely woman’s little house as never + was. Tell me the name of that man, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is he a Knave in the pack of cards?’ inquired the cherub, with a twinkle + in his eyes. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0586m " src="images/0586m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0586m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0586.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6964816900547473449"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Yes!’ cried Bella, in high glee, choking him again. ‘He’s the Knave of + Wilfers! Dear Pa, the lovely woman means to look forward to this fortune + that has been told for her, so delightfully, and to cause it to make her a + much better lovely woman than she ever has been yet. What the little fair + man is expected to do, sir, is to look forward to it also, by saying to + himself when he is in danger of being over-worried, “I see land at last!” + </p> +<p> + ‘I see land at last!’ repeated her father. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s a dear Knave of Wilfers!’ exclaimed Bella; then putting out her + small white bare foot, ‘That’s the mark, sir. Come to the mark. Put your + boot against it. We keep to it together, mind! Now, sir, you may kiss the + lovely woman before she runs away, so thankful and so happy. O yes, fair + little man, so thankful and so happy!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0050"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 17 + </h2> +<h3> + A SOCIAL CHORUS + </h3> +<p> + Amazement sits enthroned upon the countenances of Mr and Mrs Alfred + Lammle’s circle of acquaintance, when the disposal of their first-class + furniture and effects (including a Billiard Table in capital letters), ‘by + auction, under a bill of sale,’ is publicly announced on a waving + hearthrug in Sackville Street. But, nobody is half so much amazed as + Hamilton Veneering, Esquire, M.P. for Pocket-Breaches, who instantly + begins to find out that the Lammles are the only people ever entered on + his soul’s register, who are <i>not </i>the oldest and dearest friends he has in + the world. Mrs Veneering, W.M.P. for Pocket-Breaches, like a faithful wife + shares her husband’s discovery and inexpressible astonishment. Perhaps the + Veneerings twain may deem the last unutterable feeling particularly due to + their reputation, by reason that once upon a time some of the longer heads + in the City are whispered to have shaken themselves, when Veneering’s + extensive dealings and great wealth were mentioned. But, it is certain + that neither Mr nor Mrs Veneering can find words to wonder in, and it + becomes necessary that they give to the oldest and dearest friends they + have in the world, a wondering dinner. + </p> +<p> + For, it is by this time noticeable that, whatever befals, the Veneerings + must give a dinner upon it. Lady Tippins lives in a chronic state of + invitation to dine with the Veneerings, and in a chronic state of + inflammation arising from the dinners. Boots and Brewer go about in cabs, + with no other intelligible business on earth than to beat up people to + come and dine with the Veneerings. Veneering pervades the legislative + lobbies, intent upon entrapping his fellow-legislators to dinner. Mrs + Veneering dined with five-and-twenty bran-new faces over night; calls upon + them all to day; sends them every one a dinner-card to-morrow, for the + week after next; before that dinner is digested, calls upon their brothers + and sisters, their sons and daughters, their nephews and nieces, their + aunts and uncles and cousins, and invites them all to dinner. And still, + as at first, howsoever, the dining circle widens, it is to be observed + that all the diners are consistent in appearing to go to the Veneerings, + not to dine with Mr and Mrs Veneering (which would seem to be the last + thing in their minds), but to dine with one another. + </p> +<p> + Perhaps, after all,—who knows?—Veneering may find this dining, + though expensive, remunerative, in the sense that it makes champions. Mr + Podsnap, as a representative man, is not alone in caring very particularly + for his own dignity, if not for that of his acquaintances, and therefore + in angrily supporting the acquaintances who have taken out his Permit, + lest, in their being lessened, he should be. The gold and silver camels, + and the ice-pails, and the rest of the Veneering table decorations, make a + brilliant show, and when I, Podsnap, casually remark elsewhere that I + dined last Monday with a gorgeous caravan of camels, I find it personally + offensive to have it hinted to me that they are broken-kneed camels, or + camels labouring under suspicion of any sort. ‘I don’t display camels + myself, I am above them: I am a more solid man; but these camels have + basked in the light of my countenance, and how dare you, sir, insinuate to + me that I have irradiated any but unimpeachable camels?’ + </p> +<p> + The camels are polishing up in the Analytical’s pantry for the dinner of + wonderment on the occasion of the Lammles going to pieces, and Mr Twemlow + feels a little queer on the sofa at his lodgings over the stable yard in + Duke Street, Saint James’s, in consequence of having taken two advertised + pills at about mid-day, on the faith of the printed representation + accompanying the box (price one and a penny halfpenny, government stamp + included), that the same ‘will be found highly salutary as a precautionary + measure in connection with the pleasures of the table.’ To whom, while + sickly with the fancy of an insoluble pill sticking in his gullet, and + also with the sensation of a deposit of warm gum languidly wandering + within him a little lower down, a servant enters with the announcement + that a lady wishes to speak with him. + </p> +<p> + ‘A lady!’ says Twemlow, pluming his ruffled feathers. ‘Ask the favour of + the lady’s name.’ + </p> +<p> + The lady’s name is Lammle. The lady will not detain Mr Twemlow longer than + a very few minutes. The lady is sure that Mr Twemlow will do her the + kindness to see her, on being told that she particularly desires a short + interview. The lady has no doubt whatever of Mr Twemlow’s compliance when + he hears her name. Has begged the servant to be particular not to mistake + her name. Would have sent in a card, but has none. + </p> +<p> + ‘Show the lady in.’ Lady shown in, comes in. + </p> +<p> + Mr Twemlow’s little rooms are modestly furnished, in an old-fashioned + manner (rather like the housekeeper’s room at Snigsworthy Park), and would + be bare of mere ornament, were it not for a full-length engraving of the + sublime Snigsworth over the chimneypiece, snorting at a Corinthian column, + with an enormous roll of paper at his feet, and a heavy curtain going to + tumble down on his head; those accessories being understood to represent + the noble lord as somehow in the act of saving his country. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray take a seat, Mrs Lammle.’ Mrs Lammle takes a seat and opens the + conversation. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have no doubt, Mr Twemlow, that you have heard of a reverse of fortune + having befallen us. Of course you have heard of it, for no kind of news + travels so fast—among one’s friends especially.’ + </p> +<p> + Mindful of the wondering dinner, Twemlow, with a little twinge, admits the + imputation. + </p> +<p> + ‘Probably it will not,’ says Mrs Lammle, with a certain hardened manner + upon her, that makes Twemlow shrink, ‘have surprised you so much as some + others, after what passed between us at the house which is now turned out + at windows. I have taken the liberty of calling upon you, Mr Twemlow, to + add a sort of postscript to what I said that day.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Twemlow’s dry and hollow cheeks become more dry and hollow at the + prospect of some new complication. + </p> +<p> + ‘Really,’ says the uneasy little gentleman, ‘really, Mrs Lammle, I should + take it as a favour if you could excuse me from any further confidence. It + has ever been one of the objects of my life—which, unfortunately, + has not had many objects—to be inoffensive, and to keep out of + cabals and interferences.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle, by far the more observant of the two, scarcely finds it + necessary to look at Twemlow while he speaks, so easily does she read him. + </p> +<p> + ‘My postscript—to retain the term I have used’—says Mrs + Lammle, fixing her eyes on his face, to enforce what she says herself—‘coincides + exactly with what you say, Mr Twemlow. So far from troubling you with any + new confidence, I merely wish to remind you what the old one was. So far + from asking you for interference, I merely wish to claim your strict + neutrality.’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow going on to reply, she rests her eyes again, knowing her ears to + be quite enough for the contents of so weak a vessel. + </p> +<p> + ‘I can, I suppose,’ says Twemlow, nervously, ‘offer no reasonable + objection to hearing anything that you do me the honour to wish to say to + me under those heads. But if I may, with all possible delicacy and + politeness, entreat you not to range beyond them, I—I beg to do so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ says Mrs Lammle, raising her eyes to his face again, and quite + daunting him with her hardened manner, ‘I imparted to you a certain piece + of knowledge, to be imparted again, as you thought best, to a certain + person.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Which I did,’ says Twemlow. + </p> +<p> + ‘And for doing which, I thank you; though, indeed, I scarcely know why I + turned traitress to my husband in the matter, for the girl is a poor + little fool. I was a poor little fool once myself; I can find no better + reason.’ Seeing the effect she produces on him by her indifferent laugh + and cold look, she keeps her eyes upon him as she proceeds. ‘Mr Twemlow, + if you should chance to see my husband, or to see me, or to see both of + us, in the favour or confidence of any one else—whether of our + common acquaintance or not, is of no consequence—you have no right + to use against us the knowledge I intrusted you with, for one special + purpose which has been accomplished. This is what I came to say. It is not + a stipulation; to a gentleman it is simply a reminder.’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow sits murmuring to himself with his hand to his forehead. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is so plain a case,’ Mrs Lammle goes on, ‘as between me (from the + first relying on your honour) and you, that I will not waste another word + upon it.’ She looks steadily at Mr Twemlow, until, with a shrug, he makes + her a little one-sided bow, as though saying ‘Yes, I think you have a + right to rely upon me,’ and then she moistens her lips, and shows a sense + of relief. + </p> +<p> + ‘I trust I have kept the promise I made through your servant, that I would + detain you a very few minutes. I need trouble you no longer, Mr Twemlow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stay!’ says Twemlow, rising as she rises. ‘Pardon me a moment. I should + never have sought you out, madam, to say what I am going to say, but since + you have sought me out and are here, I will throw it off my mind. Was it + quite consistent, in candour, with our taking that resolution against Mr + Fledgeby, that you should afterwards address Mr Fledgeby as your dear and + confidential friend, and entreat a favour of Mr Fledgeby? Always supposing + that you did; I assert no knowledge of my own on the subject; it has been + represented to me that you did.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then he told you?’ retorts Mrs Lammle, who again has saved her eyes while + listening, and uses them with strong effect while speaking. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is strange that he should have told you the truth,’ says Mrs Lammle, + seriously pondering. ‘Pray where did a circumstance so very extraordinary + happen?’ + </p> +<p> + Twemlow hesitates. He is shorter than the lady as well as weaker, and, as + she stands above him with her hardened manner and her well-used eyes, he + finds himself at such a disadvantage that he would like to be of the + opposite sex. + </p> +<p> + ‘May I ask where it happened, Mr Twemlow? In strict confidence?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I must confess,’ says the mild little gentleman, coming to his answer by + degrees, ‘that I felt some compunctions when Mr Fledgeby mentioned it. I + must admit that I could not regard myself in an agreeable light. More + particularly, as Mr Fledgeby did, with great civility, which I could not + feel that I deserved from him, render me the same service that you had + entreated him to render you.’ + </p> +<p> + It is a part of the true nobility of the poor gentleman’s soul to say this + last sentence. ‘Otherwise,’ he has reflected, ‘I shall assume the superior + position of having no difficulties of my own, while I know of hers. Which + would be mean, very mean.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was Mr Fledgeby’s advocacy as effectual in your case as in ours?’ Mrs + Lammle demands. + </p> +<p> + ‘As ineffectual.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Can you make up your mind to tell me where you saw Mr Fledgeby, Mr + Twemlow?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I beg your pardon. I fully intended to have done so. The reservation was + not intentional. I encountered Mr Fledgeby, quite by accident, on the + spot.—By the expression, on the spot, I mean at Mr Riah’s in Saint + Mary Axe.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you the misfortune to be in Mr Riah’s hands then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Unfortunately, madam,’ returns Twemlow, ‘the one money obligation to + which I stand committed, the one debt of my life (but it is a just debt; + pray observe that I don’t dispute it), has fallen into Mr Riah’s hands.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Twemlow,’ says Mrs Lammle, fixing his eyes with hers: which he would + prevent her doing if he could, but he can’t; ‘it has fallen into Mr + Fledgeby’s hands. Mr Riah is his mask. It has fallen into Mr Fledgeby’s + hands. Let me tell you that, for your guidance. The information may be of + use to you, if only to prevent your credulity, in judging another man’s + truthfulness by your own, from being imposed upon.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Impossible!’ cries Twemlow, standing aghast. ‘How do you know it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I scarcely know how I know it. The whole train of circumstances seemed to + take fire at once, and show it to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Then you have no proof.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is very strange,’ says Mrs Lammle, coldly and boldly, and with some + disdain, ‘how like men are to one another in some things, though their + characters are as different as can be! No two men can have less affinity + between them, one would say, than Mr Twemlow and my husband. Yet my + husband replies to me “You have no proof,” and Mr Twemlow replies to me + with the very same words!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But why, madam?’ Twemlow ventures gently to argue. ‘Consider why the very + same words? Because they state the fact. Because you <i>have </i>no proof.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Men are very wise in their way,’ quoth Mrs Lammle, glancing haughtily at + the Snigsworth portrait, and shaking out her dress before departing; ‘but + they have wisdom to learn. My husband, who is not over-confiding, + ingenuous, or inexperienced, sees this plain thing no more than Mr Twemlow + does—because there is no proof! Yet I believe five women out of six, + in my place, would see it as clearly as I do. However, I will never rest + (if only in remembrance of Mr Fledgeby’s having kissed my hand) until my + husband does see it. And you will do well for yourself to see it from this + time forth, Mr Twemlow, though I <i>can </i>give you no proof.’ + </p> +<p> + As she moves towards the door, Mr Twemlow, attending on her, expresses his + soothing hope that the condition of Mr Lammle’s affairs is not + irretrievable. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Lammle answers, stopping, and sketching out the + pattern of the paper on the wall with the point of her parasol; ‘it + depends. There may be an opening for him dawning now, or there may be + none. We shall soon find out. If none, we are bankrupt here, and must go + abroad, I suppose.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Twemlow, in his good-natured desire to make the best of it, remarks + that there are pleasant lives abroad. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ returns Mrs Lammle, still sketching on the wall; ‘but I doubt + whether billiard-playing, card-playing, and so forth, for the means to + live under suspicion at a dirty table-d’hote, is one of them.’ + </p> +<p> + It is much for Mr Lammle, Twemlow politely intimates (though greatly + shocked), to have one always beside him who is attached to him in all his + fortunes, and whose restraining influence will prevent him from courses + that would be discreditable and ruinous. As he says it, Mrs Lammle leaves + off sketching, and looks at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Restraining influence, Mr Twemlow? We must eat and drink, and dress, and + have a roof over our heads. Always beside him and attached in all his + fortunes? Not much to boast of in that; what can a woman at my age do? My + husband and I deceived one another when we married; we must bear the + consequences of the deception—that is to say, bear one another, and + bear the burden of scheming together for to-day’s dinner and to-morrow’s + breakfast—till death divorces us.’ + </p> +<p> + With those words, she walks out into Duke Street, Saint James’s. Mr + Twemlow returning to his sofa, lays down his aching head on its slippery + little horsehair bolster, with a strong internal conviction that a painful + interview is not the kind of thing to be taken after the dinner pills + which are so highly salutary in connexion with the pleasures of the table. + </p> +<p> + But, six o’clock in the evening finds the worthy little gentleman getting + better, and also getting himself into his obsolete little silk stockings + and pumps, for the wondering dinner at the Veneerings. And seven o’clock + in the evening finds him trotting out into Duke Street, to trot to the + corner and save a sixpence in coach-hire. + </p> +<p> + Tippins the divine has dined herself into such a condition by this time, + that a morbid mind might desire her, for a blessed change, to sup at last, + and turn into bed. Such a mind has Mr Eugene Wrayburn, whom Twemlow finds + contemplating Tippins with the moodiest of visages, while that playful + creature rallies him on being so long overdue at the woolsack. Skittish is + Tippins with Mortimer Lightwood too, and has raps to give him with her fan + for having been best man at the nuptials of these deceiving + what’s-their-names who have gone to pieces. Though, indeed, the fan is + generally lively, and taps away at the men in all directions, with + something of a grisly sound suggestive of the clattering of Lady Tippins’s + bones. + </p> +<p> + A new race of intimate friends has sprung up at Veneering’s since he went + into Parliament for the public good, to whom Mrs Veneering is very + attentive. These friends, like astronomical distances, are only to be + spoken of in the very largest figures. Boots says that one of them is a + Contractor who (it has been calculated) gives employment, directly and + indirectly, to five hundred thousand men. Brewer says that another of them + is a Chairman, in such request at so many Boards, so far apart, that he + never travels less by railway than three thousand miles a week. Buffer + says that another of them hadn’t a sixpence eighteen months ago, and, + through the brilliancy of his genius in getting those shares issued at + eighty-five, and buying them all up with no money and selling them at par + for cash, has now three hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds—Buffer + particularly insisting on the odd seventy-five, and declining to take a + farthing less. With Buffer, Boots, and Brewer, Lady Tippins is eminently + facetious on the subject of these Fathers of the Scrip-Church: surveying + them through her eyeglass, and inquiring whether Boots and Brewer and + Buffer think they will make her fortune if she makes love to them? with + other pleasantries of that nature. Veneering, in his different way, is + much occupied with the Fathers too, piously retiring with them into the + conservatory, from which retreat the word ‘Committee’ is occasionally + heard, and where the Fathers instruct Veneering how he must leave the + valley of the piano on his left, take the level of the mantelpiece, cross + by an open cutting at the candelabra, seize the carrying-traffic at the + console, and cut up the opposition root and branch at the window curtains. + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Podsnap are of the company, and the Fathers descry in Mrs + Podsnap a fine woman. She is consigned to a Father—Boots’s Father, + who employs five hundred thousand men—and is brought to anchor on + Veneering’s left; thus affording opportunity to the sportive Tippins on + his right (he, as usual, being mere vacant space), to entreat to be told + something about those loves of Navvies, and whether they really do live on + raw beefsteaks, and drink porter out of their barrows. But, in spite of + such little skirmishes it is felt that this was to be a wondering dinner, + and that the wondering must not be neglected. Accordingly, Brewer, as the + man who has the greatest reputation to sustain, becomes the interpreter of + the general instinct. + </p> +<p> + ‘I took,’ says Brewer in a favourable pause, ‘a cab this morning, and I + rattled off to that Sale.’ + </p> +<p> + Boots (devoured by envy) says, ‘So did I.’ + </p> +<p> + Buffer says, ‘So did I’; but can find nobody to care whether he did or + not. + </p> +<p> + ‘And what was it like?’ inquires Veneering. + </p> +<p> + ‘I assure you,’ replies Brewer, looking about for anybody else to address + his answer to, and giving the preference to Lightwood; ‘I assure you, the + things were going for a song. Handsome things enough, but fetching + nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So I heard this afternoon,’ says Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + Brewer begs to know now, would it be fair to ask a professional man how—on—earth—these—people—ever—did—come—TO—such—A—total + smash? (Brewer’s divisions being for emphasis.) + </p> +<p> + Lightwood replies that he was consulted certainly, but could give no + opinion which would pay off the Bill of Sale, and therefore violates no + confidence in supposing that it came of their living beyond their means. + </p> +<p> + ‘But how,’ says Veneering, ‘<i>can </i>people do that!’ + </p> +<p> + Hah! That is felt on all hands to be a shot in the bull’s eye. How <i>can</i> + people do that! The Analytical Chemist going round with champagne, looks + very much as if <i>he</i> could give them a pretty good idea how people did that, + if he had a mind. + </p> +<p> + ‘How,’ says Mrs Veneering, laying down her fork to press her aquiline + hands together at the tips of the fingers, and addressing the Father who + travels the three thousand miles per week: ‘how a mother can look at her + baby, and know that she lives beyond her husband’s means, I cannot + imagine.’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene suggests that Mrs Lammle, not being a mother, had no baby to look + at. + </p> +<p> + ‘True,’ says Mrs Veneering, ‘but the principle is the same.’ + </p> +<p> + Boots is clear that the principle is the same. So is Buffer. It is the + unfortunate destiny of Buffer to damage a cause by espousing it. The rest + of the company have meekly yielded to the proposition that the principle + is the same, until Buffer says it is; when instantly a general murmur + arises that the principle is not the same. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I don’t understand,’ says the Father of the three hundred and + seventy-five thousand pounds, ‘—if these people spoken of, occupied + the position of being in society—they were in society?’ + </p> +<p> + Veneering is bound to confess that they dined here, and were even married + from here. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I don’t understand,’ pursues the Father, ‘how even their living + beyond their means could bring them to what has been termed a total smash. + Because, there is always such a thing as an adjustment of affairs, in the + case of people of any standing at all.’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene (who would seem to be in a gloomy state of suggestiveness), + suggests, ‘Suppose you have no means and live beyond them?’ + </p> +<p> + This is too insolvent a state of things for the Father to entertain. It is + too insolvent a state of things for any one with any self-respect to + entertain, and is universally scouted. But, it is so amazing how any + people can have come to a total smash, that everybody feels bound to + account for it specially. One of the Fathers says, ‘Gaming table.’ Another + of the Fathers says, ‘Speculated without knowing that speculation is a + science.’ Boots says ‘Horses.’ Lady Tippins says to her fan, ‘Two + establishments.’ Mr Podsnap, saying nothing, is referred to for his + opinion; which he delivers as follows; much flushed and extremely angry: + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t ask me. I desire to take no part in the discussion of these + people’s affairs. I abhor the subject. It is an odious subject, an + offensive subject, a subject that makes me sick, and I—’ And with + his favourite right-arm flourish which sweeps away everything and settles + it for ever, Mr Podsnap sweeps these inconveniently unexplainable wretches + who have lived beyond their means and gone to total smash, off the face of + the universe. + </p> +<p> + Eugene, leaning back in his chair, is observing Mr Podsnap with an + irreverent face, and may be about to offer a new suggestion, when the + Analytical is beheld in collision with the Coachman; the Coachman + manifesting a purpose of coming at the company with a silver salver, as + though intent upon making a collection for his wife and family; the + Analytical cutting him off at the sideboard. The superior stateliness, if + not the superior generalship, of the Analytical prevails over a man who is + as nothing off the box; and the Coachman, yielding up his salver, retires + defeated. + </p> +<p> + Then, the Analytical, perusing a scrap of paper lying on the salver, with + the air of a literary Censor, adjusts it, takes his time about going to + the table with it, and presents it to Mr Eugene Wrayburn. Whereupon the + pleasant Tippins says aloud, ‘The Lord Chancellor has resigned!’ + </p> +<p> + With distracting coolness and slowness—for he knows the curiosity of + the Charmer to be always devouring—Eugene makes a pretence of + getting out an eyeglass, polishing it, and reading the paper with + difficulty, long after he has seen what is written on it. What is written + on it in wet ink, is: + </p> +<p> + ‘Young Blight.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Waiting?’ says Eugene over his shoulder, in confidence, with the + Analytical. + </p> +<p> + ‘Waiting,’ returns the Analytical in responsive confidence. + </p> +<p> + Eugene looks ‘Excuse me,’ towards Mrs Veneering, goes out, and finds Young + Blight, Mortimer’s clerk, at the hall-door. + </p> +<p> + ‘You told me to bring him, sir, to wherever you was, if he come while you + was out and I was in,’ says that discreet young gentleman, standing on + tiptoe to whisper; ‘and I’ve brought him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sharp boy. Where is he?’ asks Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’s in a cab, sir, at the door. I thought it best not to show him, you + see, if it could be helped; for he’s a-shaking all over, like—Blight’s + simile is perhaps inspired by the surrounding dishes of sweets—‘like + Glue Monge.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sharp boy again,’ returns Eugene. ‘I’ll go to him.’ + </p> +<p> + Goes out straightway, and, leisurely leaning his arms on the open window + of a cab in waiting, looks in at Mr Dolls: who has brought his own + atmosphere with him, and would seem from its odour to have brought it, for + convenience of carriage, in a rum-cask. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now Dolls, wake up!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mist Wrayburn? Drection! Fifteen shillings!’ + </p> +<p> + After carefully reading the dingy scrap of paper handed to him, and as + carefully tucking it into his waistcoat pocket, Eugene tells out the + money; beginning incautiously by telling the first shilling into Mr + Dolls’s hand, which instantly jerks it out of window; and ending by + telling the fifteen shillings on the seat. + </p> +<p> + ‘Give him a ride back to Charing Cross, sharp boy, and there get rid of + him.’ + </p> +<p> + Returning to the dining-room, and pausing for an instant behind the screen + at the door, Eugene overhears, above the hum and clatter, the fair Tippins + saying: ‘I am dying to ask him what he was called out for!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you?’ mutters Eugene, ‘then perhaps if you can’t ask him, you’ll die. + So I’ll be a benefactor to society, and go. A stroll and a cigar, and I + can think this over. Think this over.’ Thus, with a thoughtful face, he + finds his hat and cloak, unseen of the Analytical, and goes his way. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2H_4_0054"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + BOOK THE FOURTH — A TURNING + </h2> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0051"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> +<h3> + SETTING TRAPS + </h3> +<p> + Plashwater Weir Mill Lock looked tranquil and pretty on an evening in the + summer time. A soft air stirred the leaves of the fresh green trees, and + passed like a smooth shadow over the river, and like a smoother shadow + over the yielding grass. The voice of the falling water, like the voices + of the sea and the wind, were as an outer memory to a contemplative + listener; but not particularly so to Mr Riderhood, who sat on one of the + blunt wooden levers of his lock-gates, dozing. Wine must be got into a + butt by some agency before it can be drawn out; and the wine of sentiment + never having been got into Mr Riderhood by any agency, nothing in nature + tapped him. + </p> +<p> + As the Rogue sat, ever and again nodding himself off his balance, his + recovery was always attended by an angry stare and growl, as if, in the + absence of any one else, he had aggressive inclinations towards himself. + In one of these starts the cry of ‘Lock, ho! Lock!’ prevented his relapse + into a doze. Shaking himself as he got up like the surly brute he was, he + gave his growl a responsive twist at the end, and turned his face + down-stream to see who hailed. + </p> +<p> + It was an amateur-sculler, well up to his work though taking it easily, in + so light a boat that the Rogue remarked: ‘A little less on you, and you’d + a’most ha’ been a Wagerbut’; then went to work at his windlass handles and + sluices, to let the sculler in. As the latter stood in his boat, holding + on by the boat-hook to the woodwork at the lock side, waiting for the + gates to open, Rogue Riderhood recognized his ‘T’other governor,’ Mr + Eugene Wrayburn; who was, however, too indifferent or too much engaged to + recognize him. + </p> +<p> + The creaking lock-gates opened slowly, and the light boat passed in as + soon as there was room enough, and the creaking lock-gates closed upon it, + and it floated low down in the dock between the two sets of gates, until + the water should rise and the second gates should open and let it out. + When Riderhood had run to his second windlass and turned it, and while he + leaned against the lever of that gate to help it to swing open presently, + he noticed, lying to rest under the green hedge by the towing-path astern + of the Lock, a Bargeman. + </p> +<p> + The water rose and rose as the sluice poured in, dispersing the scum which + had formed behind the lumbering gates, and sending the boat up, so that + the sculler gradually rose like an apparition against the light from the + bargeman’s point of view. Riderhood observed that the bargeman rose too, + leaning on his arm, and seemed to have his eyes fastened on the rising + figure. + </p> +<p> + But, there was the toll to be taken, as the gates were now complaining and + opening. The T’other governor tossed it ashore, twisted in a piece of + paper, and as he did so, knew his man. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, ay? It’s you, is it, honest friend?’ said Eugene, seating himself + preparatory to resuming his sculls. ‘You got the place, then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I got the place, and no thanks to you for it, nor yet none to Lawyer + Lightwood,’ gruffly answered Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘We saved our recommendation, honest fellow,’ said Eugene, ‘for the next + candidate—the one who will offer himself when you are transported or + hanged. Don’t be long about it; will you be so good?’ + </p> +<p> + So imperturbable was the air with which he gravely bent to his work that + Riderhood remained staring at him, without having found a retort, until he + had rowed past a line of wooden objects by the weir, which showed like + huge teetotums standing at rest in the water, and was almost hidden by the + drooping boughs on the left bank, as he rowed away, keeping out of the + opposing current. It being then too late to retort with any effect—if + that could ever have been done—the honest man confined himself to + cursing and growling in a grim under-tone. Having then got his gates shut, + he crossed back by his plank lock-bridge to the towing-path side of the + river. + </p> +<p> + If, in so doing, he took another glance at the bargeman, he did it by + stealth. He cast himself on the grass by the Lock side, in an indolent + way, with his back in that direction, and, having gathered a few blades, + fell to chewing them. The dip of Eugene Wrayburn’s sculls had become + hardly audible in his ears when the bargeman passed him, putting the + utmost width that he could between them, and keeping under the hedge. + Then, Riderhood sat up and took a long look at his figure, and then cried: + ‘Hi—I—i! Lock, ho! Lock! Plashwater Weir Mill Lock!’ + </p> +<p> + The bargeman stopped, and looked back. + </p> +<p> + ‘Plashwater Weir Mill Lock, T’otherest gov—er—nor—or—or—or!’ + cried Mr Riderhood, with his hands to his mouth. + </p> +<p> + The bargeman turned back. Approaching nearer and nearer, the bargeman + became Bradley Headstone, in rough water-side second-hand clothing. + </p> +<p> + ‘Wish I may die,’ said Riderhood, smiting his right leg, and laughing, as + he sat on the grass, ‘if you ain’t ha’ been a imitating me, T’otherest + governor! Never thought myself so good-looking afore!’ + </p> +<p> + Truly, Bradley Headstone had taken careful note of the honest man’s dress + in the course of that night-walk they had had together. He must have + committed it to memory, and slowly got it by heart. It was exactly + reproduced in the dress he now wore. And whereas, in his own schoolmaster + clothes, he usually looked as if they were the clothes of some other man, + he now looked, in the clothes of some other man or men, as if they were + his own. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>This </i>your Lock?’ said Bradley, whose surprise had a genuine air; ‘they + told me, where I last inquired, it was the third I should come to. This is + only the second.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s my belief, governor,’ returned Riderhood, with a wink and shake of + his head, ‘that you’ve dropped one in your counting. It ain’t Locks as + <i>you’ve</i> been giving your mind to. No, no!’ + </p> +<p> + As he expressively jerked his pointing finger in the direction the boat + had taken, a flush of impatience mounted into Bradley’s face, and he + looked anxiously up the river. + </p> +<p> + ‘It ain’t Locks as <i>you’ve</i> been a reckoning up,’ said Riderhood, when the + schoolmaster’s eyes came back again. ‘No, no!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What other calculations do you suppose I have been occupied with? + Mathematics?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never heerd it called that. It’s a long word for it. Hows’ever, p’raps + you call it so,’ said Riderhood, stubbornly chewing his grass. + </p> +<p> + ‘It. What?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll say them, instead of it, if you like,’ was the coolly growled reply. + ‘It’s safer talk too.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean that I should understand by them?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Spites, affronts, offences giv’ and took, deadly aggrawations, such + like,’ answered Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + Do what Bradley Headstone would, he could not keep that former flush of + impatience out of his face, or so master his eyes as to prevent their + again looking anxiously up the river. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha ha! Don’t be afeerd, T’otherest,’ said Riderhood. ‘The T’other’s got + to make way agin the stream, and he takes it easy. You can soon come up + with him. But wot’s the good of saying that to you! <i>you </i>know how fur you + could have outwalked him betwixt anywheres about where he lost the tide—say + Richmond—and this, if you had a mind to it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You think I have been following him?’ said Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘I <i>know </i>you have,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! I have, I have,’ Bradley admitted. ‘But,’ with another anxious look + up the river, ‘he may land.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Easy you! He won’t be lost if he does land,’ said Riderhood. ‘He must + leave his boat behind him. He can’t make a bundle or a parcel on it, and + carry it ashore with him under his arm.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He was speaking to you just now,’ said Bradley, kneeling on one knee on + the grass beside the Lock-keeper. ‘What did he say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cheek,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘What?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cheek,’ repeated Riderhood, with an angry oath; ‘cheek is what he said. + He can’t say nothing but cheek. I’d ha’ liked to plump down aboard of him, + neck and crop, with a heavy jump, and sunk him.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley turned away his haggard face for a few moments, and then said, + tearing up a tuft of grass: + </p> +<p> + ‘Damn him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hooroar!’ cried Riderhood. ‘Does you credit! Hooroar! I cry chorus to the + T’otherest.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What turn,’ said Bradley, with an effort at self-repression that forced + him to wipe his face, ‘did his insolence take to-day?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It took the turn,’ answered Riderhood, with sullen ferocity, ‘of hoping + as I was getting ready to be hanged.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let him look to that,’ cried Bradley. ‘Let him look to that! It will be + bad for him when men he has injured, and at whom he has jeered, are + thinking of getting hanged. Let <i>him </i>get ready for <i>his </i>fate, when that + comes about. There was more meaning in what he said than he knew of, or he + wouldn’t have had brains enough to say it. Let him look to it; let him + look to it! When men he has wronged, and on whom he has bestowed his + insolence, are getting ready to be hanged, there is a death-bell ringing. + And not for them.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood, looking fixedly at him, gradually arose from his recumbent + posture while the schoolmaster said these words with the utmost + concentration of rage and hatred. So, when the words were all spoken, he + too kneeled on one knee on the grass, and the two men looked at one + another. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Riderhood, very deliberately spitting out the grass he had been + chewing. ‘Then, I make out, T’otherest, as he is a-going to her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He left London,’ answered Bradley, ‘yesterday. I have hardly a doubt, + this time, that at last he is going to her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You ain’t sure, then?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am as sure here,’ said Bradley, with a clutch at the breast of his + coarse shirt, ‘as if it was written there;’ with a blow or a stab at the + sky. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! But judging from the looks on you,’ retorted Riderhood, completely + ridding himself of his grass, and drawing his sleeve across his mouth, + ‘you’ve made ekally sure afore, and have got disapinted. It has told upon + you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Listen,’ said Bradley, in a low voice, bending forward to lay his hand + upon the Lock-keeper’s shoulder. ‘These are my holidays.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are they, by George!’ muttered Riderhood, with his eyes on the + passion-wasted face. ‘Your working days must be stiff ’uns, if these is + your holidays.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I have never left him,’ pursued Bradley, waving the interruption + aside with an impatient hand, ‘since they began. And I never will leave + him now, till I have seen him with her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And when you have seen him with her?’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘—I’ll come back to you.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood stiffened the knee on which he had been resting, got up, and + looked gloomily at his new friend. After a few moments they walked side by + side in the direction the boat had taken, as if by tacit consent; Bradley + pressing forward, and Riderhood holding back; Bradley getting out his neat + prim purse into his hand (a present made him by penny subscription among + his pupils); and Riderhood, unfolding his arms to smear his coat-cuff + across his mouth with a thoughtful air. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have a pound for you,’ said Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ve two,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + Bradley held a sovereign between his fingers. Slouching at his side with + his eyes upon the towing-path, Riderhood held his left hand open, with a + certain slight drawing action towards himself. Bradley dipped in his purse + for another sovereign, and two chinked in Riderhood’s hand, the drawing + action of which, promptly strengthening, drew them home to his pocket. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I must follow him,’ said Bradley Headstone. ‘He takes this + river-road—the fool!—to confuse observation, or divert + attention, if not solely to baffle me. But he must have the power of + making himself invisible before he can shake Me off.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood stopped. ‘If you don’t get disapinted agin, T’otherest, maybe + you’ll put up at the Lock-house when you come back?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will.’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood nodded, and the figure of the bargeman went its way along the + soft turf by the side of the towing-path, keeping near the hedge and + moving quickly. They had turned a point from which a long stretch of river + was visible. A stranger to the scene might have been certain that here and + there along the line of hedge a figure stood, watching the bargeman, and + waiting for him to come up. So he himself had often believed at first, + until his eyes became used to the posts, bearing the dagger that slew Wat + Tyler, in the City of London shield. + </p> +<p> + Within Mr Riderhood’s knowledge all daggers were as one. Even to Bradley + Headstone, who could have told to the letter without book all about Wat + Tyler, Lord Mayor Walworth, and the King, that it is dutiful for youth to + know, there was but one subject living in the world for every sharp + destructive instrument that summer evening. So, Riderhood looking after + him as he went, and he with his furtive hand laid upon the dagger as he + passed it, and his eyes upon the boat, were much upon a par. + </p> +<p> + The boat went on, under the arching trees, and over their tranquil shadows + in the water. The bargeman skulking on the opposite bank of the stream, + went on after it. Sparkles of light showed Riderhood when and where the + rower dipped his blades, until, even as he stood idly watching, the sun + went down and the landscape was dyed red. And then the red had the + appearance of fading out of it and mounting up to Heaven, as we say that + blood, guiltily shed, does. + </p> +<p> + Turning back towards his Lock (he had not gone out of view of it), the + Rogue pondered as deeply as it was within the contracted power of such a + fellow to do. ‘Why did he copy my clothes? He could have looked like what + he wanted to look like, without that.’ This was the subject-matter in his + thoughts; in which, too, there came lumbering up, by times, like any half + floating and half sinking rubbish in the river, the question, Was it done + by accident? The setting of a trap for finding out whether it was + accidentally done, soon superseded, as a practical piece of cunning, the + abstruser inquiry why otherwise it was done. And he devised a means. + </p> +<p> + Rogue Riderhood went into his Lock-house, and brought forth, into the now + sober grey light, his chest of clothes. Sitting on the grass beside it, he + turned out, one by one, the articles it contained, until he came to a + conspicuous bright red neckerchief stained black here and there by wear. + It arrested his attention, and he sat pausing over it, until he took off + the rusty colourless wisp that he wore round his throat, and substituted + the red neckerchief, leaving the long ends flowing. ‘Now,’ said the Rogue, + ‘if arter he sees me in this neckhankecher, I see him in a sim’lar + neckhankecher, it won’t be accident!’ Elated by his device, he carried his + chest in again and went to supper. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lock ho! Lock!’ It was a light night, and a barge coming down summoned + him out of a long doze. In due course he had let the barge through and was + alone again, looking to the closing of his gates, when Bradley Headstone + appeared before him, standing on the brink of the Lock. + </p> +<p> + ‘Halloa!’ said Riderhood. ‘Back a’ ready, T’otherest?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He has put up for the night, at an Angler’s Inn,’ was the fatigued and + hoarse reply. ‘He goes on, up the river, at six in the morning. I have + come back for a couple of hours’ rest.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You want ’em,’ said Riderhood, making towards the schoolmaster by his + plank bridge. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want them,’ returned Bradley, irritably, ‘because I would rather + not have them, but would much prefer to follow him all night. However, if + he won’t lead, I can’t follow. I have been waiting about, until I could + discover, for a certainty, at what time he starts; if I couldn’t have made + sure of it, I should have stayed there.—This would be a bad pit for + a man to be flung into with his hands tied. These slippery smooth walls + would give him no chance. And I suppose those gates would suck him down?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Suck him down, or swaller him up, he wouldn’t get out,’ said Riderhood. + ‘Not even, if his hands warn’t tied, he wouldn’t. Shut him in at both + ends, and I’d give him a pint o’ old ale ever to come up to me standing + here.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley looked down with a ghastly relish. ‘You run about the brink, and + run across it, in this uncertain light, on a few inches width of rotten + wood,’ said he. ‘I wonder you have no thought of being drowned.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t be!’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t be drowned?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No!’ said Riderhood, shaking his head with an air of thorough conviction, + ‘it’s well known. I’ve been brought out o’ drowning, and I can’t be + drowned. I wouldn’t have that there busted B’lowbridger aware on it, or + her people might make it tell agin’ the damages I mean to get. But it’s + well known to water-side characters like myself, that him as has been + brought out o drowning, can never be drowned.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley smiled sourly at the ignorance he would have corrected in one of + his pupils, and continued to look down into the water, as if the place had + a gloomy fascination for him. + </p> +<p> + ‘You seem to like it,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + He took no notice, but stood looking down, as if he had not heard the + words. There was a very dark expression on his face; an expression that + the Rogue found it hard to understand. It was fierce, and full of purpose; + but the purpose might have been as much against himself as against + another. If he had stepped back for a spring, taken a leap, and thrown + himself in, it would have been no surprising sequel to the look. Perhaps + his troubled soul, set upon some violence, did hover for the moment + between that violence and another. + </p> +<p> + ‘Didn’t you say,’ asked Riderhood, after watching him for a while with a + sidelong glance, ‘as you had come back for a couple o’ hours’ rest?’ But, + even then he had to jog him with his elbow before he answered. + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh? Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hadn’t you better come in and take your couple o’ hours’ rest?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you. Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + With the look of one just awakened, he followed Riderhood into the + Lock-house, where the latter produced from a cupboard some cold salt beef + and half a loaf, some gin in a bottle, and some water in a jug. The last + he brought in, cool and dripping, from the river. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, T’otherest,’ said Riderhood, stooping over him to put it on the + table. ‘You’d better take a bite and a sup, afore you takes your snooze.’ + The draggling ends of the red neckerchief caught the schoolmaster’s eyes. + Riderhood saw him look at it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ thought that worthy. ‘You’re a-taking notice, are you? Come! You + shall have a good squint at it then.’ With which reflection he sat down on + the other side of the table, threw open his vest, and made a pretence of + re-tying the neckerchief with much deliberation. + </p> +<p> + Bradley ate and drank. As he sat at his platter and mug, Riderhood saw + him, again and yet again, steal a look at the neckerchief, as if he were + correcting his slow observation and prompting his sluggish memory. ‘When + you’re ready for your snooze,’ said that honest creature, ‘chuck yourself + on my bed in the corner, T’otherest. It’ll be broad day afore three. I’ll + call you early.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall require no calling,’ answered Bradley. And soon afterwards, + divesting himself only of his shoes and coat, laid himself down. + </p> +<p> + Riderhood, leaning back in his wooden arm-chair with his arms folded on + his breast, looked at him lying with his right hand clenched in his sleep + and his teeth set, until a film came over his own sight, and he slept too. + He awoke to find that it was daylight, and that his visitor was already + astir, and going out to the river-side to cool his head:—‘Though I’m + blest,’ muttered Riderhood at the Lock-house door, looking after him, ‘if + I think there’s water enough in all the Thames to do <i>that </i>for you!’ Within + five minutes he had taken his departure, and was passing on into the calm + distance as he had passed yesterday. Riderhood knew when a fish leaped, by + his starting and glancing round. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lock ho! Lock!’ at intervals all day, and ‘Lock ho! Lock!’ thrice in the + ensuing night, but no return of Bradley. The second day was sultry and + oppressive. In the afternoon, a thunderstorm came up, and had but newly + broken into a furious sweep of rain when he rushed in at the door, like + the storm itself. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ve seen him with her!’ exclaimed Riderhood, starting up. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At his journey’s end. His boat’s hauled up for three days. I heard him + give the order. Then, I saw him wait for her and meet her. I saw them’—he + stopped as though he were suffocating, and began again—‘I saw them + walking side by side, last night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What did you do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What are you going to do?’ + </p> +<p> + He dropped into a chair, and laughed. Immediately afterwards, a great + spirt of blood burst from his nose. + </p> +<p> + ‘How does that happen?’ asked Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know. I can’t keep it back. It has happened twice—three + times—four times—I don’t know how many times—since last + night. I taste it, smell it, see it, it chokes me, and then it breaks out + like this.’ + </p> +<p> + He went into the pelting rain again with his head bare, and, bending low + over the river, and scooping up the water with his two hands, washed the + blood away. All beyond his figure, as Riderhood looked from the door, was + a vast dark curtain in solemn movement towards one quarter of the heavens. + He raised his head and came back, wet from head to foot, but with the + lower parts of his sleeves, where he had dipped into the river, streaming + water. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your face is like a ghost’s,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you ever see a ghost?’ was the sullen retort. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean to say, you’re quite wore out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That may well be. I have had no rest since I left here. I don’t remember + that I have so much as sat down since I left here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lie down now, then,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I will, if you’ll give me something to quench my thirst first.’ + </p> +<p> + The bottle and jug were again produced, and he mixed a weak draught, and + another, and drank both in quick succession. ‘You asked me something,’ he + said then. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, I didn’t,’ replied Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you,’ retorted Bradley, turning upon him in a wild and desperate + manner, ‘you asked me something, before I went out to wash my face in the + river. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Then?’ said Riderhood, backing a little. ‘I asked you wot you wos + a-going to do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How can a man in this state know?’ he answered, protesting with both his + tremulous hands, with an action so vigorously angry that he shook the + water from his sleeves upon the floor, as if he had wrung them. ‘How can I + plan anything, if I haven’t sleep?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, that’s what I as good as said,’ returned the other. ‘Didn’t I say + lie down?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, perhaps you did.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! Anyways I says it again. Sleep where you slept last; the sounder + and longer you can sleep, the better you’ll know arterwards what you’re up + to.’ + </p> +<p> + His pointing to the truckle bed in the corner, seemed gradually to bring + that poor couch to Bradley’s wandering remembrance. He slipped off his + worn down-trodden shoes, and cast himself heavily, all wet as he was, upon + the bed. + </p> +<p> + Riderhood sat down in his wooden arm-chair, and looked through the window + at the lightning, and listened to the thunder. But, his thoughts were far + from being absorbed by the thunder and the lightning, for again and again + and again he looked very curiously at the exhausted man upon the bed. The + man had turned up the collar of the rough coat he wore, to shelter himself + from the storm, and had buttoned it about his neck. Unconscious of that, + and of most things, he had left the coat so, both when he had laved his + face in the river, and when he had cast himself upon the bed; though it + would have been much easier to him if he had unloosened it. + </p> +<p> + The thunder rolled heavily, and the forked lightning seemed to make jagged + rents in every part of the vast curtain without, as Riderhood sat by the + window, glancing at the bed. Sometimes, he saw the man upon the bed, by a + red light; sometimes, by a blue; sometimes, he scarcely saw him in the + darkness of the storm; sometimes he saw nothing of him in the blinding + glare of palpitating white fire. Anon, the rain would come again with a + tremendous rush, and the river would seem to rise to meet it, and a blast + of wind, bursting upon the door, would flutter the hair and dress of the + man, as if invisible messengers were come around the bed to carry him + away. From all these phases of the storm, Riderhood would turn, as if they + were interruptions—rather striking interruptions possibly, but + interruptions still—of his scrutiny of the sleeper. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0607m " src="images/0607m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0607m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0607.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-8943141092895633536"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘He sleeps sound,’ he said within himself; ‘yet he’s that up to me and + that noticing of me that my getting out of my chair may wake him, when a + rattling peal won’t; let alone my touching of him.’ + </p> +<p> + He very cautiously rose to his feet. ‘T’otherest,’ he said, in a low, calm + voice, ‘are you a lying easy? There’s a chill in the air, governor. Shall + I put a coat over you?’ + </p> +<p> + No answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s about what it is a’ready, you see,’ muttered Riderhood in a lower + and a different voice; ‘a coat over you, a coat over you!’ + </p> +<p> + The sleeper moving an arm, he sat down again in his chair, and feigned to + watch the storm from the window. It was a grand spectacle, but not so + grand as to keep his eyes, for half a minute together, from stealing a + look at the man upon the bed. + </p> +<p> + It was at the concealed throat of the sleeper that Riderhood so often + looked so curiously, until the sleep seemed to deepen into the stupor of + the dead-tired in mind and body. Then, Riderhood came from the window + cautiously, and stood by the bed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Poor man!’ he murmured in a low tone, with a crafty face, and a very + watchful eye and ready foot, lest he should start up; ‘this here coat of + his must make him uneasy in his sleep. Shall I loosen it for him, and make + him more comfortable? Ah! I think I ought to do it, poor man. I think I + will.’ + </p> +<p> + He touched the first button with a very cautious hand, and a step + backward. But, the sleeper remaining in profound unconsciousness, he + touched the other buttons with a more assured hand, and perhaps the more + lightly on that account. Softly and slowly, he opened the coat and drew it + back. + </p> +<p> + The draggling ends of a bright-red neckerchief were then disclosed, and he + had even been at the pains of dipping parts of it in some liquid, to give + it the appearance of having become stained by wear. With a much-perplexed + face, Riderhood looked from it to the sleeper, and from the sleeper to it, + and finally crept back to his chair, and there, with his hand to his chin, + sat long in a brown study, looking at both. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0052"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> +<h3> + THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN RISES A LITTLE + </h3> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Lammle had come to breakfast with Mr and Mrs Boffin. They were + not absolutely uninvited, but had pressed themselves with so much urgency + on the golden couple, that evasion of the honour and pleasure of their + company would have been difficult, if desired. They were in a charming + state of mind, were Mr and Mrs Lammle, and almost as fond of Mr and Mrs + Boffin as of one another. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Mrs Boffin,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘it imparts new life to me, to see + my Alfred in confidential communication with Mr Boffin. The two were + formed to become intimate. So much simplicity combined with so much force + of character, such natural sagacity united to such amiability and + gentleness—these are the distinguishing characteristics of both.’ + </p> +<p> + This being said aloud, gave Mr Lammle an opportunity, as he came with Mr + Boffin from the window to the breakfast table, of taking up his dear and + honoured wife. + </p> +<p> + ‘My Sophronia,’ said that gentleman, ‘your too partial estimate of your + husband’s character—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No! Not too partial, Alfred,’ urged the lady, tenderly moved; ‘never say + that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My child, your favourable opinion, then, of your husband—you don’t + object to that phrase, darling?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How can I, Alfred?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your favourable opinion then, my Precious, does less than justice to Mr + Boffin, and more than justice to me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To the first charge, Alfred, I plead guilty. But to the second, oh no, + no!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Less than justice to Mr Boffin, Sophronia,’ said Mr Lammle, soaring into + a tone of moral grandeur, ‘because it represents Mr Boffin as on my lower + level; more than justice to me, Sophronia, because it represents me as on + Mr Boffin’s higher level. Mr Boffin bears and forbears far more than I + could.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Far more than you could for yourself, Alfred?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My love, that is not the question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not the question, Lawyer?’ said Mrs Lammle, archly. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, dear Sophronia. From my lower level, I regard Mr Boffin as too + generous, as possessed of too much clemency, as being too good to persons + who are unworthy of him and ungrateful to him. To those noble qualities I + can lay no claim. On the contrary, they rouse my indignation when I see + them in action.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Alfred!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They rouse my indignation, my dear, against the unworthy persons, and + give me a combative desire to stand between Mr Boffin and all such + persons. Why? Because, in my lower nature I am more worldly and less + delicate. Not being so magnanimous as Mr Boffin, I feel his injuries more + than he does himself, and feel more capable of opposing his injurers.’ + </p> +<p> + It struck Mrs Lammle that it appeared rather difficult this morning to + bring Mr and Mrs Boffin into agreeable conversation. Here had been several + lures thrown out, and neither of them had uttered a word. Here were she, + Mrs Lammle, and her husband discoursing at once affectingly and + effectively, but discoursing alone. Assuming that the dear old creatures + were impressed by what they heard, still one would like to be sure of it, + the more so, as at least one of the dear old creatures was somewhat + pointedly referred to. If the dear old creatures were too bashful or too + dull to assume their required places in the discussion, why then it would + seem desirable that the dear old creatures should be taken by their heads + and shoulders and brought into it. + </p> +<p> + ‘But is not my husband saying in effect,’ asked Mrs Lammle, therefore, + with an innocent air, of Mr and Mrs Boffin, ‘that he becomes unmindful of + his own temporary misfortunes in his admiration of another whom he is + burning to serve? And is not that making an admission that his nature is a + generous one? I am wretched in argument, but surely this is so, dear Mr + and Mrs Boffin?’ + </p> +<p> + Still, neither Mr and Mrs Boffin said a word. He sat with his eyes on his + plate, eating his muffins and ham, and she sat shyly looking at the + teapot. Mrs Lammle’s innocent appeal was merely thrown into the air, to + mingle with the steam of the urn. Glancing towards Mr and Mrs Boffin, she + very slightly raised her eyebrows, as though inquiring of her husband: ‘Do + I notice anything wrong here?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle, who had found his chest effective on a variety of occasions, + manoeuvred his capacious shirt front into the largest demonstration + possible, and then smiling retorted on his wife, thus: + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, darling, Mr and Mrs Boffin will remind you of the old adage, + that self-praise is no recommendation.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Self-praise, Alfred? Do you mean because we are one and the same?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my dear child. I mean that you cannot fail to remember, if you + reflect for a single moment, that what you are pleased to compliment me + upon feeling in the case of Mr Boffin, you have yourself confided to me as + your own feeling in the case of Mrs Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘I shall be beaten by this Lawyer,’ Mrs Lammle gaily whispered to Mrs + Boffin. ‘I am afraid I must admit it, if he presses me, for it’s + damagingly true.’) + </p> +<p> + Several white dints began to come and go about Mr Lammle’s nose, as he + observed that Mrs Boffin merely looked up from the teapot for a moment + with an embarrassed smile, which was no smile, and then looked down again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you admit the charge, Sophronia?’ inquired Alfred, in a rallying tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘Really, I think,’ said Mrs Lammle, still gaily, ‘I must throw myself on + the protection of the Court. Am I bound to answer that question, my Lord?’ + To Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘You needn’t, if you don’t like, ma’am,’ was his answer. ‘It’s not of the + least consequence.’ + </p> +<p> + Both husband and wife glanced at him, very doubtfully. His manner was + grave, but not coarse, and derived some dignity from a certain repressed + dislike of the tone of the conversation. + </p> +<p> + Again Mrs Lammle raised her eyebrows for instruction from her husband. He + replied in a slight nod, ‘Try ’em again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To protect myself against the suspicion of covert self-laudation, my dear + Mrs Boffin,’ said the airy Mrs Lammle therefore, ‘I must tell you how it + was.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Pray don’t,’ Mr Boffin interposed. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle turned to him laughingly. ‘The Court objects?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma’am,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘the Court (if I am the Court) does object. The + Court objects for two reasons. First, because the Court don’t think it + fair. Secondly, because the dear old lady, Mrs Court (if I am Mr) gets + distressed by it.’ + </p> +<p> + A very remarkable wavering between two bearings—between her + propitiatory bearing there, and her defiant bearing at Mr Twemlow’s—was + observable on the part of Mrs Lammle as she said: + </p> +<p> + ‘What does the Court not consider fair?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Letting you go on,’ replied Mr Boffin, nodding his head soothingly, as + who should say, We won’t be harder on you than we can help; we’ll make the + best of it. ‘It’s not above-board and it’s not fair. When the old lady is + uncomfortable, there’s sure to be good reason for it. I see she is + uncomfortable, and I plainly see this is the good reason wherefore. <i>Have</i> + you breakfasted, ma’am.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle, settling into her defiant manner, pushed her plate away, + looked at her husband, and laughed; but by no means gaily. + </p> +<p> + ‘Have <i>you </i>breakfasted, sir?’ inquired Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ replied Alfred, showing all his teeth. ‘If Mrs Boffin will + oblige me, I’ll take another cup of tea.’ + </p> +<p> + He spilled a little of it over the chest which ought to have been so + effective, and which had done so little; but on the whole drank it with + something of an air, though the coming and going dints got almost as + large, the while, as if they had been made by pressure of the teaspoon. ‘A + thousand thanks,’ he then observed. ‘I have breakfasted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, which,’ said Mr Boffin softly, taking out a pocket-book, ‘which of + you two is Cashier?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, my dear,’ remarked her husband, as he leaned back in his + chair, waving his right hand towards her, while he hung his left hand by + the thumb in the arm-hole of his waistcoat: ‘it shall be your department.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I would rather,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘that it was your husband’s, ma’am, + because—but never mind, because, I would rather have to do with him. + However, what I have to say, I will say with as little offence as + possible; if I can say it without any, I shall be heartily glad. You two + have done me a service, a very great service, in doing what you did (my + old lady knows what it was), and I have put into this envelope a bank note + for a hundred pound. I consider the service well worth a hundred pound, + and I am well pleased to pay the money. Would you do me the favour to take + it, and likewise to accept my thanks?’ + </p> +<p> + With a haughty action, and without looking towards him, Mrs Lammle held + out her left hand, and into it Mr Boffin put the little packet. When she + had conveyed it to her bosom, Mr Lammle had the appearance of feeling + relieved, and breathing more freely, as not having been quite certain that + the hundred pounds were his, until the note had been safely transferred + out of Mr Boffin’s keeping into his own Sophronia’s. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not impossible,’ said Mr Boffin, addressing Alfred, ‘that you have + had some general idea, sir, of replacing Rokesmith, in course of time?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not,’ assented Alfred, with a glittering smile and a great deal of + nose, ‘not impossible.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And perhaps, ma’am,’ pursued Mr Boffin, addressing Sophronia, ‘you have + been so kind as to take up my old lady in your own mind, and to do her the + honour of turning the question over whether you mightn’t one of these days + have her in charge, like? Whether you mightn’t be a sort of Miss Bella + Wilfer to her, and something more?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should hope,’ returned Mrs Lammle, with a scornful look and in a loud + voice, ‘that if I were anything to your wife, sir, I could hardly fail to + be something more than Miss Bella Wilfer, as you call her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do <i>you </i>call her, ma’am?’ asked Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle disdained to reply, and sat defiantly beating one foot on the + ground. + </p> +<p> + ‘Again I think I may say, that’s not impossible. Is it, sir?’ asked Mr + Boffin, turning to Alfred. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not,’ said Alfred, smiling assent as before, ‘not impossible.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Mr Boffin, gently, ‘it won’t do. I don’t wish to say a single + word that might be afterwards remembered as unpleasant; but it won’t do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia, my love,’ her husband repeated in a bantering manner, ‘you + hear? It won’t do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Boffin, with his voice still dropped, ‘it really won’t. You + positively must excuse us. If you’ll go your way, we’ll go ours, and so I + hope this affair ends to the satisfaction of all parties.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle gave him the look of a decidedly dissatisfied party demanding + exemption from the category; but said nothing. + </p> +<p> + ‘The best thing we can make of the affair,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘is a matter + of business, and as a matter of business it’s brought to a conclusion. You + have done me a great service, a very great service, and I have paid for + it. Is there any objection to the price?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr and Mrs Lammle looked at one another across the table, but neither + could say that there was. Mr Lammle shrugged his shoulders, and Mrs Lammle + sat rigid. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘We hope (my old lady and me) that you’ll + give us credit for taking the plainest and honestest short-cut that could + be taken under the circumstances. We have talked it over with a deal of + care (my old lady and me), and we have felt that at all to lead you on, or + even at all to let you go on of your own selves, wouldn’t be the right + thing. So, I have openly given you to understand that—’ Mr Boffin + sought for a new turn of speech, but could find none so expressive as his + former one, repeated in a confidential tone, ‘—that it won’t do. If + I could have put the case more pleasantly I would; but I hope I haven’t + put it very unpleasantly; at all events I haven’t meant to. So,’ said Mr + Boffin, by way of peroration, ‘wishing you well in the way you go, we now + conclude with the observation that perhaps you’ll go it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Lammle rose with an impudent laugh on his side of the table, and Mrs + Lammle rose with a disdainful frown on hers. At this moment a hasty foot + was heard on the staircase, and Georgiana Podsnap broke into the room, + unannounced and in tears. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, my dear Sophronia,’ cried Georgiana, wringing her hands as she ran up + to embrace her, ‘to think that you and Alfred should be ruined! Oh, my + poor dear Sophronia, to think that you should have had a Sale at your + house after all your kindness to me! Oh, Mr and Mrs Boffin, pray forgive + me for this intrusion, but you don’t know how fond I was of Sophronia when + Pa wouldn’t let me go there any more, or what I have felt for Sophronia + since I heard from Ma of her having been brought low in the world. You + don’t, you can’t, you never can, think, how I have lain awake at night and + cried for my good Sophronia, my first and only friend!’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle’s manner changed under the poor silly girl’s embraces, and she + turned extremely pale: directing one appealing look, first to Mrs Boffin, + and then to Mr Boffin. Both understood her instantly, with a more delicate + subtlety than much better educated people, whose perception came less + directly from the heart, could have brought to bear upon the case. + </p> +<p> + ‘I haven’t a minute,’ said poor little Georgiana, ‘to stay. I am out + shopping early with Ma, and I said I had a headache and got Ma to leave me + outside in the phaeton, in Piccadilly, and ran round to Sackville Street, + and heard that Sophronia was here, and then Ma came to see, oh such a + dreadful old stony woman from the country in a turban in Portland Place, + and I said I wouldn’t go up with Ma but would drive round and leave cards + for the Boffins, which is taking a liberty with the name; but oh my + goodness I am distracted, and the phaeton’s at the door, and what would Pa + say if he knew it!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t ye be timid, my dear,’ said Mrs Boffin. ‘You came in to see us.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, no, I didn’t,’ cried Georgiana. ‘It’s very impolite, I know, but I + came to see my poor Sophronia, my only friend. Oh! how I felt the + separation, my dear Sophronia, before I knew you were brought low in the + world, and how much more I feel it now!’ + </p> +<p> + There were actually tears in the bold woman’s eyes, as the soft-headed and + soft-hearted girl twined her arms about her neck. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I’ve come on business,’ said Georgiana, sobbing and drying her face, + and then searching in a little reticule, ‘and if I don’t despatch it I + shall have come for nothing, and oh good gracious! what would Pa say if he + knew of Sackville Street, and what would Ma say if she was kept waiting on + the doorsteps of that dreadful turban, and there never were such pawing + horses as ours unsettling my mind every moment more and more when I want + more mind than I have got, by pawing up Mr Boffin’s street where they have + no business to be. Oh! where is, where is it? Oh! I can’t find it!’ All + this time sobbing, and searching in the little reticule. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you miss, my dear?’ asked Mr Boffin, stepping forward. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! it’s little enough,’ replied Georgiana, ‘because Ma always treats me + as if I was in the nursery (I am sure I wish I was!), but I hardly ever + spend it and it has mounted up to fifteen pounds, Sophronia, and I hope + three five-pound notes are better than nothing, though so little, so + little! And now I have found that—oh, my goodness! there’s the other + gone next! Oh no, it isn’t, here it is!’ + </p> +<p> + With that, always sobbing and searching in the reticule, Georgiana + produced a necklace. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma says chits and jewels have no business together,’ pursued Georgiana, + ‘and that’s the reason why I have no trinkets except this, but I suppose + my aunt Hawkinson was of a different opinion, because she left me this, + though I used to think she might just as well have buried it, for it’s + always kept in jewellers’ cotton. However, here it is, I am thankful to + say, and of use at last, and you’ll sell it, dear Sophronia, and buy + things with it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Give it to me,’ said Mr Boffin, gently taking it. ‘I’ll see that it’s + properly disposed of.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! are you such a friend of Sophronia’s, Mr Boffin?’ cried Georgiana. + ‘Oh, how good of you! Oh, my gracious! there was something else, and it’s + gone out of my head! Oh no, it isn’t, I remember what it was. My + grandmamma’s property, that’ll come to me when I am of age, Mr Boffin, + will be all my own, and neither Pa nor Ma nor anybody else will have any + control over it, and what I wish to do is to make some of it over somehow + to Sophronia and Alfred, by signing something somewhere that’ll prevail on + somebody to advance them something. I want them to have something handsome + to bring them up in the world again. Oh, my goodness me! Being such a + friend of my dear Sophronia’s, you won’t refuse me, will you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘it shall be seen to.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ cried Georgiana. ‘If my maid had a little note + and half a crown, I could run round to the pastrycook’s to sign something, + or I could sign something in the Square if somebody would come and cough + for me to let ’em in with the key, and would bring a pen and ink with ’em + and a bit of blotting-paper. Oh, my gracious! I must tear myself away, or + Pa and Ma will both find out! Dear, dear Sophronia, good, good-bye!’ + </p> +<p> + The credulous little creature again embraced Mrs Lammle most + affectionately, and then held out her hand to Mr Lammle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-bye, dear Mr Lammle—I mean Alfred. You won’t think after + to-day that I have deserted you and Sophronia because you have been + brought low in the world, will you? Oh me! oh me! I have been crying my + eyes out of my head, and Ma will be sure to ask me what’s the matter. Oh, + take me down, somebody, please, please, please!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin took her down, and saw her driven away, with her poor little red + eyes and weak chin peering over the great apron of the custard-coloured + phaeton, as if she had been ordered to expiate some childish misdemeanour + by going to bed in the daylight, and were peeping over the counterpane in + a miserable flutter of repentance and low spirits. Returning to the + breakfast-room, he found Mrs Lammle still standing on her side of the + table, and Mr Lammle on his. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll take care,’ said Mr Boffin, showing the money and the necklace, + ‘that these are soon given back.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Lammle had taken up her parasol from a side table, and stood sketching + with it on the pattern of the damask cloth, as she had sketched on the + pattern of Mr Twemlow’s papered wall. + </p> +<p> + ‘You will not undeceive her I hope, Mr Boffin?’ she said, turning her head + towards him, but not her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean, as to the worth and value of her friend,’ Mrs Lammle explained, + in a measured voice, and with an emphasis on her last word. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ he returned. ‘I may try to give a hint at her home that she is in + want of kind and careful protection, but I shall say no more than that to + her parents, and I shall say nothing to the young lady herself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr and Mrs Boffin,’ said Mrs Lammle, still sketching, and seeming to + bestow great pains upon it, ‘there are not many people, I think, who, + under the circumstances, would have been so considerate and sparing as you + have been to me just now. Do you care to be thanked?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thanks are always worth having,’ said Mrs Boffin, in her ready good + nature. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then thank you both.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sophronia,’ asked her husband, mockingly, ‘are you sentimental?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, well, my good sir,’ Mr Boffin interposed, ‘it’s a very good thing + to think well of another person, and it’s a very good thing to be thought + well of <i>by</i> another person. Mrs Lammle will be none the worse for it, if + she is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Much obliged. But I asked Mrs Lammle if she was.’ + </p> +<p> + She stood sketching on the table-cloth, with her face clouded and set, and + was silent. + </p> +<p> + ‘Because,’ said Alfred, ‘I am disposed to be sentimental myself, on your + appropriation of the jewels and the money, Mr Boffin. As our little + Georgiana said, three five-pound notes are better than nothing, and if you + sell a necklace you can buy things with the produce.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>If</i> you sell it,’ was Mr Boffin’s comment, as he put it in his pocket. + </p> +<p> + Alfred followed it with his looks, and also greedily pursued the notes + until they vanished into Mr Boffin’s waistcoat pocket. Then he directed a + look, half exasperated and half jeering, at his wife. She still stood + sketching; but, as she sketched, there was a struggle within her, which + found expression in the depth of the few last lines the parasol point + indented into the table-cloth, and then some tears fell from her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, confound the woman,’ exclaimed Lammle, ‘she <i>is</i> sentimental.’ + </p> +<p> + She walked to the window, flinching under his angry stare, looked out for + a moment, and turned round quite coldly. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have had no former cause of complaint on the sentimental score, + Alfred, and you will have none in future. It is not worth your noticing. + We go abroad soon, with the money we have earned here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You know we do; you know we must.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is no fear of my taking any sentiment with me. I should soon be + eased of it, if I did. But it will be all left behind. It <i>is</i> all left + behind. Are you ready, Alfred?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What the deuce have I been waiting for but you, Sophronia?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let us go then. I am sorry I have delayed our dignified departure.’ + </p> +<p> + She passed out and he followed her. Mr and Mrs Boffin had the curiosity + softly to raise a window and look after them as they went down the long + street. They walked arm-in-arm, showily enough, but without appearing to + interchange a syllable. It might have been fanciful to suppose that under + their outer bearing there was something of the shamed air of two cheats + who were linked together by concealed handcuffs; but, not so, to suppose + that they were haggardly weary of one another, of themselves, and of all + this world. In turning the street corner they might have turned out of + this world, for anything Mr and Mrs Boffin ever saw of them to the + contrary; for, they set eyes on the Lammles never more. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0053"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> +<h3> + THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN SINKS AGAIN + </h3> +<p> + The evening of that day being one of the reading evenings at the Bower, Mr + Boffin kissed Mrs Boffin after a five o’clock dinner, and trotted out, + nursing his big stick in both arms, so that, as of old, it seemed to be + whispering in his ear. He carried so very attentive an expression on his + countenance that it appeared as if the confidential discourse of the big + stick required to be followed closely. Mr Boffin’s face was like the face + of a thoughtful listener to an intricate communication, and, in trotting + along, he occasionally glanced at that companion with the look of a man + who was interposing the remark: ‘You don’t mean it!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin and his stick went on alone together, until they arrived at + certain cross-ways where they would be likely to fall in with any one + coming, at about the same time, from Clerkenwell to the Bower. Here they + stopped, and Mr Boffin consulted his watch. + </p> +<p> + ‘It wants five minutes, good, to Venus’s appointment,’ said he. ‘I’m + rather early.’ + </p> +<p> + But Venus was a punctual man, and, even as Mr Boffin replaced his watch in + its pocket, was to be descried coming towards him. He quickened his pace + on seeing Mr Boffin already at the place of meeting, and was soon at his + side. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank’ee, Venus,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Thank’ee, thank’ee, thank’ee!’ + </p> +<p> + It would not have been very evident why he thanked the anatomist, but for + his furnishing the explanation in what he went on to say. + </p> +<p> + ‘All right, Venus, all right. Now, that you’ve been to see me, and have + consented to keep up the appearance before Wegg of remaining in it for a + time, I have got a sort of a backer. All right, Venus. Thank’ee, Venus. + Thank’ee, thank’ee, thank’ee!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus shook the proffered hand with a modest air, and they pursued the + direction of the Bower. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you think Wegg is likely to drop down upon me to-night, Venus?’ + inquired Mr Boffin, wistfully, as they went along. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think he is, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you any particular reason for thinking so, Venus?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, sir,’ returned that personage, ‘the fact is, he has given me + another look-in, to make sure of what he calls our stock-in-trade being + correct, and he has mentioned his intention that he was not to be put off + beginning with you the very next time you should come. And this,’ hinted + Mr Venus, delicately, ‘being the very next time, you know, sir—’ + </p> +<p> + —‘Why, therefore you suppose he’ll turn to at the grindstone, eh, + Wegg?’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Just so, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin took his nose in his hand, as if it were already excoriated, and + the sparks were beginning to fly out of that feature. ‘He’s a terrible + fellow, Venus; he’s an awful fellow. I don’t know how ever I shall go + through with it. You must stand by me, Venus like a good man and true. + You’ll do all you can to stand by me, Venus; won’t you?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus replied with the assurance that he would; and Mr Boffin, looking + anxious and dispirited, pursued the way in silence until they rang at the + Bower gate. The stumping approach of Wegg was soon heard behind it, and as + it turned upon its hinges he became visible with his hand on the lock. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin, sir?’ he remarked. ‘You’re quite a stranger!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I’ve been otherwise occupied, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you indeed, sir?’ returned the literary gentleman, with a + threatening sneer. ‘Hah! I’ve been looking for you, sir, rather what I may + call specially.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t say so, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I do say so, sir. And if you hadn’t come round to me tonight, dash + my wig if I wouldn’t have come round to you tomorrow. Now! I tell you!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing wrong, I hope, Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh no, Mr Boffin,’ was the ironical answer. ‘Nothing wrong! What should + be wrong in Boffinses Bower! Step in, sir.’ + </p> +<p class="poem"> + ‘“If you’ll come to the Bower I’ve shaded for you,<br> + Your bed shan’t be roses all spangled with doo:<br> + Will you, will you, will you, will you, come to the Bower?<br> + Oh, won’t you, won’t you, won’t you, won’t you, come to the + Bower?”’ + </p> +<p> + An unholy glare of contradiction and offence shone in the eyes of Mr Wegg, + as he turned the key on his patron, after ushering him into the yard with + this vocal quotation. Mr Boffin’s air was crestfallen and submissive. + Whispered Wegg to Venus, as they crossed the yard behind him: ‘Look at the + worm and minion; he’s down in the mouth already.’ Whispered Venus to Wegg: + ‘That’s because I’ve told him. I’ve prepared the way for you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, entering the usual chamber, laid his stick upon the settle + usually reserved for him, thrust his hands into his pockets, and, with his + shoulders raised and his hat drooping back upon them, looking + disconsolately at Wegg. ‘My friend and partner, Mr Venus, gives me to + understand,’ remarked that man of might, addressing him, ‘that you are + aware of our power over you. Now, when you have took your hat off, we’ll + go into that pint.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin shook it off with one shake, so that it dropped on the floor + behind him, and remained in his former attitude with his former rueful + look upon him. + </p> +<p> + ‘First of all, I’m a-going to call you Boffin, for short,’ said Wegg. ‘If + you don’t like it, it’s open to you to lump it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mind it, Wegg,’ Mr Boffin replied. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s lucky for you, Boffin. Now, do you want to be read to?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t particularly care about it to-night, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because if you did want to,’ pursued Mr Wegg, the brilliancy of whose + point was dimmed by his having been unexpectedly answered: ‘you wouldn’t + be. I’ve been your slave long enough. I’m not to be trampled under-foot by + a dustman any more. With the single exception of the salary, I renounce + the whole and total sitiwation.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Since you say it is to be so, Wegg,’ returned Mr Boffin, with folded + hands, ‘I suppose it must be.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suppose it must be,’ Wegg retorted. ‘Next (to clear the ground before + coming to business), you’ve placed in this yard a skulking, a sneaking, + and a sniffing, menial.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He hadn’t a cold in his head when I sent him here,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Boffin!’ retorted Wegg, ‘I warn you not to attempt a joke with me!’ + </p> +<p> + Here Mr Venus interposed, and remarked that he conceived Mr Boffin to have + taken the description literally; the rather, forasmuch as he, Mr Venus, + had himself supposed the menial to have contracted an affliction or a + habit of the nose, involving a serious drawback on the pleasures of social + intercourse, until he had discovered that Mr Wegg’s description of him was + to be accepted as merely figurative. + </p> +<p> + ‘Anyhow, and every how,’ said Wegg, ‘he has been planted here, and he is + here. Now, I won’t have him here. So I call upon Boffin, before I say + another word, to fetch him in and send him packing to the right-about.’ + </p> +<p> + The unsuspecting Sloppy was at that moment airing his many buttons within + view of the window. Mr Boffin, after a short interval of impassive + discomfiture, opened the window and beckoned him to come in. + </p> +<p> + ‘I call upon Boffin,’ said Wegg, with one arm a-kimbo and his head on one + side, like a bullying counsel pausing for an answer from a witness, ‘to + inform that menial that I am Master here!’ + </p> +<p> + In humble obedience, when the button-gleaming Sloppy entered Mr Boffin + said to him: ‘Sloppy, my fine fellow, Mr Wegg is Master here. He doesn’t + want you, and you are to go from here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For good!’ Mr Wegg severely stipulated. + </p> +<p> + ‘For good,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + Sloppy stared, with both his eyes and all his buttons, and his mouth wide + open; but was without loss of time escorted forth by Silas Wegg, pushed + out at the yard gate by the shoulders, and locked out. + </p> +<p> + ‘The atomspear,’ said Wegg, stumping back into the room again, a little + reddened by his late exertion, ‘is now freer for the purposes of + respiration. Mr Venus, sir, take a chair. Boffin, you may sit down.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, still with his hands ruefully stuck in his pockets, sat on the + edge of the settle, shrunk into a small compass, and eyed the potent Silas + with conciliatory looks. + </p> +<p> + ‘This gentleman,’ said Silas Wegg, pointing out Venus, ‘this gentleman, + Boffin, is more milk and watery with you than I’ll be. But he hasn’t borne + the Roman yoke as I have, nor yet he hasn’t been required to pander to + your depraved appetite for miserly characters.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never meant, my dear Wegg—’ Mr Boffin was beginning, when Silas + stopped him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hold your tongue, Boffin! Answer when you’re called upon to answer. + You’ll find you’ve got quite enough to do. Now, you’re aware—are you—that + you’re in possession of property to which you’ve no right at all? Are you + aware of that?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Venus tells me so,’ said Mr Boffin, glancing towards him for any support + he could give. + </p> +<p> + ‘I tell you so,’ returned Silas. ‘Now, here’s my hat, Boffin, and here’s + my walking-stick. Trifle with me, and instead of making a bargain with + you, I’ll put on my hat and take up my walking-stick, and go out, and make + a bargain with the rightful owner. Now, what do you say?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say,’ returned Mr Boffin, leaning forward in alarmed appeal, with his + hands on his knees, ‘that I am sure I don’t want to trifle, Wegg. I have + said so to Venus.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You certainly have, sir,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re too milk and watery with our friend, you are indeed,’ remonstrated + Silas, with a disapproving shake of his wooden head. ‘Then at once you + confess yourself desirous to come to terms, do you Boffin? Before you + answer, keep this hat well in your mind and also this walking-stick.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am willing, Wegg, to come to terms.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Willing won’t do, Boffin. I won’t take willing. Are you desirous to come + to terms? Do you ask to be allowed as a favour to come to terms?’ Mr Wegg + again planted his arm, and put his head on one side. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes what?’ said the inexorable Wegg: ‘I won’t take yes. I’ll have it out + of you in full, Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear me!’ cried that unfortunate gentleman. ‘I am so worrited! I ask to + be allowed to come to terms, supposing your document is all correct.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you be afraid of that,’ said Silas, poking his head at him. ‘You + shall be satisfied by seeing it. Mr Venus will show it you, and I’ll hold + you the while. Then you want to know what the terms are. Is that about the + sum and substance of it? Will you or won’t you answer, Boffin?’ For he had + paused a moment. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear me!’ cried that unfortunate gentleman again, ‘I am worrited to that + degree that I’m almost off my head. You hurry me so. Be so good as name + the terms, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, mark, Boffin,’ returned Silas: ‘Mark ’em well, because they’re the + lowest terms and the only terms. You’ll throw your Mound (the little Mound + as comes to you any way) into the general estate, and then you’ll divide + the whole property into three parts, and you’ll keep one and hand over the + others.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus’s mouth screwed itself up, as Mr Boffin’s face lengthened itself, + Mr Venus not having been prepared for such a rapacious demand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, wait a bit, Boffin,’ Wegg proceeded, ‘there’s something more. You’ve + been a squandering this property—laying some of it out on yourself. + <i>That </i>won’t do. You’ve bought a house. You’ll be charged for it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall be ruined, Wegg!’ Mr Boffin faintly protested. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, wait a bit, Boffin; there’s something more. You’ll leave me in sole + custody of these Mounds till they’re all laid low. If any waluables should + be found in ’em, I’ll take care of such waluables. You’ll produce your + contract for the sale of the Mounds, that we may know to a penny what + they’re worth, and you’ll make out likewise an exact list of all the other + property. When the Mounds is cleared away to the last shovel-full, the + final diwision will come off.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dreadful, dreadful, dreadful! I shall die in a workhouse!’ cried the + Golden Dustman, with his hands to his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, wait a bit, Boffin; there’s something more. You’ve been unlawfully + ferreting about this yard. You’ve been seen in the act of ferreting about + this yard. Two pair of eyes at the present moment brought to bear upon + you, have seen you dig up a Dutch bottle.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was mine, Wegg,’ protested Mr Boffin. ‘I put it there myself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What was in it, Boffin?’ inquired Silas. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not gold, not silver, not bank notes, not jewels, nothing that you could + turn into money, Wegg; upon my soul!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Prepared, Mr Venus,’ said Wegg, turning to his partner with a knowing and + superior air, ‘for an ewasive answer on the part of our dusty friend here, + I have hit out a little idea which I think will meet your views. We charge + that bottle against our dusty friend at a thousand pound.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin drew a deep groan. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, wait a bit, Boffin; there’s something more. In your employment is an + under-handed sneak, named Rokesmith. It won’t answer to have <i>him </i>about, + while this business of ours is about. He must be discharged.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Rokesmith is already discharged,’ said Mr Boffin, speaking in a muffled + voice, with his hands before his face, as he rocked himself on the settle. + </p> +<p> + ‘Already discharged, is he?’ returned Wegg, surprised. ‘Oh! Then, Boffin, + I believe there’s nothing more at present.’ + </p> +<p> + The unlucky gentleman continuing to rock himself to and fro, and to utter + an occasional moan, Mr Venus besought him to bear up against his reverses, + and to take time to accustom himself to the thought of his new position. + But, his taking time was exactly the thing of all others that Silas Wegg + could not be induced to hear of. ‘Yes or no, and no half measures!’ was + the motto which that obdurate person many times repeated; shaking his fist + at Mr Boffin, and pegging his motto into the floor with his wooden leg, in + a threatening and alarming manner. + </p> +<p> + At length, Mr Boffin entreated to be allowed a quarter of an hour’s grace, + and a cooling walk of that duration in the yard. With some difficulty Mr + Wegg granted this great favour, but only on condition that he accompanied + Mr Boffin in his walk, as not knowing what he might fraudulently unearth + if he were left to himself. A more absurd sight than Mr Boffin in his + mental irritation trotting very nimbly, and Mr Wegg hopping after him with + great exertion, eager to watch the slightest turn of an eyelash, lest it + should indicate a spot rich with some secret, assuredly had never been + seen in the shadow of the Mounds. Mr Wegg was much distressed when the + quarter of an hour expired, and came hopping in, a very bad second. + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t help myself!’ cried Mr Boffin, flouncing on the settle in a + forlorn manner, with his hands deep in his pockets, as if his pockets had + sunk. ‘What’s the good of my pretending to stand out, when I can’t help + myself? I must give in to the terms. But I should like to see the + document.’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg, who was all for clinching the nail he had so strongly driven home, + announced that Boffin should see it without an hour’s delay. Taking him + into custody for that purpose, or overshadowing him as if he really were + his Evil Genius in visible form, Mr Wegg clapped Mr Boffin’s hat upon the + back of his head, and walked him out by the arm, asserting a + proprietorship over his soul and body that was at once more grim and more + ridiculous than anything in Mr Venus’s rare collection. That light-haired + gentleman followed close upon their heels, at least backing up Mr Boffin + in a literal sense, if he had not had recent opportunities of doing so + spiritually; while Mr Boffin, trotting on as hard as he could trot, + involved Silas Wegg in frequent collisions with the public, much as a + pre-occupied blind man’s dog may be seen to involve his master. + </p> +<p> + Thus they reached Mr Venus’s establishment, somewhat heated by the nature + of their progress thither. Mr Wegg, especially, was in a flaming glow, and + stood in the little shop, panting and mopping his head with his + pocket-handkerchief, speechless for several minutes. + </p> +<p> + Meanwhile, Mr Venus, who had left the duelling frogs to fight it out in + his absence by candlelight for the public delectation, put the shutters + up. When all was snug, and the shop-door fastened, he said to the + perspiring Silas: ‘I suppose, Mr Wegg, we may now produce the paper?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hold on a minute, sir,’ replied that discreet character; ‘hold on a + minute. Will you obligingly shove that box—which you mentioned on a + former occasion as containing miscellanies—towards me in the midst + of the shop here?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus did as he was asked. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good,’ said Silas, looking about: ‘ve—ry good. Will you hand + me that chair, sir, to put a-top of it?’ + </p> +<p> + Venus handed him the chair. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Boffin,’ said Wegg, ‘mount up here and take your seat, will you?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, as if he were about to have his portrait painted, or to be + electrified, or to be made a Freemason, or to be placed at any other + solitary disadvantage, ascended the rostrum prepared for him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, Mr Venus,’ said Silas, taking off his coat, ‘when I catches our + friend here round the arms and body, and pins him tight to the back of the + chair, you may show him what he wants to see. If you’ll open it and hold + it well up in one hand, sir, and a candle in the other, he can read it + charming.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin seemed rather inclined to object to these precautionary + arrangements, but, being immediately embraced by Wegg, resigned himself. + Venus then produced the document, and Mr Boffin slowly spelt it out aloud: + so very slowly, that Wegg, who was holding him in the chair with the grip + of a wrestler, became again exceedingly the worse for his exertions. ‘Say + when you’ve put it safe back, Mr Venus,’ he uttered with difficulty, ‘for + the strain of this is terrimenjious.’ + </p> +<p> + At length the document was restored to its place; and Wegg, whose + uncomfortable attitude had been that of a very persevering man + unsuccessfully attempting to stand upon his head, took a seat to recover + himself. Mr Boffin, for his part, made no attempt to come down, but + remained aloft disconsolate. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Boffin!’ said Wegg, as soon as he was in a condition to speak. + ‘Now, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, meekly. ‘Now, I know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You have no doubts about it, Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Wegg. No, Wegg. None,’ was the slow and sad reply. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then, take care, you,’ said Wegg, ‘that you stick to your conditions. Mr + Venus, if on this auspicious occasion, you should happen to have a drop of + anything not quite so mild as tea in the ’ouse, I think I’d take the + friendly liberty of asking you for a specimen of it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus, reminded of the duties of hospitality, produced some rum. In + answer to the inquiry, ‘Will you mix it, Mr Wegg?’ that gentleman + pleasantly rejoined, ‘I think not, sir. On so auspicious an occasion, I + prefer to take it in the form of a Gum-Tickler.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, declining rum, being still elevated on his pedestal, was in a + convenient position to be addressed. Wegg having eyed him with an impudent + air at leisure, addressed him, therefore, while refreshing himself with + his dram. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bof—fin!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Wegg,’ he answered, coming out of a fit of abstraction, with a sigh. + </p> +<p> + ‘I haven’t mentioned one thing, because it’s a detail that comes of + course. You must be followed up, you know. You must be kept under + inspection.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you?’ sneered Wegg. ‘Where’s your wits, Boffin? Till the Mounds is + down and this business completed, you’re accountable for all the property, + recollect. Consider yourself accountable to me. Mr Venus here being too + milk and watery with you, I am the boy for you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ve been a-thinking,’ said Mr Boffin, in a tone of despondency, ‘that I + must keep the knowledge from my old lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The knowledge of the diwision, d’ye mean?’ inquired Wegg, helping himself + to a third Gum-Tickler—for he had already taken a second. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. If she was to die first of us two she might then think all her life, + poor thing, that I had got the rest of the fortune still, and was saving + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I suspect, Boffin,’ returned Wegg, shaking his head sagaciously, and + bestowing a wooden wink upon him, ‘that you’ve found out some account of + some old chap, supposed to be a Miser, who got himself the credit of + having much more money than he had. However, I don’t mind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you see, Wegg?’ Mr Boffin feelingly represented to him: ‘don’t you + see? My old lady has got so used to the property. It would be such a hard + surprise.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t see it at all,’ blustered Wegg. ‘You’ll have as much as I shall. + And who are you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But then, again,’ Mr Boffin gently represented; ‘my old lady has very + upright principles.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who’s your old lady,’ returned Wegg, ‘to set herself up for having + uprighter principles than mine?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin seemed a little less patient at this point than at any other of + the negotiations. But he commanded himself, and said tamely enough: ‘I + think it must be kept from my old lady, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well,’ said Wegg, contemptuously, though, perhaps, perceiving some hint + of danger otherwise, ‘keep it from your old lady. I ain’t going to tell + her. I can have you under close inspection without that. I’m as good a man + as you, and better. Ask me to dinner. Give me the run of your ’ouse. I was + good enough for you and your old lady once, when I helped you out with + your weal and hammers. Was there no Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt + Jane, and Uncle Parker, before <i>you </i>two?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gently, Mr Wegg, gently,’ Venus urged. + </p> +<p> + ‘Milk and water-erily you mean, sir,’ he returned, with some little + thickness of speech, in consequence of the Gum-Ticklers having tickled it. + ‘I’ve got him under inspection, and I’ll inspect him. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Along the line the signal ran,<br> + England expects as this present man<br> + Will keep Boffin to his duty.” + </p> +<p> + —Boffin, I’ll see you home.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin descended with an air of resignation, and gave himself up, after + taking friendly leave of Mr Venus. Once more, Inspector and Inspected went + through the streets together, and so arrived at Mr Boffin’s door. + </p> +<p> + But even there, when Mr Boffin had given his keeper good-night, and had + let himself in with his key, and had softly closed the door, even there + and then, the all-powerful Silas must needs claim another assertion of his + newly-asserted power. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bof—fin!’ he called through the keyhole. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Wegg,’ was the reply through the same channel. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come out. Show yourself again. Let’s have another look at you!’ Mr Boffin—ah, + how fallen from the high estate of his honest simplicity!—opened the + door and obeyed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Go in. You may get to bed now,’ said Wegg, with a grin. + </p> +<p> + The door was hardly closed, when he again called through the keyhole: ‘Bof—fin!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + This time Silas made no reply, but laboured with a will at turning an + imaginary grindstone outside the keyhole, while Mr Boffin stooped at it + within; he then laughed silently, and stumped home. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0054"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> +<h3> + A RUNAWAY MATCH + </h3> +<p> + Cherubic Pa arose with as little noise as possible from beside majestic + Ma, one morning early, having a holiday before him. Pa and the lovely + woman had a rather particular appointment to keep. + </p> +<p> + Yet Pa and the lovely woman were not going out together. Bella was up + before four, but had no bonnet on. She was waiting at the foot of the + stairs—was sitting on the bottom stair, in fact—to receive Pa + when he came down, but her only object seemed to be to get Pa well out of + the house. + </p> +<p> + ‘Your breakfast is ready, sir,’ whispered Bella, after greeting him with a + hug, ‘and all you have to do, is, to eat it up and drink it up, and + escape. How do you feel, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To the best of my judgement, like a housebreaker new to the business, my + dear, who can’t make himself quite comfortable till he is off the + premises.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella tucked her arm in his with a merry noiseless laugh, and they went + down to the kitchen on tiptoe; she stopping on every separate stair to put + the tip of her forefinger on her rosy lips, and then lay it on his lips, + according to her favourite petting way of kissing Pa. + </p> +<p> + ‘How do <i>you </i>feel, my love?’ asked R. W., as she gave him his breakfast. + </p> +<p> + ‘I feel as if the Fortune-teller was coming true, dear Pa, and the fair + little man was turning out as was predicted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ho! Only the fair little man?’ said her father. + </p> +<p> + Bella put another of those finger-seals upon his lips, and then said, + kneeling down by him as he sat at table: ‘Now, look here, sir. If you keep + well up to the mark this day, what do you think you deserve? What did I + promise you should have, if you were good, upon a certain occasion?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my word I don’t remember, Precious. Yes, I do, though. Wasn’t it one + of these beau—tiful tresses?’ with his caressing hand upon her hair. + </p> +<p> + ‘Wasn’t it, too!’ returned Bella, pretending to pout. ‘Upon my word! Do + you know, sir, that the Fortune-teller would give five thousand guineas + (if it was quite convenient to him, which it isn’t) for the lovely piece I + have cut off for you? You can form no idea, sir, of the number of times he + kissed quite a scrubby little piece—in comparison—that I cut + off for <i>him</i>. And he wears it, too, round his neck, I can tell you! Near + his heart!’ said Bella, nodding. ‘Ah! very near his heart! However, you + have been a good, good boy, and you are the best of all the dearest boys + that ever were, this morning, and here’s the chain I have made of it, Pa, + and you must let me put it round your neck with my own loving hands.’ + </p> +<p> + As Pa bent his head, she cried over him a little, and then said (after + having stopped to dry her eyes on his white waistcoat, the discovery of + which incongruous circumstance made her laugh): ‘Now, darling Pa, give me + your hands that I may fold them together, and do you say after me:—My + little Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My little Bella,’ repeated Pa. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very fond of you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am very fond of you, my darling,’ said Pa. + </p> +<p> + ‘You mustn’t say anything not dictated to you, sir. You daren’t do it in + your responses at Church, and you mustn’t do it in your responses out of + Church.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I withdraw the darling,’ said Pa. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a pious boy! Now again:—You were always—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You were always,’ repeated Pa. + </p> +<p> + ‘A vexatious—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No you weren’t,’ said Pa. + </p> +<p> + ‘A vexatious (do you hear, sir?), a vexatious, capricious, thankless, + troublesome, Animal; but I hope you’ll do better in the time to come, and + I bless you and forgive you!’ Here, she quite forgot that it was Pa’s turn + to make the responses, and clung to his neck. ‘Dear Pa, if you knew how + much I think this morning of what you told me once, about the first time + of our seeing old Mr Harmon, when I stamped and screamed and beat you with + my detestable little bonnet! I feel as if I had been stamping and + screaming and beating you with my hateful little bonnet, ever since I was + born, darling!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nonsense, my love. And as to your bonnets, they have always been nice + bonnets, for they have always become you—or you have become them; + perhaps it was that—at every age.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did I hurt you much, poor little Pa?’ asked Bella, laughing + (notwithstanding her repentance), with fantastic pleasure in the picture, + ‘when I beat you with my bonnet?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my child. Wouldn’t have hurt a fly!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay, but I am afraid I shouldn’t have beat you at all, unless I had meant + to hurt you,’ said Bella. ‘Did I pinch your legs, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not much, my dear; but I think it’s almost time I—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, yes!’ cried Bella. ‘If I go on chattering, you’ll be taken alive. + Fly, Pa, fly!’ + </p> +<p> + So, they went softly up the kitchen stairs on tiptoe, and Bella with her + light hand softly removed the fastenings of the house door, and Pa, having + received a parting hug, made off. When he had gone a little way, he looked + back. Upon which, Bella set another of those finger seals upon the air, + and thrust out her little foot expressive of the mark. Pa, in appropriate + action, expressed fidelity to the mark, and made off as fast as he could + go. + </p> +<p> + Bella walked thoughtfully in the garden for an hour and more, and then, + returning to the bedroom where Lavvy the Irrepressible still slumbered, + put on a little bonnet of quiet, but on the whole of sly appearance, which + she had yesterday made. ‘I am going for a walk, Lavvy,’ she said, as she + stooped down and kissed her. The Irrepressible, with a bounce in the bed, + and a remark that it wasn’t time to get up yet, relapsed into + unconsciousness, if she had come out of it. + </p> +<p> + Behold Bella tripping along the streets, the dearest girl afoot under the + summer sun! Behold Pa waiting for Bella behind a pump, at least three + miles from the parental roof-tree. Behold Bella and Pa aboard an early + steamboat for Greenwich. + </p> +<p> + Were they expected at Greenwich? Probably. At least, Mr John Rokesmith was + on the pier looking out, about a couple of hours before the coaly (but to + him gold-dusty) little steamboat got her steam up in London. Probably. At + least, Mr John Rokesmith seemed perfectly satisfied when he descried them + on board. Probably. At least, Bella no sooner stepped ashore than she took + Mr John Rokesmith’s arm, without evincing surprise, and the two walked + away together with an ethereal air of happiness which, as it were, wafted + up from the earth and drew after them a gruff and glum old pensioner to + see it out. Two wooden legs had this gruff and glum old pensioner, and, a + minute before Bella stepped out of the boat, and drew that confiding + little arm of hers through Rokesmith’s, he had had no object in life but + tobacco, and not enough of that. Stranded was Gruff and Glum in a harbour + of everlasting mud, when all in an instant Bella floated him, and away he + went. + </p> +<p> + Say, cherubic parent taking the lead, in what direction do we steer first? + With some such inquiry in his thoughts, Gruff and Glum, stricken by so + sudden an interest that he perked his neck and looked over the intervening + people, as if he were trying to stand on tiptoe with his two wooden legs, + took an observation of R. W. There was no ‘first’ in the case, Gruff and + Glum made out; the cherubic parent was bearing down and crowding on direct + for Greenwich church, to see his relations. + </p> +<p> + For, Gruff and Glum, though most events acted on him simply as + tobacco-stoppers, pressing down and condensing the quids within him, might + be imagined to trace a family resemblance between the cherubs in the + church architecture, and the cherub in the white waistcoat. Some + remembrance of old Valentines, wherein a cherub, less appropriately + attired for a proverbially uncertain climate, had been seen conducting + lovers to the altar, might have been fancied to inflame the ardour of his + timber toes. Be it as it might, he gave his moorings the slip, and + followed in chase. + </p> +<p> + The cherub went before, all beaming smiles; Bella and John Rokesmith + followed; Gruff and Glum stuck to them like wax. For years, the wings of + his mind had gone to look after the legs of his body; but Bella had + brought them back for him per steamer, and they were spread again. + </p> +<p> + He was a slow sailer on a wind of happiness, but he took a cross cut for + the rendezvous, and pegged away as if he were scoring furiously at + cribbage. When the shadow of the church-porch swallowed them up, + victorious Gruff and Glum likewise presented himself to be swallowed up. + And by this time the cherubic parent was so fearful of surprise, that, but + for the two wooden legs on which Gruff and Glum was reassuringly mounted, + his conscience might have introduced, in the person of that pensioner, his + own stately lady disguised, arrived at Greenwich in a car and griffins, + like the spiteful Fairy at the christenings of the Princesses, to do + something dreadful to the marriage service. And truly he had a momentary + reason to be pale of face, and to whisper to Bella, ‘You don’t think that + can be your Ma; do you, my dear?’ on account of a mysterious rustling and + a stealthy movement somewhere in the remote neighbourhood of the organ, + though it was gone directly and was heard no more. Albeit it was heard of + afterwards, as will afterwards be read in this veracious register of + marriage. + </p> +<p> + Who taketh? I, John, and so do I, Bella. Who giveth? I, R. W. Forasmuch, + Gruff and Glum, as John and Bella have consented together in holy wedlock, + you may (in short) consider it done, and withdraw your two wooden legs + from this temple. To the foregoing purport, the Minister speaking, as + directed by the Rubric, to the People, selectly represented in the present + instance by G. and G. above mentioned. + </p> +<p> + And now, the church-porch having swallowed up Bella Wilfer for ever and + ever, had it not in its power to relinquish that young woman, but slid + into the happy sunlight, Mrs John Rokesmith instead. And long on the + bright steps stood Gruff and Glum, looking after the pretty bride, with a + narcotic consciousness of having dreamed a dream. + </p> +<p> + After which, Bella took out from her pocket a little letter, and read it + aloud to Pa and John; this being a true copy of the same. + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Dearest Ma,</i> +</p> +<p> + I hope you won’t be angry, but I am most happily married to Mr John + Rokesmith, who loves me better than I can ever deserve, except by loving + him with all my heart. I thought it best not to mention it beforehand, in + case it should cause any little difference at home. Please tell darling + Pa. With love to Lavvy, + </p> +<p> + Ever dearest Ma, Your affectionate daughter, <i>Bella</i> (P.S.—Rokesmith).’ + </p> +<p> + Then, John Rokesmith put the queen’s countenance on the letter—when + had Her Gracious Majesty looked so benign as on that blessed morning!—and + then Bella popped it into the post-office, and said merrily, ‘Now, dearest + Pa, you are safe, and will never be taken alive!’ + </p> +<p> + Pa was, at first, in the stirred depths of his conscience, so far from + sure of being safe yet, that he made out majestic matrons lurking in + ambush among the harmless trees of Greenwich Park, and seemed to see a + stately countenance tied up in a well-known pocket-handkerchief glooming + down at him from a window of the Observatory, where the Familiars of the + Astronomer Royal nightly outwatch the winking stars. But, the minutes + passing on and no Mrs Wilfer in the flesh appearing, he became more + confident, and so repaired with good heart and appetite to Mr and Mrs John + Rokesmith’s cottage on Blackheath, where breakfast was ready. + </p> +<p> + A modest little cottage but a bright and a fresh, and on the snowy + tablecloth the prettiest of little breakfasts. In waiting, too, like an + attendant summer breeze, a fluttering young damsel, all pink and ribbons, + blushing as if she had been married instead of Bella, and yet asserting + the triumph of her sex over both John and Pa, in an exulting and exalted + flurry: as who should say, ‘This is what you must all come to, gentlemen, + when we choose to bring you to book.’ This same young damsel was Bella’s + serving-maid, and unto her did deliver a bunch of keys, commanding + treasures in the way of dry-saltery, groceries, jams and pickles, the + investigation of which made pastime after breakfast, when Bella declared + that ‘Pa must taste everything, John dear, or it will never be lucky,’ and + when Pa had all sorts of things poked into his mouth, and didn’t quite + know what to do with them when they were put there. + </p> +<p> + Then they, all three, out for a charming ride, and for a charming stroll + among heath in bloom, and there behold the identical Gruff and Glum with + his wooden legs horizontally disposed before him, apparently sitting + meditating on the vicissitudes of life! To whom said Bella, in her + light-hearted surprise: ‘Oh! How do you do again? What a dear old + pensioner you are!’ To which Gruff and Glum responded that he see her + married this morning, my Beauty, and that if it warn’t a liberty he wished + her ji and the fairest of fair wind and weather; further, in a general way + requesting to know what cheer? and scrambling up on his two wooden legs to + salute, hat in hand, ship-shape, with the gallantry of a man-of-warsman + and a heart of oak. + </p> +<p> + It was a pleasant sight, in the midst of the golden bloom, to see this + salt old Gruff and Glum, waving his shovel hat at Bella, while his thin + white hair flowed free, as if she had once more launched him into blue + water again. ‘You are a charming old pensioner,’ said Bella, ‘and I am so + happy that I wish I could make you happy, too.’ Answered Gruff and Glum, + ‘Give me leave to kiss your hand, my Lovely, and it’s done!’ So it was + done to the general contentment; and if Gruff and Glum didn’t in the + course of the afternoon splice the main brace, it was not for want of the + means of inflicting that outrage on the feelings of the Infant Bands of + Hope. + </p> +<p> + But, the marriage dinner was the crowning success, for what had bride and + bridegroom plotted to do, but to have and to hold that dinner in the very + room of the very hotel where Pa and the lovely woman had once dined + together! Bella sat between Pa and John, and divided her attentions pretty + equally, but felt it necessary (in the waiter’s absence before dinner) to + remind Pa that she was <i>his </i>lovely woman no longer. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0632m " src="images/0632m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0632m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0632.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-3122358361678428148"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘I am well aware of it, my dear,’ returned the cherub, ‘and I resign you + willingly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Willingly, sir? You ought to be brokenhearted.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So I should be, my dear, if I thought that I was going to lose you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you know you are not; don’t you, poor dear Pa? You know that you have + only made a new relation who will be as fond of you and as thankful to you—for + my sake and your own sake both—as I am; don’t you, dear little Pa? + Look here, Pa!’ Bella put her finger on her own lip, and then on Pa’s, and + then on her own lip again, and then on her husband’s. ‘Now, we are a + partnership of three, dear Pa.’ + </p> +<p> + The appearance of dinner here cut Bella short in one of her + disappearances: the more effectually, because it was put on under the + auspices of a solemn gentleman in black clothes and a white cravat, who + looked much more like a clergyman than <i>the </i>clergyman, and seemed to have + mounted a great deal higher in the church: not to say, scaled the steeple. + This dignitary, conferring in secrecy with John Rokesmith on the subject + of punch and wines, bent his head as though stooping to the Papistical + practice of receiving auricular confession. Likewise, on John’s offering a + suggestion which didn’t meet his views, his face became overcast and + reproachful, as enjoining penance. + </p> +<p> + What a dinner! Specimens of all the fishes that swim in the sea, surely + had swum their way to it, and if samples of the fishes of divers colours + that made a speech in the Arabian Nights (quite a ministerial explanation + in respect of cloudiness), and then jumped out of the frying-pan, were not + to be recognized, it was only because they had all become of one hue by + being cooked in batter among the whitebait. And the dishes being seasoned + with Bliss—an article which they are sometimes out of, at Greenwich—were + of perfect flavour, and the golden drinks had been bottled in the golden + age and hoarding up their sparkles ever since. + </p> +<p> + The best of it was, that Bella and John and the cherub had made a covenant + that they would not reveal to mortal eyes any appearance whatever of being + a wedding party. Now, the supervising dignitary, the Archbishop of + Greenwich, knew this as well as if he had performed the nuptial ceremony. + And the loftiness with which his Grace entered into their confidence + without being invited, and insisted on a show of keeping the waiters out + of it, was the crowning glory of the entertainment. + </p> +<p> + There was an innocent young waiter of a slender form and with weakish + legs, as yet unversed in the wiles of waiterhood, and but too evidently of + a romantic temperament, and deeply (it were not too much to add + hopelessly) in love with some young female not aware of his merit. This + guileless youth, descrying the position of affairs, which even his + innocence could not mistake, limited his waiting to languishing admiringly + against the sideboard when Bella didn’t want anything, and swooping at her + when she did. Him, his Grace the Archbishop perpetually obstructed, + cutting him out with his elbow in the moment of success, despatching him + in degrading quest of melted butter, and, when by any chance he got hold + of any dish worth having, bereaving him of it, and ordering him to stand + back. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pray excuse him, madam,’ said the Archbishop in a low stately voice; ‘he + is a very young man on liking, and we <i>don’t</i> like him.’ + </p> +<p> + This induced John Rokesmith to observe—by way of making the thing + more natural—‘Bella, my love, this is so much more successful than + any of our past anniversaries, that I think we must keep our future + anniversaries here.’ + </p> +<p> + Whereunto Bella replied, with probably the least successful attempt at + looking matronly that ever was seen: ‘Indeed, I think so, John, dear.’ + </p> +<p> + Here the Archbishop of Greenwich coughed a stately cough to attract the + attention of three of his ministers present, and staring at them, seemed + to say: ‘I call upon you by your fealty to believe this!’ + </p> +<p> + With his own hands he afterwards put on the dessert, as remarking to the + three guests, ‘The period has now arrived at which we can dispense with + the assistance of those fellows who are not in our confidence,’ and would + have retired with complete dignity but for a daring action issuing from + the misguided brain of the young man on liking. He finding, by + ill-fortune, a piece of orange flower somewhere in the lobbies now + approached undetected with the same in a finger-glass, and placed it on + Bella’s right hand. The Archbishop instantly ejected and excommunicated + him; but the thing was done. + </p> +<p> + ‘I trust, madam,’ said his Grace, returning alone, ‘that you will have the + kindness to overlook it, in consideration of its being the act of a very + young man who is merely here on liking, and who will never answer.’ + </p> +<p> + With that, he solemnly bowed and retired, and they all burst into + laughter, long and merry. ‘Disguise is of no use,’ said Bella; ‘they all + find me out; I think it must be, Pa and John dear, because I look so + happy!’ + </p> +<p> + Her husband feeling it necessary at this point to demand one of those + mysterious disappearances on Bella’s part, she dutifully obeyed; saying in + a softened voice from her place of concealment: + </p> +<p> + ‘You remember how we talked about the ships that day, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Isn’t it strange, now, to think that there was no John in all the ships, + Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, Pa! Not at all?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my dear. How can we tell what coming people are aboard the ships that + may be sailing to us now from the unknown seas!’ + </p> +<p> + Bella remaining invisible and silent, her father remained at his dessert + and wine, until he remembered it was time for him to get home to Holloway. + ‘Though I positively cannot tear myself away,’ he cherubically added, ‘—it + would be a sin—without drinking to many, many happy returns of this + most happy day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here! ten thousand times!’ cried John. ‘I fill my glass and my precious + wife’s.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Gentlemen,’ said the cherub, inaudibly addressing, in his Anglo-Saxon + tendency to throw his feelings into the form of a speech, the boys down + below, who were bidding against each other to put their heads in the mud + for sixpence: ‘Gentlemen—and Bella and John—you will readily + suppose that it is not my intention to trouble you with many observations + on the present occasion. You will also at once infer the nature and even + the terms of the toast I am about to propose on the present occasion. + Gentlemen—and Bella and John—the present occasion is an + occasion fraught with feelings that I cannot trust myself to express. But + gentlemen—and Bella and John—for the part I have had in it, + for the confidence you have placed in me, and for the affectionate + good-nature and kindness with which you have determined not to find me in + the way, when I am well aware that I cannot be otherwise than in it more + or less, I do most heartily thank you. Gentlemen—and Bella and John—my + love to you, and may we meet, as on the present occasion, on many future + occasions; that is to say, gentlemen—and Bella and John—on + many happy returns of the present happy occasion.’ + </p> +<p> + Having thus concluded his address, the amiable cherub embraced his + daughter, and took his flight to the steamboat which was to convey him to + London, and was then lying at the floating pier, doing its best to bump + the same to bits. But, the happy couple were not going to part with him in + that way, and before he had been on board two minutes, there they were, + looking down at him from the wharf above. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pa, dear!’ cried Bella, beckoning him with her parasol to approach the + side, and bending gracefully to whisper. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my darling.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did I beat you much with that horrid little bonnet, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing to speak of; my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did I pinch your legs, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only nicely, my pet.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are sure you quite forgive me, Pa? Please, Pa, please, forgive me + quite!’ Half laughing at him and half crying to him, Bella besought him in + the prettiest manner; in a manner so engaging and so playful and so + natural, that her cherubic parent made a coaxing face as if she had never + grown up, and said, ‘What a silly little Mouse it is!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But you do forgive me that, and everything else; don’t you, Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dearest.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you don’t feel solitary or neglected, going away by yourself; do you, + Pa?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lord bless you! No, my Life!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-bye, dearest Pa. Good-bye!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-bye, my darling! Take her away, my dear John. Take her home!’ + </p> +<p> + So, she leaning on her husband’s arm, they turned homeward by a rosy path + which the gracious sun struck out for them in its setting. And O there are + days in this life, worth life and worth death. And O what a bright old + song it is, that O ’tis love, ’tis love, ’tis love that makes the world go + round! + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0055"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> +<h3> + CONCERNING THE MENDICANT’S BRIDE + </h3> +<p> + The impressive gloom with which Mrs Wilfer received her husband on his + return from the wedding, knocked so hard at the door of the cherubic + conscience, and likewise so impaired the firmness of the cherubic legs, + that the culprit’s tottering condition of mind and body might have roused + suspicion in less occupied persons than the grimly heroic lady, Miss + Lavinia, and that esteemed friend of the family, Mr George Sampson. But, + the attention of all three being fully possessed by the main fact of the + marriage, they had happily none to bestow on the guilty conspirator; to + which fortunate circumstance he owed the escape for which he was in nowise + indebted to himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘You do not, R. W.’ said Mrs Wilfer from her stately corner, ‘inquire for + your daughter Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To be sure, my dear,’ he returned, with a most flagrant assumption of + unconsciousness, ‘I did omit it. How—or perhaps I should rather say + where—<i>is</i> Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not here,’ Mrs Wilfer proclaimed, with folded arms. + </p> +<p> + The cherub faintly muttered something to the abortive effect of ‘Oh, + indeed, my dear!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not here,’ repeated Mrs Wilfer, in a stern sonorous voice. ‘In a word, R. + W., you have no daughter Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No daughter Bella, my dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Your daughter Bella,’ said Mrs Wilfer, with a lofty air of never + having had the least copartnership in that young lady: of whom she now + made reproachful mention as an article of luxury which her husband had set + up entirely on his own account, and in direct opposition to her advice: ‘—your + daughter Bella has bestowed herself upon a Mendicant.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good gracious, my dear!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Show your father his daughter Bella’s letter, Lavinia,’ said Mrs Wilfer, + in her monotonous Act of Parliament tone, and waving her hand. ‘I think + your father will admit it to be documentary proof of what I tell him. I + believe your father is acquainted with his daughter Bella’s writing. But I + do not know. He may tell you he is not. Nothing will surprise me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Posted at Greenwich, and dated this morning,’ said the Irrepressible, + flouncing at her father in handing him the evidence. ‘Hopes Ma won’t be + angry, but is happily married to Mr John Rokesmith, and didn’t mention it + beforehand to avoid words, and please tell darling you, and love to me, + and I should like to know what you’d have said if any other unmarried + member of the family had done it!’ + </p> +<p> + He read the letter, and faintly exclaimed ‘Dear me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You may well say Dear me!’ rejoined Mrs Wilfer, in a deep tone. Upon + which encouragement he said it again, though scarcely with the success he + had expected; for the scornful lady then remarked, with extreme + bitterness: ‘You said that before.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s very surprising. But I suppose, my dear,’ hinted the cherub, as he + folded the letter after a disconcerting silence, ‘that we must make the + best of it? Would you object to my pointing out, my dear, that Mr John + Rokesmith is not (so far as I am acquainted with him), strictly speaking, + a Mendicant.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed?’ returned Mrs Wilfer, with an awful air of politeness. ‘Truly so? + I was not aware that Mr John Rokesmith was a gentleman of landed property. + But I am much relieved to hear it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I doubt if you <i>have </i>heard it, my dear,’ the cherub submitted with + hesitation. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Wilfer. ‘I make false statements, it appears? So be + it. If my daughter flies in my face, surely my husband may. The one thing + is not more unnatural than the other. There seems a fitness in the + arrangement. By all means!’ Assuming, with a shiver of resignation, a + deadly cheerfulness. + </p> +<p> + But, here the Irrepressible skirmished into the conflict, dragging the + reluctant form of Mr Sampson after her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ma,’ interposed the young lady, ‘I must say I think it would be much + better if you would keep to the point, and not hold forth about people’s + flying into people’s faces, which is nothing more nor less than impossible + nonsense.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How!’ exclaimed Mrs Wilfer, knitting her dark brows. + </p> +<p> + ‘Just im-possible nonsense, Ma,’ returned Lavvy, ‘and George Sampson knows + it is, as well as I do.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer suddenly becoming petrified, fixed her indignant eyes upon the + wretched George: who, divided between the support due from him to his + love, and the support due from him to his love’s mamma, supported nobody, + not even himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘The true point is,’ pursued Lavinia, ‘that Bella has behaved in a most + unsisterly way to me, and might have severely compromised me with George + and with George’s family, by making off and getting married in this very + low and disreputable manner—with some pew-opener or other, I + suppose, for a bridesmaid—when she ought to have confided in me, and + ought to have said, “If, Lavvy, you consider it due to your engagement + with George, that you should countenance the occasion by being present, + then Lavvy, I beg you to <i>be</i> present, keeping my secret from Ma and Pa.” As + of course I should have done.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As of course you would have done? Ingrate!’ exclaimed Mrs Wilfer. + ‘Viper!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say! You know ma’am. Upon my honour you mustn’t,’ Mr Sampson + remonstrated, shaking his head seriously. ‘With the highest respect for + you, ma’am, upon my life you mustn’t. No really, you know. When a man with + the feelings of a gentleman finds himself engaged to a young lady, and it + comes (even on the part of a member of the family) to vipers, you know!—I + would merely put it to your own good feeling, you know,’ said Mr Sampson, + in rather lame conclusion. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer’s baleful stare at the young gentleman in acknowledgment of his + obliging interference was of such a nature that Miss Lavinia burst into + tears, and caught him round the neck for his protection. + </p> +<p> + ‘My own unnatural mother,’ screamed the young lady, ‘wants to annihilate + George! But you shan’t be annihilated, George. I’ll die first!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson, in the arms of his mistress, still struggled to shake his head + at Mrs Wilfer, and to remark: ‘With every sentiment of respect for you, + you know, ma’am—vipers really doesn’t do you credit.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall not be annihilated, George!’ cried Miss Lavinia. ‘Ma shall + destroy me first, and then she’ll be contented. Oh, oh, oh! Have I lured + George from his happy home to expose him to this! George, dear, be free! + Leave me, ever dearest George, to Ma and to my fate. Give my love to your + aunt, George dear, and implore her not to curse the viper that has crossed + your path and blighted your existence. Oh, oh, oh!’ The young lady who, + hysterically speaking, was only just come of age, and had never gone off + yet, here fell into a highly creditable crisis, which, regarded as a first + performance, was very successful; Mr Sampson, bending over the body + meanwhile, in a state of distraction, which induced him to address Mrs + Wilfer in the inconsistent expressions: ‘Demon—with the highest + respect for you—behold your work!’ + </p> +<p> + The cherub stood helplessly rubbing his chin and looking on, but on the + whole was inclined to welcome this diversion as one in which, by reason of + the absorbent properties of hysterics, the previous question would become + absorbed. And so, indeed, it proved, for the Irrepressible gradually + coming to herself; and asking with wild emotion, ‘George dear, are you + safe?’ and further, ‘George love, what has happened? Where is Ma?’ Mr + Sampson, with words of comfort, raised her prostrate form, and handed her + to Mrs Wilfer as if the young lady were something in the nature of + refreshments. Mrs Wilfer with dignity partaking of the refreshments, by + kissing her once on the brow (as if accepting an oyster), Miss Lavvy, + tottering, returned to the protection of Mr Sampson; to whom she said, + ‘George dear, I am afraid I have been foolish; but I am still a little + weak and giddy; don’t let go my hand, George!’ And whom she afterwards + greatly agitated at intervals, by giving utterance, when least expected, + to a sound between a sob and a bottle of soda water, that seemed to rend + the bosom of her frock. + </p> +<p> + Among the most remarkable effects of this crisis may be mentioned its + having, when peace was restored, an inexplicable moral influence, of an + elevating kind, on Miss Lavinia, Mrs Wilfer, and Mr George Sampson, from + which R. W. was altogether excluded, as an outsider and non-sympathizer. + Miss Lavinia assumed a modest air of having distinguished herself; Mrs + Wilfer, a serene air of forgiveness and resignation; Mr Sampson, an air of + having been improved and chastened. The influence pervaded the spirit in + which they returned to the previous question. + </p> +<p> + ‘George dear,’ said Lavvy, with a melancholy smile, ‘after what has + passed, I am sure Ma will tell Pa that he may tell Bella we shall all be + glad to see her and her husband.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson said he was sure of it too; murmuring how eminently he + respected Mrs Wilfer, and ever must, and ever would. Never more eminently, + he added, than after what had passed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Far be it from me,’ said Mrs Wilfer, making deep proclamation from her + corner, ‘to run counter to the feelings of a child of mine, and of a + Youth,’ Mr Sampson hardly seemed to like that word, ‘who is the object of + her maiden preference. I may feel—nay, know—that I have been + deluded and deceived. I may feel—nay, know—that I have been + set aside and passed over. I may feel—nay, know—that after + having so far overcome my repugnance towards Mr and Mrs Boffin as to + receive them under this roof, and to consent to your daughter Bella’s,’ + here turning to her husband, ‘residing under theirs, it were well if your + daughter Bella,’ again turning to her husband, ‘had profited in a worldly + point of view by a connection so distasteful, so disreputable. I may feel—nay, + know—that in uniting herself to Mr Rokesmith she has united herself + to one who is, in spite of shallow sophistry, a Mendicant. And I may feel + well assured that your daughter Bella,’ again turning to her husband, + ‘does not exalt her family by becoming a Mendicant’s bride. But I suppress + what I feel, and say nothing of it.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson murmured that this was the sort of thing you might expect from + one who had ever in her own family been an example and never an outrage. + And ever more so (Mr Sampson added, with some degree of obscurity,) and + never more so, than in and through what had passed. He must take the + liberty of adding, that what was true of the mother was true of the + youngest daughter, and that he could never forget the touching feelings + that the conduct of both had awakened within him. In conclusion, he did + hope that there wasn’t a man with a beating heart who was capable of + something that remained undescribed, in consequence of Miss Lavinia’s + stopping him as he reeled in his speech. + </p> +<p> + ‘Therefore, R. W.’ said Mrs Wilfer, resuming her discourse and turning to + her lord again, ‘let your daughter Bella come when she will, and she will + be received. So,’ after a short pause, and an air of having taken medicine + in it, ‘so will her husband.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I beg, Pa,’ said Lavinia, ‘that you will not tell Bella what I have + undergone. It can do no good, and it might cause her to reproach herself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dearest girl,’ urged Mr Sampson, ‘she ought to know it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, George,’ said Lavinia, in a tone of resolute self-denial. ‘No, + dearest George, let it be buried in oblivion.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson considered that, ‘too noble.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing is too noble, dearest George,’ returned Lavinia. ‘And Pa, I hope + you will be careful not to refer before Bella, if you can help it, to my + engagement to George. It might seem like reminding her of her having cast + herself away. And I hope, Pa, that you will think it equally right to + avoid mentioning George’s rising prospects, when Bella is present. It + might seem like taunting her with her own poor fortunes. Let me ever + remember that I am her younger sister, and ever spare her painful + contrasts, which could not but wound her sharply.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson expressed his belief that such was the demeanour of Angels. + Miss Lavvy replied with solemnity, ‘No, dearest George, I am but too well + aware that I am merely human.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer, for her part, still further improved the occasion by sitting + with her eyes fastened on her husband, like two great black notes of + interrogation, severely inquiring, Are you looking into your breast? Do + you deserve your blessings? Can you lay your hand upon your heart and say + that you are worthy of so hysterical a daughter? I do not ask you if you + are worthy of such a wife—put Me out of the question—but are + you sufficiently conscious of, and thankful for, the pervading moral + grandeur of the family spectacle on which you are gazing? These inquiries + proved very harassing to R. W. who, besides being a little disturbed by + wine, was in perpetual terror of committing himself by the utterance of + stray words that would betray his guilty foreknowledge. However, the scene + being over, and—all things considered—well over, he sought + refuge in a doze; which gave his lady immense offence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Can you think of your daughter Bella, and sleep?’ she disdainfully + inquired. + </p> +<p> + To which he mildly answered, ‘Yes, I think I can, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then,’ said Mrs Wilfer, with solemn indignation, ‘I would recommend you, + if you have a human feeling, to retire to bed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he replied; ‘I think it <i>is</i> the best place for me.’ + And with these unsympathetic words very gladly withdrew. + </p> +<p> + Within a few weeks afterwards, the Mendicant’s bride (arm-in-arm with the + Mendicant) came to tea, in fulfilment of an engagement made through her + father. And the way in which the Mendicant’s bride dashed at the + unassailable position so considerately to be held by Miss Lavy, and + scattered the whole of the works in all directions in a moment, was + triumphant. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dearest Ma,’ cried Bella, running into the room with a radiant face, ‘how + do you do, dearest Ma?’ And then embraced her, joyously. ‘And Lavvy + darling, how do <i>you </i>do, and how’s George Sampson, and how is he getting + on, and when are you going to be married, and how rich are you going to + grow? You must tell me all about it, Lavvy dear, immediately. John, love, + kiss Ma and Lavvy, and then we shall all be at home and comfortable.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer stared, but was helpless. Miss Lavinia stared, but was + helpless. Apparently with no compunction, and assuredly with no ceremony, + Bella tossed her bonnet away, and sat down to make the tea. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dearest Ma and Lavvy, you both take sugar, I know. And Pa (you good + little Pa), you don’t take milk. John does. I didn’t before I was married; + but I do now, because John does. John dear, did you kiss Ma and Lavvy? Oh, + you did! Quite correct, John dear; but I didn’t see you do it, so I asked. + Cut some bread and butter, John; that’s a love. Ma likes it doubled. And + now you must tell me, dearest Ma and Lavvy, upon your words and honours! + Didn’t you for a moment—just a moment—think I was a dreadful + little wretch when I wrote to say I had run away?’ + </p> +<p> + Before Mrs Wilfer could wave her gloves, the Mendicant’s bride in her + merriest affectionate manner went on again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think it must have made you rather cross, dear Ma and Lavvy, and I know + I deserved that you should be very cross. But you see I had been such a + heedless, heartless creature, and had led you so to expect that I should + marry for money, and so to make sure that I was incapable of marrying for + love, that I thought you couldn’t believe me. Because, you see, you didn’t + know how much of Good, Good, Good, I had learnt from John. Well! So I was + sly about it, and ashamed of what you supposed me to be, and fearful that + we couldn’t understand one another and might come to words, which we + should all be sorry for afterwards, and so I said to John that if he liked + to take me without any fuss, he might. And as he did like, I let him. And + we were married at Greenwich church in the presence of nobody—except + an unknown individual who dropped in,’ here her eyes sparkled more + brightly, ‘and half a pensioner. And now, isn’t it nice, dearest Ma and + Lavvy, to know that no words have been said which any of us can be sorry + for, and that we are all the best of friends at the pleasantest of teas!’ + </p> +<p> + Having got up and kissed them again, she slipped back to her chair (after + a loop on the road to squeeze her husband round the neck) and again went + on. + </p> +<p> + ‘And now you will naturally want to know, dearest Ma and Lavvy, how we + live, and what we have got to live upon. Well! And so we live on + Blackheath, in the charm—ingest of dolls’ houses, de—lightfully + furnished, and we have a clever little servant who is de—cidedly + pretty, and we are economical and orderly, and do everything by clockwork, + and we have a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and we have all we want, + and more. And lastly, if you would like to know in confidence, as perhaps + you may, what is my opinion of my husband, my opinion is—that I + almost love him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And if you would like to know in confidence, as perhaps you may,’ said + her husband, smiling, as he stood by her side, without her having detected + his approach, ‘my opinion of my wife, my opinion is—.’ But Bella + started up, and put her hand upon his lips. + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop, Sir! No, John, dear! Seriously! Please not yet a while! I want to + be something so much worthier than the doll in the doll’s house.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My darling, are you not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not half, not a quarter, so much worthier as I hope you may some day find + me! Try me through some reverse, John—try me through some trial—and + tell them after <i>that</i>, what you think of me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will, my Life,’ said John. ‘I promise it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s my dear John. And you won’t speak a word now; will you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I won’t,’ said John, with a very expressive look of admiration around + him, ‘speak a word now!’ + </p> +<p> + She laid her laughing cheek upon his breast to thank him, and said, + looking at the rest of them sideways out of her bright eyes: ‘I’ll go + further, Pa and Ma and Lavvy. John don’t suspect it—he has no idea + of it—but I quite love him!’ + </p> +<p> + Even Mrs Wilfer relaxed under the influence of her married daughter, and + seemed in a majestic manner to imply remotely that if R. W. had been a + more deserving object, she too might have condescended to come down from + her pedestal for his beguilement. Miss Lavinia, on the other hand, had + strong doubts of the policy of the course of treatment, and whether it + might not spoil Mr Sampson, if experimented on in the case of that young + gentleman. R. W. himself was for his part convinced that he was father of + one of the most charming of girls, and that Rokesmith was the most + favoured of men; which opinion, if propounded to him, Rokesmith would + probably not have contested. + </p> +<p> + The newly-married pair left early, so that they might walk at leisure to + their starting-place from London, for Greenwich. At first they were very + cheerful and talked much; but after a while, Bella fancied that her + husband was turning somewhat thoughtful. So she asked him: + </p> +<p> + ‘John dear, what’s the matter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Matter, my love?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Won’t you tell me,’ said Bella, looking up into his face, ‘what you are + thinking of?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s not much in the thought, my soul. I was thinking whether you + wouldn’t like me to be rich?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You rich, John?’ repeated Bella, shrinking a little. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean, really rich. Say, as rich as Mr Boffin. You would like that?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be almost afraid to try, John dear. Was he much the better for + his wealth? Was I much the better for the little part I once had in it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But all people are not the worse for riches, my own.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Most people?’ Bella musingly suggested with raised eyebrows. + </p> +<p> + ‘Nor even most people, it may be hoped. If you were rich, for instance, + you would have a great power of doing good to others.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir, for instance,’ Bella playfully rejoined; ‘but should I exercise + the power, for instance? And again, sir, for instance; should I, at the + same time, have a great power of doing harm to myself?’ + </p> +<p> + Laughing and pressing her arm, he retorted: ‘But still, again for + instance; would you exercise that power?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said Bella, thoughtfully shaking her head. ‘I hope not. I + think not. But it’s so easy to hope not and think not, without the + riches.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why don’t you say, my darling—instead of that phrase—being + poor?’ he asked, looking earnestly at her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why don’t I say, being poor! Because I am not poor. Dear John, it’s not + possible that you suppose I think we are poor?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do, my love.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh John!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Understand me, sweetheart. I know that I am rich beyond all wealth in + having you; but I think <i>of</i> you, and think <i>for </i>you. In such a dress as you + are wearing now, you first charmed me, and in no dress could you ever + look, to my thinking, more graceful or more beautiful. But you have + admired many finer dresses this very day; and is it not natural that I + wish I could give them to you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s very nice that you should wish it, John. It brings these tears of + grateful pleasure into my eyes, to hear you say so with such tenderness. + But I don’t want them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Again,’ he pursued, ‘we are now walking through the muddy streets. I love + those pretty feet so dearly, that I feel as if I could not bear the dirt + to soil the sole of your shoe. Is it not natural that I wish you could + ride in a carriage?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s very nice,’ said Bella, glancing downward at the feet in question, + ‘to know that you admire them so much, John dear, and since you do, I am + sorry that these shoes are a full size too large. But I don’t want a + carriage, believe me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You would like one if you could have one, Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shouldn’t like it for its own sake, half so well as such a wish for it. + Dear John, your wishes are as real to me as the wishes in the Fairy story, + that were all fulfilled as soon as spoken. Wish me everything that you can + wish for the woman you dearly love, and I have as good as got it, John. I + have better than got it, John!’ + </p> +<p> + They were not the less happy for such talk, and home was not the less home + for coming after it. Bella was fast developing a perfect genius for home. + All the loves and graces seemed (her husband thought) to have taken + domestic service with her, and to help her to make home engaging. + </p> +<p> + Her married life glided happily on. She was alone all day, for, after an + early breakfast her husband repaired every morning to the City, and did + not return until their late dinner hour. He was ‘in a China house,’ he + explained to Bella: which she found quite satisfactory, without pursuing + the China house into minuter details than a wholesale vision of tea, rice, + odd-smelling silks, carved boxes, and tight-eyed people in more than + double-soled shoes, with their pigtails pulling their heads of hair off, + painted on transparent porcelain. She always walked with her husband to + the railroad, and was always there again to meet him; her old coquettish + ways a little sobered down (but not much), and her dress as daintily + managed as if she managed nothing else. But, John gone to business and + Bella returned home, the dress would be laid aside, trim little wrappers + and aprons would be substituted, and Bella, putting back her hair with + both hands, as if she were making the most business-like arrangements for + going dramatically distracted, would enter on the household affairs of the + day. Such weighing and mixing and chopping and grating, such dusting and + washing and polishing, such snipping and weeding and trowelling and other + small gardening, such making and mending and folding and airing, such + diverse arrangements, and above all such severe study! For Mrs J. R., who + had never been wont to do too much at home as Miss B. W., was under the + constant necessity of referring for advice and support to a sage volume + entitled The Complete British Family Housewife, which she would sit + consulting, with her elbows on the table and her temples on her hands, + like some perplexed enchantress poring over the Black Art. This, + principally because the Complete British Housewife, however sound a Briton + at heart, was by no means an expert Briton at expressing herself with + clearness in the British tongue, and sometimes might have issued her + directions to equal purpose in the Kamskatchan language. In any crisis of + this nature, Bella would suddenly exclaim aloud, ‘Oh you ridiculous old + thing, what do you mean by that? You must have been drinking!’ And having + made this marginal note, would try the Housewife again, with all her + dimples screwed into an expression of profound research. + </p> +<p> + There was likewise a coolness on the part of the British Housewife, which + Mrs John Rokesmith found highly exasperating. She would say, ‘Take a + salamander,’ as if a general should command a private to catch a Tartar. + Or, she would casually issue the order, ‘Throw in a handful—’ of + something entirely unattainable. In these, the Housewife’s most glaring + moments of unreason, Bella would shut her up and knock her on the table, + apostrophising her with the compliment, ‘O you <i>are </i>a stupid old Donkey! + Where am I to get it, do you think?’ + </p> +<p> + Another branch of study claimed the attention of Mrs John Rokesmith for a + regular period every day. This was the mastering of the newspaper, so that + she might be close up with John on general topics when John came home. In + her desire to be in all things his companion, she would have set herself + with equal zeal to master Algebra, or Euclid, if he had divided his soul + between her and either. Wonderful was the way in which she would store up + the City Intelligence, and beamingly shed it upon John in the course of + the evening; incidentally mentioning the commodities that were looking up + in the markets, and how much gold had been taken to the Bank, and trying + to look wise and serious over it until she would laugh at herself most + charmingly and would say, kissing him: ‘It all comes of my love, John + dear.’ + </p> +<p> + For a City man, John certainly did appear to care as little as might be + for the looking up or looking down of things, as well as for the gold that + got taken to the Bank. But he cared, beyond all expression, for his wife, + as a most precious and sweet commodity that was always looking up, and + that never was worth less than all the gold in the world. And she, being + inspired by her affection, and having a quick wit and a fine ready + instinct, made amazing progress in her domestic efficiency, though, as an + endearing creature, she made no progress at all. This was her husband’s + verdict, and he justified it by telling her that she had begun her married + life as the most endearing creature that could possibly be. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you have such a cheerful spirit!’ he said, fondly. ‘You are like a + bright light in the house.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Am I truly, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you truly? Yes, indeed. Only much more, and much better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you know, John dear,’ said Bella, taking him by a button of his coat, + ‘that I sometimes, at odd moments—don’t laugh, John, please.’ + </p> +<p> + Nothing should induce John to do it, when she asked him not to do it. + </p> +<p> + ‘—That I sometimes think, John, I feel a little serious.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you too much alone, my darling?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O dear, no, John! The time is so short that I have not a moment too much + in the week.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why serious, my life, then? When serious?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When I laugh, I think,’ said Bella, laughing as she laid her head upon + his shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t believe, sir, that I feel serious now? But I + do.’ And she laughed again, and something glistened in her eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Would you like to be rich, pet?’ he asked her coaxingly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Rich, John! How <i>can </i>you ask such goose’s questions?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you regret anything, my love?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Regret anything? No!’ Bella confidently answered. But then, suddenly + changing, she said, between laughing and glistening: ‘Oh yes, I do though. + I regret Mrs Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I, too, regret that separation very much. But perhaps it is only + temporary. Perhaps things may so fall out, as that you may sometimes see + her again—as that we may sometimes see her again.’ Bella might be + very anxious on the subject, but she scarcely seemed so at the moment. + With an absent air, she was investigating that button on her husband’s + coat, when Pa came in to spend the evening. + </p> +<p> + Pa had his special chair and his special corner reserved for him on all + occasions, and—without disparagement of his domestic joys—was + far happier there, than anywhere. It was always pleasantly droll to see Pa + and Bella together; but on this present evening her husband thought her + more than usually fantastic with him. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a very good little boy,’ said Bella, ‘to come unexpectedly, as + soon as you could get out of school. And how have they used you at school + to-day, you dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my pet,’ replied the cherub, smiling and rubbing his hands as she + sat him down in his chair, ‘I attend two schools. There’s the Mincing Lane + establishment, and there’s your mother’s Academy. Which might you mean, my + dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Both,’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Both, eh? Why, to say the truth, both have taken a little out of me + to-day, my dear, but that was to be expected. There’s no royal road to + learning; and what is life but learning!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And what do you do with yourself when you have got your learning by + heart, you silly child?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why then, my dear,’ said the cherub, after a little consideration, ‘I + suppose I die.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a very bad boy,’ retorted Bella, ‘to talk about dismal things and + be out of spirits.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My Bella,’ rejoined her father, ‘I am not out of spirits. I am as gay as + a lark.’ Which his face confirmed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then if you are sure and certain it’s not you, I suppose it must be I,’ + said Bella; ‘so I won’t do so any more. John dear, we must give this + little fellow his supper, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course we must, my darling.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He has been grubbing and grubbing at school,’ said Bella, looking at her + father’s hand and lightly slapping it, ‘till he’s not fit to be seen. O + what a grubby child!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed, my dear,’ said her father, ‘I was going to ask to be allowed to + wash my hands, only you find me out so soon.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come here, sir!’ cried Bella, taking him by the front of his coat, ‘come + here and be washed directly. You are not to be trusted to do it for + yourself. Come here, sir!’ + </p> +<p> + The cherub, to his genial amusement, was accordingly conducted to a little + washing-room, where Bella soaped his face and rubbed his face, and soaped + his hands and rubbed his hands, and splashed him and rinsed him and + towelled him, until he was as red as beet-root, even to his very ears: + ‘Now you must be brushed and combed, sir,’ said Bella, busily. ‘Hold the + light, John. Shut your eyes, sir, and let me take hold of your chin. Be + good directly, and do as you are told!’ + </p> +<p> + Her father being more than willing to obey, she dressed his hair in her + most elaborate manner, brushing it out straight, parting it, winding it + over her fingers, sticking it up on end, and constantly falling back on + John to get a good look at the effect of it. Who always received her on + his disengaged arm, and detained her, while the patient cherub stood + waiting to be finished. + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ said Bella, when she had at last completed the final touches. + ‘Now, you are something like a genteel boy! Put your jacket on, and come + and have your supper.’ + </p> +<p> + The cherub investing himself with his coat was led back to his corner—where, + but for having no egotism in his pleasant nature, he would have answered + well enough for that radiant though self-sufficient boy, Jack Horner—Bella + with her own hands laid a cloth for him, and brought him his supper on a + tray. ‘Stop a moment,’ said she, ‘we must keep his little clothes clean;’ + and tied a napkin under his chin, in a very methodical manner. + </p> +<p> + While he took his supper, Bella sat by him, sometimes admonishing him to + hold his fork by the handle, like a polite child, and at other times + carving for him, or pouring out his drink. Fantastic as it all was, and + accustomed as she ever had been to make a plaything of her good father, + ever delighted that she should put him to that account, still there was an + occasional something on Bella’s part that was new. It could not be said + that she was less playful, whimsical, or natural, than she always had + been; but it seemed, her husband thought, as if there were some rather + graver reason than he had supposed for what she had so lately said, and as + if throughout all this, there were glimpses of an underlying seriousness. + </p> +<p> + It was a circumstance in support of this view of the case, that when she + had lighted her father’s pipe, and mixed him his glass of grog, she sat + down on a stool between her father and her husband, leaning her arm upon + the latter, and was very quiet. So quiet, that when her father rose to + take his leave, she looked round with a start, as if she had forgotten his + being there. + </p> +<p> + ‘You go a little way with Pa, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear. Do you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have not written to Lizzie Hexam since I wrote and told her that I + really had a lover—a whole one. I have often thought I would like to + tell her how right she was when she pretended to read in the live coals + that I would go through fire and water for him. I am in the humour to tell + her so to-night, John, and I’ll stay at home and do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are tired.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all tired, John dear, but in the humour to write to Lizzie. Good + night, dear Pa. Good night, you dear, good, gentle Pa!’ + </p> +<p> + Left to herself she sat down to write, and wrote Lizzie a long letter. She + had but completed it and read it over, when her husband came back. ‘You + are just in time, sir,’ said Bella; ‘I am going to give you your first + curtain lecture. It shall be a parlour-curtain lecture. You shall take + this chair of mine when I have folded my letter, and I will take the stool + (though you ought to take it, I can tell you, sir, if it’s the stool of + repentance), and you’ll soon find yourself taken to task soundly.’ + </p> +<p> + Her letter folded, sealed, and directed, and her pen wiped, and her middle + finger wiped, and her desk locked up and put away, and these transactions + performed with an air of severe business sedateness, which the Complete + British Housewife might have assumed, and certainly would not have rounded + off and broken down in with a musical laugh, as Bella did: she placed her + husband in his chair, and placed herself upon her stool. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, sir! To begin at the beginning. What is your name?’ + </p> +<p> + A question more decidedly rushing at the secret he was keeping from her, + could not have astounded him. But he kept his countenance and his secret, + and answered, ‘John Rokesmith, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good boy! Who gave you that name?’ + </p> +<p> + With a returning suspicion that something might have betrayed him to her, + he answered, interrogatively, ‘My godfathers and my godmothers, dear + love?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pretty good!’ said Bella. ‘Not goodest good, because you hesitate about + it. However, as you know your Catechism fairly, so far, I’ll let you off + the rest. Now, I am going to examine you out of my own head. John dear, + why did you go back, this evening, to the question you once asked me + before—would I like to be rich?’ + </p> +<p> + Again, his secret! He looked down at her as she looked up at him, with her + hands folded on his knee, and it was as nearly told as ever secret was. + </p> +<p> + Having no reply ready, he could do no better than embrace her. + </p> +<p> + ‘In short, dear John,’ said Bella, ‘this is the topic of my lecture: I + want nothing on earth, and I want you to believe it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If that’s all, the lecture may be considered over, for I do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s not all, John dear,’ Bella hesitated. ‘It’s only Firstly. There’s a + dreadful Secondly, and a dreadful Thirdly to come—as I used to say + to myself in sermon-time when I was a very small-sized sinner at church.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let them come, my dearest.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you sure, John dear; are you absolutely certain in your innermost + heart of hearts—?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Which is not in my keeping,’ he rejoined. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, John, but the key is.—Are you absolutely certain that down at + the bottom of that heart of hearts, which you have given to me as I have + given mine to you, there is no remembrance that I was once very + mercenary?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, if there were no remembrance in me of the time you speak of,’ he + softly asked her with his lips to hers, ‘could I love you quite as well as + I do; could I have in the Calendar of my life the brightest of its days; + could I whenever I look at your dear face, or hear your dear voice, see + and hear my noble champion? It can never have been that which made you + serious, darling?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No John, it wasn’t that, and still less was it Mrs Boffin, though I love + her. Wait a moment, and I’ll go on with the lecture. Give me a moment, + because I like to cry for joy. It’s so delicious, John dear, to cry for + joy.’ + </p> +<p> + She did so on his neck, and, still clinging there, laughed a little when + she said, ‘I think I am ready now for Thirdly, John.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am ready for Thirdly,’ said John, ‘whatever it is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I believe, John,’ pursued Bella, ‘that you believe that I believe—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear child,’ cried her husband gaily, ‘what a quantity of believing!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Isn’t there?’ said Bella, with another laugh. ‘I never knew such a + quantity! It’s like verbs in an exercise. But I can’t get on with less + believing. I’ll try again. I believe, dear John, that you believe that I + believe that we have as much money as we require, and that we want for + nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is strictly true, Bella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But if our money should by any means be rendered not so much—if we + had to stint ourselves a little in purchases that we can afford to make + now—would you still have the same confidence in my being quite + contented, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Precisely the same confidence, my soul.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, John dear, thousands upon thousands of times. And I may take + it for granted, no doubt,’ with a little faltering, ‘that you would be + quite as contented yourself John? But, yes, I know I may. For, knowing + that I should be so, how surely I may know that you would be so; you who + are so much stronger, and firmer, and more reasonable and more generous, + than I am.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hush!’ said her husband, ‘I must not hear that. You are all wrong there, + though otherwise as right as can be. And now I am brought to a little + piece of news, my dearest, that I might have told you earlier in the + evening. I have strong reason for confidently believing that we shall + never be in the receipt of a smaller income than our present income.’ + </p> +<p> + She might have shown herself more interested in the intelligence; but she + had returned to the investigation of the coat-button that had engaged her + attention a few hours before, and scarcely seemed to heed what he said. + </p> +<p> + ‘And now we have got to the bottom of it at last,’ cried her husband, + rallying her, ‘and this is the thing that made you serious?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No dear,’ said Bella, twisting the button and shaking her head, ‘it + wasn’t this.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why then, Lord bless this little wife of mine, there’s a Fourthly!’ + exclaimed John. + </p> +<p> + ‘This worried me a little, and so did Secondly,’ said Bella, occupied with + the button, ‘but it was quite another sort of seriousness—a much + deeper and quieter sort of seriousness—that I spoke of John dear.’ + </p> +<p> + As he bent his face to hers, she raised hers to meet it, and laid her + little right hand on his eyes, and kept it there. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you remember, John, on the day we were married, Pa’s speaking of the + ships that might be sailing towards us from the unknown seas?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perfectly, my darling!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think...among them...there is a ship upon the ocean...bringing...to you + and me...a little baby, John.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0056"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> +<h3> + A CRY FOR HELP + </h3> +<p> + The Paper Mill had stopped work for the night, and the paths and roads in + its neighbourhood were sprinkled with clusters of people going home from + their day’s labour in it. There were men, women, and children in the + groups, and there was no want of lively colour to flutter in the gentle + evening wind. The mingling of various voices and the sound of laughter + made a cheerful impression upon the ear, analogous to that of the + fluttering colours upon the eye. Into the sheet of water reflecting the + flushed sky in the foreground of the living picture, a knot of urchins + were casting stones, and watching the expansion of the rippling circles. + So, in the rosy evening, one might watch the ever-widening beauty of the + landscape—beyond the newly-released workers wending home—beyond + the silver river—beyond the deep green fields of corn, so + prospering, that the loiterers in their narrow threads of pathway seemed + to float immersed breast-high—beyond the hedgerows and the clumps of + trees—beyond the windmills on the ridge—away to where the sky + appeared to meet the earth, as if there were no immensity of space between + mankind and Heaven. + </p> +<p> + It was a Saturday evening, and at such a time the village dogs, always + much more interested in the doings of humanity than in the affairs of + their own species, were particularly active. At the general shop, at the + butcher’s and at the public-house, they evinced an inquiring spirit never + to be satiated. Their especial interest in the public-house would seem to + imply some latent rakishness in the canine character; for little was eaten + there, and they, having no taste for beer or tobacco (Mrs Hubbard’s dog is + said to have smoked, but proof is wanting), could only have been attracted + by sympathy with loose convivial habits. Moreover, a most wretched fiddle + played within; a fiddle so unutterably vile, that one lean long-bodied + cur, with a better ear than the rest, found himself under compulsion at + intervals to go round the corner and howl. Yet, even he returned to the + public-house on each occasion with the tenacity of a confirmed drunkard. + </p> +<p> + Fearful to relate, there was even a sort of little Fair in the village. + Some despairing gingerbread that had been vainly trying to dispose of + itself all over the country, and had cast a quantity of dust upon its head + in its mortification, again appealed to the public from an infirm booth. + So did a heap of nuts, long, long exiled from Barcelona, and yet speaking + English so indifferently as to call fourteen of themselves a pint. A + Peep-show which had originally started with the Battle of Waterloo, and + had since made it every other battle of later date by altering the Duke of + Wellington’s nose, tempted the student of illustrated history. A Fat Lady, + perhaps in part sustained upon postponed pork, her professional associate + being a Learned Pig, displayed her life-size picture in a low dress as she + appeared when presented at Court, several yards round. All this was a + vicious spectacle as any poor idea of amusement on the part of the rougher + hewers of wood and drawers of water in this land of England ever is and + shall be. They <i>must not</i> vary the rheumatism with amusement. They may vary + it with fever and ague, or with as many rheumatic variations as they have + joints; but positively not with entertainment after their own manner. + </p> +<p> + The various sounds arising from this scene of depravity, and floating away + into the still evening air, made the evening, at any point which they just + reached fitfully, mellowed by the distance, more still by contrast. Such + was the stillness of the evening to Eugene Wrayburn, as he walked by the + river with his hands behind him. + </p> +<p> + He walked slowly, and with the measured step and preoccupied air of one + who was waiting. He walked between the two points, an osier-bed at this + end and some floating lilies at that, and at each point stopped and looked + expectantly in one direction. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is very quiet,’ said he. + </p> +<p> + It was very quiet. Some sheep were grazing on the grass by the river-side, + and it seemed to him that he had never before heard the crisp tearing + sound with which they cropped it. He stopped idly, and looked at them. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are stupid enough, I suppose. But if you are clever enough to get + through life tolerably to your satisfaction, you have got the better of + me, Man as I am, and Mutton as you are!’ + </p> +<p> + A rustle in a field beyond the hedge attracted his attention. ‘What’s here + to do?’ he asked himself leisurely going towards the gate and looking + over. ‘No jealous paper-miller? No pleasures of the chase in this part of + the country? Mostly fishing hereabouts!’ + </p> +<p> + The field had been newly mown, and there were yet the marks of the scythe + on the yellow-green ground, and the track of wheels where the hay had been + carried. Following the tracks with his eyes, the view closed with the new + hayrick in a corner. + </p> +<p> + Now, if he had gone on to the hayrick, and gone round it? But, say that + the event was to be, as the event fell out, and how idle are such + suppositions! Besides, if he had gone; what is there of warning in a + Bargeman lying on his face? + </p> +<p> + ‘A bird flying to the hedge,’ was all he thought about it; and came back, + and resumed his walk. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I had not a reliance on her being truthful,’ said Eugene, after taking + some half-dozen turns, ‘I should begin to think she had given me the slip + for the second time. But she promised, and she is a girl of her word.’ + </p> +<p> + Turning again at the water-lilies, he saw her coming, and advanced to meet + her. + </p> +<p> + ‘I was saying to myself, Lizzie, that you were sure to come, though you + were late.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I had to linger through the village as if I had no object before me, and + I had to speak to several people in passing along, Mr Wrayburn.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are the lads of the village—and the ladies—such + scandal-mongers?’ he asked, as he took her hand and drew it through his + arm. + </p> +<p> + She submitted to walk slowly on, with downcast eyes. He put her hand to + his lips, and she quietly drew it away. + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you walk beside me, Mr Wrayburn, and not touch me?’ For, his arm was + already stealing round her waist. + </p> +<p> + She stopped again, and gave him an earnest supplicating look. ‘Well, + Lizzie, well!’ said he, in an easy way though ill at ease with himself + ‘don’t be unhappy, don’t be reproachful.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I cannot help being unhappy, but I do not mean to be reproachful. Mr + Wrayburn, I implore you to go away from this neighbourhood, to-morrow + morning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie!’ he remonstrated. ‘As well be reproachful as + wholly unreasonable. I can’t go away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Faith!’ said Eugene in his airily candid manner. ‘Because you won’t let + me. Mind! I don’t mean to be reproachful either. I don’t complain that you + design to keep me here. But you do it, you do it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you walk beside me, and not touch me;’ for, his arm was coming about + her again; ‘while I speak to you very seriously, Mr Wrayburn?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will do anything within the limits of possibility, for you, Lizzie,’ he + answered with pleasant gaiety as he folded his arms. ‘See here! Napoleon + Buonaparte at St Helena.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When you spoke to me as I came from the Mill the night before last,’ said + Lizzie, fixing her eyes upon him with the look of supplication which + troubled his better nature, ‘you told me that you were much surprised to + see me, and that you were on a solitary fishing excursion. Was it true?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was not,’ replied Eugene composedly, ‘in the least true. I came here, + because I had information that I should find you here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Can you imagine why I left London, Mr Wrayburn?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am afraid, Lizzie,’ he openly answered, ‘that you left London to get + rid of me. It is not flattering to my self-love, but I am afraid you did.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I did.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How could you be so cruel?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O Mr Wrayburn,’ she answered, suddenly breaking into tears, ‘is the + cruelty on my side! O Mr Wrayburn, Mr Wrayburn, is there no cruelty in + your being here to-night!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In the name of all that’s good—and that is not conjuring you in my + own name, for Heaven knows I am not good’—said Eugene, ‘don’t be + distressed!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What else can I be, when I know the distance and the difference between + us? What else can I be, when to tell me why you came here, is to put me to + shame!’ said Lizzie, covering her face. + </p> +<p> + He looked at her with a real sentiment of remorseful tenderness and pity. + It was not strong enough to impell him to sacrifice himself and spare her, + but it was a strong emotion. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie! I never thought before, that there was a woman in the world who + could affect me so much by saying so little. But don’t be hard in your + construction of me. You don’t know what my state of mind towards you is. + You don’t know how you haunt me and bewilder me. You don’t know how the + cursed carelessness that is over-officious in helping me at every other + turning of my life, <i>won’t</i> help me here. You have struck it dead, I think, + and I sometimes almost wish you had struck me dead along with it.’ + </p> +<p> + She had not been prepared for such passionate expressions, and they + awakened some natural sparks of feminine pride and joy in her breast. To + consider, wrong as he was, that he could care so much for her, and that + she had the power to move him so! + </p> +<p> + ‘It grieves you to see me distressed, Mr Wrayburn; it grieves me to see + you distressed. I don’t reproach you. Indeed I don’t reproach you. You + have not felt this as I feel it, being so different from me, and beginning + from another point of view. You have not thought. But I entreat you to + think now, think now!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What am I to think of?’ asked Eugene, bitterly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Think of me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me how <i>not </i>to think of you, Lizzie, and you’ll change me + altogether.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mean in that way. Think of me, as belonging to another station, + and quite cut off from you in honour. Remember that I have no protector + near me, unless I have one in your noble heart. Respect my good name. If + you feel towards me, in one particular, as you might if I was a lady, give + me the full claims of a lady upon your generous behaviour. I am removed + from you and your family by being a working girl. How true a gentleman to + be as considerate of me as if I was removed by being a Queen!’ + </p> +<p> + He would have been base indeed to have stood untouched by her appeal. His + face expressed contrition and indecision as he asked: + </p> +<p> + ‘Have I injured you so much, Lizzie?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no. You may set me quite right. I don’t speak of the past, Mr + Wrayburn, but of the present and the future. Are we not here now, because + through two days you have followed me so closely where there are so many + eyes to see you, that I consented to this appointment as an escape?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Again, not very flattering to my self-love,’ said Eugene, moodily; ‘but + yes. Yes. Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then I beseech you, Mr Wrayburn, I beg and pray you, leave this + neighbourhood. If you do not, consider to what you will drive me.’ + </p> +<p> + He did consider within himself for a moment or two, and then retorted, + ‘Drive you? To what shall I drive you, Lizzie?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You will drive me away. I live here peacefully and respected, and I am + well employed here. You will force me to quit this place as I quitted + London, and—by following me again—will force me to quit the + next place in which I may find refuge, as I quitted this.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you so determined, Lizzie—forgive the word I am going to use, + for its literal truth—to fly from a lover?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am so determined,’ she answered resolutely, though trembling, ‘to fly + from such a lover. There was a poor woman died here but a little while + ago, scores of years older than I am, whom I found by chance, lying on the + wet earth. You may have heard some account of her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think I have,’ he answered, ‘if her name was Higden.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her name was Higden. Though she was so weak and old, she kept true to one + purpose to the very last. Even at the very last, she made me promise that + her purpose should be kept to, after she was dead, so settled was her + determination. What she did, I can do. Mr Wrayburn, if I believed—but + I do not believe—that you could be so cruel to me as to drive me + from place to place to wear me out, you should drive me to death and not + do it.’ + </p> +<p> + He looked full at her handsome face, and in his own handsome face there + was a light of blended admiration, anger, and reproach, which she—who + loved him so in secret whose heart had long been so full, and he the cause + of its overflowing—drooped before. She tried hard to retain her + firmness, but he saw it melting away under his eyes. In the moment of its + dissolution, and of his first full knowledge of his influence upon her, + she dropped, and he caught her on his arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie! Rest so a moment. Answer what I ask you. If I had not been what + you call removed from you and cut off from you, would you have made this + appeal to me to leave you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. Don’t ask me, Mr Wrayburn. Let me go back.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I swear to you, Lizzie, you shall go directly. I swear to you, you shall + go alone. I’ll not accompany you, I’ll not follow you, if you will reply.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How can I, Mr Wrayburn? How can I tell you what I should have done, if + you had not been what you are?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I had not been what you make me out to be,’ he struck in, skilfully + changing the form of words, ‘would you still have hated me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O Mr Wrayburn,’ she replied appealingly, and weeping, ‘you know me better + than to think I do!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If I had not been what you make me out to be, Lizzie, would you still + have been indifferent to me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O Mr Wrayburn,’ she answered as before, ‘you know me better than that + too!’ + </p> +<p> + There was something in the attitude of her whole figure as he supported + it, and she hung her head, which besought him to be merciful and not force + her to disclose her heart. He was not merciful with her, and he made her + do it. + </p> +<p> + ‘If I know you better than quite to believe (unfortunate dog though I am!) + that you hate me, or even that you are wholly indifferent to me, Lizzie, + let me know so much more from yourself before we separate. Let me know how + you would have dealt with me if you had regarded me as being what you + would have considered on equal terms with you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is impossible, Mr Wrayburn. How can I think of you as being on equal + terms with me? If my mind could put you on equal terms with me, you could + not be yourself. How could I remember, then, the night when I first saw + you, and when I went out of the room because you looked at me so + attentively? Or, the night that passed into the morning when you broke to + me that my father was dead? Or, the nights when you used to come to see me + at my next home? Or, your having known how uninstructed I was, and having + caused me to be taught better? Or, my having so looked up to you and + wondered at you, and at first thought you so good to be at all mindful of + me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Only “at first” thought me so good, Lizzie? What did you think me after + “at first”? So bad?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t say that. I don’t mean that. But after the first wonder and + pleasure of being noticed by one so different from any one who had ever + spoken to me, I began to feel that it might have been better if I had + never seen you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because you <i>were </i>so different,’ she answered in a lower voice. ‘Because + it was so endless, so hopeless. Spare me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you think for me at all, Lizzie?’ he asked, as if he were a little + stung. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not much, Mr Wrayburn. Not much until to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you tell me why?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never supposed until to-night that you needed to be thought for. But if + you do need to be; if you do truly feel at heart that you have indeed been + towards me what you have called yourself to-night, and that there is + nothing for us in this life but separation; then Heaven help you, and + Heaven bless you!’ + </p> +<p> + The purity with which in these words she expressed something of her own + love and her own suffering, made a deep impression on him for the passing + time. He held her, almost as if she were sanctified to him by death, and + kissed her, once, almost as he might have kissed the dead. + </p> +<p> + ‘I promised that I would not accompany you, nor follow you. Shall I keep + you in view? You have been agitated, and it’s growing dark.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am used to be out alone at this hour, and I entreat you not to do so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I promise. I can bring myself to promise nothing more tonight, Lizzie, + except that I will try what I can do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is but one means, Mr Wrayburn, of sparing yourself and of sparing + me, every way. Leave this neighbourhood to-morrow morning.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will try.’ + </p> +<p> + As he spoke the words in a grave voice, she put her hand in his, removed + it, and went away by the river-side. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0657m " src="images/0657m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0657m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0657.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-2167614237329073691"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Now, could Mortimer believe this?’ murmured Eugene, still remaining, + after a while, where she had left him. ‘Can I even believe it myself?’ + </p> +<p> + He referred to the circumstance that there were tears upon his hand, as he + stood covering his eyes. ‘A most ridiculous position this, to be found out + in!’ was his next thought. And his next struck its root in a little rising + resentment against the cause of the tears. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yet I have gained a wonderful power over her, too, let her be as much in + earnest as she will!’ + </p> +<p> + The reflection brought back the yielding of her face and form as she had + drooped under his gaze. Contemplating the reproduction, he seemed to see, + for the second time, in the appeal and in the confession of weakness, a + little fear. + </p> +<p> + ‘And she loves me. And so earnest a character must be very earnest in that + passion. She cannot choose for herself to be strong in this fancy, + wavering in that, and weak in the other. She must go through with her + nature, as I must go through with mine. If mine exacts its pains and + penalties all round, so must hers, I suppose.’ + </p> +<p> + Pursuing the inquiry into his own nature, he thought, ‘Now, if I married + her. If, outfacing the absurdity of the situation in correspondence with + M. R. F., I astonished M. R. F. to the utmost extent of his respected + powers, by informing him that I had married her, how would M. R. F. reason + with the legal mind? “You wouldn’t marry for some money and some station, + because you were frightfully likely to become bored. Are you less + frightfully likely to become bored, marrying for no money and no station? + Are you sure of yourself?” Legal mind, in spite of forensic protestations, + must secretly admit, “Good reasoning on the part of M. R. F. <i>not </i>sure of + myself.”’ + </p> +<p> + In the very act of calling this tone of levity to his aid, he felt it to + be profligate and worthless, and asserted her against it. + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet,’ said Eugene, ‘I should like to see the fellow (Mortimer + excepted) who would undertake to tell me that this was not a real + sentiment on my part, won out of me by her beauty and her worth, in spite + of myself, and that I would not be true to her. I should particularly like + to see the fellow to-night who would tell me so, or who would tell me + anything that could be construed to her disadvantage; for I am wearily out + of sorts with one Wrayburn who cuts a sorry figure, and I would far rather + be out of sorts with somebody else. “Eugene, Eugene, Eugene, this is a bad + business.” Ah! So go the Mortimer Lightwood bells, and they sound + melancholy to-night.’ + </p> +<p> + Strolling on, he thought of something else to take himself to task for. + ‘Where is the analogy, Brute Beast,’ he said impatiently, ‘between a woman + whom your father coolly finds out for you and a woman whom you have found + out for yourself, and have ever drifted after with more and more of + constancy since you first set eyes upon her? Ass! Can you reason no better + than that?’ + </p> +<p> + But, again he subsided into a reminiscence of his first full knowledge of + his power just now, and of her disclosure of her heart. To try no more to + go away, and to try her again, was the reckless conclusion it turned + uppermost. And yet again, ‘Eugene, Eugene, Eugene, this is a bad + business!’ And, ‘I wish I could stop the Lightwood peal, for it sounds + like a knell.’ + </p> +<p> + Looking above, he found that the young moon was up, and that the stars + were beginning to shine in the sky from which the tones of red and yellow + were flickering out, in favour of the calm blue of a summer night. He was + still by the river-side. Turning suddenly, he met a man, so close upon him + that Eugene, surprised, stepped back, to avoid a collision. The man + carried something over his shoulder which might have been a broken oar, or + spar, or bar, and took no notice of him, but passed on. + </p> +<p> + ‘Halloa, friend!’ said Eugene, calling after him, ‘are you blind?’ + </p> +<p> + The man made no reply, but went his way. + </p> +<p> + Eugene Wrayburn went the opposite way, with his hands behind him and his + purpose in his thoughts. He passed the sheep, and passed the gate, and + came within hearing of the village sounds, and came to the bridge. The inn + where he stayed, like the village and the mill, was not across the river, + but on that side of the stream on which he walked. However, knowing the + rushy bank and the backwater on the other side to be a retired place, and + feeling out of humour for noise or company, he crossed the bridge, and + sauntered on: looking up at the stars as they seemed one by one to be + kindled in the sky, and looking down at the river as the same stars seemed + to be kindled deep in the water. A landing-place overshadowed by a willow, + and a pleasure-boat lying moored there among some stakes, caught his eye + as he passed along. The spot was in such dark shadow, that he paused to + make out what was there, and then passed on again. + </p> +<p> + The rippling of the river seemed to cause a correspondent stir in his + uneasy reflections. He would have laid them asleep if he could, but they + were in movement, like the stream, and all tending one way with a strong + current. As the ripple under the moon broke unexpectedly now and then, and + palely flashed in a new shape and with a new sound, so parts of his + thoughts started, unbidden, from the rest, and revealed their wickedness. + ‘Out of the question to marry her,’ said Eugene, ‘and out of the question + to leave her. The crisis!’ + </p> +<p> + He had sauntered far enough. Before turning to retrace his steps, he + stopped upon the margin, to look down at the reflected night. In an + instant, with a dreadful crash, the reflected night turned crooked, flames + shot jaggedly across the air, and the moon and stars came bursting from + the sky. + </p> +<p> + Was he struck by lightning? With some incoherent half-formed thought to + that effect, he turned under the blows that were blinding him and mashing + his life, and closed with a murderer, whom he caught by a red neckerchief—unless + the raining down of his own blood gave it that hue. + </p> +<p> + Eugene was light, active, and expert; but his arms were broken, or he was + paralysed, and could do no more than hang on to the man, with his head + swung back, so that he could see nothing but the heaving sky. After + dragging at the assailant, he fell on the bank with him, and then there + was another great crash, and then a splash, and all was done. + </p> +<p> + Lizzie Hexam, too, had avoided the noise, and the Saturday movement of + people in the straggling street, and chose to walk alone by the water + until her tears should be dry, and she could so compose herself as to + escape remark upon her looking ill or unhappy on going home. The peaceful + serenity of the hour and place, having no reproaches or evil intentions + within her breast to contend against, sank healingly into its depths. She + had meditated and taken comfort. She, too, was turning homeward, when she + heard a strange sound. + </p> +<p> + It startled her, for it was like a sound of blows. She stood still, and + listened. It sickened her, for blows fell heavily and cruelly on the quiet + of the night. As she listened, undecided, all was silent. As she yet + listened, she heard a faint groan, and a fall into the river. + </p> +<p> + Her old bold life and habit instantly inspired her. Without vain waste of + breath in crying for help where there were none to hear, she ran towards + the spot from which the sounds had come. It lay between her and the + bridge, but it was more removed from her than she had thought; the night + being so very quiet, and sound travelling far with the help of water. + </p> +<p> + At length, she reached a part of the green bank, much and newly trodden, + where there lay some broken splintered pieces of wood and some torn + fragments of clothes. Stooping, she saw that the grass was bloody. + Following the drops and smears, she saw that the watery margin of the bank + was bloody. Following the current with her eyes, she saw a bloody face + turned up towards the moon, and drifting away. + </p> +<p> + Now, merciful Heaven be thanked for that old time, and grant, O Blessed + Lord, that through thy wonderful workings it may turn to good at last! To + whomsoever the drifting face belongs, be it man’s or woman’s, help my + humble hands, Lord God, to raise it from death and restore it to some one + to whom it must be dear! + </p> +<p> + It was thought, fervently thought, but not for a moment did the prayer + check her. She was away before it welled up in her mind, away, swift and + true, yet steady above all—for without steadiness it could never be + done—to the landing-place under the willow-tree, where she also had + seen the boat lying moored among the stakes. + </p> +<p> + A sure touch of her old practised hand, a sure step of her old practised + foot, a sure light balance of her body, and she was in the boat. A quick + glance of her practised eye showed her, even through the deep dark shadow, + the sculls in a rack against the red-brick garden-wall. Another moment, + and she had cast off (taking the line with her), and the boat had shot out + into the moonlight, and she was rowing down the stream as never other + woman rowed on English water. + </p> +<p> + Intently over her shoulder, without slackening speed, she looked ahead for + the driving face. She passed the scene of the struggle—yonder it + was, on her left, well over the boat’s stern—she passed on her + right, the end of the village street, a hilly street that almost dipped + into the river; its sounds were growing faint again, and she slackened; + looking as the boat drove, everywhere, everywhere, for the floating face. + </p> +<p> + She merely kept the boat before the stream now, and rested on her oars, + knowing well that if the face were not soon visible, it had gone down, and + she would overshoot it. An untrained sight would never have seen by the + moonlight what she saw at the length of a few strokes astern. She saw the + drowning figure rise to the surface, slightly struggle, and as if by + instinct turn over on its back to float. Just so had she first dimly seen + the face which she now dimly saw again. + </p> +<p> + Firm of look and firm of purpose, she intently watched its coming on, + until it was very near; then, with a touch unshipped her sculls, and crept + aft in the boat, between kneeling and crouching. Once, she let the body + evade her, not being sure of her grasp. Twice, and she had seized it by + its bloody hair. + </p> +<p> + It was insensible, if not virtually dead; it was mutilated, and streaked + the water all about it with dark red streaks. As it could not help itself, + it was impossible for her to get it on board. She bent over the stern to + secure it with the line, and then the river and its shores rang to the + terrible cry she uttered. + </p> +<p> + But, as if possessed by supernatural spirit and strength, she lashed it + safe, resumed her seat, and rowed in, desperately, for the nearest shallow + water where she might run the boat aground. Desperately, but not wildly, + for she knew that if she lost distinctness of intention, all was lost and + gone. + </p> +<p> + She ran the boat ashore, went into the water, released him from the line, + and by main strength lifted him in her arms and laid him in the bottom of + the boat. He had fearful wounds upon him, and she bound them up with her + dress torn into strips. Else, supposing him to be still alive, she foresaw + that he must bleed to death before he could be landed at his inn, which + was the nearest place for succour. + </p> +<p> + This done very rapidly, she kissed his disfigured forehead, looked up in + anguish to the stars, and blessed him and forgave him, ‘if she had + anything to forgive.’ It was only in that instant that she thought of + herself, and then she thought of herself only for him. + </p> +<p> + Now, merciful Heaven be thanked for that old time, enabling me, without a + wasted moment, to have got the boat afloat again, and to row back against + the stream! And grant, O Blessed Lord God, that through poor me he may be + raised from death, and preserved to some one else to whom he may be dear + one day, though never dearer than to me! + </p> +<p> + She rowed hard—rowed desperately, but never wildly—and seldom + removed her eyes from him in the bottom of the boat. She had so laid him + there, as that she might see his disfigured face; it was so much + disfigured that his mother might have covered it, but it was above and + beyond disfigurement in her eyes. + </p> +<p> + The boat touched the edge of the patch of inn lawn, sloping gently to the + water. There were lights in the windows, but there chanced to be no one + out of doors. She made the boat fast, and again by main strength took him + up, and never laid him down until she laid him down in the house. + </p> +<p> + Surgeons were sent for, and she sat supporting his head. She had + oftentimes heard in days that were gone, how doctors would lift the hand + of an insensible wounded person, and would drop it if the person were + dead. She waited for the awful moment when the doctors might lift this + hand, all broken and bruised, and let it fall. + </p> +<p> + The first of the surgeons came, and asked, before proceeding to his + examination, ‘Who brought him in?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I brought him in, sir,’ answered Lizzie, at whom all present looked. + </p> +<p> + ‘You, my dear? You could not lift, far less carry, this weight.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think I could not, at another time, sir; but I am sure I did.’ + </p> +<p> + The surgeon looked at her with great attention, and with some compassion. + Having with a grave face touched the wounds upon the head, and the broken + arms, he took the hand. + </p> +<p> + O! would he let it drop? + </p> +<p> + He appeared irresolute. He did not retain it, but laid it gently down, + took a candle, looked more closely at the injuries on the head, and at the + pupils of the eyes. That done, he replaced the candle and took the hand + again. Another surgeon then coming in, the two exchanged a whisper, and + the second took the hand. Neither did he let it fall at once, but kept it + for a while and laid it gently down. + </p> +<p> + ‘Attend to the poor girl,’ said the first surgeon then. ‘She is quite + unconscious. She sees nothing and hears nothing. All the better for her! + Don’t rouse her, if you can help it; only move her. Poor girl, poor girl! + She must be amazingly strong of heart, but it is much to be feared that + she has set her heart upon the dead. Be gentle with her.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0057"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> +<h3> + BETTER TO BE ABEL THAN CAIN + </h3> +<p> + Day was breaking at Plashwater Weir Mill Lock. Stars were yet visible, but + there was dull light in the east that was not the light of night. The moon + had gone down, and a mist crept along the banks of the river, seen through + which the trees were the ghosts of trees, and the water was the ghost of + water. This earth looked spectral, and so did the pale stars: while the + cold eastern glare, expressionless as to heat or colour, with the eye of + the firmament quenched, might have been likened to the stare of the dead. + </p> +<p> + Perhaps it was so likened by the lonely Bargeman, standing on the brink of + the lock. For certain, Bradley Headstone looked that way, when a chill air + came up, and when it passed on murmuring, as if it whispered something + that made the phantom trees and water tremble—or threaten—for + fancy might have made it either. + </p> +<p> + He turned away, and tried the Lock-house door. It was fastened on the + inside. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is he afraid of me?’ he muttered, knocking. + </p> +<p> + Rogue Riderhood was soon roused, and soon undrew the bolt and let him in. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, T’otherest, I thought you had been and got lost! Two nights away! I + a’most believed as you’d giv’ me the slip, and I had as good as half a + mind for to advertise you in the newspapers to come for’ard.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley’s face turned so dark on this hint, that Riderhood deemed it + expedient to soften it into a compliment. + </p> +<p> + ‘But not you, governor, not you,’ he went on, stolidly shaking his head. + ‘For what did I say to myself arter having amused myself with that there + stretch of a comic idea, as a sort of a playful game? Why, I says to + myself; “He’s a man o’ honour.” That’s what I says to myself. “He’s a man + o’ double honour.”’ + </p> +<p> + Very remarkably, Riderhood put no question to him. He had looked at him on + opening the door, and he now looked at him again (stealthily this time), + and the result of his looking was, that he asked him no question. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’ll be for another forty on ’em, governor, as I judges, afore you + turns your mind to breakfast,’ said Riderhood, when his visitor sat down, + resting his chin on his hand, with his eyes on the ground. And very + remarkably again: Riderhood feigned to set the scanty furniture in order, + while he spoke, to have a show of reason for not looking at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I had better sleep, I think,’ said Bradley, without changing his + position. + </p> +<p> + ‘I myself should recommend it, governor,’ assented Riderhood. ‘Might you + be anyways dry?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I should like a drink,’ said Bradley; but without appearing to + attend much. + </p> +<p> + Mr Riderhood got out his bottle, and fetched his jug-full of water, and + administered a potation. Then, he shook the coverlet of his bed and spread + it smooth, and Bradley stretched himself upon it in the clothes he wore. + Mr Riderhood poetically remarking that he would pick the bones of his + night’s rest, in his wooden chair, sat in the window as before; but, as + before, watched the sleeper narrowly until he was very sound asleep. Then, + he rose and looked at him close, in the bright daylight, on every side, + with great minuteness. He went out to his Lock to sum up what he had seen. + </p> +<p> + ‘One of his sleeves is tore right away below the elber, and the t’other’s + had a good rip at the shoulder. He’s been hung on to, pretty tight, for + his shirt’s all tore out of the neck-gathers. He’s been in the grass and + he’s been in the water. And he’s spotted, and I know with what, and with + whose. Hooroar!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley slept long. Early in the afternoon a barge came down. Other barges + had passed through, both ways, before it; but the Lock-keeper hailed only + this particular barge, for news, as if he had made a time calculation with + some nicety. The men on board told him a piece of news, and there was a + lingering on their part to enlarge upon it. + </p> +<p> + Twelve hours had intervened since Bradley’s lying down, when he got up. + ‘Not that I swaller it,’ said Riderhood, squinting at his Lock, when he + saw Bradley coming out of the house, ‘as you’ve been a sleeping all the + time, old boy!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley came to him, sitting on his wooden lever, and asked what o’clock + it was? Riderhood told him it was between two and three. + </p> +<p> + ‘When are you relieved?’ asked Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘Day arter to-morrow, governor.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not sooner?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a inch sooner, governor.’ + </p> +<p> + On both sides, importance seemed attached to this question of relief. + Riderhood quite petted his reply; saying a second time, and prolonging a + negative roll of his head, ‘n—n—not a inch sooner, governor.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did I tell you I was going on to-night?’ asked Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, governor,’ returned Riderhood, in a cheerful, affable, and + conversational manner, ‘you did not tell me so. But most like you meant to + it and forgot to it. How, otherways, could a doubt have come into your + head about it, governor?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As the sun goes down, I intend to go on,’ said Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘So much the more necessairy is a Peck,’ returned Riderhood. ‘Come in and + have it, T’otherest.’ + </p> +<p> + The formality of spreading a tablecloth not being observed in Mr + Riderhood’s establishment, the serving of the ‘peck’ was the affair of a + moment; it merely consisting in the handing down of a capacious baking + dish with three-fourths of an immense meat pie in it, and the production + of two pocket-knives, an earthenware mug, and a large brown bottle of + beer. + </p> +<p> + Both ate and drank, but Riderhood much the more abundantly. In lieu of + plates, that honest man cut two triangular pieces from the thick crust of + the pie, and laid them, inside uppermost, upon the table: the one before + himself, and the other before his guest. Upon these platters he placed two + goodly portions of the contents of the pie, thus imparting the unusual + interest to the entertainment that each partaker scooped out the inside of + his plate, and consumed it with his other fare, besides having the sport + of pursuing the clots of congealed gravy over the plain of the table, and + successfully taking them into his mouth at last from the blade of his + knife, in case of their not first sliding off it. + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone was so remarkably awkward at these exercises, that the + Rogue observed it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look out, T’otherest!’ he cried, ‘you’ll cut your hand!’ + </p> +<p> + But, the caution came too late, for Bradley gashed it at the instant. And, + what was more unlucky, in asking Riderhood to tie it up, and in standing + close to him for the purpose, he shook his hand under the smart of the + wound, and shook blood over Riderhood’s dress. + </p> +<p> + When dinner was done, and when what remained of the platters and what + remained of the congealed gravy had been put back into what remained of + the pie, which served as an economical investment for all miscellaneous + savings, Riderhood filled the mug with beer and took a long drink. And now + he did look at Bradley, and with an evil eye. + </p> +<p> + ‘T’otherest!’ he said, hoarsely, as he bent across the table to touch his + arm. ‘The news has gone down the river afore you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What news?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who do you think,’ said Riderhood, with a hitch of his head, as if he + disdainfully jerked the feint away, ‘picked up the body? Guess.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not good at guessing anything.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘She did. Hooroar! You had him there agin. She did.’ + </p> +<p> + The convulsive twitching of Bradley Headstone’s face, and the sudden hot + humour that broke out upon it, showed how grimly the intelligence touched + him. But he said not a single word, good or bad. He only smiled in a + lowering manner, and got up and stood leaning at the window, looking + through it. Riderhood followed him with his eyes. Riderhood cast down his + eyes on his own besprinkled clothes. Riderhood began to have an air of + being better at a guess than Bradley owned to being. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have been so long in want of rest,’ said the schoolmaster, ‘that with + your leave I’ll lie down again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And welcome, T’otherest!’ was the hospitable answer of his host. He had + laid himself down without waiting for it, and he remained upon the bed + until the sun was low. When he arose and came out to resume his journey, + he found his host waiting for him on the grass by the towing-path outside + the door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Whenever it may be necessary that you and I should have any further + communication together,’ said Bradley, ‘I will come back. Good-night!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, since no better can be,’ said Riderhood, turning on his heel, + ‘Good-night!’ But he turned again as the other set forth, and added under + his breath, looking after him with a leer: ‘You wouldn’t be let to go like + that, if my Relief warn’t as good as come. I’ll catch you up in a mile.’ + </p> +<p> + In a word, his real time of relief being that evening at sunset, his mate + came lounging in, within a quarter of an hour. Not staying to fill up the + utmost margin of his time, but borrowing an hour or so, to be repaid again + when he should relieve his reliever, Riderhood straightway followed on the + track of Bradley Headstone. + </p> +<p> + He was a better follower than Bradley. It had been the calling of his life + to slink and skulk and dog and waylay, and he knew his calling well. He + effected such a forced march on leaving the Lock House that he was close + up with him—that is to say, as close up with him as he deemed it + convenient to be—before another Lock was passed. His man looked back + pretty often as he went, but got no hint of him. <i>He</i> knew how to take + advantage of the ground, and where to put the hedge between them, and + where the wall, and when to duck, and when to drop, and had a thousand + arts beyond the doomed Bradley’s slow conception. + </p> +<p> + But, all his arts were brought to a standstill, like himself when Bradley, + turning into a green lane or riding by the river-side—a solitary + spot run wild in nettles, briars, and brambles, and encumbered with the + scathed trunks of a whole hedgerow of felled trees, on the outskirts of a + little wood—began stepping on these trunks and dropping down among + them and stepping on them again, apparently as a schoolboy might have + done, but assuredly with no schoolboy purpose, or want of purpose. + </p> +<p> + ‘What are you up to?’ muttered Riderhood, down in the ditch, and holding + the hedge a little open with both hands. And soon his actions made a most + extraordinary reply. ‘By George and the Draggin!’ cried Riderhood, ‘if he + ain’t a going to bathe!’ + </p> +<p> + He had passed back, on and among the trunks of trees again, and has passed + on to the water-side and had begun undressing on the grass. For a moment + it had a suspicious look of suicide, arranged to counterfeit accident. + ‘But you wouldn’t have fetched a bundle under your arm, from among that + timber, if such was your game!’ said Riderhood. Nevertheless it was a + relief to him when the bather after a plunge and a few strokes came out. + ‘For I shouldn’t,’ he said in a feeling manner, ‘have liked to lose you + till I had made more money out of you neither.’ + </p> +<p> + Prone in another ditch (he had changed his ditch as his man had changed + his position), and holding apart so small a patch of the hedge that the + sharpest eyes could not have detected him, Rogue Riderhood watched the + bather dressing. And now gradually came the wonder that he stood up, + completely clothed, another man, and not the Bargeman. + </p> +<p> + ‘Aha!’ said Riderhood. ‘Much as you was dressed that night. I see. You’re + a taking me with you, now. You’re deep. But I knows a deeper.’ + </p> +<p> + When the bather had finished dressing, he kneeled on the grass, doing + something with his hands, and again stood up with his bundle under his + arm. Looking all around him with great attention, he then went to the + river’s edge, and flung it in as far, and yet as lightly as he could. It + was not until he was so decidedly upon his way again as to be beyond a + bend of the river and for the time out of view, that Riderhood scrambled + from the ditch. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ was his debate with himself ‘shall I foller you on, or shall I let + you loose for this once, and go a fishing?’ The debate continuing, he + followed, as a precautionary measure in any case, and got him again in + sight. ‘If I was to let you loose this once,’ said Riderhood then, still + following, ‘I could make you come to me agin, or I could find you out in + one way or another. If I wasn’t to go a fishing, others might.—I’ll + let you loose this once, and go a fishing!’ With that, he suddenly dropped + the pursuit and turned. + </p> +<p> + The miserable man whom he had released for the time, but not for long, + went on towards London. Bradley was suspicious of every sound he heard, + and of every face he saw, but was under a spell which very commonly falls + upon the shedder of blood, and had no suspicion of the real danger that + lurked in his life, and would have it yet. Riderhood was much in his + thoughts—had never been out of his thoughts since the + night-adventure of their first meeting; but Riderhood occupied a very + different place there, from the place of pursuer; and Bradley had been at + the pains of devising so many means of fitting that place to him, and of + wedging him into it, that his mind could not compass the possibility of + his occupying any other. And this is another spell against which the + shedder of blood for ever strives in vain. There are fifty doors by which + discovery may enter. With infinite pains and cunning, he double locks and + bars forty-nine of them, and cannot see the fiftieth standing wide open. + </p> +<p> + Now, too, was he cursed with a state of mind more wearing and more + wearisome than remorse. He had no remorse; but the evildoer who can hold + that avenger at bay, cannot escape the slower torture of incessantly doing + the evil deed again and doing it more efficiently. In the defensive + declarations and pretended confessions of murderers, the pursuing shadow + of this torture may be traced through every lie they tell. If I had done + it as alleged, is it conceivable that I would have made this and this + mistake? If I had done it as alleged, should I have left that unguarded + place which that false and wicked witness against me so infamously deposed + to? The state of that wretch who continually finds the weak spots in his + own crime, and strives to strengthen them when it is unchangeable, is a + state that aggravates the offence by doing the deed a thousand times + instead of once; but it is a state, too, that tauntingly visits the + offence upon a sullen unrepentant nature with its heaviest punishment + every time. + </p> +<p> + Bradley toiled on, chained heavily to the idea of his hatred and his + vengeance, and thinking how he might have satiated both in many better + ways than the way he had taken. The instrument might have been better, the + spot and the hour might have been better chosen. To batter a man down from + behind in the dark, on the brink of a river, was well enough, but he ought + to have been instantly disabled, whereas he had turned and seized his + assailant; and so, to end it before chance-help came, and to be rid of + him, he had been hurriedly thrown backward into the river before the life + was fully beaten out of him. Now if it could be done again, it must not be + so done. Supposing his head had been held down under water for a while. + Supposing the first blow had been truer. Supposing he had been shot. + Supposing he had been strangled. Suppose this way, that way, the other + way. Suppose anything but getting unchained from the one idea, for that + was inexorably impossible. + </p> +<p> + The school reopened next day. The scholars saw little or no change in + their master’s face, for it always wore its slowly labouring expression. + But, as he heard his classes, he was always doing the deed and doing it + better. As he paused with his piece of chalk at the black board before + writing on it, he was thinking of the spot, and whether the water was not + deeper and the fall straighter, a little higher up, or a little lower + down. He had half a mind to draw a line or two upon the board, and show + himself what he meant. He was doing it again and improving on the manner, + at prayers, in his mental arithmetic, all through his questioning, all + through the day. + </p> +<p> + Charley Hexam was a master now, in another school, under another head. It + was evening, and Bradley was walking in his garden observed from behind a + blind by gentle little Miss Peecher, who contemplated offering him a loan + of her smelling salts for headache, when Mary Anne, in faithful + attendance, held up her arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Young Mr Hexam, if you please, ma’am, coming to see Mr Headstone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good, Mary Anne.’ + </p> +<p> + Again Mary Anne held up her arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘You may speak, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone has beckoned young Mr Hexam into his house, ma’am, and he + has gone in himself without waiting for young Mr Hexam to come up, and now + <i>he</i> has gone in too, ma’am, and has shut the door.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With all my heart, Mary Anne.’ + </p> +<p> + Again Mary Anne’s telegraphic arm worked. + </p> +<p> + ‘What more, Mary Anne?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘They must find it rather dull and dark, Miss Peecher, for the parlour + blind’s down, and neither of them pulls it up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is no accounting,’ said good Miss Peecher with a little sad sigh + which she repressed by laying her hand on her neat methodical boddice, + ‘there is no accounting for tastes, Mary Anne.’ + </p> +<p> + Charley, entering the dark room, stopped short when he saw his old friend + in its yellow shade. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come in, Hexam, come in.’ + </p> +<p> + Charley advanced to take the hand that was held out to him; but stopped + again, short of it. The heavy, bloodshot eyes of the schoolmaster, rising + to his face with an effort, met his look of scrutiny. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone, what’s the matter?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Matter? Where?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Headstone, have you heard the news? This news about the fellow, Mr + Eugene Wrayburn? That he is killed?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He is dead, then!’ exclaimed Bradley. + </p> +<p> + Young Hexam standing looking at him, he moistened his lips with his + tongue, looked about the room, glanced at his former pupil, and looked + down. ‘I heard of the outrage,’ said Bradley, trying to constrain his + working mouth, ‘but I had not heard the end of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where were you,’ said the boy, advancing a step as he lowered his voice, + ‘when it was done? Stop! I don’t ask that. Don’t tell me. If you force + your confidence upon me, Mr Headstone, I’ll give up every word of it. + Mind! Take notice. I’ll give up it, and I’ll give up you. I will!’ + </p> +<p> + The wretched creature seemed to suffer acutely under this renunciation. A + desolate air of utter and complete loneliness fell upon him, like a + visible shade. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s for me to speak, not you,’ said the boy. ‘If you do, you’ll do it at + your peril. I am going to put your selfishness before you, Mr Headstone—your + passionate, violent, and ungovernable selfishness—to show you why I + can, and why I will, have nothing more to do with you.’ + </p> +<p> + He looked at young Hexam as if he were waiting for a scholar to go on with + a lesson that he knew by heart and was deadly tired of. But he had said + his last word to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you had any part—I don’t say what—in this attack,’ pursued + the boy; ‘or if you know anything about it—I don’t say how much—or + if you know who did it—I go no closer—you did an injury to me + that’s never to be forgiven. You know that I took you with me to his + chambers in the Temple when I told him my opinion of him, and made myself + responsible for my opinion of you. You know that I took you with me when I + was watching him with a view to recovering my sister and bringing her to + her senses; you know that I have allowed myself to be mixed up with you, + all through this business, in favouring your desire to marry my sister. + And how do you know that, pursuing the ends of your own violent temper, + you have not laid me open to suspicion? Is that your gratitude to me, Mr + Headstone?’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley sat looking steadily before him at the vacant air. As often as + young Hexam stopped, he turned his eyes towards him, as if he were waiting + for him to go on with the lesson, and get it done. As often as the boy + resumed, Bradley resumed his fixed face. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am going to be plain with you, Mr Headstone,’ said young Hexam, shaking + his head in a half-threatening manner, ‘because this is no time for + affecting not to know things that I do know—except certain things at + which it might not be very safe for you, to hint again. What I mean is + this: if you were a good master, I was a good pupil. I have done you + plenty of credit, and in improving my own reputation I have improved yours + quite as much. Very well then. Starting on equal terms, I want to put + before you how you have shown your gratitude to me, for doing all I could + to further your wishes with reference to my sister. You have compromised + me by being seen about with me, endeavouring to counteract this Mr Eugene + Wrayburn. That’s the first thing you have done. If my character, and my + now dropping you, help me out of that, Mr Headstone, the deliverance is to + be attributed to me, and not to you. No thanks to you for it!’ + </p> +<p> + The boy stopping again, he moved his eyes again. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am going on, Mr Headstone, don’t you be afraid. I am going on to the + end, and I have told you beforehand what the end is. Now, you know my + story. You are as well aware as I am, that I have had many disadvantages + to leave behind me in life. You have heard me mention my father, and you + are sufficiently acquainted with the fact that the home from which I, as I + may say, escaped, might have been a more creditable one than it was. My + father died, and then it might have been supposed that my way to + respectability was pretty clear. No. For then my sister begins.’ + </p> +<p> + He spoke as confidently, and with as entire an absence of any tell-tale + colour in his cheek, as if there were no softening old time behind him. + Not wonderful, for there <i>was </i>none in his hollow empty heart. What is there + but self, for selfishness to see behind it? + </p> +<p> + ‘When I speak of my sister, I devoutly wish that you had never seen her, + Mr Headstone. However, you did see her, and that’s useless now. I confided + in you about her. I explained her character to you, and how she interposed + some ridiculous fanciful notions in the way of our being as respectable as + I tried for. You fell in love with her, and I favoured you with all my + might. She could not be induced to favour you, and so we came into + collision with this Mr Eugene Wrayburn. Now, what have you done? Why, you + have justified my sister in being firmly set against you from first to + last, and you have put me in the wrong again! And why have you done it? + Because, Mr Headstone, you are in all your passions so selfish, and so + concentrated upon yourself that you have not bestowed one proper thought + on me.’ + </p> +<p> + The cool conviction with which the boy took up and held his position, + could have been derived from no other vice in human nature. + </p> +<p> + ‘It is,’ he went on, actually with tears, ‘an extraordinary circumstance + attendant on my life, that every effort I make towards perfect + respectability, is impeded by somebody else through no fault of mine! Not + content with doing what I have put before you, you will drag my name into + notoriety through dragging my sister’s—which you are pretty sure to + do, if my suspicions have any foundation at all—and the worse you + prove to be, the harder it will be for me to detach myself from being + associated with you in people’s minds.’ + </p> +<p> + When he had dried his eyes and heaved a sob over his injuries, he began + moving towards the door. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0673m " src="images/0673m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0673m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0673.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4669564120201524759"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘However, I have made up my mind that I will become respectable in the + scale of society, and that I will not be dragged down by others. I have + done with my sister as well as with you. Since she cares so little for me + as to care nothing for undermining my respectability, she shall go her way + and I will go mine. My prospects are very good, and I mean to follow them + alone. Mr Headstone, I don’t say what you have got upon your conscience, + for I don’t know. Whatever lies upon it, I hope you will see the justice + of keeping wide and clear of me, and will find a consolation in completely + exonerating all but yourself. I hope, before many years are out, to + succeed the master in my present school, and the mistress being a single + woman, though some years older than I am, I might even marry her. If it is + any comfort to you to know what plans I may work out by keeping myself + strictly respectable in the scale of society, these are the plans at + present occurring to me. In conclusion, if you feel a sense of having + injured me, and a desire to make some small reparation, I hope you will + think how respectable you might have been yourself and will contemplate + your blighted existence.’ + </p> +<p> + Was it strange that the wretched man should take this heavily to heart? + Perhaps he had taken the boy to heart, first, through some long laborious + years; perhaps through the same years he had found his drudgery lightened + by communication with a brighter and more apprehensive spirit than his + own; perhaps a family resemblance of face and voice between the boy and + his sister, smote him hard in the gloom of his fallen state. For + whichsoever reason, or for all, he drooped his devoted head when the boy + was gone, and shrank together on the floor, and grovelled there, with the + palms of his hands tight-clasping his hot temples, in unutterable misery, + and unrelieved by a single tear. + </p> +<p> + Rogue Riderhood had been busy with the river that day. He had fished with + assiduity on the previous evening, but the light was short, and he had + fished unsuccessfully. He had fished again that day with better luck, and + had carried his fish home to Plashwater Weir Mill Lock-house, in a bundle. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0058"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> +<h3> + A FEW GRAINS OF PEPPER + </h3> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker went no more to the business-premises of Pubsey and + Co. in St Mary Axe, after chance had disclosed to her (as she supposed) + the flinty and hypocritical character of Mr Riah. She often moralized over + her work on the tricks and the manners of that venerable cheat, but made + her little purchases elsewhere, and lived a secluded life. After much + consultation with herself, she decided not to put Lizzie Hexam on her + guard against the old man, arguing that the disappointment of finding him + out would come upon her quite soon enough. Therefore, in her communication + with her friend by letter, she was silent on this theme, and principally + dilated on the backslidings of her bad child, who every day grew worse and + worse. + </p> +<p> + ‘You wicked old boy,’ Miss Wren would say to him, with a menacing + forefinger, ‘you’ll force me to run away from you, after all, you will; + and then you’ll shake to bits, and there’ll be nobody to pick up the + pieces!’ + </p> +<p> + At this foreshadowing of a desolate decease, the wicked old boy would + whine and whimper, and would sit shaking himself into the lowest of low + spirits, until such time as he could shake himself out of the house and + shake another threepennyworth into himself. But dead drunk or dead sober + (he had come to such a pass that he was least alive in the latter state), + it was always on the conscience of the paralytic scarecrow that he had + betrayed his sharp parent for sixty threepennyworths of rum, which were + all gone, and that her sharpness would infallibly detect his having done + it, sooner or later. All things considered therefore, and addition made of + the state of his body to the state of his mind, the bed on which Mr Dolls + reposed was a bed of roses from which the flowers and leaves had entirely + faded, leaving him to lie upon the thorns and stalks. + </p> +<p> + On a certain day, Miss Wren was alone at her work, with the house-door set + open for coolness, and was trolling in a small sweet voice a mournful + little song which might have been the song of the doll she was dressing, + bemoaning the brittleness and meltability of wax, when whom should she + descry standing on the pavement, looking in at her, but Mr Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought it was you?’ said Fledgeby, coming up the two steps. + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you?’ Miss Wren retorted. ‘And I thought it was you, young man. Quite + a coincidence. You’re not mistaken, and I’m not mistaken. How clever we + are!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, and how are you?’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am pretty much as usual, sir,’ replied Miss Wren. ‘A very unfortunate + parent, worried out of my life and senses by a very bad child.’ + </p> +<p> + Fledgeby’s small eyes opened so wide that they might have passed for + ordinary-sized eyes, as he stared about him for the very young person whom + he supposed to be in question. + </p> +<p> + ‘But you’re not a parent,’ said Miss Wren, ‘and consequently it’s of no + use talking to you upon a family subject.—To what am I to attribute + the honour and favour?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To a wish to improve your acquaintance,’ Mr Fledgeby replied. + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren, stopping to bite her thread, looked at him very knowingly. + </p> +<p> + ‘We never meet now,’ said Fledgeby; ‘do we?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Miss Wren, chopping off the word. + </p> +<p> + ‘So I had a mind,’ pursued Fledgeby, ‘to come and have a talk with you + about our dodging friend, the child of Israel.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So <i>he</i> gave you my address; did he?’ asked Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘I got it out of him,’ said Fledgeby, with a stammer. + </p> +<p> + ‘You seem to see a good deal of him,’ remarked Miss Wren, with shrewd + distrust. ‘A good deal of him you seem to see, considering.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I do,’ said Fledgeby. ‘Considering.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Haven’t you,’ inquired the dressmaker, bending over the doll on which her + art was being exercised, ‘done interceding with him yet?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Fledgeby, shaking his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘La! Been interceding with him all this time, and sticking to him still?’ + said Miss Wren, busy with her work. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sticking to him is the word,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren pursued her occupation with a concentrated air, and asked, after + an interval of silent industry: + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you in the army?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not exactly,’ said Fledgeby, rather flattered by the question. + </p> +<p> + ‘Navy?’ asked Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘N—no,’ said Fledgeby. He qualified these two negatives, as if he + were not absolutely in either service, but was almost in both. + </p> +<p> + ‘What are you then?’ demanded Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am a gentleman, I am,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ assented Jenny, screwing up her mouth with an appearance of + conviction. ‘Yes, to be sure! That accounts for your having so much time + to give to interceding. But only to think how kind and friendly a + gentleman you must be!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby found that he was skating round a board marked Dangerous, and + had better cut out a fresh track. ‘Let’s get back to the dodgerest of the + dodgers,’ said he. ‘What’s he up to in the case of your friend the + handsome gal? He must have some object. What’s his object?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cannot undertake to say, sir, I am sure!’ returned Miss Wren, composedly. + </p> +<p> + ‘He won’t acknowledge where she’s gone,’ said Fledgeby; ‘and I have a + fancy that I should like to have another look at her. Now I know he knows + where she is gone.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Cannot undertake to say, sir, I am sure!’ Miss Wren again rejoined. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you know where she is gone,’ hazarded Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘Cannot undertake to say, sir, really,’ replied Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + The quaint little chin met Mr Fledgeby’s gaze with such a baffling hitch, + that that agreeable gentleman was for some time at a loss how to resume + his fascinating part in the dialogue. At length he said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Miss Jenny!—That’s your name, if I don’t mistake?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Probably you don’t mistake, sir,’ was Miss Wren’s cool answer; ‘because + you had it on the best authority. Mine, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Miss Jenny! Instead of coming up and being dead, let’s come out and look + alive. It’ll pay better, I assure you,’ said Fledgeby, bestowing an + inveigling twinkle or two upon the dressmaker. ‘You’ll find it pay + better.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps,’ said Miss Jenny, holding out her doll at arm’s length, and + critically contemplating the effect of her art with her scissors on her + lips and her head thrown back, as if her interest lay there, and not in + the conversation; ‘perhaps you’ll explain your meaning, young man, which + is Greek to me.—You must have another touch of blue in your + trimming, my dear.’ Having addressed the last remark to her fair client, + Miss Wren proceeded to snip at some blue fragments that lay before her, + among fragments of all colours, and to thread a needle from a skein of + blue silk. + </p> +<p> + ‘Look here,’ said Fledgeby.—‘Are you attending?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am attending, sir,’ replied Miss Wren, without the slightest appearance + of so doing. ‘Another touch of blue in your trimming, my dear.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, look here,’ said Fledgeby, rather discouraged by the circumstances + under which he found himself pursuing the conversation. ‘If you’re + attending—’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Light blue, my sweet young lady,’ remarked Miss Wren, in a sprightly + tone, ‘being best suited to your fair complexion and your flaxen curls.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘I say, if you’re attending,’ proceeded Fledgeby, ‘it’ll pay better in + this way. It’ll lead in a roundabout manner to your buying damage and + waste of Pubsey and Co. at a nominal price, or even getting it for + nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Aha!’ thought the dressmaker. ‘But you are not so roundabout, Little + Eyes, that I don’t notice your answering for Pubsey and Co. after all! + Little Eyes, Little Eyes, you’re too cunning by half.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I take it for granted,’ pursued Fledgeby, ‘that to get the most of + your materials for nothing would be well worth your while, Miss Jenny?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You may take it for granted,’ returned the dressmaker with many knowing + nods, ‘that it’s always well worth my while to make money.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Fledgeby approvingly, ‘you’re answering to a sensible purpose. + Now, you’re coming out and looking alive! So I make so free, Miss Jenny, + as to offer the remark, that you and Judah were too thick together to + last. You can’t come to be intimate with such a deep file as Judah without + beginning to see a little way into him, you know,’ said Fledgeby with a + wink. + </p> +<p> + ‘I must own,’ returned the dressmaker, with her eyes upon her work, ‘that + we are not good friends at present.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know you’re not good friends at present,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I know all + about it. I should like to pay off Judah, by not letting him have his own + deep way in everything. In most things he’ll get it by hook or by crook, + but—hang it all!—don’t let him have his own deep way in + everything. That’s too much.’ Mr Fledgeby said this with some display of + indignant warmth, as if he was counsel in the cause for Virtue. + </p> +<p> + ‘How can I prevent his having his own way?’ began the dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘Deep way, I called it,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘—His own deep way, in anything?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell you,’ said Fledgeby. ‘I like to hear you ask it, because it’s + looking alive. It’s what I should expect to find in one of your sagacious + understanding. Now, candidly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eh?’ cried Miss Jenny. + </p> +<p> + ‘I said, now candidly,’ Mr Fledgeby explained, a little put out. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh-h!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be glad to countermine him, respecting the handsome gal, your + friend. He means something there. You may depend upon it, Judah means + something there. He has a motive, and of course his motive is a dark + motive. Now, whatever his motive is, it’s necessary to his motive’—Mr + Fledgeby’s constructive powers were not equal to the avoidance of some + tautology here—‘that it should be kept from me, what he has done + with her. So I put it to you, who know: What <i>has </i>he done with her? I ask + no more. And is that asking much, when you understand that it will pay?’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Jenny Wren, who had cast her eyes upon the bench again after her last + interruption, sat looking at it, needle in hand but not working, for some + moments. She then briskly resumed her work, and said with a sidelong + glance of her eyes and chin at Mr Fledgeby: + </p> +<p> + ‘Where d’ye live?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Albany, Piccadilly,’ replied Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘When are you at home?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When you like.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Breakfast-time?’ said Jenny, in her abruptest and shortest manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘No better time in the day,’ said Fledgeby. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll look in upon you to-morrow, young man. Those two ladies,’ pointing + to dolls, ‘have an appointment in Bond Street at ten precisely. When I’ve + dropped ’em there, I’ll drive round to you.’ With a weird little laugh, + Miss Jenny pointed to her crutch-stick as her equipage. + </p> +<p> + ‘This is looking alive indeed!’ cried Fledgeby, rising. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mark you! I promise you nothing,’ said the dolls’ dressmaker, dabbing two + dabs at him with her needle, as if she put out both his eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘No no. I understand,’ returned Fledgeby. ‘The damage and waste question + shall be settled first. It shall be made to pay; don’t you be afraid. + Good-day, Miss Jenny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good-day, young man.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby’s prepossessing form withdrew itself; and the little + dressmaker, clipping and snipping and stitching, and stitching and + snipping and clipping, fell to work at a great rate; musing and muttering + all the time. + </p> +<p> + ‘Misty, misty, misty. Can’t make it out. Little Eyes and the wolf in a + conspiracy? Or Little Eyes and the wolf against one another? Can’t make it + out. My poor Lizzie, have they both designs against you, either way? Can’t + make it out. Is Little Eyes Pubsey, and the wolf Co? Can’t make it out. + Pubsey true to Co, and Co to Pubsey? Pubsey false to Co, and Co to Pubsey? + Can’t make it out. What said Little Eyes? “Now, candidly?” Ah! However the + cat jumps, <i>he’s</i> a liar. That’s all I can make out at present; but you may + go to bed in the Albany, Piccadilly, with <i>that </i>for your pillow, young + man!’ Thereupon, the little dressmaker again dabbed out his eyes + separately, and making a loop in the air of her thread and deftly catching + it into a knot with her needle, seemed to bowstring him into the bargain. + </p> +<p> + For the terrors undergone by Mr Dolls that evening when his little parent + sat profoundly meditating over her work, and when he imagined himself + found out, as often as she changed her attitude, or turned her eyes + towards him, there is no adequate name. Moreover it was her habit to shake + her head at that wretched old boy whenever she caught his eye as he + shivered and shook. What are popularly called ‘the trembles’ being in full + force upon him that evening, and likewise what are popularly called ‘the + horrors,’ he had a very bad time of it; which was not made better by his + being so remorseful as frequently to moan ‘Sixty threepennorths.’ This + imperfect sentence not being at all intelligible as a confession, but + sounding like a Gargantuan order for a dram, brought him into new + difficulties by occasioning his parent to pounce at him in a more than + usually snappish manner, and to overwhelm him with bitter reproaches. + </p> +<p> + What was a bad time for Mr Dolls, could not fail to be a bad time for the + dolls’ dressmaker. However, she was on the alert next morning, and drove + to Bond Street, and set down the two ladies punctually, and then directed + her equipage to conduct her to the Albany. Arrived at the doorway of the + house in which Mr Fledgeby’s chambers were, she found a lady standing + there in a travelling dress, holding in her hand—of all things in + the world—a gentleman’s hat. + </p> +<p> + ‘You want some one?’ said the lady in a stern manner. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am going up stairs to Mr Fledgeby’s.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You cannot do that at this moment. There is a gentleman with him. I am + waiting for the gentleman. His business with Mr Fledgeby will very soon be + transacted, and then you can go up. Until the gentleman comes down, you + must wait here.’ + </p> +<p> + While speaking, and afterwards, the lady kept watchfully between her and + the staircase, as if prepared to oppose her going up, by force. The lady + being of a stature to stop her with a hand, and looking mightily + determined, the dressmaker stood still. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well? Why do you listen?’ asked the lady. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am not listening,’ said the dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you hear?’ asked the lady, altering her phrase. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it a kind of a spluttering somewhere?’ said the dressmaker, with an + inquiring look. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Fledgeby in his shower-bath, perhaps,’ remarked the lady, smiling. + </p> +<p> + ‘And somebody’s beating a carpet, I think?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Fledgeby’s carpet, I dare say,’ replied the smiling lady. + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren had a reasonably good eye for smiles, being well accustomed to + them on the part of her young friends, though their smiles mostly ran + smaller than in nature. But she had never seen so singular a smile as that + upon this lady’s face. It twitched her nostrils open in a remarkable + manner, and contracted her lips and eyebrows. It was a smile of enjoyment + too, though of such a fierce kind that Miss Wren thought she would rather + not enjoy herself than do it in that way. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ said the lady, watching her. ‘What now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope there’s nothing the matter!’ said the dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘Where?’ inquired the lady. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know where,’ said Miss Wren, staring about her. ‘But I never + heard such odd noises. Don’t you think I had better call somebody?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think you had better not,’ returned the lady with a significant frown, + and drawing closer. + </p> +<p> + On this hint, the dressmaker relinquished the idea, and stood looking at + the lady as hard as the lady looked at her. Meanwhile the dressmaker + listened with amazement to the odd noises which still continued, and the + lady listened too, but with a coolness in which there was no trace of + amazement. + </p> +<p> + Soon afterwards, came a slamming and banging of doors; and then came + running down stairs, a gentleman with whiskers, and out of breath, who + seemed to be red-hot. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is your business done, Alfred?’ inquired the lady. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very thoroughly done,’ replied the gentleman, as he took his hat from + her. + </p> +<p> + ‘You can go up to Mr Fledgeby as soon as you like,’ said the lady, moving + haughtily away. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! And you can take these three pieces of stick with you,’ added the + gentleman politely, ‘and say, if you please, that they come from Mr Alfred + Lammle, with his compliments on leaving England. Mr Alfred Lammle. Be so + good as not to forget the name.’ + </p> +<p> + The three pieces of stick were three broken and frayed fragments of a + stout lithe cane. Miss Jenny taking them wonderingly, and the gentleman + repeating with a grin, ‘Mr Alfred Lammle, if you’ll be so good. + Compliments, on leaving England,’ the lady and gentleman walked away quite + deliberately, and Miss Jenny and her crutch-stick went up stairs. ‘Lammle, + Lammle, Lammle?’ Miss Jenny repeated as she panted from stair to stair, + ‘where have I heard that name? Lammle, Lammle? I know! Saint Mary Axe!’ + </p> +<p> + With a gleam of new intelligence in her sharp face, the dolls’ dressmaker + pulled at Fledgeby’s bell. No one answered; but, from within the chambers, + there proceeded a continuous spluttering sound of a highly singular and + unintelligible nature. + </p> +<p> + ‘Good gracious! Is Little Eyes choking?’ cried Miss Jenny. + </p> +<p> + Pulling at the bell again and getting no reply, she pushed the outer door, + and found it standing ajar. No one being visible on her opening it wider, + and the spluttering continuing, she took the liberty of opening an inner + door, and then beheld the extraordinary spectacle of Mr Fledgeby in a + shirt, a pair of Turkish trousers, and a Turkish cap, rolling over and + over on his own carpet, and spluttering wonderfully. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh Lord!’ gasped Mr Fledgeby. ‘Oh my eye! Stop thief! I am strangling. + Fire! Oh my eye! A glass of water. Give me a glass of water. Shut the + door. Murder! Oh Lord!’ And then rolled and spluttered more than ever. + </p> +<p> + Hurrying into another room, Miss Jenny got a glass of water, and brought + it for Fledgeby’s relief: who, gasping, spluttering, and rattling in his + throat betweenwhiles, drank some water, and laid his head faintly on her + arm. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my eye!’ cried Fledgeby, struggling anew. ‘It’s salt and snuff. It’s + up my nose, and down my throat, and in my wind-pipe. Ugh! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ah—h—h—h!’ + And here, crowing fearfully, with his eyes starting out of his head, + appeared to be contending with every mortal disease incidental to poultry. + </p> +<p> + ‘And Oh my Eye, I’m so sore!’ cried Fledgeby, starting, over on his back, + in a spasmodic way that caused the dressmaker to retreat to the wall. ‘Oh + I smart so! Do put something to my back and arms, and legs and shoulders. + Ugh! It’s down my throat again and can’t come up. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ah—h—h—h! + Oh I smart so!’ Here Mr Fledgeby bounded up, and bounded down, and went + rolling over and over again. + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker looked on until he rolled himself into a corner with + his Turkish slippers uppermost, and then, resolving in the first place to + address her ministration to the salt and snuff, gave him more water and + slapped his back. But, the latter application was by no means a success, + causing Mr Fledgeby to scream, and to cry out, ‘Oh my eye! don’t slap me! + I’m covered with weales and I smart so!’ + </p> +<p> + However, he gradually ceased to choke and crow, saving at intervals, and + Miss Jenny got him into an easy-chair: where, with his eyes red and + watery, with his features swollen, and with some half-dozen livid bars + across his face, he presented a most rueful sight. + </p> +<p> + ‘What ever possessed you to take salt and snuff, young man?’ inquired Miss + Jenny. + </p> +<p> + ‘I didn’t take it,’ the dismal youth replied. ‘It was crammed into my + mouth.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who crammed it?’ asked Miss Jenny. + </p> +<p> + ‘He did,’ answered Fledgeby. ‘The assassin. Lammle. He rubbed it into my + mouth and up my nose and down my throat—Ow! Ow! Ow! Ah—h—h—h! + Ugh!—to prevent my crying out, and then cruelly assaulted me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With this?’ asked Miss Jenny, showing the pieces of cane. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s the weapon,’ said Fledgeby, eyeing it with the air of an + acquaintance. ‘He broke it over me. Oh I smart so! How did you come by + it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When he ran down stairs and joined the lady he had left in the hall with + his hat’—Miss Jenny began. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ groaned Mr Fledgeby, writhing, ‘she was holding his hat, was she? I + might have known she was in it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When he came down stairs and joined the lady who wouldn’t let me come up, + he gave me the pieces for you, and I was to say, “With Mr Alfred Lammle’s + compliments on his leaving England.”’ Miss Jenny said it with such + spiteful satisfaction, and such a hitch of her chin and eyes as might have + added to Mr Fledgeby’s miseries, if he could have noticed either, in his + bodily pain with his hand to his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Shall I go for the police?’ inquired Miss Jenny, with a nimble start + towards the door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Stop! No, don’t!’ cried Fledgeby. ‘Don’t, please. We had better keep it + quiet. Will you be so good as shut the door? Oh I do smart so!’ + </p> +<p> + In testimony of the extent to which he smarted, Mr Fledgeby came wallowing + out of the easy-chair, and took another roll on the carpet. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now the door’s shut,’ said Mr Fledgeby, sitting up in anguish, with his + Turkish cap half on and half off, and the bars on his face getting bluer, + ‘do me the kindness to look at my back and shoulders. They must be in an + awful state, for I hadn’t got my dressing-gown on, when the brute came + rushing in. Cut my shirt away from the collar; there’s a pair of scissors + on that table. Oh!’ groaned Mr Fledgeby, with his hand to his head again. + ‘How I do smart, to be sure!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There?’ inquired Miss Jenny, alluding to the back and shoulders. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh Lord, yes!’ moaned Fledgeby, rocking himself. ‘And all over! + Everywhere!’ + </p> +<p> + The busy little dressmaker quickly snipped the shirt away, and laid bare + the results of as furious and sound a thrashing as even Mr Fledgeby + merited. ‘You may well smart, young man!’ exclaimed Miss Jenny. And + stealthily rubbed her little hands behind him, and poked a few exultant + pokes with her two forefingers over the crown of his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you think of vinegar and brown paper?’ inquired the suffering + Fledgeby, still rocking and moaning. ‘Does it look as if vinegar and brown + paper was the sort of application?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ said Miss Jenny, with a silent chuckle. ‘It looks as if it ought to + be Pickled.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby collapsed under the word ‘Pickled,’ and groaned again. ‘My + kitchen is on this floor,’ he said; ‘you’ll find brown paper in a + dresser-drawer there, and a bottle of vinegar on a shelf. Would you have + the kindness to make a few plasters and put ’em on? It can’t be kept too + quiet.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘One, two—hum—five, six. You’ll want six,’ said the + dress-maker. + </p> +<p> + ‘There’s smart enough,’ whimpered Mr Fledgeby, groaning and writhing + again, ‘for sixty.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Jenny repaired to the kitchen, scissors in hand, found the brown + paper and found the vinegar, and skilfully cut out and steeped six large + plasters. When they were all lying ready on the dresser, an idea occurred + to her as she was about to gather them up. + </p> +<p> + ‘I think,’ said Miss Jenny with a silent laugh, ‘he ought to have a little + pepper? Just a few grains? I think the young man’s tricks and manners make + a claim upon his friends for a little pepper?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Fledgeby’s evil star showing her the pepper-box on the chimneypiece, + she climbed upon a chair, and got it down, and sprinkled all the plasters + with a judicious hand. She then went back to Mr Fledgeby, and stuck them + all on him: Mr Fledgeby uttering a sharp howl as each was put in its + place. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, young man!’ said the dolls’ dressmaker. ‘Now I hope you feel + pretty comfortable?’ + </p> +<p> + Apparently, Mr Fledgeby did not, for he cried by way of answer, ‘Oh—h + how I do smart!’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Jenny got his Persian gown upon him, extinguished his eyes crookedly + with his Persian cap, and helped him to his bed: upon which he climbed + groaning. ‘Business between you and me being out of the question to-day, + young man, and my time being precious,’ said Miss Jenny then, ‘I’ll make + myself scarce. Are you comfortable now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh my eye!’ cried Mr Fledgeby. ‘No, I ain’t. Oh—h—h! how I do + smart!’ + </p> +<p> + The last thing Miss Jenny saw, as she looked back before closing the room + door, was Mr Fledgeby in the act of plunging and gambolling all over his + bed, like a porpoise or dolphin in its native element. She then shut the + bedroom door, and all the other doors, and going down stairs and emerging + from the Albany into the busy streets, took omnibus for Saint Mary Axe: + pressing on the road all the gaily-dressed ladies whom she could see from + the window, and making them unconscious lay-figures for dolls, while she + mentally cut them out and basted them. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0059"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 9 + </h2> +<h3> + TWO PLACES VACATED + </h3> +<p> + Set down by the omnibus at the corner of Saint Mary Axe, and trusting to + her feet and her crutch-stick within its precincts, the dolls’ dressmaker + proceeded to the place of business of Pubsey and Co. All there was sunny + and quiet externally, and shady and quiet internally. Hiding herself in + the entry outside the glass door, she could see from that post of + observation the old man in his spectacles sitting writing at his desk. + </p> +<p> + ‘Boh!’ cried the dressmaker, popping in her head at the glass-door. ‘Mr + Wolf at home?’ + </p> +<p> + The old man took his glasses off, and mildly laid them down beside him. + ‘Ah Jenny, is it you? I thought you had given me up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And so I had given up the treacherous wolf of the forest,’ she replied; + ‘but, godmother, it strikes me you have come back. I am not quite sure, + because the wolf and you change forms. I want to ask you a question or + two, to find out whether you are really godmother or really wolf. May I?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Jenny, yes.’ But Riah glanced towards the door, as if he thought his + principal might appear there, unseasonably. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you’re afraid of the fox,’ said Miss Jenny, ‘you may dismiss all + present expectations of seeing that animal. <i>He</i> won’t show himself abroad, + for many a day.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you mean, my child?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean, godmother,’ replied Miss Wren, sitting down beside the Jew, ‘that + the fox has caught a famous flogging, and that if his skin and bones are + not tingling, aching, and smarting at this present instant, no fox did + ever tingle, ache, and smart.’ Therewith Miss Jenny related what had come + to pass in the Albany, omitting the few grains of pepper. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, godmother,’ she went on, ‘I particularly wish to ask you what has + taken place here, since I left the wolf here? Because I have an idea about + the size of a marble, rolling about in my little noddle. First and + foremost, are you Pubsey and Co., or are you either? Upon your solemn word + and honour.’ + </p> +<p> + The old man shook his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘Secondly, isn’t Fledgeby both Pubsey and Co.?’ + </p> +<p> + The old man answered with a reluctant nod. + </p> +<p> + ‘My idea,’ exclaimed Miss Wren, ‘is now about the size of an orange. But + before it gets any bigger, welcome back, dear godmother!’ + </p> +<p> + The little creature folded her arms about the old man’s neck with great + earnestness, and kissed him. ‘I humbly beg your forgiveness, godmother. I + am truly sorry. I ought to have had more faith in you. But what could I + suppose when you said nothing for yourself, you know? I don’t mean to + offer that as a justification, but what could I suppose, when you were a + silent party to all he said? It did look bad; now didn’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It looked so bad, Jenny,’ responded the old man, with gravity, ‘that I + will straightway tell you what an impression it wrought upon me. I was + hateful in mine own eyes. I was hateful to myself, in being so hateful to + the debtor and to you. But more than that, and worse than that, and to + pass out far and broad beyond myself—I reflected that evening, + sitting alone in my garden on the housetop, that I was doing dishonour to + my ancient faith and race. I reflected—clearly reflected for the + first time—that in bending my neck to the yoke I was willing to + wear, I bent the unwilling necks of the whole Jewish people. For it is + not, in Christian countries, with the Jews as with other peoples. Men say, + “This is a bad Greek, but there are good Greeks. This is a bad Turk, but + there are good Turks.” Not so with the Jews. Men find the bad among us + easily enough—among what peoples are the bad not easily found?—but + they take the worst of us as samples of the best; they take the lowest of + us as presentations of the highest; and they say “All Jews are alike.” If, + doing what I was content to do here, because I was grateful for the past + and have small need of money now, I had been a Christian, I could have + done it, compromising no one but my individual self. But doing it as a + Jew, I could not choose but compromise the Jews of all conditions and all + countries. It is a little hard upon us, but it is the truth. I would that + all our people remembered it! Though I have little right to say so, seeing + that it came home so late to me.’ + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker sat holding the old man by the hand, and looking + thoughtfully in his face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thus I reflected, I say, sitting that evening in my garden on the + housetop. And passing the painful scene of that day in review before me + many times, I always saw that the poor gentleman believed the story + readily, because I was one of the Jews—that you believed the story + readily, my child, because I was one of the Jews—that the story + itself first came into the invention of the originator thereof, because I + was one of the Jews. This was the result of my having had you three before + me, face to face, and seeing the thing visibly presented as upon a + theatre. Wherefore I perceived that the obligation was upon me to leave + this service. But Jenny, my dear,’ said Riah, breaking off, ‘I promised + that you should pursue your questions, and I obstruct them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘On the contrary, godmother; my idea is as large now as a pumpkin—and + <i>you </i>know what a pumpkin is, don’t you? So you gave notice that you were + going? Does that come next?’ asked Miss Jenny with a look of close + attention. + </p> +<p> + ‘I indited a letter to my master. Yes. To that effect.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And what said Tingling-Tossing-Aching-Screaming-Scratching-Smarter?’ + asked Miss Wren with an unspeakable enjoyment in the utterance of those + honourable titles and in the recollection of the pepper. + </p> +<p> + ‘He held me to certain months of servitude, which were his lawful term of + notice. They expire to-morrow. Upon their expiration—not before—I + had meant to set myself right with my Cinderella.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My idea is getting so immense now,’ cried Miss Wren, clasping her + temples, ‘that my head won’t hold it! Listen, godmother; I am going to + expound. Little Eyes (that’s Screaming-Scratching-Smarter) owes you a + heavy grudge for going. Little Eyes casts about how best to pay you off. + Little Eyes thinks of Lizzie. Little Eyes says to himself, “I’ll find out + where he has placed that girl, and I’ll betray his secret because it’s + dear to him.” Perhaps Little Eyes thinks, “I’ll make love to her myself + too;” but that I can’t swear—all the rest I can. So, Little Eyes + comes to me, and I go to Little Eyes. That’s the way of it. And now the + murder’s all out, I’m sorry,’ added the dolls’ dressmaker, rigid from head + to foot with energy as she shook her little fist before her eyes, ‘that I + didn’t give him Cayenne pepper and chopped pickled Capsicum!’ + </p> +<p> + This expression of regret being but partially intelligible to Mr Riah, the + old man reverted to the injuries Fledgeby had received, and hinted at the + necessity of his at once going to tend that beaten cur. + </p> +<p> + ‘Godmother, godmother, godmother!’ cried Miss Wren irritably, ‘I really + lose all patience with you. One would think you believed in the Good + Samaritan. How can you be so inconsistent?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Jenny dear,’ began the old man gently, ‘it is the custom of our people to + help—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! Bother your people!’ interposed Miss Wren, with a toss of her head. + ‘If your people don’t know better than to go and help Little Eyes, it’s a + pity they ever got out of Egypt. Over and above that,’ she added, ‘he + wouldn’t take your help if you offered it. Too much ashamed. Wants to keep + it close and quiet, and to keep you out of the way.’ + </p> +<p> + They were still debating this point when a shadow darkened the entry, and + the glass door was opened by a messenger who brought a letter + unceremoniously addressed, ‘Riah.’ To which he said there was an answer + wanted. + </p> +<p> + The letter, which was scrawled in pencil uphill and downhill and round + crooked corners, ran thus: + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>Old Riah,</i> +</p> +<p> + Your accounts being all squared, go. Shut up the place, turn out directly, + and send me the key by bearer. Go. You are an unthankful dog of a Jew. Get + out. + </p> +<p> + F.’ + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker found it delicious to trace the screaming and + smarting of Little Eyes in the distorted writing of this epistle. She + laughed over it and jeered at it in a convenient corner (to the great + astonishment of the messenger) while the old man got his few goods + together in a black bag. That done, the shutters of the upper windows + closed, and the office blind pulled down, they issued forth upon the steps + with the attendant messenger. There, while Miss Jenny held the bag, the + old man locked the house door, and handed over the key to him; who at once + retired with the same. + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, godmother,’ said Miss Wren, as they remained upon the steps + together, looking at one another. ‘And so you’re thrown upon the world!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It would appear so, Jenny, and somewhat suddenly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where are you going to seek your fortune?’ asked Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + The old man smiled, but looked about him with a look of having lost his + way in life, which did not escape the dolls’ dressmaker. + </p> +<p> + ‘Verily, Jenny,’ said he, ‘the question is to the purpose, and more easily + asked than answered. But as I have experience of the ready goodwill and + good help of those who have given occupation to Lizzie, I think I will + seek them out for myself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘On foot?’ asked Miss Wren, with a chop. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay!’ said the old man. ‘Have I not my staff?’ + </p> +<p> + It was exactly because he had his staff, and presented so quaint an + aspect, that she mistrusted his making the journey. + </p> +<p> + ‘The best thing you can do,’ said Jenny, ‘for the time being, at all + events, is to come home with me, godmother. Nobody’s there but my bad + child, and Lizzie’s lodging stands empty.’ The old man when satisfied that + no inconvenience could be entailed on any one by his compliance, readily + complied; and the singularly-assorted couple once more went through the + streets together. + </p> +<p> + Now, the bad child having been strictly charged by his parent to remain at + home in her absence, of course went out; and, being in the very last stage + of mental decrepitude, went out with two objects; firstly, to establish a + claim he conceived himself to have upon any licensed victualler living, to + be supplied with threepennyworth of rum for nothing; and secondly, to + bestow some maudlin remorse on Mr Eugene Wrayburn, and see what profit + came of it. Stumblingly pursuing these two designs—they both meant + rum, the only meaning of which he was capable—the degraded creature + staggered into Covent Garden Market and there bivouacked, to have an + attack of the trembles succeeded by an attack of the horrors, in a + doorway. + </p> +<p> + This market of Covent Garden was quite out of the creature’s line of road, + but it had the attraction for him which it has for the worst of the + solitary members of the drunken tribe. It may be the companionship of the + nightly stir, or it may be the companionship of the gin and beer that slop + about among carters and hucksters, or it may be the companionship of the + trodden vegetable refuse which is so like their own dress that perhaps + they take the Market for a great wardrobe; but be it what it may, you + shall see no such individual drunkards on doorsteps anywhere, as there. Of + dozing women-drunkards especially, you shall come upon such specimens + there, in the morning sunlight, as you might seek out of doors in vain + through London. Such stale vapid rejected cabbage-leaf and cabbage-stalk + dress, such damaged-orange countenance, such squashed pulp of humanity, + are open to the day nowhere else. So, the attraction of the Market drew Mr + Dolls to it, and he had out his two fits of trembles and horrors in a + doorway on which a woman had had out her sodden nap a few hours before. + </p> +<p> + There is a swarm of young savages always flitting about this same place, + creeping off with fragments of orange-chests, and mouldy litter—Heaven + knows into what holes they can convey them, having no home!—whose + bare feet fall with a blunt dull softness on the pavement as the policeman + hunts them, and who are (perhaps for that reason) little heard by the + Powers that be, whereas in top-boots they would make a deafening clatter. + These, delighting in the trembles and the horrors of Mr Dolls, as in a + gratuitous drama, flocked about him in his doorway, butted at him, leaped + at him, and pelted him. Hence, when he came out of his invalid retirement + and shook off that ragged train, he was much bespattered, and in worse + case than ever. But, not yet at his worst; for, going into a public-house, + and being supplied in stress of business with his rum, and seeking to + vanish without payment, he was collared, searched, found penniless, and + admonished not to try that again, by having a pail of dirty water cast + over him. This application superinduced another fit of the trembles; after + which Mr Dolls, as finding himself in good cue for making a call on a + professional friend, addressed himself to the Temple. + </p> +<p> + There was nobody at the chambers but Young Blight. That discreet youth, + sensible of a certain incongruity in the association of such a client with + the business that might be coming some day, with the best intentions + temporized with Dolls, and offered a shilling for coach-hire home. Mr + Dolls, accepting the shilling, promptly laid it out in two + threepennyworths of conspiracy against his life, and two threepennyworths + of raging repentance. Returning to the Chambers with which burden, he was + descried coming round into the court, by the wary young Blight watching + from the window: who instantly closed the outer door, and left the + miserable object to expend his fury on the panels. + </p> +<p> + The more the door resisted him, the more dangerous and imminent became + that bloody conspiracy against his life. Force of police arriving, he + recognized in them the conspirators, and laid about him hoarsely, + fiercely, staringly, convulsively, foamingly. A humble machine, familiar + to the conspirators and called by the expressive name of Stretcher, being + unavoidably sent for, he was rendered a harmless bundle of torn rags by + being strapped down upon it, with voice and consciousness gone out of him, + and life fast going. As this machine was borne out at the Temple gate by + four men, the poor little dolls’ dressmaker and her Jewish friend were + coming up the street. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let us see what it is,’ cried the dressmaker. ‘Let us make haste and + look, godmother.’ + </p> +<p> + The brisk little crutch-stick was but too brisk. ‘O gentlemen, gentlemen, + he belongs to me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Belongs to you?’ said the head of the party, stopping it. + </p> +<p> + ‘O yes, dear gentlemen, he’s my child, out without leave. My poor bad, bad + boy! and he don’t know me, he don’t know me! O what shall I do,’ cried the + little creature, wildly beating her hands together, ‘when my own child + don’t know me!’ + </p> +<p> + The head of the party looked (as well he might) to the old man for + explanation. He whispered, as the dolls’ dressmaker bent over the + exhausted form and vainly tried to extract some sign of recognition from + it: ‘It’s her drunken father.’ + </p> +<p> + As the load was put down in the street, Riah drew the head of the party + aside, and whispered that he thought the man was dying. ‘No, surely not?’ + returned the other. But he became less confident, on looking, and directed + the bearers to ‘bring him to the nearest doctor’s shop.’ + </p> +<p> + Thither he was brought; the window becoming from within, a wall of faces, + deformed into all kinds of shapes through the agency of globular red + bottles, green bottles, blue bottles, and other coloured bottles. A + ghastly light shining upon him that he didn’t need, the beast so furious + but a few minutes gone, was quiet enough now, with a strange mysterious + writing on his face, reflected from one of the great bottles, as if Death + had marked him: ‘Mine.’ + </p> +<p> + The medical testimony was more precise and more to the purpose than it + sometimes is in a Court of Justice. ‘You had better send for something to + cover it. All’s over.’ + </p> +<p> + Therefore, the police sent for something to cover it, and it was covered + and borne through the streets, the people falling away. After it, went the + dolls’ dressmaker, hiding her face in the Jewish skirts, and clinging to + them with one hand, while with the other she plied her stick. It was + carried home, and, by reason that the staircase was very narrow, it was + put down in the parlour—the little working-bench being set aside to + make room for it—and there, in the midst of the dolls with no + speculation in their eyes, lay Mr Dolls with no speculation in his. + </p> +<p> + Many flaunting dolls had to be gaily dressed, before the money was in the + dressmaker’s pocket to get mourning for Mr Dolls. As the old man, Riah, + sat by, helping her in such small ways as he could, he found it difficult + to make out whether she really did realize that the deceased had been her + father. + </p> +<p> + ‘If my poor boy,’ she would say, ‘had been brought up better, he might + have done better. Not that I reproach myself. I hope I have no cause for + that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘None indeed, Jenny, I am very certain.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, godmother. It cheers me to hear you say so. But you see it is + so hard to bring up a child well, when you work, work, work, all day. When + he was out of employment, I couldn’t always keep him near me. He got + fractious and nervous, and I was obliged to let him go into the streets. + And he never did well in the streets, he never did well out of sight. How + often it happens with children!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Too often, even in this sad sense!’ thought the old man. + </p> +<p> + ‘How can I say what I might have turned out myself, but for my back having + been so bad and my legs so queer, when I was young!’ the dressmaker would + go on. ‘I had nothing to do but work, and so I worked. I couldn’t play. + But my poor unfortunate child could play, and it turned out the worse for + him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And not for him alone, Jenny.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well! I don’t know, godmother. He suffered heavily, did my unfortunate + boy. He was very, very ill sometimes. And I called him a quantity of + names;’ shaking her head over her work, and dropping tears. ‘I don’t know + that his going wrong was much the worse for me. If it ever was, let us + forget it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a good girl, you are a patient girl.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As for patience,’ she would reply with a shrug, ‘not much of that, + godmother. If I had been patient, I should never have called him names. + But I hope I did it for his good. And besides, I felt my responsibility as + a mother, so much. I tried reasoning, and reasoning failed. I tried + coaxing, and coaxing failed. I tried scolding and scolding failed. But I + was bound to try everything, you know, with such a charge upon my hands. + Where would have been my duty to my poor lost boy, if I had not tried + everything!’ + </p> +<p> + With such talk, mostly in a cheerful tone on the part of the industrious + little creature, the day-work and the night-work were beguiled until + enough of smart dolls had gone forth to bring into the kitchen, where the + working-bench now stood, the sombre stuff that the occasion required, and + to bring into the house the other sombre preparations. ‘And now,’ said + Miss Jenny, ‘having knocked off my rosy-cheeked young friends, I’ll knock + off my white-cheeked self.’ This referred to her making her own dress, + which at last was done. ‘The disadvantage of making for yourself,’ said + Miss Jenny, as she stood upon a chair to look at the result in the glass, + ‘is, that you can’t charge anybody else for the job, and the advantage is, + that you haven’t to go out to try on. Humph! Very fair indeed! If He could + see me now (whoever he is) I hope he wouldn’t repent of his bargain!’ + </p> +<p> + The simple arrangements were of her own making, and were stated to Riah + thus: + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean to go alone, godmother, in my usual carriage, and you’ll be so + kind as keep house while I am gone. It’s not far off. And when I return, + we’ll have a cup of tea, and a chat over future arrangements. It’s a very + plain last house that I have been able to give my poor unfortunate boy; + but he’ll accept the will for the deed if he knows anything about it; and + if he doesn’t know anything about it,’ with a sob, and wiping her eyes, + ‘why, it won’t matter to him. I see the service in the Prayer-book says, + that we brought nothing into this world and it is certain we can take + nothing out. It comforts me for not being able to hire a lot of stupid + undertaker’s things for my poor child, and seeming as if I was trying to + smuggle ’em out of this world with him, when of course I must break down + in the attempt, and bring ’em all back again. As it is, there’ll be + nothing to bring back but me, and that’s quite consistent, for I shan’t be + brought back, some day!’ + </p> +<p> + After that previous carrying of him in the streets, the wretched old + fellow seemed to be twice buried. He was taken on the shoulders of half a + dozen blossom-faced men, who shuffled with him to the churchyard, and who + were preceded by another blossom-faced man, affecting a stately stalk, as + if he were a Policeman of the D(eath) Division, and ceremoniously + pretending not to know his intimate acquaintances, as he led the pageant. + Yet, the spectacle of only one little mourner hobbling after, caused many + people to turn their heads with a look of interest. + </p> +<p> + At last the troublesome deceased was got into the ground, to be buried no + more, and the stately stalker stalked back before the solitary dressmaker, + as if she were bound in honour to have no notion of the way home. Those + Furies, the conventionalities, being thus appeased, he left her. + </p> +<p> + ‘I must have a very short cry, godmother, before I cheer up for good,’ + said the little creature, coming in. ‘Because after all a child is a + child, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + It was a longer cry than might have been expected. Howbeit, it wore itself + out in a shadowy corner, and then the dressmaker came forth, and washed + her face, and made the tea. ‘You wouldn’t mind my cutting out something + while we are at tea, would you?’ she asked her Jewish friend, with a + coaxing air. + </p> +<p> + ‘Cinderella, dear child,’ the old man expostulated, ‘will you never rest?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! It’s not work, cutting out a pattern isn’t,’ said Miss Jenny, with + her busy little scissors already snipping at some paper. ‘The truth is, + godmother, I want to fix it while I have it correct in my mind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Have you seen it to-day then?’ asked Riah. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, godmother. Saw it just now. It’s a surplice, that’s what it is. + Thing our clergymen wear, you know,’ explained Miss Jenny, in + consideration of his professing another faith. + </p> +<p> + ‘And what have you to do with that, Jenny?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, godmother,’ replied the dressmaker, ‘you must know that we + Professors who live upon our taste and invention, are obliged to keep our + eyes always open. And you know already that I have many extra expenses to + meet just now. So, it came into my head while I was weeping at my poor + boy’s grave, that something in my way might be done with a clergyman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What can be done?’ asked the old man. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0693m " src="images/0693m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0693m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0693.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7967542046622950345"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Not a funeral, never fear!’ returned Miss Jenny, anticipating his + objection with a nod. ‘The public don’t like to be made melancholy, I know + very well. I am seldom called upon to put my young friends into mourning; + not into real mourning, that is; Court mourning they are rather proud of. + But a doll clergyman, my dear,—glossy black curls and whiskers—uniting + two of my young friends in matrimony,’ said Miss Jenny, shaking her + forefinger, ‘is quite another affair. If you don’t see those three at the + altar in Bond Street, in a jiffy, my name’s Jack Robinson!’ + </p> +<p> + With her expert little ways in sharp action, she had got a doll into + whitey-brown paper orders, before the meal was over, and was displaying it + for the edification of the Jewish mind, when a knock was heard at the + street-door. Riah went to open it, and presently came back, ushering in, + with the grave and courteous air that sat so well upon him, a gentleman. + </p> +<p> + The gentleman was a stranger to the dressmaker; but even in the moment of + his casting his eyes upon her, there was something in his manner which + brought to her remembrance Mr Eugene Wrayburn. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me,’ said the gentleman. ‘You are the dolls’ dressmaker?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am the dolls’ dressmaker, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie Hexam’s friend?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Miss Jenny, instantly on the defensive. ‘And Lizzie + Hexam’s friend.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Here is a note from her, entreating you to accede to the request of Mr + Mortimer Lightwood, the bearer. Mr Riah chances to know that I am Mr + Mortimer Lightwood, and will tell you so.’ + </p> +<p> + Riah bent his head in corroboration. + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you read the note?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s very short,’ said Jenny, with a look of wonder, when she had read + it. + </p> +<p> + ‘There was no time to make it longer. Time was so very precious. My dear + friend Mr Eugene Wrayburn is dying.’ + </p> +<p> + The dressmaker clasped her hands, and uttered a little piteous cry. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is dying,’ repeated Lightwood, with emotion, ‘at some distance from here. + He is sinking under injuries received at the hands of a villain who + attacked him in the dark. I come straight from his bedside. He is almost + always insensible. In a short restless interval of sensibility, or partial + sensibility, I made out that he asked for you to be brought to sit by him. + Hardly relying on my own interpretation of the indistinct sounds he made, + I caused Lizzie to hear them. We were both sure that he asked for you.’ + </p> +<p> + The dressmaker, with her hands still clasped, looked affrightedly from the + one to the other of her two companions. + </p> +<p> + ‘If you delay, he may die with his request ungratified, with his last wish—intrusted + to me—we have long been much more than brothers—unfulfilled. I + shall break down, if I try to say more.’ + </p> +<p> + In a few moments the black bonnet and the crutch-stick were on duty, the + good Jew was left in possession of the house, and the dolls’ dressmaker, + side by side in a chaise with Mortimer Lightwood, was posting out of town. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0060"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 10 + </h2> +<h3> + THE DOLLS’ DRESSMAKER DISCOVERS A WORD + </h3> +<p> + A darkened and hushed room; the river outside the windows flowing on to + the vast ocean; a figure on the bed, swathed and bandaged and bound, lying + helpless on its back, with its two useless arms in splints at its sides. + Only two days of usage so familiarized the little dressmaker with this + scene, that it held the place occupied two days ago by the recollections + of years. + </p> +<p> + He had scarcely moved since her arrival. Sometimes his eyes were open, + sometimes closed. When they were open, there was no meaning in their + unwinking stare at one spot straight before them, unless for a moment the + brow knitted into a faint expression of anger, or surprise. Then, Mortimer + Lightwood would speak to him, and on occasions he would be so far roused + as to make an attempt to pronounce his friend’s name. But, in an instant + consciousness was gone again, and no spirit of Eugene was in Eugene’s + crushed outer form. + </p> +<p> + They provided Jenny with materials for plying her work, and she had a + little table placed at the foot of his bed. Sitting there, with her rich + shower of hair falling over the chair-back, they hoped she might attract + his notice. With the same object, she would sing, just above her breath, + when he opened his eyes, or she saw his brow knit into that faint + expression, so evanescent that it was like a shape made in water. But as + yet he had not heeded. The ‘they’ here mentioned were the medical + attendant; Lizzie, who was there in all her intervals of rest; and + Lightwood, who never left him. + </p> +<p> + The two days became three, and the three days became four. At length, + quite unexpectedly, he said something in a whisper. + </p> +<p> + ‘What was it, my dear Eugene?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will you, Mortimer—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will I—? + </p> +<p> + —‘Send for her?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear fellow, she is here.’ + </p> +<p> + Quite unconscious of the long blank, he supposed that they were still + speaking together. + </p> +<p> + The little dressmaker stood up at the foot of the bed, humming her song, + and nodded to him brightly. ‘I can’t shake hands, Jenny,’ said Eugene, + with something of his old look; ‘but I am very glad to see you.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer repeated this to her, for it could only be made out by bending + over him and closely watching his attempts to say it. In a little while, + he added: + </p> +<p> + ‘Ask her if she has seen the children.’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer could not understand this, neither could Jenny herself, until he + added: + </p> +<p> + ‘Ask her if she has smelt the flowers.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! I know!’ cried Jenny. ‘I understand him now!’ Then, Lightwood yielded + his place to her quick approach, and she said, bending over the bed, with + that better look: ‘You mean my long bright slanting rows of children, who + used to bring me ease and rest? You mean the children who used to take me + up, and make me light?’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene smiled, ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have not seen them since I saw you. I never see them now, but I am + hardly ever in pain now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was a pretty fancy,’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘But I have heard my birds sing,’ cried the little creature, ‘and I have + smelt my flowers. Yes, indeed I have! And both were most beautiful and + most Divine!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Stay and help to nurse me,’ said Eugene, quietly. ‘I should like you to + have the fancy here, before I die.’ + </p> +<p> + She touched his lips with her hand, and shaded her eyes with that same + hand as she went back to her work and her little low song. He heard the + song with evident pleasure, until she allowed it gradually to sink away + into silence. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mortimer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you can give me anything to keep me here for only a few minutes—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To keep you here, Eugene?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘To prevent my wandering away I don’t know where—for I begin to be + sensible that I have just come back, and that I shall lose myself again—do + so, dear boy!’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer gave him such stimulants as could be given him with safety (they + were always at hand, ready), and bending over him once more, was about to + caution him, when he said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t tell me not to speak, for I must speak. If you knew the harassing + anxiety that gnaws and wears me when I am wandering in those places—where + are those endless places, Mortimer? They must be at an immense distance!’ + </p> +<p> + He saw in his friend’s face that he was losing himself; for he added after + a moment: ‘Don’t be afraid—I am not gone yet. What was it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You wanted to tell me something, Eugene. My poor dear fellow, you wanted + to say something to your old friend—to the friend who has always + loved you, admired you, imitated you, founded himself upon you, been + nothing without you, and who, God knows, would be here in your place if he + could!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tut, tut!’ said Eugene with a tender glance as the other put his hand + before his face. ‘I am not worth it. I acknowledge that I like it, dear + boy, but I am not worth it. This attack, my dear Mortimer; this murder—’ + </p> +<p> + His friend leaned over him with renewed attention, saying: ‘You and I + suspect some one.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘More than suspect. But, Mortimer, while I lie here, and when I lie here + no longer, I trust to you that the perpetrator is never brought to + justice.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Her innocent reputation would be ruined, my friend. She would be + punished, not he. I have wronged her enough in fact; I have wronged her + still more in intention. You recollect what pavement is said to be made of + good intentions. It is made of bad intentions too. Mortimer, I am lying on + it, and I know!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Be comforted, my dear Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will, when you have promised me. Dear Mortimer, the man must never be + pursued. If he should be accused, you must keep him silent and save him. + Don’t think of avenging me; think only of hushing the story and protecting + her. You can confuse the case, and turn aside the circumstances. Listen to + what I say to you. It was not the schoolmaster, Bradley Headstone. Do you + hear me? Twice; it was not the schoolmaster, Bradley Headstone. Do you + hear me? Three times; it was not the schoolmaster, Bradley Headstone.’ + </p> +<p> + He stopped, exhausted. His speech had been whispered, broken, and + indistinct; but by a great effort he had made it plain enough to be + unmistakeable. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear fellow, I am wandering away. Stay me for another moment, if you + can.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood lifted his head at the neck, and put a wine-glass to his lips. + He rallied. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know how long ago it was done, whether weeks, days, or hours. No + matter. There is inquiry on foot, and pursuit. Say! Is there not?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Check it; divert it! Don’t let her be brought in question. Shield her. + The guilty man, brought to justice, would poison her name. Let the guilty + man go unpunished. Lizzie and my reparation before all! Promise me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, I do. I promise you!’ + </p> +<p> + In the act of turning his eyes gratefully towards his friend, he wandered + away. His eyes stood still, and settled into that former intent unmeaning + stare. + </p> +<p> + Hours and hours, days and nights, he remained in this same condition. + There were times when he would calmly speak to his friend after a long + period of unconsciousness, and would say he was better, and would ask for + something. Before it could be given him, he would be gone again. + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker, all softened compassion now, watched him with an + earnestness that never relaxed. She would regularly change the ice, or the + cooling spirit, on his head, and would keep her ear at the pillow + betweenwhiles, listening for any faint words that fell from him in his + wanderings. It was amazing through how many hours at a time she would + remain beside him, in a crouching attitude, attentive to his slightest + moan. As he could not move a hand, he could make no sign of distress; but, + through this close watching (if through no secret sympathy or power) the + little creature attained an understanding of him that Lightwood did not + possess. Mortimer would often turn to her, as if she were an interpreter + between this sentient world and the insensible man; and she would change + the dressing of a wound, or ease a ligature, or turn his face, or alter + the pressure of the bedclothes on him, with an absolute certainty of doing + right. The natural lightness and delicacy of touch which had become very + refined by practice in her miniature work, no doubt was involved in this; + but her perception was at least as fine. + </p> +<p> + The one word, Lizzie, he muttered millions of times. In a certain phase of + his distressful state, which was the worst to those who tended him, he + would roll his head upon the pillow, incessantly repeating the name in a + hurried and impatient manner, with the misery of a disturbed mind, and the + monotony of a machine. Equally, when he lay still and staring, he would + repeat it for hours without cessation, but then, always in a tone of + subdued warning and horror. Her presence and her touch upon his breast or + face would often stop this, and then they learned to expect that he would + for some time remain still, with his eyes closed, and that he would be + conscious on opening them. But, the heavy disappointment of their hope—revived + by the welcome silence of the room—was, that his spirit would glide + away again and be lost, in the moment of their joy that it was there. + </p> +<p> + This frequent rising of a drowning man from the deep, to sink again, was + dreadful to the beholders. But, gradually the change stole upon him that + it became dreadful to himself. His desire to impart something that was on + his mind, his unspeakable yearning to have speech with his friend and make + a communication to him, so troubled him when he recovered consciousness, + that its term was thereby shortened. As the man rising from the deep would + disappear the sooner for fighting with the water, so he in his desperate + struggle went down again. + </p> +<p> + One afternoon when he had been lying still, and Lizzie, unrecognized, had + just stolen out of the room to pursue her occupation, he uttered + Lightwood’s name. + </p> +<p> + ‘My dear Eugene, I am here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How long is this to last, Mortimer?’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood shook his head. ‘Still, Eugene, you are no worse than you were.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I know there’s no hope. Yet I pray it may last long enough for you to + do me one last service, and for me to do one last action. Keep me here a + few moments, Mortimer. Try, try!’ + </p> +<p> + His friend gave him what aid he could, and encouraged him to believe that + he was more composed, though even then his eyes were losing the expression + they so rarely recovered. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hold me here, dear fellow, if you can. Stop my wandering away. I am + going!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not yet, not yet. Tell me, dear Eugene, what is it I shall do?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Keep me here for only a single minute. I am going away again. Don’t let + me go. Hear me speak first. Stop me—stop me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My poor Eugene, try to be calm.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do try. I try so hard. If you only knew how hard! Don’t let me wander + till I have spoken. Give me a little more wine.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood complied. Eugene, with a most pathetic struggle against the + unconsciousness that was coming over him, and with a look of appeal that + affected his friend profoundly, said: + </p> +<p> + ‘You can leave me with Jenny, while you speak to her and tell her what I + beseech of her. You can leave me with Jenny, while you are gone. There’s + not much for you to do. You won’t be long away.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no, no. But tell me what it is that I shall do, Eugene!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am going! You can’t hold me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tell me in a word, Eugene!’ + </p> +<p> + His eyes were fixed again, and the only word that came from his lips was + the word millions of times repeated. Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie. + </p> +<p> + But, the watchful little dressmaker had been vigilant as ever in her + watch, and she now came up and touched Lightwood’s arm as he looked down + at his friend, despairingly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hush!’ she said, with her finger on her lips. ‘His eyes are closing. + He’ll be conscious when he next opens them. Shall I give you a leading + word to say to him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O Jenny, if you could only give me the right word!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can. Stoop down.’ + </p> +<p> + He stooped, and she whispered in his ear. She whispered in his ear one + short word of a single syllable. Lightwood started, and looked at her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Try it,’ said the little creature, with an excited and exultant face. She + then bent over the unconscious man, and, for the first time, kissed him on + the cheek, and kissed the poor maimed hand that was nearest to her. Then, + she withdrew to the foot of the bed. + </p> +<p> + Some two hours afterwards, Mortimer Lightwood saw his consciousness come + back, and instantly, but very tranquilly, bent over him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t speak, Eugene. Do no more than look at me, and listen to me. You + follow what I say.’ + </p> +<p> + He moved his head in assent. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am going on from the point where we broke off. Is the word we should + soon have come to—is it—Wife?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O God bless you, Mortimer!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hush! Don’t be agitated. Don’t speak. Hear me, dear Eugene. Your mind + will be more at peace, lying here, if you make Lizzie your wife. You wish + me to speak to her, and tell her so, and entreat her to be your wife. You + ask her to kneel at this bedside and be married to you, that your + reparation may be complete. Is that so?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. God bless you! Yes.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It shall be done, Eugene. Trust it to me. I shall have to go away for + some few hours, to give effect to your wishes. You see this is + unavoidable?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear friend, I said so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘True. But I had not the clue then. How do you think I got it?’ + </p> +<p> + Glancing wistfully around, Eugene saw Miss Jenny at the foot of the bed, + looking at him with her elbows on the bed, and her head upon her hands. + There was a trace of his whimsical air upon him, as he tried to smile at + her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes indeed,’ said Lightwood, ‘the discovery was hers. Observe my dear + Eugene; while I am away you will know that I have discharged my trust with + Lizzie, by finding her here, in my present place at your bedside, to leave + you no more. A final word before I go. This is the right course of a true + man, Eugene. And I solemnly believe, with all my soul, that if Providence + should mercifully restore you to us, you will be blessed with a noble wife + in the preserver of your life, whom you will dearly love.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Amen. I am sure of that. But I shall not come through it, Mortimer.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You will not be the less hopeful or less strong, for this, Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. Touch my face with yours, in case I should not hold out till you come + back. I love you, Mortimer. Don’t be uneasy for me while you are gone. If + my dear brave girl will take me, I feel persuaded that I shall live long + enough to be married, dear fellow.’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Jenny gave up altogether on this parting taking place between the + friends, and sitting with her back towards the bed in the bower made by + her bright hair, wept heartily, though noiselessly. Mortimer Lightwood was + soon gone. As the evening light lengthened the heavy reflections of the + trees in the river, another figure came with a soft step into the sick + room. + </p> +<p> + ‘Is he conscious?’ asked the little dressmaker, as the figure took its + station by the pillow. For, Jenny had given place to it immediately, and + could not see the sufferer’s face, in the dark room, from her new and + removed position. + </p> +<p> + ‘He is conscious, Jenny,’ murmured Eugene for himself. ‘He knows his + wife.’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0061"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 11 + </h2> +<h3> + EFFECT IS GIVEN TO THE DOLLS’ DRESSMAKER’S DISCOVERY + </h3> +<p> + Mrs John Rokesmith sat at needlework in her neat little room, beside a + basket of neat little articles of clothing, which presented so much of the + appearance of being in the dolls’ dressmaker’s way of business, that one + might have supposed she was going to set up in opposition to Miss Wren. + Whether the Complete British Family Housewife had imparted sage counsel + anent them, did not appear, but probably not, as that cloudy oracle was + nowhere visible. For certain, however, Mrs John Rokesmith stitched at them + with so dexterous a hand, that she must have taken lessons of somebody. + Love is in all things a most wonderful teacher, and perhaps love (from a + pictorial point of view, with nothing on but a thimble), had been teaching + this branch of needlework to Mrs John Rokesmith. + </p> +<p> + It was near John’s time for coming home, but as Mrs John was desirous to + finish a special triumph of her skill before dinner, she did not go out to + meet him. Placidly, though rather consequentially smiling, she sat + stitching away with a regular sound, like a sort of dimpled little + charming Dresden-china clock by the very best maker. + </p> +<p> + A knock at the door, and a ring at the bell. Not John; or Bella would have + flown out to meet him. Then who, if not John? Bella was asking herself the + question, when that fluttering little fool of a servant fluttered in, + saying, ‘Mr Lightwood!’ + </p> +<p> + Oh good gracious! + </p> +<p> + Bella had but time to throw a handkerchief over the basket, when Mr + Lightwood made his bow. There was something amiss with Mr Lightwood, for + he was strangely grave and looked ill. + </p> +<p> + With a brief reference to the happy time when it had been his privilege to + know Mrs Rokesmith as Miss Wilfer, Mr Lightwood explained what was amiss + with him and why he came. He came bearing Lizzie Hexam’s earnest hope that + Mrs John Rokesmith would see her married. + </p> +<p> + Bella was so fluttered by the request, and by the short narrative he had + feelingly given her, that there never was a more timely smelling-bottle + than John’s knock. ‘My husband,’ said Bella; ‘I’ll bring him in.’ + </p> +<p> + But, that turned out to be more easily said than done; for, the instant + she mentioned Mr Lightwood’s name, John stopped, with his hand upon the + lock of the room door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come up stairs, my darling.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella was amazed by the flush in his face, and by his sudden turning away. + ‘What can it mean?’ she thought, as she accompanied him up stairs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, my life,’ said John, taking her on his knee, ‘tell me all about it.’ + </p> +<p> + All very well to say, ‘Tell me all about it;’ but John was very much + confused. His attention evidently trailed off, now and then, even while + Bella told him all about it. Yet she knew that he took a great interest in + Lizzie and her fortunes. What could it mean? + </p> +<p> + ‘You will come to this marriage with me, John dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘N—no, my love; I can’t do that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t do that, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my dear, it’s quite out of the question. Not to be thought of.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Am I to go alone, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, my dear, you will go with Mr Lightwood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you think it’s time we went down to Mr Lightwood, John dear?’ Bella + insinuated. + </p> +<p> + ‘My darling, it’s almost time you went, but I must ask you to excuse me to + him altogether.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You never mean, John dear, that you are not going to see him? Why, he + knows you have come home. I told him so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a little unfortunate, but it can’t be helped. Unfortunate or + fortunate, I positively cannot see him, my love.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella cast about in her mind what could be his reason for this + unaccountable behaviour; as she sat on his knee looking at him in + astonishment and pouting a little. A weak reason presented itself. + </p> +<p> + ‘John dear, you never can be jealous of Mr Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, my precious child,’ returned her husband, laughing outright: ‘how + could I be jealous of him? Why should I be jealous of him?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Because, you know, John,’ pursued Bella, pouting a little more, ‘though + he did rather admire me once, it was not my fault.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It was your fault that I admired you,’ returned her husband, with a look + of pride in her, ‘and why not your fault that he admired you? But, I + jealous on that account? Why, I must go distracted for life, if I turned + jealous of every one who used to find my wife beautiful and winning!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am half angry with you, John dear,’ said Bella, laughing a little, ‘and + half pleased with you; because you are such a stupid old fellow, and yet + you say nice things, as if you meant them. Don’t be mysterious, sir. What + harm do you know of Mr Lightwood?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘None, my love.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What has he ever done to you, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He has never done anything to me, my dear. I know no more against him + than I know against Mr Wrayburn; he has never done anything to me; neither + has Mr Wrayburn. And yet I have exactly the same objection to both of + them.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, John!’ retorted Bella, as if she were giving him up for a bad job, as + she used to give up herself. ‘You are nothing better than a sphinx! And a + married sphinx isn’t a—isn’t a nice confidential husband,’ said + Bella, in a tone of injury. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bella, my life,’ said John Rokesmith, touching her cheek, with a grave + smile, as she cast down her eyes and pouted again; ‘look at me. I want to + speak to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In earnest, Blue Beard of the secret chamber?’ asked Bella, clearing her + pretty face. + </p> +<p> + ‘In earnest. And I confess to the secret chamber. Don’t you remember that + you asked me not to declare what I thought of your higher qualities until + you had been tried?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, John dear. And I fully meant it, and I fully mean it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The time will come, my darling—I am no prophet, but I say so,—when + you <i>will </i>be tried. The time will come, I think, when you will undergo a + trial through which you will never pass quite triumphantly for me, unless + you can put perfect faith in me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you may be sure of me, John dear, for I can put perfect faith in + you, and I do, and I always, always will. Don’t judge me by a little thing + like this, John. In little things, I am a little thing myself—I + always was. But in great things, I hope not; I don’t mean to boast, John + dear, but I hope not!’ + </p> +<p> + He was even better convinced of the truth of what she said than she was, + as he felt her loving arms about him. If the Golden Dustman’s riches had + been his to stake, he would have staked them to the last farthing on the + fidelity through good and evil of her affectionate and trusting heart. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I’ll go down to, and go away with, Mr Lightwood,’ said Bella, + springing up. ‘You are the most creasing and tumbling Clumsy-Boots of a + packer, John, that ever was; but if you’re quite good, and will promise + never to do so any more (though I don’t know what you have done!) you may + pack me a little bag for a night, while I get my bonnet on.’ + </p> +<p> + He gaily complied, and she tied her dimpled chin up, and shook her head + into her bonnet, and pulled out the bows of her bonnet-strings, and got + her gloves on, finger by finger, and finally got them on her little plump + hands, and bade him good-bye and went down. Mr Lightwood’s impatience was + much relieved when he found her dressed for departure. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Rokesmith goes with us?’ he said, hesitating, with a look towards the + door. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh, I forgot!’ replied Bella. ‘His best compliments. His face is swollen + to the size of two faces, and he is to go to bed directly, poor fellow, to + wait for the doctor, who is coming to lance him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is curious,’ observed Lightwood, ‘that I have never yet seen Mr + Rokesmith, though we have been engaged in the same affairs.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Really?’ said the unblushing Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I begin to think,’ observed Lightwood, ‘that I never shall see him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘These things happen so oddly sometimes,’ said Bella with a steady + countenance, ‘that there seems a kind of fatality in them. But I am quite + ready, Mr Lightwood.’ + </p> +<p> + They started directly, in a little carriage that Lightwood had brought + with him from never-to-be-forgotten Greenwich; and from Greenwich they + started directly for London; and in London they waited at a railway + station until such time as the Reverend Frank Milvey, and Margaretta his + wife, with whom Mortimer Lightwood had been already in conference, should + come and join them. + </p> +<p> + That worthy couple were delayed by a portentous old parishioner of the + female gender, who was one of the plagues of their lives, and with whom + they bore with most exemplary sweetness and good-humour, notwithstanding + her having an infection of absurdity about her, that communicated itself + to everything with which, and everybody with whom, she came in contact. + She was a member of the Reverend Frank’s congregation, and made a point of + distinguishing herself in that body, by conspicuously weeping at + everything, however cheering, said by the Reverend Frank in his public + ministration; also by applying to herself the various lamentations of + David, and complaining in a personally injured manner (much in arrear of + the clerk and the rest of the respondents) that her enemies were digging + pit-falls about her, and breaking her with rods of iron. Indeed, this old + widow discharged herself of that portion of the Morning and Evening + Service as if she were lodging a complaint on oath and applying for a + warrant before a magistrate. But this was not her most inconvenient + characteristic, for that took the form of an impression, usually recurring + in inclement weather and at about daybreak, that she had something on her + mind and stood in immediate need of the Reverend Frank to come and take it + off. Many a time had that kind creature got up, and gone out to Mrs + Sprodgkin (such was the disciple’s name), suppressing a strong sense of + her comicality by his strong sense of duty, and perfectly knowing that + nothing but a cold would come of it. However, beyond themselves, the + Reverend Frank Milvey and Mrs Milvey seldom hinted that Mrs Sprodgkin was + hardly worth the trouble she gave; but both made the best of her, as they + did of all their troubles. + </p> +<p> + This very exacting member of the fold appeared to be endowed with a sixth + sense, in regard of knowing when the Reverend Frank Milvey least desired + her company, and with promptitude appearing in his little hall. + Consequently, when the Reverend Frank had willingly engaged that he and + his wife would accompany Lightwood back, he said, as a matter of course: + ‘We must make haste to get out, Margaretta, my dear, or we shall be + descended on by Mrs Sprodgkin.’ To which Mrs Milvey replied, in her + pleasantly emphatic way, ‘Oh <i>yes</i>, for she <i>is </i>such a marplot, Frank, and + <i>does </i>worry so!’ Words that were scarcely uttered when their theme was + announced as in faithful attendance below, desiring counsel on a spiritual + matter. The points on which Mrs Sprodgkin sought elucidation being seldom + of a pressing nature (as Who begat Whom, or some information concerning + the Amorites), Mrs Milvey on this special occasion resorted to the device + of buying her off with a present of tea and sugar, and a loaf and butter. + These gifts Mrs Sprodgkin accepted, but still insisted on dutifully + remaining in the hall, to curtsey to the Reverend Frank as he came forth. + Who, incautiously saying in his genial manner, ‘Well, Sally, there you + are!’ involved himself in a discursive address from Mrs Sprodgkin, + revolving around the result that she regarded tea and sugar in the light + of myrrh and frankincense, and considered bread and butter identical with + locusts and wild honey. Having communicated this edifying piece of + information, Mrs Sprodgkin was left still unadjourned in the hall, and Mr + and Mrs Milvey hurried in a heated condition to the railway station. All + of which is here recorded to the honour of that good Christian pair, + representatives of hundreds of other good Christian pairs as conscientious + and as useful, who merge the smallness of their work in its greatness, and + feel in no danger of losing dignity when they adapt themselves to + incomprehensible humbugs. + </p> +<p> + ‘Detained at the last moment by one who had a claim upon me,’ was the + Reverend Frank’s apology to Lightwood, taking no thought of himself. To + which Mrs Milvey added, taking thought for him, like the championing + little wife she was; ‘Oh yes, detained at the last moment. But <i>as</i> to the + claim, Frank, I <i>must </i>say that I <i>do </i>think you are <i>over</i>-considerate + sometimes, and allow <i>that </i>to be a <i>little </i>abused.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella felt conscious, in spite of her late pledge for herself, that her + husband’s absence would give disagreeable occasion for surprise to the + Milveys. Nor could she appear quite at her ease when Mrs Milvey asked: + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>How </i>is Mr Rokesmith, and <i>is</i> he gone before us, or <i>does </i>he follow us?’ + </p> +<p> + It becoming necessary, upon this, to send him to bed again and hold him in + waiting to be lanced again, Bella did it. But not half as well on the + second occasion as on the first; for, a twice-told white one seems almost + to become a black one, when you are not used to it. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh <i>dear</i>!’ said Mrs Milvey, ‘I am SO sorry! Mr Rokesmith took <i>such </i>an + interest in Lizzie Hexam, when we were there before. And if we had <i>only</i> + known of his face, we <i>could </i>have given him something that would have kept + it down long enough for so <i>short </i>a purpose.’ + </p> +<p> + By way of making the white one whiter, Bella hastened to stipulate that he + was not in pain. Mrs Milvey was <i>so</i> glad of it. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know HOW it is,’ said Mrs Milvey, ‘and I am <i>sure </i>you don’t, + Frank, but the clergy and their wives seem to <i>cause </i>swelled faces. + Whenever I take notice of a child in the school, it seems to me as if its + face swelled <i>instantly</i>. Frank <i>never </i>makes acquaintance with a new old + woman, but she gets the face-ache. And another thing is, we DO make the + poor children sniff so. I don’t know <i>how </i>we do it, and I should be so glad + not to; but the MORE we take notice of them, the <i>more </i>they sniff. Just as + they do when the text is given out.—Frank, that’s a schoolmaster. I + have seen him somewhere.’ + </p> +<p> + The reference was to a young man of reserved appearance, in a coat and + waistcoat of black, and pantaloons of pepper and salt. He had come into + the office of the station, from its interior, in an unsettled way, + immediately after Lightwood had gone out to the train; and he had been + hurriedly reading the printed bills and notices on the wall. He had had a + wandering interest in what was said among the people waiting there and + passing to and fro. He had drawn nearer, at about the time when Mrs Milvey + mentioned Lizzie Hexam, and had remained near, since: though always + glancing towards the door by which Lightwood had gone out. He stood with + his back towards them, and his gloved hands clasped behind him. There was + now so evident a faltering upon him, expressive of indecision whether or + no he should express his having heard himself referred to, that Mr Milvey + spoke to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘I cannot recall your name,’ he said, ‘but I remember to have seen you in + your school.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My name is Bradley Headstone, sir,’ he replied, backing into a more + retired place. + </p> +<p> + ‘I ought to have remembered it,’ said Mr Milvey, giving him his hand. ‘I + hope you are well? A little overworked, I am afraid?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, I am overworked just at present, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Had no play in your last holiday time?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘All work and no play, Mr Headstone, will not make dulness, in your case, + I dare say; but it will make dyspepsia, if you don’t take care.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I will endeavour to take care, sir. Might I beg leave to speak to you, + outside, a moment?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘By all means.’ + </p> +<p> + It was evening, and the office was well lighted. The schoolmaster, who had + never remitted his watch on Lightwood’s door, now moved by another door to + a corner without, where there was more shadow than light; and said, + plucking at his gloves: + </p> +<p> + ‘One of your ladies, sir, mentioned within my hearing a name that I am + acquainted with; I may say, well acquainted with. The name of the sister + of an old pupil of mine. He was my pupil for a long time, and has got on + and gone upward rapidly. The name of Hexam. The name of Lizzie Hexam.’ He + seemed to be a shy man, struggling against nervousness, and spoke in a + very constrained way. The break he set between his last two sentences was + quite embarrassing to his hearer. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes,’ replied Mr Milvey. ‘We are going down to see her.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I gathered as much, sir. I hope there is nothing amiss with the sister of + my old pupil? I hope no bereavement has befallen her. I hope she is in no + affliction? Has lost no—relation?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Milvey thought this a man with a very odd manner, and a dark downward + look; but he answered in his usual open way. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am glad to tell you, Mr Headstone, that the sister of your old pupil + has not sustained any such loss. You thought I might be going down to bury + some one?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That may have been the connexion of ideas, sir, with your clerical + character, but I was not conscious of it.—Then you are not, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + A man with a very odd manner indeed, and with a lurking look that was + quite oppressive. + </p> +<p> + ‘No. In fact,’ said Mr Milvey, ‘since you are so interested in the sister + of your old pupil, I may as well tell you that I am going down to marry + her.’ + </p> +<p> + The schoolmaster started back. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not to marry her, myself,’ said Mr Milvey, with a smile, ‘because I have + a wife already. To perform the marriage service at her wedding.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley Headstone caught hold of a pillar behind him. If Mr Milvey knew an + ashy face when he saw it, he saw it then. + </p> +<p> + ‘You are quite ill, Mr Headstone!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is not much, sir. It will pass over very soon. I am accustomed to be + seized with giddiness. Don’t let me detain you, sir; I stand in need of no + assistance, I thank you. Much obliged by your sparing me these minutes of + your time.’ + </p> +<p> + As Mr Milvey, who had no more minutes to spare, made a suitable reply and + turned back into the office, he observed the schoolmaster to lean against + the pillar with his hat in his hand, and to pull at his neckcloth as if he + were trying to tear it off. The Reverend Frank accordingly directed the + notice of one of the attendants to him, by saying: ‘There is a person + outside who seems to be really ill, and to require some help, though he + says he does not.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood had by this time secured their places, and the departure-bell + was about to be rung. They took their seats, and were beginning to move + out of the station, when the same attendant came running along the + platform, looking into all the carriages. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! You are here, sir!’ he said, springing on the step, and holding the + window-frame by his elbow, as the carriage moved. ‘That person you pointed + out to me is in a fit.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I infer from what he told me that he is subject to such attacks. He will + come to, in the air, in a little while.’ + </p> +<p> + He was took very bad to be sure, and was biting and knocking about him + (the man said) furiously. Would the gentleman give him his card, as he had + seen him first? The gentleman did so, with the explanation that he knew no + more of the man attacked than that he was a man of a very respectable + occupation, who had said he was out of health, as his appearance would of + itself have indicated. The attendant received the card, watched his + opportunity for sliding down, slid down, and so it ended. + </p> +<p> + Then, the train rattled among the house-tops, and among the ragged sides + of houses torn down to make way for it, and over the swarming streets, and + under the fruitful earth, until it shot across the river: bursting over + the quiet surface like a bomb-shell, and gone again as if it had exploded + in the rush of smoke and steam and glare. A little more, and again it + roared across the river, a great rocket: spurning the watery turnings and + doublings with ineffable contempt, and going straight to its end, as + Father Time goes to his. To whom it is no matter what living waters run + high or low, reflect the heavenly lights and darknesses, produce their + little growth of weeds and flowers, turn here, turn there, are noisy or + still, are troubled or at rest, for their course has one sure termination, + though their sources and devices are many. + </p> +<p> + Then, a carriage ride succeeded, near the solemn river, stealing away by + night, as all things steal away, by night and by day, so quietly yielding + to the attraction of the loadstone rock of Eternity; and the nearer they + drew to the chamber where Eugene lay, the more they feared that they might + find his wanderings done. At last they saw its dim light shining out, and + it gave them hope: though Lightwood faltered as he thought: ‘If he were + gone, she would still be sitting by him.’ + </p> +<p> + But he lay quiet, half in stupor, half in sleep. Bella, entering with a + raised admonitory finger, kissed Lizzie softly, but said not a word. + Neither did any of them speak, but all sat down at the foot of the bed, + silently waiting. And now, in this night-watch, mingling with the flow of + the river and with the rush of the train, came the questions into Bella’s + mind again: What could be in the depths of that mystery of John’s? Why was + it that he had never been seen by Mr Lightwood, whom he still avoided? + When would that trial come, through which her faith in, and her duty to, + her dear husband, was to carry her, rendering him triumphant? For, that + had been his term. Her passing through the trial was to make the man she + loved with all her heart, triumphant. Term not to sink out of sight in + Bella’s breast. + </p> +<p> + Far on in the night, Eugene opened his eyes. He was sensible, and said at + once: ‘How does the time go? Has our Mortimer come back?’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood was there immediately, to answer for himself. ‘Yes, Eugene, and + all is ready.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear boy!’ returned Eugene with a smile, ‘we both thank you heartily. + Lizzie, tell them how welcome they are, and that I would be eloquent if I + could.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There is no need,’ said Mr Milvey. ‘We know it. Are you better, Mr + Wrayburn?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am much happier,’ said Eugene. + </p> +<p> + ‘Much better too, I hope?’ + </p> +<p> + Eugene turned his eyes towards Lizzie, as if to spare her, and answered + nothing. + </p> +<p> + Then, they all stood around the bed, and Mr Milvey, opening his book, + began the service; so rarely associated with the shadow of death; so + inseparable in the mind from a flush of life and gaiety and hope and + health and joy. Bella thought how different from her own sunny little + wedding, and wept. Mrs Milvey overflowed with pity, and wept too. The + dolls’ dressmaker, with her hands before her face, wept in her golden + bower. Reading in a low clear voice, and bending over Eugene, who kept his + eyes upon him, Mr Milvey did his office with suitable simplicity. As the + bridegroom could not move his hand, they touched his fingers with the + ring, and so put it on the bride. When the two plighted their troth, she + laid her hand on his and kept it there. When the ceremony was done, and + all the rest departed from the room, she drew her arm under his head, and + laid her own head down upon the pillow by his side. + </p> +<p> + ‘Undraw the curtains, my dear girl,’ said Eugene, after a while, ‘and let + us see our wedding-day.’ + </p> +<p> + The sun was rising, and his first rays struck into the room, as she came + back, and put her lips to his. ‘I bless the day!’ said Eugene. ‘I bless + the day!’ said Lizzie. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have made a poor marriage of it, my sweet wife,’ said Eugene. ‘A + shattered graceless fellow, stretched at his length here, and next to + nothing for you when you are a young widow.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have made the marriage that I would have given all the world to dare to + hope for,’ she replied. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0711m " src="images/0711m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0711m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0711.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7256342514531039707"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘You have thrown yourself away,’ said Eugene, shaking his head. ‘But you + have followed the treasure of your heart. My justification is, that you + had thrown that away first, dear girl!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No. I had given it to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The same thing, my poor Lizzie!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hush! hush! A very different thing.’ + </p> +<p> + There were tears in his eyes, and she besought him to close them. ‘No,’ + said Eugene, again shaking his head; ‘let me look at you, Lizzie, while I + can. You brave devoted girl! You heroine!’ + </p> +<p> + Her own eyes filled under his praises. And when he mustered strength to + move his wounded head a very little way, and lay it on her bosom, the + tears of both fell. + </p> +<p> + ‘Lizzie,’ said Eugene, after a silence: ‘when you see me wandering away + from this refuge that I have so ill deserved, speak to me by my name, and + I think I shall come back.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, dear Eugene.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There!’ he exclaimed, smiling. ‘I should have gone then, but for that!’ + </p> +<p> + A little while afterwards, when he appeared to be sinking into + insensibility, she said, in a calm loving voice: ‘Eugene, my dear + husband!’ He immediately answered: ‘There again! You see how you can + recall me!’ And afterwards, when he could not speak, he still answered by + a slight movement of his head upon her bosom. + </p> +<p> + The sun was high in the sky, when she gently disengaged herself to give + him the stimulants and nourishment he required. The utter helplessness of + the wreck of him that lay cast ashore there, now alarmed her, but he + himself appeared a little more hopeful. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah, my beloved Lizzie!’ he said, faintly. ‘How shall I ever pay all I owe + you, if I recover!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be ashamed of me,’ she replied, ‘and you will have more than paid + all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It would require a life, Lizzie, to pay all; more than a life.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Live for that, then; live for me, Eugene; live to see how hard I will try + to improve myself, and never to discredit you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My darling girl,’ he replied, rallying more of his old manner than he had + ever yet got together. ‘On the contrary, I have been thinking whether it + is not the best thing I can do, to die.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The best thing you can do, to leave me with a broken heart?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t mean that, my dear girl. I was not thinking of that. What I was + thinking of was this. Out of your compassion for me, in this maimed and + broken state, you make so much of me—you think so well of me—you + love me so dearly.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Heaven knows I love you dearly!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And Heaven knows I prize it! Well. If I live, you’ll find me out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I shall find out that my husband has a mine of purpose and energy, and + will turn it to the best account?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope so, dearest Lizzie,’ said Eugene, wistfully, and yet somewhat + whimsically. ‘I hope so. But I can’t summon the vanity to think so. How + can I think so, looking back on such a trifling wasted youth as mine! I + humbly hope it; but I daren’t believe it. There is a sharp misgiving in my + conscience that if I were to live, I should disappoint your good opinion + and my own—and that I ought to die, my dear!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0062"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 12 + </h2> +<h3> + THE PASSING SHADOW + </h3> +<p> + The winds and tides rose and fell a certain number of times, the earth + moved round the sun a certain number of times, the ship upon the ocean + made her voyage safely, and brought a baby-Bella home. Then who so blest + and happy as Mrs John Rokesmith, saving and excepting Mr John Rokesmith! + </p> +<p> + ‘Would you not like to be rich <i>now</i>, my darling?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How can you ask me such a question, John dear? Am I not rich?’ + </p> +<p> + These were among the first words spoken near the baby Bella as she lay + asleep. She soon proved to be a baby of wonderful intelligence, evincing + the strongest objection to her grandmother’s society, and being invariably + seized with a painful acidity of the stomach when that dignified lady + honoured her with any attention. + </p> +<p> + It was charming to see Bella contemplating this baby, and finding out her + own dimples in that tiny reflection, as if she were looking in the glass + without personal vanity. Her cherubic father justly remarked to her + husband that the baby seemed to make her younger than before, reminding + him of the days when she had a pet doll and used to talk to it as she + carried it about. The world might have been challenged to produce another + baby who had such a store of pleasant nonsense said and sung to it, as + Bella said and sung to this baby; or who was dressed and undressed as + often in four-and-twenty hours as Bella dressed and undressed this baby; + or who was held behind doors and poked out to stop its father’s way when + he came home, as this baby was; or, in a word, who did half the number of + baby things, through the lively invention of a gay and proud young mother, + that this inexhaustible baby did. + </p> +<p> + The inexhaustible baby was two or three months old, when Bella began to + notice a cloud upon her husband’s brow. Watching it, she saw a gathering + and deepening anxiety there, which caused her great disquiet. More than + once, she awoke him muttering in his sleep; and, though he muttered + nothing worse than her own name, it was plain to her that his restlessness + originated in some load of care. Therefore, Bella at length put in her + claim to divide this load, and hear her half of it. + </p> +<p> + ‘You know, John dear,’ she said, cheerily reverting to their former + conversation, ‘that I hope I may safely be trusted in great things. And it + surely cannot be a little thing that causes you so much uneasiness. It’s + very considerate of you to try to hide from me that you are uncomfortable + about something, but it’s quite impossible to be done, John love.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I admit that I am rather uneasy, my own.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then please to tell me what about, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + But no, he evaded that. ‘Never mind!’ thought Bella, resolutely. ‘John + requires me to put perfect faith in him, and he shall not be + disappointed.’ + </p> +<p> + She went up to London one day, to meet him, in order that they might make + some purchases. She found him waiting for her at her journey’s end, and + they walked away together through the streets. He was in gay spirits, + though still harping on that notion of their being rich; and he said, now + let them make believe that yonder fine carriage was theirs, and that it + was waiting to take them home to a fine house they had; what would Bella, + in that case, best like to find in the house? Well! Bella didn’t know: + already having everything she wanted, she couldn’t say. But, by degrees + she was led on to confess that she would like to have for the + inexhaustible baby such a nursery as never was seen. It was to be ‘a very + rainbow for colours’, as she was quite sure baby noticed colours; and the + staircase was to be adorned with the most exquisite flowers, as she was + absolutely certain baby noticed flowers; and there was to be an aviary + somewhere, of the loveliest little birds, as there was not the smallest + doubt in the world that baby noticed birds. Was there nothing else? No, + John dear. The predilections of the inexhaustible baby being provided for, + Bella could think of nothing else. + </p> +<p> + They were chatting on in this way, and John had suggested, ‘No jewels for + your own wear, for instance?’ and Bella had replied laughing. O! if he + came to that, yes, there might be a beautiful ivory case of jewels on her + dressing-table; when these pictures were in a moment darkened and blotted + out. + </p> +<p> + They turned a corner, and met Mr Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + He stopped as if he were petrified by the sight of Bella’s husband, who in + the same moment had changed colour. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Lightwood and I have met before,’ he said. + </p> +<p> + ‘Met before, John?’ Bella repeated in a tone of wonder. ‘Mr Lightwood told + me he had never seen you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I did not then know that I had,’ said Lightwood, discomposed on her + account. ‘I believed that I had only heard of—Mr Rokesmith.’ With an + emphasis on the name. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0716m " src="images/0716m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0716m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0716.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-5559877459651533565"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘When Mr Lightwood saw me, my love,’ observed her husband, not avoiding + his eye, but looking at him, ‘my name was Julius Handford.’ + </p> +<p> + Julius Handford! The name that Bella had so often seen in old newspapers, + when she was an inmate of Mr Boffin’s house! Julius Handford, who had been + publicly entreated to appear, and for intelligence of whom a reward had + been publicly offered! + </p> +<p> + ‘I would have avoided mentioning it in your presence,’ said Lightwood to + Bella, delicately; ‘but since your husband mentions it himself, I must + confirm his strange admission. I saw him as Mr Julius Handford, and I + afterwards (unquestionably to his knowledge) took great pains to trace him + out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite true. But it was not my object or my interest,’ said Rokesmith, + quietly, ‘to be traced out.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella looked from the one to the other, in amazement. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Lightwood,’ pursued her husband, ‘as chance has brought us face to + face at last—which is not to be wondered at, for the wonder is, + that, in spite of all my pains to the contrary, chance has not confronted + us together sooner—I have only to remind you that you have been at + my house, and to add that I have not changed my residence.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir’ returned Lightwood, with a meaning glance towards Bella, ‘my + position is a truly painful one. I hope that no complicity in a very dark + transaction may attach to you, but you cannot fail to know that your own + extraordinary conduct has laid you under suspicion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I know it has,’ was all the reply. + </p> +<p> + ‘My professional duty,’ said Lightwood hesitating, with another glance + towards Bella, ‘is greatly at variance with my personal inclination; but I + doubt, Mr Handford, or Mr Rokesmith, whether I am justified in taking + leave of you here, with your whole course unexplained.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella caught her husband by the hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t be alarmed, my darling. Mr Lightwood will find that he is quite + justified in taking leave of me here. At all events,’ added Rokesmith, ‘he + will find that I mean to take leave of him here.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I think, sir,’ said Lightwood, ‘you can scarcely deny that when I came to + your house on the occasion to which you have referred, you avoided me of a + set purpose.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Lightwood, I assure you I have no disposition to deny it, or intention + to deny it. I should have continued to avoid you, in pursuance of the same + set purpose, for a short time longer, if we had not met now. I am going + straight home, and shall remain at home to-morrow until noon. Hereafter, I + hope we may be better acquainted. Good-day.’ + </p> +<p> + Lightwood stood irresolute, but Bella’s husband passed him in the + steadiest manner, with Bella on his arm; and they went home without + encountering any further remonstrance or molestation from any one. + </p> +<p> + When they had dined and were alone, John Rokesmith said to his wife, who + had preserved her cheerfulness: ‘And you don’t ask me, my dear, why I bore + that name?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, John love. I should dearly like to know, of course;’ (which her + anxious face confirmed;) ‘but I wait until you can tell me of your own + free will. You asked me if I could have perfect faith in you, and I said + yes, and I meant it.’ + </p> +<p> + It did not escape Bella’s notice that he began to look triumphant. She + wanted no strengthening in her firmness; but if she had had need of any, + she would have derived it from his kindling face. + </p> +<p> + ‘You cannot have been prepared, my dearest, for such a discovery as that + this mysterious Mr Handford was identical with your husband?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, John dear, of course not. But you told me to prepare to be tried, and + I prepared myself.’ + </p> +<p> + He drew her to nestle closer to him, and told her it would soon be over, + and the truth would soon appear. ‘And now,’ he went on, ‘lay stress, my + dear, on these words that I am going to add. I stand in no kind of peril, + and I can by possibility be hurt at no one’s hand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are quite, quite sure of that, John dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a hair of my head! Moreover, I have done no wrong, and have injured + no man. Shall I swear it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, John!’ cried Bella, laying her hand upon his lips, with a proud look. + ‘Never to me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But circumstances,’ he went on ‘—I can, and I will, disperse them + in a moment—have surrounded me with one of the strangest suspicions + ever known. You heard Mr Lightwood speak of a dark transaction?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, John.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are prepared to hear explicitly what he meant?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, John.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘My life, he meant the murder of John Harmon, your allotted husband.’ + </p> +<p> + With a fast palpitating heart, Bella grasped him by the arm. ‘You cannot + be suspected, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear love, I can be—for I am!’ + </p> +<p> + There was silence between them, as she sat looking in his face, with the + colour quite gone from her own face and lips. ‘How dare they!’ she cried + at length, in a burst of generous indignation. ‘My beloved husband, how + dare they!’ + </p> +<p> + He caught her in his arms as she opened hers, and held her to his heart. + ‘Even knowing this, you can trust me, Bella?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can trust you, John dear, with all my soul. If I could not trust you, I + should fall dead at your feet.’ + </p> +<p> + The kindling triumph in his face was bright indeed, as he looked up and + rapturously exclaimed, what had he done to deserve the blessing of this + dear confiding creature’s heart! Again she put her hand upon his lips, + saying, ‘Hush!’ and then told him, in her own little natural pathetic way, + that if all the world were against him, she would be for him; that if all + the world repudiated him, she would believe him; that if he were infamous + in other eyes, he would be honoured in hers; and that, under the worst + unmerited suspicion, she could devote her life to consoling him, and + imparting her own faith in him to their little child. + </p> +<p> + A twilight calm of happiness then succeeding to their radiant noon, they + remained at peace, until a strange voice in the room startled them both. + The room being by that time dark, the voice said, ‘Don’t let the lady be + alarmed by my striking a light,’ and immediately a match rattled, and + glimmered in a hand. The hand and the match and the voice were then seen + by John Rokesmith to belong to Mr Inspector, once meditatively active in + this chronicle. + </p> +<p> + ‘I take the liberty,’ said Mr Inspector, in a business-like manner, ‘to + bring myself to the recollection of Mr Julius Handford, who gave me his + name and address down at our place a considerable time ago. Would the lady + object to my lighting the pair of candles on the chimneypiece, to throw a + further light upon the subject? No? Thank you, ma’am. Now, we look + cheerful.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector, in a dark-blue buttoned-up frock coat and pantaloons, + presented a serviceable, half-pay, Royal Arms kind of appearance, as he + applied his pocket handkerchief to his nose and bowed to the lady. + </p> +<p> + ‘You favoured me, Mr Handford,’ said Mr Inspector, ‘by writing down your + name and address, and I produce the piece of paper on which you wrote it. + Comparing the same with the writing on the fly-leaf of this book on the + table—and a sweet pretty volume it is—I find the writing of + the entry, “Mrs John Rokesmith. From her husband on her birthday”—and + very gratifying to the feelings such memorials are—to correspond + exactly. Can I have a word with you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly. Here, if you please,’ was the reply. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why,’ retorted Mr Inspector, again using his pocket handkerchief, ‘though + there’s nothing for the lady to be at all alarmed at, still, ladies are + apt to take alarm at matters of business—being of that fragile sex + that they’re not accustomed to them when not of a strictly domestic + character—and I do generally make it a rule to propose retirement + from the presence of ladies, before entering upon business topics. Or + perhaps,’ Mr Inspector hinted, ‘if the lady was to step up-stairs, and + take a look at baby now!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Rokesmith,’—her husband was beginning; when Mr Inspector, + regarding the words as an introduction, said, ‘Happy I am sure, to have + the honour.’ And bowed, with gallantry. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mrs Rokesmith,’ resumed her husband, ‘is satisfied that she can have no + reason for being alarmed, whatever the business is.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Really? Is that so?’ said Mr Inspector. ‘But it’s a sex to live and learn + from, and there’s nothing a lady can’t accomplish when she once fully + gives her mind to it. It’s the case with my own wife. Well, ma’am, this + good gentleman of yours has given rise to a rather large amount of trouble + which might have been avoided if he had come forward and explained + himself. Well you see! He <i>didn’t</i> come forward and explain himself. + Consequently, now that we meet, him and me, you’ll say—and say right—that + there’s nothing to be alarmed at, in my proposing to him <i>to</i> come forward—or, + putting the same meaning in another form, to come along with me—and + explain himself.’ + </p> +<p> + When Mr Inspector put it in that other form, ‘to come along with me,’ + there was a relishing roll in his voice, and his eye beamed with an + official lustre. + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you propose to take me into custody?’ inquired John Rokesmith, very + coolly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why argue?’ returned Mr Inspector in a comfortable sort of remonstrance; + ‘ain’t it enough that I propose that you shall come along with me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘For what reason?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lord bless my soul and body!’ returned Mr Inspector, ‘I wonder at it in a + man of your education. Why argue?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you charge against me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I wonder at you before a lady,’ said Mr Inspector, shaking his head + reproachfully: ‘I wonder, brought up as you have been, you haven’t a more + delicate mind! I charge you, then, with being some way concerned in the + Harmon Murder. I don’t say whether before, or in, or after, the fact. I + don’t say whether with having some knowledge of it that hasn’t come out.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t surprise me. I foresaw your visit this afternoon.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t!’ said Mr Inspector. ‘Why, why argue? It’s my duty to inform you + that whatever you say, will be used against you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t think it will.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But I tell you it will,’ said Mr Inspector. ‘Now, having received the + caution, do you still say that you foresaw my visit this afternoon?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. And I will say something more, if you will step with me into the + next room.’ + </p> +<p> + With a reassuring kiss on the lips of the frightened Bella, her husband + (to whom Mr Inspector obligingly offered his arm), took up a candle, and + withdrew with that gentleman. They were a full half-hour in conference. + When they returned, Mr Inspector looked considerably astonished. + </p> +<p> + ‘I have invited this worthy officer, my dear,’ said John, ‘to make a short + excursion with me in which you shall be a sharer. He will take something + to eat and drink, I dare say, on your invitation, while you are getting + your bonnet on.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector declined eating, but assented to the proposal of a glass of + brandy and water. Mixing this cold, and pensively consuming it, he broke + at intervals into such soliloquies as that he never did know such a move, + that he never had been so gravelled, and that what a game was this to try + the sort of stuff a man’s opinion of himself was made of! Concurrently + with these comments, he more than once burst out a laughing, with the + half-enjoying and half-piqued air of a man, who had given up a good + conundrum, after much guessing, and been told the answer. Bella was so + timid of him, that she noted these things in a half-shrinking, + half-perceptive way, and similarly noted that there was a great change in + his manner towards John. That coming-along-with-him deportment was now + lost in long musing looks at John and at herself and sometimes in slow + heavy rubs of his hand across his forehead, as if he were ironing out the + creases which his deep pondering made there. He had had some coughing and + whistling satellites secretly gravitating towards him about the premises, + but they were now dismissed, and he eyed John as if he had meant to do him + a public service, but had unfortunately been anticipated. Whether Bella + might have noted anything more, if she had been less afraid of him, she + could not determine; but it was all inexplicable to her, and not the + faintest flash of the real state of the case broke in upon her mind. Mr + Inspector’s increased notice of herself and knowing way of raising his + eyebrows when their eyes by any chance met, as if he put the question + ‘Don’t you see?’ augmented her timidity, and, consequently, her + perplexity. For all these reasons, when he and she and John, at towards + nine o’clock of a winter evening went to London, and began driving from + London Bridge, among low-lying water-side wharves and docks and strange + places, Bella was in the state of a dreamer; perfectly unable to account + for her being there, perfectly unable to forecast what would happen next, + or whither she was going, or why; certain of nothing in the immediate + present, but that she confided in John, and that John seemed somehow to be + getting more triumphant. But what a certainty was that! + </p> +<p> + They alighted at last at the corner of a court, where there was a building + with a bright lamp and wicket gate. Its orderly appearance was very unlike + that of the surrounding neighbourhood, and was explained by the + inscription <i>Police Station</i>. + </p> +<p> + ‘We are not going in here, John?’ said Bella, clinging to him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear; but of our own accord. We shall come out again as easily, + never fear.’ + </p> +<p> + The whitewashed room was pure white as of old, the methodical book-keeping + was in peaceful progress as of old, and some distant howler was banging + against a cell door as of old. The sanctuary was not a permanent + abiding-place, but a kind of criminal Pickford’s. The lower passions and + vices were regularly ticked off in the books, warehoused in the cells, + carted away as per accompanying invoice, and left little mark upon it. + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector placed two chairs for his visitors, before the fire, and + communed in a low voice with a brother of his order (also of a half-pay, + and Royal Arms aspect), who, judged only by his occupation at the moment, + might have been a writing-master, setting copies. Their conference done, + Mr Inspector returned to the fireplace, and, having observed that he would + step round to the Fellowships and see how matters stood, went out. He soon + came back again, saying, ‘Nothing could be better, for they’re at supper + with Miss Abbey in the bar;’ and then they all three went out together. + </p> +<p> + Still, as in a dream, Bella found herself entering a snug old-fashioned + public-house, and found herself smuggled into a little three-cornered room + nearly opposite the bar of that establishment. Mr Inspector achieved the + smuggling of herself and John into this queer room, called Cosy in an + inscription on the door, by entering in the narrow passage first in order, + and suddenly turning round upon them with extended arms, as if they had + been two sheep. The room was lighted for their reception. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now,’ said Mr Inspector to John, turning the gas lower; ‘I’ll mix with + ’em in a casual way, and when I say Identification, perhaps you’ll show + yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + John nodded, and Mr Inspector went alone to the half-door of the bar. From + the dim doorway of Cosy, within which Bella and her husband stood, they + could see a comfortable little party of three persons sitting at supper in + the bar, and could hear everything that was said. + </p> +<p> + The three persons were Miss Abbey and two male guests. To whom + collectively, Mr Inspector remarked that the weather was getting sharp for + the time of year. + </p> +<p> + ‘It need be sharp to suit your wits, sir,’ said Miss Abbey. ‘What have you + got in hand now?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thanking you for your compliment: not much, Miss Abbey,’ was Mr + Inspector’s rejoinder. + </p> +<p> + ‘Who have you got in Cosy?’ asked Miss Abbey. + </p> +<p> + ‘Only a gentleman and his wife, Miss.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And who are they? If one may ask it without detriment to your deep plans + in the interests of the honest public?’ said Miss Abbey, proud of Mr + Inspector as an administrative genius. + </p> +<p> + ‘They are strangers in this part of the town, Miss Abbey. They are waiting + till I shall want the gentleman to show himself somewhere, for half a + moment.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘While they’re waiting,’ said Miss Abbey, ‘couldn’t you join us?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Inspector immediately slipped into the bar, and sat down at the side of + the half-door, with his back towards the passage, and directly facing the + two guests. ‘I don’t take my supper till later in the night,’ said he, + ‘and therefore I won’t disturb the compactness of the table. But I’ll take + a glass of flip, if that’s flip in the jug in the fender.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s flip,’ replied Miss Abbey, ‘and it’s my making, and if even you + can find out better, I shall be glad to know where.’ Filling him, with + hospitable hands, a steaming tumbler, Miss Abbey replaced the jug by the + fire; the company not having yet arrived at the flip-stage of their + supper, but being as yet skirmishing with strong ale. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah—h!’ cried Mr Inspector. ‘That’s the smack! There’s not a + Detective in the Force, Miss Abbey, that could find out better stuff than + that.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Glad to hear you say so,’ rejoined Miss Abbey. ‘You ought to know, if + anybody does.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Job Potterson,’ Mr Inspector continued, ‘I drink your health. Mr Jacob + Kibble, I drink yours. Hope you have made a prosperous voyage home, + gentlemen both.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Kibble, an unctuous broad man of few words and many mouthfuls, said, + more briefly than pointedly, raising his ale to his lips: ‘Same to you.’ + Mr Job Potterson, a semi-seafaring man of obliging demeanour, said, ‘Thank + you, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Lord bless my soul and body!’ cried Mr Inspector. ‘Talk of trades, Miss + Abbey, and the way they set their marks on men’ (a subject which nobody + had approached); ‘who wouldn’t know your brother to be a Steward! There’s + a bright and ready twinkle in his eye, there’s a neatness in his action, + there’s a smartness in his figure, there’s an air of reliability about him + in case you wanted a basin, which points out the steward! And Mr Kibble; + ain’t he Passenger, all over? While there’s that mercantile cut upon him + which would make you happy to give him credit for five hundred pound, + don’t you see the salt sea shining on him too?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘<i>You </i>do, I dare say,’ returned Miss Abbey, ‘but I don’t. And as for + stewarding, I think it’s time my brother gave that up, and took his House + in hand on his sister’s retiring. The House will go to pieces if he don’t. + I wouldn’t sell it for any money that could be told out, to a person that + I couldn’t depend upon to be a Law to the Porters, as I have been.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There you’re right, Miss,’ said Mr Inspector. ‘A better kept house is not + known to our men. What do I say? Half so well a kept house is not known to + our men. Show the Force the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, and the Force—to + a constable—will show you a piece of perfection, Mr Kibble.’ + </p> +<p> + That gentleman, with a very serious shake of his head, subscribed the + article. + </p> +<p> + ‘And talk of Time slipping by you, as if it was an animal at rustic sports + with its tail soaped,’ said Mr Inspector (again, a subject which nobody + had approached); ‘why, well you may. Well you may. How has it slipped by + us, since the time when Mr Job Potterson here present, Mr Jacob Kibble + here present, and an Officer of the Force here present, first came + together on a matter of Identification!’ + </p> +<p> + Bella’s husband stepped softly to the half-door of the bar, and stood + there. + </p> +<p> + ‘How has Time slipped by us,’ Mr Inspector went on slowly, with his eyes + narrowly observant of the two guests, ‘since we three very men, at an + Inquest in this very house—Mr Kibble? Taken ill, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Kibble had staggered up, with his lower jaw dropped, catching Potterson + by the shoulder, and pointing to the half-door. He now cried out: + ‘Potterson! Look! Look there!’ Potterson started up, started back, and + exclaimed: ‘Heaven defend us, what’s that!’ Bella’s husband stepped back + to Bella, took her in his arms (for she was terrified by the + unintelligible terror of the two men), and shut the door of the little + room. A hurry of voices succeeded, in which Mr Inspector’s voice was + busiest; it gradually slackened and sank; and Mr Inspector reappeared. + ‘Sharp’s the word, sir!’ he said, looking in with a knowing wink. ‘We’ll + get your lady out at once.’ Immediately, Bella and her husband were under + the stars, making their way back, alone, to the vehicle they had kept in + waiting. + </p> +<p> + All this was most extraordinary, and Bella could make nothing of it but + that John was in the right. How in the right, and how suspected of being + in the wrong, she could not divine. Some vague idea that he had never + really assumed the name of Handford, and that there was a remarkable + likeness between him and that mysterious person, was her nearest approach + to any definite explanation. But John was triumphant; that much was made + apparent; and she could wait for the rest. + </p> +<p> + When John came home to dinner next day, he said, sitting down on the sofa + by Bella and baby-Bella: ‘My dear, I have a piece of news to tell you. I + have left the China House.’ + </p> +<p> + As he seemed to like having left it, Bella took it for granted that there + was no misfortune in the case. + </p> +<p> + ‘In a word, my love,’ said John, ‘the China House is broken up and + abolished. There is no such thing any more.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then, are you already in another House, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my darling. I am in another way of business. And I am rather better + off.’ + </p> +<p> + The inexhaustible baby was instantly made to congratulate him, and to say, + with appropriate action on the part of a very limp arm and a speckled + fist: ‘Three cheers, ladies and gemplemorums. Hoo—ray!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am afraid, my life,’ said John, ‘that you have become very much + attached to this cottage?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Afraid I have, John? Of course I have.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘The reason why I said afraid,’ returned John, ‘is, because we must move.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O John!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear, we must move. We must have our head-quarters in London now. + In short, there’s a dwelling-house rent-free, attached to my new position, + and we must occupy it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a gain, John.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my dear, it is undoubtedly a gain.’ + </p> +<p> + He gave her a very blithe look, and a very sly look. Which occasioned the + inexhaustible baby to square at him with the speckled fists, and demand in + a threatening manner what he meant? + </p> +<p> + ‘My love, you said it was a gain, and I said it was a gain. A very + innocent remark, surely.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I won’t,’ said the inexhaustible baby, ‘—allow—you—to—make—game—of—my—venerable—Ma.’ + At each division administering a soft facer with one of the speckled + fists. + </p> +<p> + John having stooped down to receive these punishing visitations, Bella + asked him, would it be necessary to move soon? Why yes, indeed (said + John), he did propose that they should move very soon. Taking the + furniture with them, of course? (said Bella). Why, no (said John), the + fact was, that the house was—in a sort of a kind of a way—furnished + already. + </p> +<p> + The inexhaustible baby, hearing this, resumed the offensive, and said: + ‘But there’s no nursery for me, sir. What do you mean, marble-hearted + parent?’ To which the marble-hearted parent rejoined that there was a—sort + of a kind of a—nursery, and it might be ‘made to do’. ‘Made to do?’ + returned the Inexhaustible, administering more punishment, ‘what do you + take me for?’ And was then turned over on its back in Bella’s lap, and + smothered with kisses. + </p> +<p> + ‘But really, John dear,’ said Bella, flushed in quite a lovely manner by + these exercises, ‘will the new house, just as it stands, do for baby? + That’s the question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I felt that to be the question,’ he returned, ‘and therefore I arranged + that you should come with me and look at it, to-morrow morning.’ + Appointment made, accordingly, for Bella to go up with him to-morrow + morning; John kissed; and Bella delighted. + </p> +<p> + When they reached London in pursuance of their little plan, they took + coach and drove westward. Not only drove westward, but drove into that + particular westward division, which Bella had seen last when she turned + her face from Mr Boffin’s door. Not only drove into that particular + division, but drove at last into that very street. Not only drove into + that very street, but stopped at last at that very house. + </p> +<p> + ‘John dear!’ cried Bella, looking out of window in a flutter. ‘Do you see + where we are?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, my love. The coachman’s quite right.’ + </p> +<p> + The house-door was opened without any knocking or ringing, and John + promptly helped her out. The servant who stood holding the door, asked no + question of John, neither did he go before them or follow them as they + went straight up-stairs. It was only her husband’s encircling arm, urging + her on, that prevented Bella from stopping at the foot of the staircase. + As they ascended, it was seen to be tastefully ornamented with most + beautiful flowers. + </p> +<p> + ‘O John!’ said Bella, faintly. ‘What does this mean?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing, my darling, nothing. Let us go on.’ + </p> +<p> + Going on a little higher, they came to a charming aviary, in which a + number of tropical birds, more gorgeous in colour than the flowers, were + flying about; and among those birds were gold and silver fish, and mosses, + and water-lilies, and a fountain, and all manner of wonders. + </p> +<p> + ‘O my dear John!’ said Bella. ‘What does this mean?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing, my darling, nothing. Let us go on.’ + </p> +<p> + They went on, until they came to a door. As John put out his hand to open + it, Bella caught his hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know what it means, but it’s too much for me. Hold me, John, + love.’ + </p> +<p> + John caught her up in his arm, and lightly dashed into the room with her. + </p> +<p> + Behold Mr and Mrs Boffin, beaming! Behold Mrs Boffin clapping her hands in + an ecstacy, running to Bella with tears of joy pouring down her comely + face, and folding her to her breast, with the words: ‘My deary deary, + deary girl, that Noddy and me saw married and couldn’t wish joy to, or so + much as speak to! My deary, deary, deary, wife of John and mother of his + little child! My loving loving, bright bright, Pretty Pretty! Welcome to + your house and home, my deary!’ + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0063"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 13 + </h2> +<h3> + SHOWING HOW THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN HELPED TO SCATTER DUST + </h3> +<p> + In all the first bewilderment of her wonder, the most bewilderingly + wonderful thing to Bella was the shining countenance of Mr Boffin. That + his wife should be joyous, open-hearted, and genial, or that her face + should express every quality that was large and trusting, and no quality + that was little or mean, was accordant with Bella’s experience. But, that + he, with a perfectly beneficent air and a plump rosy face, should be + standing there, looking at her and John, like some jovial good spirit, was + marvellous. For, how had he looked when she last saw him in that very room + (it was the room in which she had given him that piece of her mind at + parting), and what had become of all those crooked lines of suspicion, + avarice, and distrust, that twisted his visage then? + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin seated Bella on the large ottoman, and seated herself beside + her, and John her husband seated himself on the other side of her, and Mr + Boffin stood beaming at every one and everything he could see, with + surpassing jollity and enjoyment. Mrs Boffin was then taken with a + laughing fit of clapping her hands, and clapping her knees, and rocking + herself to and fro, and then with another laughing fit of embracing Bella, + and rocking her to and fro—both fits, of considerable duration. + </p> +<p> + ‘Old lady, old lady,’ said Mr Boffin, at length; ‘if you don’t begin + somebody else must.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’m a going to begin, Noddy, my dear,’ returned Mrs Boffin. ‘Only it + isn’t easy for a person to know where to begin, when a person is in this + state of delight and happiness. Bella, my dear. Tell me, who’s this?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Who is this?’ repeated Bella. ‘My husband.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! But tell me his name, deary!’ cried Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Rokesmith.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, it ain’t!’ cried Mrs Boffin, clapping her hands, and shaking her + head. ‘Not a bit of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Handford then,’ suggested Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, it ain’t!’ cried Mrs Boffin, again clapping her hands and shaking her + head. ‘Not a bit of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘At least, his name is John, I suppose?’ said Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah! I should think so, deary!’ cried Mrs Boffin. ‘I should hope so! Many + and many is the time I have called him by his name of John. But what’s his + other name, his true other name? Give a guess, my pretty!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can’t guess,’ said Bella, turning her pale face from one to another. + </p> +<p> + ‘I could,’ cried Mrs Boffin, ‘and what’s more, I did! I found him out, all + in a flash as I may say, one night. Didn’t I, Noddy?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ay! That the old lady did!’ said Mr Boffin, with stout pride in the + circumstance. + </p> +<p> + ‘Harkee to me, deary,’ pursued Mrs Boffin, taking Bella’s hands between + her own, and gently beating on them from time to time. ‘It was after a + particular night when John had been disappointed—as he thought—in + his affections. It was after a night when John had made an offer to a + certain young lady, and the certain young lady had refused it. It was + after a particular night, when he felt himself cast-away-like, and had + made up his mind to go seek his fortune. It was the very next night. My + Noddy wanted a paper out of his Secretary’s room, and I says to Noddy, “I + am going by the door, and I’ll ask him for it.” I tapped at his door, and + he didn’t hear me. I looked in, and saw him a sitting lonely by his fire, + brooding over it. He chanced to look up with a pleased kind of smile in my + company when he saw me, and then in a single moment every grain of the + gunpowder that had been lying sprinkled thick about him ever since I first + set eyes upon him as a man at the Bower, took fire! Too many a time had I + seen him sitting lonely, when he was a poor child, to be pitied, heart and + hand! Too many a time had I seen him in need of being brightened up with a + comforting word! Too many and too many a time to be mistaken, when that + glimpse of him come at last! No, no! I just makes out to cry, “I know you + now! You’re John!” And he catches me as I drops.—So what,’ says Mrs + Boffin, breaking off in the rush of her speech to smile most radiantly, + ‘might you think by this time that your husband’s name was, dear?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not,’ returned Bella, with quivering lips; ‘not Harmon? That’s not + possible?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t tremble. Why not possible, deary, when so many things are + possible?’ demanded Mrs Boffin, in a soothing tone. + </p> +<p> + ‘He was killed,’ gasped Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘Thought to be,’ said Mrs Boffin. ‘But if ever John Harmon drew the breath + of life on earth, that is certainly John Harmon’s arm round your waist + now, my pretty. If ever John Harmon had a wife on earth, that wife is + certainly you. If ever John Harmon and his wife had a child on earth, that + child is certainly this.’ + </p> +<p> + By a master-stroke of secret arrangement, the inexhaustible baby here + appeared at the door, suspended in mid-air by invisible agency. Mrs + Boffin, plunging at it, brought it to Bella’s lap, where both Mrs and Mr + Boffin (as the saying is) ‘took it out of’ the Inexhaustible in a shower + of caresses. It was only this timely appearance that kept Bella from + swooning. This, and her husband’s earnestness in explaining further to her + how it had come to pass that he had been supposed to be slain, and had + even been suspected of his own murder; also, how he had put a pious fraud + upon her which had preyed upon his mind, as the time for its disclosure + approached, lest she might not make full allowance for the object with + which it had originated, and in which it had fully developed. + </p> +<p> + ‘But bless ye, my beauty!’ cried Mrs Boffin, taking him up short at this + point, with another hearty clap of her hands. ‘It wasn’t John only that + was in it. We was all of us in it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t,’ said Bella, looking vacantly from one to another, ‘yet + understand—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Of course you don’t, my deary,’ exclaimed Mrs Boffin. ‘How can you till + you’re told! So now I am a going to tell you. So you put your two hands + between my two hands again,’ cried the comfortable creature, embracing + her, ‘with that blessed little picter lying on your lap, and you shall be + told all the story. Now, I’m a going to tell the story. Once, twice, three + times, and the horses is off. Here they go! When I cries out that night, + “I know you now, you’re John!”—which was my exact words; wasn’t + they, John?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Your exact words,’ said John, laying his hand on hers. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a very good arrangement,’ cried Mrs Boffin. ‘Keep it there, John. + And as we was all of us in it, Noddy you come and lay yours a top of his, + and we won’t break the pile till the story’s done.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin hitched up a chair, and added his broad brown right hand to the + heap. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s capital!’ said Mrs Boffin, giving it a kiss. ‘Seems quite a family + building; don’t it? But the horses is off. Well! When I cries out that + night, “I know you now! you’re John!” John catches of me, it is true; but + I ain’t a light weight, bless ye, and he’s forced to let me down. Noddy, + he hears a noise, and in he trots, and as soon as I anyways comes to + myself I calls to him, “Noddy, well I might say as I did say, that night + at the Bower, for the Lord be thankful this is John!” On which he gives a + heave, and down he goes likewise, with his head under the writing-table. + This brings me round comfortable, and that brings him round comfortable, + and then John and him and me we all fall a crying for joy.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes! They cry for joy, my darling,’ her husband struck in. ‘You + understand? These two, whom I come to life to disappoint and dispossess, + cry for joy!’ + </p> +<p> + Bella looked at him confusedly, and looked again at Mrs Boffin’s radiant + face. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s right, my dear, don’t you mind him,’ said Mrs Boffin, ‘stick to + me. Well! Then we sits down, gradually gets cool, and holds a + confabulation. John, he tells us how he is despairing in his mind on + accounts of a certain fair young person, and how, if I hadn’t found him + out, he was going away to seek his fortune far and wide, and had fully + meant never to come to life, but to leave the property as our wrongful + inheritance for ever and a day. At which you never see a man so frightened + as my Noddy was. For to think that he should have come into the property + wrongful, however innocent, and—more than that—might have gone + on keeping it to his dying day, turned him whiter than chalk.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And you too,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you mind him, neither, my deary,’ resumed Mrs Boffin; ‘stick to me. + This brings up a confabulation regarding the certain fair young person; + when Noddy he gives it as his opinion that she is a deary creetur. “She + may be a leetle spoilt, and nat’rally spoilt,” he says, “by circumstances, + but that’s only the surface, and I lay my life,” he says, “that she’s the + true golden gold at heart.”’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So did you,’ said Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t you mind him a single morsel, my dear,’ proceeded Mrs Boffin, ‘but + stick to me. Then says John, O, if he could but prove so! Then we both of + us ups and says, that minute, “Prove so!”’ + </p> +<p> + With a start, Bella directed a hurried glance towards Mr Boffin. But, he + was sitting thoughtfully smiling at that broad brown hand of his, and + either didn’t see it, or would take no notice of it. + </p> +<p> + ‘“Prove it, John!” we says,’ repeated Mrs Boffin. ‘“Prove it and overcome + your doubts with triumph, and be happy for the first time in your life, + and for the rest of your life.” This puts John in a state, to be sure. + Then we says, “What will content you? If she was to stand up for you when + you was slighted, if she was to show herself of a generous mind when you + was oppressed, if she was to be truest to you when you was poorest and + friendliest, and all this against her own seeming interest, how would that + do?” “Do?” says John, “it would raise me to the skies.” “Then,” says my + Noddy, “make your preparations for the ascent, John, it being my firm + belief that up you go!”’ + </p> +<p> + Bella caught Mr Boffin’s twinkling eye for half an instant; but he got it + away from her, and restored it to his broad brown hand. + </p> +<p> + ‘From the first, you was always a special favourite of Noddy’s,’ said Mrs + Boffin, shaking her head. ‘O you were! And if I had been inclined to be + jealous, I don’t know what I mightn’t have done to you. But as I wasn’t—why, + my beauty,’ with a hearty laugh and an embrace, ‘I made you a special + favourite of my own too. But the horses is coming round the corner. Well! + Then says my Noddy, shaking his sides till he was fit to make ’em ache + again: “Look out for being slighted and oppressed, John, for if ever a man + had a hard master, you shall find me from this present time to be such to + you.” And then he began!’ cried Mrs Boffin, in an ecstacy of admiration. + ‘Lord bless you, then he began! And how he <i>did </i>begin; didn’t he!’ + </p> +<p> + Bella looked half frightened, and yet half laughed. + </p> +<p> + ‘But, bless you,’ pursued Mrs Boffin, ‘if you could have seen him of a + night, at that time of it! The way he’d sit and chuckle over himself! The + way he’d say “I’ve been a regular brown bear to-day,” and take himself in + his arms and hug himself at the thoughts of the brute he had pretended. + But every night he says to me: “Better and better, old lady. What did we + say of her? She’ll come through it, the true golden gold. This’ll be the + happiest piece of work we ever done.” And then he’d say, “I’ll be a + grislier old growler to-morrow!” and laugh, he would, till John and me was + often forced to slap his back, and bring it out of his windpipes with a + little water.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, with his face bent over his heavy hand, made no sound, but + rolled his shoulders when thus referred to, as if he were vastly enjoying + himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘And so, my good and pretty,’ pursued Mrs Boffin, ‘you was married, and + there was we hid up in the church-organ by this husband of yours; for he + wouldn’t let us out with it then, as was first meant. “No,” he says, + “she’s so unselfish and contented, that I can’t afford to be rich yet. I + must wait a little longer.” Then, when baby was expected, he says, “She is + such a cheerful, glorious housewife that I can’t afford to be rich yet. I + must wait a little longer.” Then when baby was born, he says, “She is so + much better than she ever was, that I can’t afford to be rich yet. I must + wait a little longer.” And so he goes on and on, till I says outright, + “Now, John, if you don’t fix a time for setting her up in her own house + and home, and letting us walk out of it, I’ll turn Informer.” Then he says + he’ll only wait to triumph beyond what we ever thought possible, and to + show her to us better than even we ever supposed; and he says, “She shall + see me under suspicion of having murdered myself, and <i>you </i>shall see how + trusting and how true she’ll be.” Well! Noddy and me agreed to that, and + he was right, and here you are, and the horses is in, and the story is + done, and God bless you my Beauty, and God bless us all!’ + </p> +<p> + The pile of hands dispersed, and Bella and Mrs Boffin took a good long hug + of one another: to the apparent peril of the inexhaustible baby, lying + staring in Bella’s lap. + </p> +<p> + ‘But <i>is</i> the story done?’ said Bella, pondering. ‘Is there no more of it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What more of it should there be, deary?’ returned Mrs Boffin, full of + glee. + </p> +<p> + ‘Are you sure you have left nothing out of it?’ asked Bella. + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t think I have,’ said Mrs Boffin, archly. + </p> +<p> + ‘John dear,’ said Bella, ‘you’re a good nurse; will you please hold baby?’ + Having deposited the Inexhaustible in his arms with those words, Bella + looked hard at Mr Boffin, who had moved to a table where he was leaning + his head upon his hand with his face turned away, and, quietly settling + herself on her knees at his side, and drawing one arm over his shoulder, + said: ‘Please I beg your pardon, and I made a small mistake of a word when + I took leave of you last. Please I think you are better (not worse) than + Hopkins, better (not worse) than Dancer, better (not worse) than + Blackberry Jones, better (not worse) than any of them! Please something + more!’ cried Bella, with an exultant ringing laugh as she struggled with + him and forced him to turn his delighted face to hers. ‘Please I have + found out something not yet mentioned. Please I don’t believe you are a + hard-hearted miser at all, and please I don’t believe you ever for one + single minute were!’ + </p> +<p> + At this, Mrs Boffin fairly screamed with rapture, and sat beating her feet + upon the floor, clapping her hands, and bobbing herself backwards and + forwards, like a demented member of some Mandarin’s family. + </p> +<p> + ‘O, I understand you now, sir!’ cried Bella. ‘I want neither you nor any + one else to tell me the rest of the story. I can tell it to <i>you</i>, now, if + you would like to hear it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Can you, my dear?’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Tell it then.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What?’ cried Bella, holding him prisoner by the coat with both hands. + ‘When you saw what a greedy little wretch you were the patron of, you + determined to show her how much misused and misprized riches could do, and + often had done, to spoil people; did you? Not caring what she thought of + you (and Goodness knows <i>that </i>was of no consequence!) you showed her, in + yourself, the most detestable sides of wealth, saying in your own mind, + “This shallow creature would never work the truth out of her own weak + soul, if she had a hundred years to do it in; but a glaring instance kept + before her may open even her eyes and set her thinking.” That was what you + said to yourself, was it, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I never said anything of the sort,’ Mr Boffin declared in a state of the + highest enjoyment. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then you ought to have said it, sir,’ returned Bella, giving him two + pulls and one kiss, ‘for you must have thought and meant it. You saw that + good fortune was turning my stupid head and hardening my silly heart—was + making me grasping, calculating, insolent, insufferable—and you took + the pains to be the dearest and kindest fingerpost that ever was set up + anywhere, pointing out the road that I was taking and the end it led to. + Confess instantly!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘John,’ said Mr Boffin, one broad piece of sunshine from head to foot, ‘I + wish you’d help me out of this.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t be heard by counsel, sir,’ returned Bella. ‘You must speak for + yourself. Confess instantly!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘the truth is, that when we did go in for + the little scheme that my old lady has pinted out, I did put it to John, + what did he think of going in for some such general scheme as <i>you </i>have + pinted out? But I didn’t in any way so word it, because I didn’t in any + way so mean it. I only said to John, wouldn’t it be more consistent, me + going in for being a reg’lar brown bear respecting him, to go in as a + reg’lar brown bear all round?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Confess this minute, sir,’ said Bella, ‘that you did it to correct and + amend me!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly, my dear child,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘I didn’t do it to harm you; + you may be sure of that. And I did hope it might just hint a caution. + Still, it ought to be mentioned that no sooner had my old lady found out + John, than John made known to her and me that he had had his eye upon a + thankless person by the name of Silas Wegg. Partly for the punishment of + which Wegg, by leading him on in a very unhandsome and underhanded game + that he was playing, them books that you and me bought so many of together + (and, by-the-by, my dear, he wasn’t Blackberry Jones, but Blewberry) was + read aloud to me by that person of the name of Silas Wegg aforesaid.’ + </p> +<p> + Bella, who was still on her knees at Mr Boffin’s feet, gradually sank down + into a sitting posture on the ground, as she meditated more and more + thoughtfully, with her eyes upon his beaming face. + </p> +<p> + ‘Still,’ said Bella, after this meditative pause, ‘there remain two things + that I cannot understand. Mrs Boffin never supposed any part of the change + in Mr Boffin to be real; did she?—You never did; did you?’ asked + Bella, turning to her. + </p> +<p> + ‘No!’ returned Mrs Boffin, with a most rotund and glowing negative. + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet you took it very much to heart,’ said Bella. ‘I remember its + making you very uneasy, indeed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ecod, you see Mrs John has a sharp eye, John!’ cried Mr Boffin, shaking + his head with an admiring air. ‘You’re right, my dear. The old lady nearly + blowed us into shivers and smithers, many times.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why?’ asked Bella. ‘How did that happen, when she was in your secret?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, it was a weakness in the old lady,’ said Mr Boffin; ‘and yet, to + tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I’m rather proud of + it. My dear, the old lady thinks so high of me that she couldn’t abear to + see and hear me coming out as a reg’lar brown one. Couldn’t abear to + make-believe as I meant it! In consequence of which, we was everlastingly + in danger with her.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin laughed heartily at herself; but a certain glistening in her + honest eyes revealed that she was by no means cured of that dangerous + propensity. + </p> +<p> + ‘I assure you, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘that on the celebrated day when + I made what has since been agreed upon to be my grandest demonstration—I + allude to Mew says the cat, Quack quack says the duck, and Bow-wow-wow + says the dog—I assure you, my dear, that on that celebrated day, + them flinty and unbelieving words hit my old lady so hard on my account, + that I had to hold her, to prevent her running out after you, and + defending me by saying I was playing a part.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Boffin laughed heartily again, and her eyes glistened again, and it + then appeared, not only that in that burst of sarcastic eloquence Mr + Boffin was considered by his two fellow-conspirators to have outdone + himself, but that in his own opinion it was a remarkable achievement. + ‘Never thought of it afore the moment, my dear!’ he observed to Bella. + ‘When John said, if he had been so happy as to win your affections and + possess your heart, it come into my head to turn round upon him with “Win + her affections and possess her heart! Mew says the cat, Quack quack says + the duck, and Bow-wow-wow says the dog.” I couldn’t tell you how it come + into my head or where from, but it had so much the sound of a rasper that + I own to you it astonished myself. I was awful nigh bursting out a + laughing though, when it made John stare!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You said, my pretty,’ Mrs Boffin reminded Bella, ‘that there was one + other thing you couldn’t understand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O yes!’ cried Bella, covering her face with her hands; ‘but that I never + shall be able to understand as long as I live. It is, how John could love + me so when I so little deserved it, and how you, Mr and Mrs Boffin, could + be so forgetful of yourselves, and take such pains and trouble, to make me + a little better, and after all to help him to so unworthy a wife. But I am + very very grateful.’ + </p> +<p> + It was John Harmon’s turn then—John Harmon now for good, and John + Rokesmith for nevermore—to plead with her (quite unnecessarily) in + behalf of his deception, and to tell her, over and over again, that it had + been prolonged by her own winning graces in her supposed station of life. + This led on to many interchanges of endearment and enjoyment on all sides, + in the midst of which the Inexhaustible being observed staring, in a most + imbecile manner, on Mrs Boffin’s breast, was pronounced to be + supernaturally intelligent as to the whole transaction, and was made to + declare to the ladies and gemplemorums, with a wave of the speckled fist + (with difficulty detached from an exceedingly short waist), ‘I have + already informed my venerable Ma that I know all about it!’ + </p> +<p> + Then, said John Harmon, would Mrs John Harmon come and see her house? And + a dainty house it was, and a tastefully beautiful; and they went through + it in procession; the Inexhaustible on Mrs Boffin’s bosom (still staring) + occupying the middle station, and Mr Boffin bringing up the rear. And on + Bella’s exquisite toilette table was an ivory casket, and in the casket + were jewels the like of which she had never dreamed of, and aloft on an + upper floor was a nursery garnished as with rainbows; ‘though we were hard + put to it,’ said John Harmon, ‘to get it done in so short a time.’ + </p> +<p> + The house inspected, emissaries removed the Inexhaustible, who was shortly + afterwards heard screaming among the rainbows; whereupon Bella withdrew + herself from the presence and knowledge of gemplemorums, and the screaming + ceased, and smiling Peace associated herself with that young olive branch. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come and look in, Noddy!’ said Mrs Boffin to Mr Boffin. + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin, submitting to be led on tiptoe to the nursery door, looked in + with immense satisfaction, although there was nothing to see but Bella in + a musing state of happiness, seated in a little low chair upon the hearth, + with her child in her fair young arms, and her soft eyelashes shading her + eyes from the fire. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0735m " src="images/0735m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0735m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0735.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-2309395958870544221"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘It looks as if the old man’s spirit had found rest at last; don’t it?’ + said Mrs Boffin. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, old lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And as if his money had turned bright again, after a long long rust in + the dark, and was at last a beginning to sparkle in the sunlight?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, old lady.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And it makes a pretty and a promising picter; don’t it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, old lady.’ + </p> +<p> + But, aware at the instant of a fine opening for a point, Mr Boffin + quenched that observation in this—delivered in the grisliest + growling of the regular brown bear. ‘A pretty and a hopeful picter? Mew, + Quack quack, Bow-wow!’ And then trotted silently downstairs, with his + shoulders in a state of the liveliest commotion. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0064"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 14 + </h2> +<h3> + CHECKMATE TO THE FRIENDLY MOVE + </h3> +<p> + Mr and Mrs John Harmon had so timed their taking possession of their + rightful name and their London house, that the event befell on the very day + when the last waggon-load of the last Mound was driven out at the gates of + Boffin’s Bower. As it jolted away, Mr Wegg felt that the last load was + correspondingly removed from his mind, and hailed the auspicious season + when that black sheep, Boffin, was to be closely sheared. + </p> +<p> + Over the whole slow process of levelling the Mounds, Silas had kept watch + with rapacious eyes. But, eyes no less rapacious had watched the growth of + the Mounds in years bygone, and had vigilantly sifted the dust of which + they were composed. No valuables turned up. How should there be any, + seeing that the old hard jailer of Harmony Jail had coined every waif and + stray into money, long before? + </p> +<p> + Though disappointed by this bare result, Mr Wegg felt too sensibly + relieved by the close of the labour, to grumble to any great extent. A + foreman-representative of the dust contractors, purchasers of the Mounds, + had worn Mr Wegg down to skin and bone. This supervisor of the + proceedings, asserting his employers’ rights to cart off by daylight, + nightlight, torchlight, when they would, must have been the death of Silas + if the work had lasted much longer. Seeming never to need sleep himself, + he would reappear, with a tied-up broken head, in fantail hat and + velveteen smalls, like an accursed goblin, at the most unholy and untimely + hours. Tired out by keeping close ward over a long day’s work in fog and + rain, Silas would have just crawled to bed and be dozing, when a horrid + shake and rumble under his pillow would announce an approaching train of + carts, escorted by this Demon of Unrest, to fall to work again. At another + time, he would be rumbled up out of his soundest sleep, in the dead of the + night; at another, would be kept at his post eight-and-forty hours on end. + The more his persecutor besought him not to trouble himself to turn out, + the more suspicious was the crafty Wegg that indications had been observed + of something hidden somewhere, and that attempts were on foot to + circumvent him. So continually broken was his rest through these means, + that he led the life of having wagered to keep ten thousand dog-watches in + ten thousand hours, and looked piteously upon himself as always getting up + and yet never going to bed. So gaunt and haggard had he grown at last, + that his wooden leg showed disproportionate, and presented a thriving + appearance in contrast with the rest of his plagued body, which might + almost have been termed chubby. + </p> +<p> + However, Wegg’s comfort was, that all his disagreeables were now over, and + that he was immediately coming into his property. Of late, the grindstone + did undoubtedly appear to have been whirling at his own nose rather than + Boffin’s, but Boffin’s nose was now to be sharpened fine. Thus far, Mr + Wegg had let his dusty friend off lightly, having been baulked in that + amiable design of frequently dining with him, by the machinations of the + sleepless dustman. He had been constrained to depute Mr Venus to keep + their dusty friend, Boffin, under inspection, while he himself turned lank + and lean at the Bower. + </p> +<p> + To Mr Venus’s museum Mr Wegg repaired when at length the Mounds were down + and gone. It being evening, he found that gentleman, as he expected, + seated over his fire; but did not find him, as he expected, floating his + powerful mind in tea. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you smell rather comfortable here!’ said Wegg, seeming to take it + ill, and stopping and sniffing as he entered. + </p> +<p> + ‘I <i>am</i> rather comfortable, sir,’ said Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t use lemon in your business, do you?’ asked Wegg, sniffing + again. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Mr Wegg,’ said Venus. ‘When I use it at all, I mostly use it in + cobblers’ punch.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What do you call cobblers’ punch?’ demanded Wegg, in a worse humour than + before. + </p> +<p> + ‘It’s difficult to impart the receipt for it, sir,’ returned Venus, + ‘because, however particular you may be in allotting your materials, so + much will still depend upon the individual gifts, and there being a + feeling thrown into it. But the groundwork is gin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In a Dutch bottle?’ said Wegg gloomily, as he sat himself down. + </p> +<p> + ‘Very good, sir, very good!’ cried Venus. ‘Will you partake, sir?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Will I partake?’ returned Wegg very surlily. ‘Why, of course I will! <i>Will</i> + a man partake, as has been tormented out of his five senses by an + everlasting dustman with his head tied up! <i>Will </i>he, too! As if he + wouldn’t!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t let it put you out, Mr Wegg. You don’t seem in your usual spirits.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you come to that, you don’t seem in your usual spirits,’ growled Wegg. + ‘You seem to be setting up for lively.’ + </p> +<p> + This circumstance appeared, in his then state of mind, to give Mr Wegg + uncommon offence. + </p> +<p> + ‘And you’ve been having your hair cut!’ said Wegg, missing the usual dusty + shock. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Mr Wegg. But don’t let that put you out, either.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And I am blest if you ain’t getting fat!’ said Wegg, with culminating + discontent. ‘What are you going to do next?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well, Mr Wegg,’ said Venus, smiling in a sprightly manner, ‘I suspect you + could hardly guess what I am going to do next.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t want to guess,’ retorted Wegg. ‘All I’ve got to say is, that it’s + well for you that the diwision of labour has been what it has been. It’s + well for you to have had so light a part in this business, when mine has + been so heavy. You haven’t had <i>your </i>rest broke, I’ll be bound.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Not at all, sir,’ said Venus. ‘Never rested so well in all my life, I + thank you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Ah!’ grumbled Wegg, ‘you should have been me. If you had been me, and had + been fretted out of your bed, and your sleep, and your meals, and your + mind, for a stretch of months together, you’d have been out of condition + and out of sorts.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly, it has trained you down, Mr Wegg,’ said Venus, contemplating + his figure with an artist’s eye. ‘Trained you down very low, it has! So + weazen and yellow is the kivering upon your bones, that one might almost + fancy you had come to give a look-in upon the French gentleman in the + corner, instead of me.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg, glancing in great dudgeon towards the French gentleman’s corner, + seemed to notice something new there, which induced him to glance at the + opposite corner, and then to put on his glasses and stare at all the nooks + and corners of the dim shop in succession. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you’ve been having the place cleaned up!’ he exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Mr Wegg. By the hand of adorable woman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then what you’re going to do next, I suppose, is to get married?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s it, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + Silas took off his glasses again—finding himself too intensely + disgusted by the sprightly appearance of his friend and partner to bear a + magnified view of him and made the inquiry: + </p> +<p> + ‘To the old party?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg!’ said Venus, with a sudden flush of wrath. ‘The lady in question + is not a old party.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I meant,’ exclaimed Wegg, testily, ‘to the party as formerly objected?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg,’ said Venus, ‘in a case of so much delicacy, I must trouble you + to say what you mean. There are strings that must not be played upon. No + sir! Not sounded, unless in the most respectful and tuneful manner. Of + such melodious strings is Miss Pleasant Riderhood formed.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then it <i>is</i> the lady as formerly objected?’ said Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ returned Venus with dignity, ‘I accept the altered phrase. It is + the lady as formerly objected.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When is it to come off?’ asked Silas. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg,’ said Venus, with another flush. ‘I cannot permit it to be put + in the form of a Fight. I must temperately but firmly call upon you, sir, + to amend that question.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When is the lady,’ Wegg reluctantly demanded, constraining his ill temper + in remembrance of the partnership and its stock in trade, ‘a going to give + her ’and where she has already given her ’art?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ returned Venus, ‘I again accept the altered phrase, and with + pleasure. The lady is a going to give her ’and where she has already given + her ’art, next Monday.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then the lady’s objection has been met?’ said Silas. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Wegg,’ said Venus, ‘as I did name to you, I think, on a former + occasion, if not on former occasions—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘On former occasions,’ interrupted Wegg. + </p> +<p> + ‘—What,’ pursued Venus, ‘what the nature of the lady’s objection + was, I may impart, without violating any of the tender confidences since + sprung up between the lady and myself, how it has been met, through the + kind interference of two good friends of mine: one, previously acquainted + with the lady: and one, not. The pint was thrown out, sir, by those two + friends when they did me the great service of waiting on the lady to try + if a union betwixt the lady and me could not be brought to bear—the + pint, I say, was thrown out by them, sir, whether if, after marriage, I + confined myself to the articulation of men, children, and the lower + animals, it might not relieve the lady’s mind of her feeling respecting + being as a lady—regarded in a bony light. It was a happy thought, + sir, and it took root.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It would seem, Mr Venus,’ observed Wegg, with a touch of distrust, ‘that + you are flush of friends?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pretty well, sir,’ that gentleman answered, in a tone of placid mystery. + ‘So-so, sir. Pretty well.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘However,’ said Wegg, after eyeing him with another touch of distrust, ‘I + wish you joy. One man spends his fortune in one way, and another in + another. You are going to try matrimony. I mean to try travelling.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Indeed, Mr Wegg?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Change of air, sea-scenery, and my natural rest, I hope may bring me + round after the persecutions I have undergone from the dustman with his + head tied up, which I just now mentioned. The tough job being ended and + the Mounds laid low, the hour is come for Boffin to stump up. Would ten + to-morrow morning suit you, partner, for finally bringing Boffin’s nose to + the grindstone?’ + </p> +<p> + Ten to-morrow morning would quite suit Mr Venus for that excellent + purpose. + </p> +<p> + ‘You have had him well under inspection, I hope?’ said Silas. + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus had had him under inspection pretty well every day. + </p> +<p> + ‘Suppose you was just to step round to-night then, and give him orders + from me—I say from me, because he knows I won’t be played with—to + be ready with his papers, his accounts, and his cash, at that time in the + morning?’ said Wegg. ‘And as a matter of form, which will be agreeable to + your own feelings, before we go out (for I’ll walk with you part of the + way, though my leg gives under me with weariness), let’s have a look at + the stock in trade.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Venus produced it, and it was perfectly correct; Mr Venus undertook to + produce it again in the morning, and to keep tryst with Mr Wegg on + Boffin’s doorstep as the clock struck ten. At a certain point of the road + between Clerkenwell and Boffin’s house (Mr Wegg expressly insisted that + there should be no prefix to the Golden Dustman’s name) the partners + separated for the night. + </p> +<p> + It was a very bad night; to which succeeded a very bad morning. The + streets were so unusually slushy, muddy, and miserable, in the morning, + that Wegg rode to the scene of action; arguing that a man who was, as it + were, going to the Bank to draw out a handsome property, could well afford + that trifling expense. + </p> +<p> + Venus was punctual, and Wegg undertook to knock at the door, and conduct + the conference. Door knocked at. Door opened. + </p> +<p> + ‘Boffin at home?’ + </p> +<p> + The servant replied that <i>Mr</i> Boffin was at home. + </p> +<p> + ‘He’ll do,’ said Wegg, ‘though it ain’t what I call him.’ + </p> +<p> + The servant inquired if they had any appointment? + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I tell you what, young fellow,’ said Wegg, ‘I won’t have it. This + won’t do for me. I don’t want menials. I want Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + They were shown into a waiting-room, where the all-powerful Wegg wore his + hat, and whistled, and with his forefinger stirred up a clock that stood + upon the chimneypiece, until he made it strike. In a few minutes they were + shown upstairs into what used to be Boffin’s room; which, besides the door + of entrance, had folding-doors in it, to make it one of a suite of rooms + when occasion required. Here, Boffin was seated at a library-table, and + here Mr Wegg, having imperiously motioned the servant to withdraw, drew up + a chair and seated himself, in his hat, close beside him. Here, also, Mr + Wegg instantly underwent the remarkable experience of having his hat + twitched off his head and thrown out of a window, which was opened and + shut for the purpose. + </p> +<p> + ‘Be careful what insolent liberties you take in that gentleman’s + presence,’ said the owner of the hand which had done this, ‘or I will + throw you after it.’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg involuntarily clapped his hand to his bare head, and stared at the + Secretary. For, it was he addressed him with a severe countenance, and who + had come in quietly by the folding-doors. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Wegg, as soon as he recovered his suspended power of speech. + ‘Very good! I gave directions for <i>you </i>to be dismissed. And you ain’t gone, + ain’t you? Oh! We’ll look into this presently. Very good!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, nor I ain’t gone,’ said another voice. + </p> +<p> + Somebody else had come in quietly by the folding-doors. Turning his head, + Wegg beheld his persecutor, the ever-wakeful dustman, accoutred with + fantail hat and velveteen smalls complete. Who, untying his tied-up broken + head, revealed a head that was whole, and a face that was Sloppy’s. + </p> +<p> + ‘Ha, ha, ha, gentlemen!’ roared Sloppy in a peal of laughter, and with + immeasureable relish. ‘He never thought as I could sleep standing, and + often done it when I turned for Mrs Higden! He never thought as I used to + give Mrs Higden the Police-news in different voices! But I did lead him a + life all through it, gentlemen, I hope I really and truly <i>did</i>!’ Here, Mr + Sloppy opening his mouth to a quite alarming extent, and throwing back his + head to peal again, revealed incalculable buttons. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ said Wegg, slightly discomfited, but not much as yet: ‘one and one + is two not dismissed, is it? Bof—fin! Just let me ask a question. + Who set this chap on, in this dress, when the carting began? Who employed + this fellow?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I say!’ remonstrated Sloppy, jerking his head forward. ‘No fellows, or + I’ll throw you out of winder!’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Boffin appeased him with a wave of his hand, and said: ‘I employed him, + Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! You employed him, Boffin? Very good. Mr Venus, we raise our terms, + and we can’t do better than proceed to business. Bof—fin! I want the + room cleared of these two scum.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s not going to be done, Wegg,’ replied Mr Boffin, sitting composedly + on the library-table, at one end, while the Secretary sat composedly on it + at the other. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bof—fin! Not going to be done?’ repeated Wegg. ‘Not at your peril?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, shaking his head good-humouredly. ‘Not at my + peril, and not on any other terms.’ + </p> +<p> + Wegg reflected a moment, and then said: ‘Mr Venus, will you be so good as + hand me over that same dockyment?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Venus, handing it to him with much politeness. + ‘There it is. Having now, sir, parted with it, I wish to make a small + observation: not so much because it is anyways necessary, or expresses any + new doctrine or discovery, as because it is a comfort to my mind. Silas + Wegg, you are a precious old rascal.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Wegg, who, as if anticipating a compliment, had been beating time with + the paper to the other’s politeness until this unexpected conclusion came + upon him, stopped rather abruptly. + </p> +<p> + ‘Silas Wegg,’ said Venus, ‘know that I took the liberty of taking Mr + Boffin into our concern as a sleeping partner, at a very early period of + our firm’s existence.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Quite true,’ added Mr Boffin; ‘and I tested Venus by making him a + pretended proposal or two; and I found him on the whole a very honest man, + Wegg.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘So Mr Boffin, in his indulgence, is pleased to say,’ Venus remarked: + ‘though in the beginning of this dirt, my hands were not, for a few hours, + quite as clean as I could wish. But I hope I made early and full amends.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Venus, you did,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Certainly, certainly, certainly.’ + </p> +<p> + Venus inclined his head with respect and gratitude. ‘Thank you, sir. I am + much obliged to you, sir, for all. For your good opinion now, for your way + of receiving and encouraging me when I first put myself in communication + with you, and for the influence since so kindly brought to bear upon a + certain lady, both by yourself and by Mr John Harmon.’ To whom, when thus + making mention of him, he also bowed. + </p> +<p> + Wegg followed the name with sharp ears, and the action with sharp eyes, + and a certain cringing air was infusing itself into his bullying air, when + his attention was re-claimed by Venus. + </p> +<p> + ‘Everything else between you and me, Mr Wegg,’ said Venus, ‘now explains + itself, and you can now make out, sir, without further words from me. But + totally to prevent any unpleasantness or mistake that might arise on what + I consider an important point, to be made quite clear at the close of our + acquaintance, I beg the leave of Mr Boffin and Mr John Harmon to repeat an + observation which I have already had the pleasure of bringing under your + notice. You are a precious old rascal!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a fool,’ said Wegg, with a snap of his fingers, ‘and I’d have got + rid of you before now, if I could have struck out any way of doing it. I + have thought it over, I can tell you. You may go, and welcome. You leave + the more for me. Because, you know,’ said Wegg, dividing his next + observation between Mr Boffin and Mr Harmon, ‘I am worth my price, and I + mean to have it. This getting off is all very well in its way, and it + tells with such an anatomical Pump as this one,’ pointing out Mr Venus, + ‘but it won’t do with a Man. I am here to be bought off, and I have named + my figure. Now, buy me, or leave me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll leave you, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, laughing, ‘as far as I am + concerned.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Bof—fin!’ replied Wegg, turning upon him with a severe air, ‘I + understand <i>your </i>new-born boldness. I see the brass underneath <i>your </i>silver + plating. <i>You </i>have got <i>your </i>nose out of joint. Knowing that you’ve nothing + at stake, you can afford to come the independent game. Why, you’re just so + much smeary glass to see through, you know! But Mr Harmon is in another + sitiwation. What Mr Harmon risks, is quite another pair of shoes. Now, + I’ve heerd something lately about this being Mr Harmon—I make out + now, some hints that I’ve met on that subject in the newspaper—and I + drop you, Bof—fin, as beneath my notice. I ask Mr Harmon whether he + has any idea of the contents of this present paper?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is a will of my late father’s, of more recent date than the will + proved by Mr Boffin (address whom again, as you have addressed him + already, and I’ll knock you down), leaving the whole of his property to + the Crown,’ said John Harmon, with as much indifference as was compatible + with extreme sternness. + </p> +<p> + ‘Right you are!’ cried Wegg. ‘Then,’ screwing the weight of his body upon + his wooden leg, and screwing his wooden head very much on one side, and + screwing up one eye: ‘then, I put the question to you, what’s this paper + worth?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing,’ said John Harmon. + </p> +<p> + Wegg had repeated the word with a sneer, and was entering on some + sarcastic retort, when, to his boundless amazement, he found himself + gripped by the cravat; shaken until his teeth chattered; shoved back, + staggering, into a corner of the room; and pinned there. + </p> +<p> + ‘You scoundrel!’ said John Harmon, whose seafaring hold was like that of a + vice. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re knocking my head against the wall,’ urged Silas faintly. + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean to knock your head against the wall,’ returned John Harmon, + suiting his action to his words, with the heartiest good will; ‘and I’d + give a thousand pounds for leave to knock your brains out. Listen, you + scoundrel, and look at that Dutch bottle.’ + </p> +<p> + Sloppy held it up, for his edification. + </p> +<p> + ‘That Dutch bottle, scoundrel, contained the latest will of the many wills + made by my unhappy self-tormenting father. That will gives everything + absolutely to my noble benefactor and yours, Mr Boffin, excluding and + reviling me, and my sister (then already dead of a broken heart), by name. + That Dutch bottle was found by my noble benefactor and yours, after he + entered on possession of the estate. That Dutch bottle distressed him + beyond measure, because, though I and my sister were both no more, it cast + a slur upon our memory which he knew we had done nothing in our miserable + youth, to deserve. That Dutch bottle, therefore, he buried in the Mound + belonging to him, and there it lay while you, you thankless wretch, were + prodding and poking—often very near it, I dare say. His intention + was, that it should never see the light; but he was afraid to destroy it, + lest to destroy such a document, even with his great generous motive, + might be an offence at law. After the discovery was made here who I was, + Mr Boffin, still restless on the subject, told me, upon certain conditions + impossible for such a hound as you to appreciate, the secret of that Dutch + bottle. I urged upon him the necessity of its being dug up, and the paper + being legally produced and established. The first thing you saw him do, + and the second thing has been done without your knowledge. Consequently, + the paper now rattling in your hand as I shake you—and I should like + to shake the life out of you—is worth less than the rotten cork of + the Dutch bottle, do you understand?’ + </p> +<p> + Judging from the fallen countenance of Silas as his head wagged backwards + and forwards in a most uncomfortable manner, he did understand. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, scoundrel,’ said John Harmon, taking another sailor-like turn on his + cravat and holding him in his corner at arms’ length, ‘I shall make two + more short speeches to you, because I hope they will torment you. Your + discovery was a genuine discovery (such as it was), for nobody had thought + of looking into that place. Neither did we know you had made it, until + Venus spoke to Mr Boffin, though I kept you under good observation from my + first appearance here, and though Sloppy has long made it the chief + occupation and delight of his life, to attend you like your shadow. I tell + you this, that you may know we knew enough of you to persuade Mr Boffin to + let us lead you on, deluded, to the last possible moment, in order that + your disappointment might be the heaviest possible disappointment. That’s + the first short speech, do you understand?’ + </p> +<p> + Here, John Harmon assisted his comprehension with another shake. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, scoundrel,’ he pursued, ‘I am going to finish. You supposed me just + now, to be the possessor of my father’s property.—So I am. But + through any act of my father’s, or by any right I have? No. Through the + munificence of Mr Boffin. The conditions that he made with me, before + parting with the secret of the Dutch bottle, were, that I should take the + fortune, and that he should take his Mound and no more. I owe everything I + possess, solely to the disinterestedness, uprightness, tenderness, + goodness (there are no words to satisfy me) of Mr and Mrs Boffin. And + when, knowing what I knew, I saw such a mud-worm as you presume to rise in + this house against this noble soul, the wonder is,’ added John Harmon + through his clenched teeth, and with a very ugly turn indeed on Wegg’s + cravat, ‘that I didn’t try to twist your head off, and fling <i>that </i>out of + window! So. That’s the last short speech, do you understand?’ + </p> +<p> + Silas, released, put his hand to his throat, cleared it, and looked as if + he had a rather large fishbone in that region. Simultaneously with this + action on his part in his corner, a singular, and on the surface an + incomprehensible, movement was made by Mr Sloppy: who began backing + towards Mr Wegg along the wall, in the manner of a porter or heaver who is + about to lift a sack of flour or coals. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sorry, Wegg,’ said Mr Boffin, in his clemency, ‘that my old lady and + I can’t have a better opinion of you than the bad one we are forced to + entertain. But I shouldn’t like to leave you, after all said and done, + worse off in life than I found you. Therefore say in a word, before we + part, what it’ll cost to set you up in another stall.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And in another place,’ John Harmon struck in. ‘You don’t come outside + these windows.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Boffin,’ returned Wegg in avaricious humiliation: ‘when I first had + the honour of making your acquaintance, I had got together a collection of + ballads which was, I may say, above price.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then they can’t be paid for,’ said John Harmon, ‘and you had better not + try, my dear sir.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me, Mr Boffin,’ resumed Wegg, with a malignant glance in the last + speaker’s direction, ‘I was putting the case to you, who, if my senses did + not deceive me, put the case to me. I had a very choice collection of + ballads, and there was a new stock of gingerbread in the tin box. I say no + more, but would rather leave it to you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But it’s difficult to name what’s right,’ said Mr Boffin uneasily, with + his hand in his pocket, ‘and I don’t want to go beyond what’s right, + because you really have turned out such a very bad fellow. So artful, and + so ungrateful you have been, Wegg; for when did I ever injure you?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There was also,’ Mr Wegg went on, in a meditative manner, ‘a errand + connection, in which I was much respected. But I would not wish to be + deemed covetous, and I would rather leave it to you, Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Upon my word, I don’t know what to put it at,’ the Golden Dustman + muttered. + </p> +<p> + ‘There was likewise,’ resumed Wegg, ‘a pair of trestles, for which alone a + Irish person, who was deemed a judge of trestles, offered five and six—a + sum I would not hear of, for I should have lost by it—and there was + a stool, a umbrella, a clothes-horse, and a tray. But I leave it to you, + Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + The Golden Dustman seeming to be engaged in some abstruse calculation, Mr + Wegg assisted him with the following additional items. + </p> +<p> + ‘There was, further, Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, and Uncle + Parker. Ah! When a man thinks of the loss of such patronage as that; when + a man finds so fair a garden rooted up by pigs; he finds it hard indeed, + without going high, to work it into money. But I leave it wholly to you, + sir.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sloppy still continued his singular, and on the surface his + incomprehensible, movement. + </p> +<p> + ‘Leading on has been mentioned,’ said Wegg with a melancholy air, ‘and + it’s not easy to say how far the tone of my mind may have been lowered by + unwholesome reading on the subject of Misers, when you was leading me and + others on to think you one yourself, sir. All I can say is, that I felt my + tone of mind a lowering at the time. And how can a man put a price upon + his mind! There was likewise a hat just now. But I leave the ole to you, + Mr Boffin.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Come!’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Here’s a couple of pound.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘In justice to myself, I couldn’t take it, sir.’ + </p> +<p> + The words were but out of his mouth when John Harmon lifted his finger, + and Sloppy, who was now close to Wegg, backed to Wegg’s back, stooped, + grasped his coat collar behind with both hands, and deftly swung him up + like the sack of flour or coals before mentioned. A countenance of special + discontent and amazement Mr Wegg exhibited in this position, with his + buttons almost as prominently on view as Sloppy’s own, and with his wooden + leg in a highly unaccommodating state. But, not for many seconds was his + countenance visible in the room; for, Sloppy lightly trotted out with him + and trotted down the staircase, Mr Venus attending to open the street + door. Mr Sloppy’s instructions had been to deposit his burden in the road; + but, a scavenger’s cart happening to stand unattended at the corner, with + its little ladder planted against the wheel, Mr S. found it impossible to + resist the temptation of shooting Mr Silas Wegg into the cart’s contents. + A somewhat difficult feat, achieved with great dexterity, and with a + prodigious splash. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0065"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 15 + </h2> +<h3> + WHAT WAS CAUGHT IN THE TRAPS THAT WERE SET + </h3> +<p> + How Bradley Headstone had been racked and riven in his mind since the + quiet evening when by the river-side he had risen, as it were, out of the + ashes of the Bargeman, none but he could have told. Not even he could have + told, for such misery can only be felt. + </p> +<p> + First, he had to bear the combined weight of the knowledge of what he had + done, of that haunting reproach that he might have done it so much better, + and of the dread of discovery. This was load enough to crush him, and he + laboured under it day and night. It was as heavy on him in his scanty + sleep, as in his red-eyed waking hours. It bore him down with a dread + unchanging monotony, in which there was not a moment’s variety. The + overweighted beast of burden, or the overweighted slave, can for certain + instants shift the physical load, and find some slight respite even in + enforcing additional pain upon such a set of muscles or such a limb. Not + even that poor mockery of relief could the wretched man obtain, under the + steady pressure of the infernal atmosphere into which he had entered. + </p> +<p> + Time went by, and no visible suspicion dogged him; time went by, and in + such public accounts of the attack as were renewed at intervals, he began + to see Mr Lightwood (who acted as lawyer for the injured man) straying + further from the fact, going wider of the issue, and evidently slackening + in his zeal. By degrees, a glimmering of the cause of this began to break + on Bradley’s sight. Then came the chance meeting with Mr Milvey at the + railway station (where he often lingered in his leisure hours, as a place + where any fresh news of his deed would be circulated, or any placard + referring to it would be posted), and then he saw in the light what he had + brought about. + </p> +<p> + For, then he saw that through his desperate attempt to separate those two + for ever, he had been made the means of uniting them. That he had dipped + his hands in blood, to mark himself a miserable fool and tool. That Eugene + Wrayburn, for his wife’s sake, set him aside and left him to crawl along + his blasted course. He thought of Fate, or Providence, or be the directing + Power what it might, as having put a fraud upon him—overreached him—and + in his impotent mad rage bit, and tore, and had his fit. + </p> +<p> + New assurance of the truth came upon him in the next few following days, + when it was put forth how the wounded man had been married on his bed, and + to whom, and how, though always in a dangerous condition, he was a shade + better. Bradley would far rather have been seized for his murder, than he + would have read that passage, knowing himself spared, and knowing why. + </p> +<p> + But, not to be still further defrauded and overreached—which he + would be, if implicated by Riderhood, and punished by the law for his + abject failure, as though it had been a success—he kept close in his + school during the day, ventured out warily at night, and went no more to + the railway station. He examined the advertisements in the newspapers for + any sign that Riderhood acted on his hinted threat of so summoning him to + renew their acquaintance, but found none. Having paid him handsomely for + the support and accommodation he had had at the Lock House, and knowing + him to be a very ignorant man who could not write, he began to doubt + whether he was to be feared at all, or whether they need ever meet again. + </p> +<p> + All this time, his mind was never off the rack, and his raging sense of + having been made to fling himself across the chasm which divided those + two, and bridge it over for their coming together, never cooled down. This + horrible condition brought on other fits. He could not have said how many, + or when; but he saw in the faces of his pupils that they had seen him in + that state, and that they were possessed by a dread of his relapsing. + </p> +<p> + One winter day when a slight fall of snow was feathering the sills and + frames of the schoolroom windows, he stood at his black board, crayon in + hand, about to commence with a class; when, reading in the countenances of + those boys that there was something wrong, and that they seemed in alarm + for him, he turned his eyes to the door towards which they faced. He then + saw a slouching man of forbidding appearance standing in the midst of the + school, with a bundle under his arm; and saw that it was Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + He sat down on a stool which one of his boys put for him, and he had a + passing knowledge that he was in danger of falling, and that his face was + becoming distorted. But, the fit went off for that time, and he wiped his + mouth, and stood up again. + </p> +<p> + ‘Beg your pardon, governor! By your leave!’ said Riderhood, knuckling his + forehead, with a chuckle and a leer. ‘What place may this be?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This is a school.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where young folks learns wot’s right?’ said Riderhood, gravely nodding. + ‘Beg your pardon, governor! By your leave! But who teaches this school?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I do.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You’re the master, are you, learned governor?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes. I am the master.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And a lovely thing it must be,’ said Riderhood, ‘fur to learn young folks + wot’s right, and fur to know wot <i>they </i>know wot you do it. Beg your pardon, + learned governor! By your leave!—That there black board; wot’s it + for?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is for drawing on, or writing on.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Is it though!’ said Riderhood. ‘Who’d have thought it, from the looks on + it! <i>would </i>you be so kind as write your name upon it, learned governor?’ + (In a wheedling tone.) + </p> +<p> + Bradley hesitated for a moment; but placed his usual signature, enlarged, + upon the board. + </p> +<p> + ‘I ain’t a learned character myself,’ said Riderhood, surveying the class, + ‘but I do admire learning in others. I should dearly like to hear these + here young folks read that there name off, from the writing.’ + </p> +<p> + The arms of the class went up. At the miserable master’s nod, the shrill + chorus arose: ‘Bradley Headstone!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No?’ cried Riderhood. ‘You don’t mean it? Headstone! Why, that’s in a + churchyard. Hooroar for another turn!’ + </p> +<p> + Another tossing of arms, another nod, and another shrill chorus: + </p> +<p> + ‘Bradley Headstone!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ve got it now!’ said Riderhood, after attentively listening, and + internally repeating: ‘Bradley. I see. Chris’en name, Bradley sim’lar to + Roger which is my own. Eh? Fam’ly name, Headstone, sim’lar to Riderhood + which is my own. Eh?’ + </p> +<p> + Shrill chorus. ‘Yes!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Might you be acquainted, learned governor,’ said Riderhood, ‘with a + person of about your own heighth and breadth, and wot ’ud pull down in a + scale about your own weight, answering to a name sounding summat like + Totherest?’ + </p> +<p> + With a desperation in him that made him perfectly quiet, though his jaw + was heavily squared; with his eyes upon Riderhood; and with traces of + quickened breathing in his nostrils; the schoolmaster replied, in a + suppressed voice, after a pause: ‘I think I know the man you mean.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought you knowed the man I mean, learned governor. I want the man.’ + </p> +<p> + With a half glance around him at his pupils, Bradley returned: + </p> +<p> + ‘Do you suppose he is here?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Begging your pardon, learned governor, and by your leave,’ said + Riderhood, with a laugh, ‘how could I suppose he’s here, when there’s + nobody here but you, and me, and these young lambs wot you’re a learning + on? But he is most excellent company, that man, and I want him to come and + see me at my Lock, up the river.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll tell him so.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘D’ye think he’ll come?’ asked Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure he will.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Having got your word for him,’ said Riderhood, ‘I shall count upon him. + P’raps you’d so fur obleege me, learned governor, as tell him that if he + don’t come precious soon, I’ll look him up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘He shall know it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thankee. As I says a while ago,’ pursued Riderhood, changing his hoarse + tone and leering round upon the class again, ‘though not a learned + character my own self, I do admire learning in others, to be sure! Being + here and having met with your kind attention, Master, might I, afore I go, + ask a question of these here young lambs of yourn?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If it is in the way of school,’ said Bradley, always sustaining his dark + look at the other, and speaking in his suppressed voice, ‘you may.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! It’s in the way of school!’ cried Riderhood. ‘I’ll pound it, Master, + to be in the way of school. Wot’s the diwisions of water, my lambs? Wot + sorts of water is there on the land?’ + </p> +<p> + Shrill chorus: ‘Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds,’ said Riderhood. ‘They’ve got all the + lot, Master! Blowed if I shouldn’t have left out lakes, never having + clapped eyes upon one, to my knowledge. Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds. + Wot is it, lambs, as they ketches in seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds?’ + </p> +<p> + Shrill chorus (with some contempt for the ease of the question): + </p> +<p> + ‘Fish!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good a-gin!’ said Riderhood. ‘But wot else is it, my lambs, as they + sometimes ketches in rivers?’ + </p> +<p> + Chorus at a loss. One shrill voice: ‘Weed!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Good agin!’ cried Riderhood. ‘But it ain’t weed neither. You’ll never + guess, my dears. Wot is it, besides fish, as they sometimes ketches in + rivers? Well! I’ll tell you. It’s suits o’ clothes.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley’s face changed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Leastways, lambs,’ said Riderhood, observing him out of the corners of + his eyes, ‘that’s wot I my own self sometimes ketches in rivers. For + strike me blind, my lambs, if I didn’t ketch in a river the wery bundle + under my arm!’ + </p> +<p> + The class looked at the master, as if appealing from the irregular + entrapment of this mode of examination. The master looked at the examiner, + as if he would have torn him to pieces. + </p> +<p> + ‘I ask your pardon, learned governor,’ said Riderhood, smearing his sleeve + across his mouth as he laughed with a relish, ‘tain’t fair to the lambs, I + know. It wos a bit of fun of mine. But upon my soul I drawed this here + bundle out of a river! It’s a Bargeman’s suit of clothes. You see, it had + been sunk there by the man as wore it, and I got it up.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you know it was sunk by the man who wore it?’ asked Bradley. + </p> +<p> + ‘Cause I see him do it,’ said Riderhood. + </p> +<p> + They looked at each other. Bradley, slowly withdrawing his eyes, turned + his face to the black board and slowly wiped his name out. + </p> +<p> + ‘A heap of thanks, Master,’ said Riderhood, ‘for bestowing so much of your + time, and of the lambses’ time, upon a man as hasn’t got no other + recommendation to you than being a honest man. Wishing to see at my Lock + up the river, the person as we’ve spoke of, and as you’ve answered for, I + takes my leave of the lambs and of their learned governor both.’ + </p> +<p> + With those words, he slouched out of the school, leaving the master to get + through his weary work as he might, and leaving the whispering pupils to + observe the master’s face until he fell into the fit which had been long + impending. + </p> +<p> + The next day but one was Saturday, and a holiday. Bradley rose early, and + set out on foot for Plashwater Weir Mill Lock. He rose so early that it + was not yet light when he began his journey. Before extinguishing the + candle by which he had dressed himself, he made a little parcel of his + decent silver watch and its decent guard, and wrote inside the paper: + ‘Kindly take care of these for me.’ He then addressed the parcel to Miss + Peecher, and left it on the most protected corner of the little seat in + her little porch. + </p> +<p> + It was a cold hard easterly morning when he latched the garden gate and + turned away. The light snowfall which had feathered his schoolroom windows + on the Thursday, still lingered in the air, and was falling white, while + the wind blew black. The tardy day did not appear until he had been on + foot two hours, and had traversed a greater part of London from east to + west. Such breakfast as he had, he took at the comfortless public-house + where he had parted from Riderhood on the occasion of their night-walk. He + took it, standing at the littered bar, and looked loweringly at a man who + stood where Riderhood had stood that early morning. + </p> +<p> + He outwalked the short day, and was on the towing-path by the river, + somewhat footsore, when the night closed in. Still two or three miles + short of the Lock, he slackened his pace then, but went steadily on. The + ground was now covered with snow, though thinly, and there were floating + lumps of ice in the more exposed parts of the river, and broken sheets of + ice under the shelter of the banks. He took heed of nothing but the ice, + the snow, and the distance, until he saw a light ahead, which he knew + gleamed from the Lock House window. It arrested his steps, and he looked + all around. The ice, and the snow, and he, and the one light, had absolute + possession of the dreary scene. In the distance before him, lay the place + where he had struck the worse than useless blows that mocked him with + Lizzie’s presence there as Eugene’s wife. In the distance behind him, lay + the place where the children with pointing arms had seemed to devote him + to the demons in crying out his name. Within there, where the light was, + was the man who as to both distances could give him up to ruin. To these + limits had his world shrunk. + </p> +<p> + He mended his pace, keeping his eyes upon the light with a strange + intensity, as if he were taking aim at it. When he approached it so nearly + as that it parted into rays, they seemed to fasten themselves to him and + draw him on. When he struck the door with his hand, his foot followed so + quickly on his hand, that he was in the room before he was bidden to + enter. + </p> +<p> + The light was the joint product of a fire and a candle. Between the two, + with his feet on the iron fender, sat Riderhood, pipe in mouth. + </p> +<p> + He looked up with a surly nod when his visitor came in. His visitor looked + down with a surly nod. His outer clothing removed, the visitor then took a + seat on the opposite side of the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘Not a smoker, I think?’ said Riderhood, pushing a bottle to him across + the table. + </p> +<p> + ‘No.’ + </p> +<p> + They both lapsed into silence, with their eyes upon the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t need to be told I am here,’ said Bradley at length. ‘Who is to + begin?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll begin,’ said Riderhood, ‘when I’ve smoked this here pipe out.’ + </p> +<p> + He finished it with great deliberation, knocked out the ashes on the hob, + and put it by. + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll begin,’ he then repeated, ‘Bradley Headstone, Master, if you wish + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Wish it? I wish to know what you want with me.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And so you shall.’ Riderhood had looked hard at his hands and his + pockets, apparently as a precautionary measure lest he should have any + weapon about him. But, he now leaned forward, turning the collar of his + waistcoat with an inquisitive finger, and asked, ‘Why, where’s your + watch?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have left it behind.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I want it. But it can be fetched. I’ve took a fancy to it.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley answered with a contemptuous laugh. + </p> +<p> + ‘I want it,’ repeated Riderhood, in a louder voice, ‘and I mean to have + it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That is what you want of me, is it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Riderhood, still louder; ‘it’s on’y part of what I want of you. + I want money of you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Anything else?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Everythink else!’ roared Riderhood, in a very loud and furious way. + ‘Answer me like that, and I won’t talk to you at all.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley looked at him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Don’t so much as look at me like that, or I won’t talk to you at all,’ + vociferated Riderhood. ‘But, instead of talking, I’ll bring my hand down + upon you with all its weight,’ heavily smiting the table with great force, + ‘and smash you!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go on,’ said Bradley, after moistening his lips. + </p> +<p> + ‘O! I’m a going on. Don’t you fear but I’ll go on full-fast enough for + you, and fur enough for you, without your telling. Look here, Bradley + Headstone, Master. You might have split the T’other governor to chips and + wedges, without my caring, except that I might have come upon you for a + glass or so now and then. Else why have to do with you at all? But when + you copied my clothes, and when you copied my neckhankercher, and when you + shook blood upon me after you had done the trick, you did wot I’ll be paid + for and paid heavy for. If it come to be throw’d upon you, you was to be + ready to throw it upon me, was you? Where else but in Plashwater Weir Mill + Lock was there a man dressed according as described? Where else but in + Plashwater Weir Mill Lock was there a man as had had words with him coming + through in his boat? Look at the Lock-keeper in Plashwater Weir Mill Lock, + in them same answering clothes and with that same answering red + neckhankercher, and see whether his clothes happens to be bloody or not. + Yes, they do happen to be bloody. Ah, you sly devil!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley, very white, sat looking at him in silence. + </p> +<p> + ‘But two could play at your game,’ said Riderhood, snapping his fingers at + him half a dozen times, ‘and I played it long ago; long afore you tried + your clumsy hand at it; in days when you hadn’t begun croaking your + lecters or what not in your school. I know to a figure how you done it. + Where you stole away, I could steal away arter you, and do it knowinger + than you. I know how you come away from London in your own clothes, and + where you changed your clothes, and hid your clothes. I see you with my + own eyes take your own clothes from their hiding-place among them felled + trees, and take a dip in the river to account for your dressing yourself, + to any one as might come by. I see you rise up Bradley Headstone, Master, + where you sat down Bargeman. I see you pitch your Bargeman’s bundle into + the river. I hooked your Bargeman’s bundle out of the river. I’ve got your + Bargeman’s clothes, tore this way and that way with the scuffle, stained + green with the grass, and spattered all over with what bust from the + blows. I’ve got them, and I’ve got you. I don’t care a curse for the + T’other governor, alive or dead, but I care a many curses for my own self. + And as you laid your plots agin me and was a sly devil agin me, I’ll be + paid for it—I’ll be paid for it—I’ll be paid for it—till + I’ve drained you dry!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley looked at the fire, with a working face, and was silent for a + while. At last he said, with what seemed an inconsistent composure of + voice and feature: + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t get blood out of a stone, Riderhood.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can get money out of a schoolmaster though.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You can’t get out of me what is not in me. You can’t wrest from me what I + have not got. Mine is but a poor calling. You have had more than two + guineas from me, already. Do you know how long it has taken me (allowing + for a long and arduous training) to earn such a sum?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I don’t know, nor I don’t care. Yours is a ’spectable calling. To save + your ’spectability, it’s worth your while to pawn every article of clothes + you’ve got, sell every stick in your house, and beg and borrow every penny + you can get trusted with. When you’ve done that and handed over, I’ll + leave you. Not afore.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How do you mean, you’ll leave me?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I mean as I’ll keep you company, wherever you go, when you go away from + here. Let the Lock take care of itself. I’ll take care of you, once I’ve + got you.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley again looked at the fire. Eyeing him aside, Riderhood took up his + pipe, refilled it, lighted it, and sat smoking. Bradley leaned his elbows + on his knees, and his head upon his hands, and looked at the fire with a + most intent abstraction. + </p> +<p> + ‘Riderhood,’ he said, raising himself in his chair, after a long silence, + and drawing out his purse and putting it on the table. ‘Say I part with + this, which is all the money I have; say I let you have my watch; say that + every quarter, when I draw my salary, I pay you a certain portion of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Say nothink of the sort,’ retorted Riderhood, shaking his head as he + smoked. ‘You’ve got away once, and I won’t run the chance agin. I’ve had + trouble enough to find you, and shouldn’t have found you, if I hadn’t seen + you slipping along the street overnight, and watched you till you was safe + housed. I’ll have one settlement with you for good and all.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Riderhood, I am a man who has lived a retired life. I have no resources + beyond myself. I have absolutely no friends.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s a lie,’ said Riderhood. ‘You’ve got one friend as I knows of; one + as is good for a Savings-Bank book, or I’m a blue monkey!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley’s face darkened, and his hand slowly closed on the purse and drew + it back, as he sat listening for what the other should go on to say. + </p> +<p> + ‘I went into the wrong shop, fust, last Thursday,’ said Riderhood. ‘Found + myself among the young ladies, by George! Over the young ladies, I see a + Missis. That Missis is sweet enough upon you, Master, to sell herself up, + slap, to get you out of trouble. Make her do it then.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley stared at him so very suddenly that Riderhood, not quite knowing + how to take it, affected to be occupied with the encircling smoke from his + pipe; fanning it away with his hand, and blowing it off. + </p> +<p> + ‘You spoke to the mistress, did you?’ inquired Bradley, with that former + composure of voice and feature that seemed inconsistent, and with averted + eyes. + </p> +<p> + ‘Poof! Yes,’ said Riderhood, withdrawing his attention from the smoke. ‘I + spoke to her. I didn’t say much to her. She was put in a fluster by my + dropping in among the young ladies (I never did set up for a lady’s man), + and she took me into her parlour to hope as there was nothink wrong. I + tells her, “O no, nothink wrong. The master’s my wery good friend.” But I + see how the land laid, and that she was comfortable off.’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley put the purse in his pocket, grasped his left wrist with his right + hand, and sat rigidly contemplating the fire. + </p> +<p> + ‘She couldn’t live more handy to you than she does,’ said Riderhood, ‘and + when I goes home with you (as of course I am a going), I recommend you to + clean her out without loss of time. You can marry her, arter you and me + have come to a settlement. She’s nice-looking, and I know you can’t be + keeping company with no one else, having been so lately disapinted in + another quarter.’ + </p> +<p> + Not one other word did Bradley utter all that night. Not once did he + change his attitude, or loosen his hold upon his wrist. Rigid before the + fire, as if it were a charmed flame that was turning him old, he sat, with + the dark lines deepening in his face, its stare becoming more and more + haggard, its surface turning whiter and whiter as if it were being + overspread with ashes, and the very texture and colour of his hair + degenerating. + </p> +<p> + Not until the late daylight made the window transparent, did this decaying + statue move. Then it slowly arose, and sat in the window looking out. + </p> +<p> + Riderhood had kept his chair all night. In the earlier part of the night + he had muttered twice or thrice that it was bitter cold; or that the fire + burnt fast, when he got up to mend it; but, as he could elicit from his + companion neither sound nor movement, he had afterwards held his peace. He + was making some disorderly preparations for coffee, when Bradley came from + the window and put on his outer coat and hat. + </p> +<p> + ‘Hadn’t us better have a bit o’ breakfast afore we start?’ said Riderhood. + ‘It ain’t good to freeze a empty stomach, Master.’ + </p> +<p> + Without a sign to show that he heard, Bradley walked out of the Lock + House. Catching up from the table a piece of bread, and taking his + Bargeman’s bundle under his arm, Riderhood immediately followed him. + Bradley turned towards London. Riderhood caught him up, and walked at his + side. + </p> +<p> + The two men trudged on, side by side, in silence, full three miles. + Suddenly, Bradley turned to retrace his course. Instantly, Riderhood + turned likewise, and they went back side by side. + </p> +<p> + Bradley re-entered the Lock House. So did Riderhood. Bradley sat down in + the window. Riderhood warmed himself at the fire. After an hour or more, + Bradley abruptly got up again, and again went out, but this time turned + the other way. Riderhood was close after him, caught him up in a few + paces, and walked at his side. + </p> +<p> + This time, as before, when he found his attendant not to be shaken off, + Bradley suddenly turned back. This time, as before, Riderhood turned back + along with him. But, not this time, as before, did they go into the Lock + House, for Bradley came to a stand on the snow-covered turf by the Lock, + looking up the river and down the river. Navigation was impeded by the + frost, and the scene was a mere white and yellow desert. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="0756m " src="images/0756m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="img_images_0756m.jpg"><br> +</div> +<h5> +<a href="images/0756.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-4840170819560400943"><i>Original</i></a> +</h5> +<p> + ‘Come, come, Master,’ urged Riderhood, at his side. ‘This is a dry game. + And where’s the good of it? You can’t get rid of me, except by coming to a + settlement. I am a going along with you wherever you go.’ + </p> +<p> + Without a word of reply, Bradley passed quickly from him over the wooden + bridge on the lock gates. ‘Why, there’s even less sense in this move than + t’other,’ said Riderhood, following. ‘The Weir’s there, and you’ll have to + come back, you know.’ + </p> +<p> + Without taking the least notice, Bradley leaned his body against a post, + in a resting attitude, and there rested with his eyes cast down. ‘Being + brought here,’ said Riderhood, gruffly, ‘I’ll turn it to some use by + changing my gates.’ With a rattle and a rush of water, he then swung-to + the lock gates that were standing open, before opening the others. So, + both sets of gates were, for the moment, closed. + </p> +<p> + ‘You’d better by far be reasonable, Bradley Headstone, Master,’ said + Riderhood, passing him, ‘or I’ll drain you all the dryer for it, when we + do settle.—Ah! Would you!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled with an + iron ring. They were on the brink of the Lock, about midway between the + two sets of gates. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let go!’ said Riderhood, ‘or I’ll get my knife out and slash you wherever + I can cut you. Let go!’ + </p> +<p> + Bradley was drawing to the Lock-edge. Riderhood was drawing away from it. + It was a strong grapple, and a fierce struggle, arm and leg. Bradley got + him round, with his back to the Lock, and still worked him backward. + </p> +<p> + ‘Let go!’ said Riderhood. ‘Stop! What are you trying at? You can’t drown + Me. Ain’t I told you that the man as has come through drowning can never + be drowned? I can’t be drowned.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I can be!’ returned Bradley, in a desperate, clenched voice. ‘I am + resolved to be. I’ll hold you living, and I’ll hold you dead. Come down!’ + </p> +<p> + Riderhood went over into the smooth pit, backward, and Bradley Headstone + upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and scum behind + one of the rotting gates, Riderhood’s hold had relaxed, probably in + falling, and his eyes were staring upward. But, he was girdled still with + Bradley’s iron ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0066"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 16 + </h2> +<h3> + PERSONS AND THINGS IN GENERAL + </h3> +<p> + Mr and Mrs John Harmon’s first delightful occupation was, to set all + matters right that had strayed in any way wrong, or that might, could, + would, or should, have strayed in any way wrong, while their name was in + abeyance. In tracing out affairs for which John’s fictitious death was to + be considered in any way responsible, they used a very broad and free + construction; regarding, for instance, the dolls’ dressmaker as having a + claim on their protection, because of her association with Mrs Eugene + Wrayburn, and because of Mrs Eugene’s old association, in her turn, with + the dark side of the story. It followed that the old man, Riah, as a good + and serviceable friend to both, was not to be disclaimed. Nor even Mr + Inspector, as having been trepanned into an industrious hunt on a false + scent. It may be remarked, in connexion with that worthy officer, that a + rumour shortly afterwards pervaded the Force, to the effect that he had + confided to Miss Abbey Potterson, over a jug of mellow flip in the bar of + the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, that he ‘didn’t stand to lose a + farthing’ through Mr Harmon’s coming to life, but was quite as well + satisfied as if that gentleman had been barbarously murdered, and he (Mr + Inspector) had pocketed the government reward. + </p> +<p> + In all their arrangements of such nature, Mr and Mrs John Harmon derived + much assistance from their eminent solicitor, Mr Mortimer Lightwood; who + laid about him professionally with such unwonted despatch and intention, + that a piece of work was vigorously pursued as soon as cut out; whereby + Young Blight was acted on as by that transatlantic dram which is + poetically named An Eye-Opener, and found himself staring at real clients + instead of out of window. The accessibility of Riah proving very useful as + to a few hints towards the disentanglement of Eugene’s affairs, Lightwood + applied himself with infinite zest to attacking and harassing Mr Fledgeby: + who, discovering himself in danger of being blown into the air by certain + explosive transactions in which he had been engaged, and having been + sufficiently flayed under his beating, came to a parley and asked for + quarter. The harmless Twemlow profited by the conditions entered into, + though he little thought it. Mr Riah unaccountably melted; waited in + person on him over the stable yard in Duke Street, St James’s, no longer + ravening but mild, to inform him that payment of interest as heretofore, + but henceforth at Mr Lightwood’s offices, would appease his Jewish + rancour; and departed with the secret that Mr John Harmon had advanced the + money and become the creditor. Thus, was the sublime Snigsworth’s wrath + averted, and thus did he snort no larger amount of moral grandeur at the + Corinthian column in the print over the fireplace, than was normally in + his (and the British) constitution. + </p> +<p> + Mrs Wilfer’s first visit to the Mendicant’s bride at the new abode of + Mendicancy, was a grand event. Pa had been sent for into the City, on the + very day of taking possession, and had been stunned with astonishment, and + brought-to, and led about the house by one ear, to behold its various + treasures, and had been enraptured and enchanted. Pa had also been + appointed Secretary, and had been enjoined to give instant notice of + resignation to Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles, for ever and ever. But + Ma came later, and came, as was her due, in state. + </p> +<p> + The carriage was sent for Ma, who entered it with a bearing worthy of the + occasion, accompanied, rather than supported, by Miss Lavinia, who + altogether declined to recognize the maternal majesty. Mr George Sampson + meekly followed. He was received in the vehicle, by Mrs Wilfer, as if + admitted to the honour of assisting at a funeral in the family, and she + then issued the order, ‘Onward!’ to the Mendicant’s menial. + </p> +<p> + ‘I wish to goodness, Ma,’ said Lavvy, throwing herself back among the + cushions, with her arms crossed, ‘that you’d loll a little.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How!’ repeated Mrs Wilfer. ‘Loll!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Yes, Ma.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope,’ said the impressive lady, ‘I am incapable of it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I am sure you look so, Ma. But why one should go out to dine with one’s + own daughter or sister, as if one’s under-petticoat was a backboard, I do + <i>not </i>understand.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Neither do I understand,’ retorted Mrs Wilfer, with deep scorn, ‘how a + young lady can mention the garment in the name of which you have indulged. + I blush for you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you, Ma,’ said Lavvy, yawning, ‘but I can do it for myself, I am + obliged to you, when there’s any occasion.’ + </p> +<p> + Here, Mr Sampson, with the view of establishing harmony, which he never + under any circumstances succeeded in doing, said with an agreeable smile: + ‘After all, you know, ma’am, we know it’s there.’ And immediately felt + that he had committed himself. + </p> +<p> + ‘We know it’s there!’ said Mrs Wilfer, glaring. + </p> +<p> + ‘Really, George,’ remonstrated Miss Lavinia, ‘I must say that I don’t + understand your allusions, and that I think you might be more delicate and + less personal.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Go it!’ cried Mr Sampson, becoming, on the shortest notice, a prey to + despair. ‘Oh yes! Go it, Miss Lavinia Wilfer!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What you may mean, George Sampson, by your omnibus-driving expressions, I + cannot pretend to imagine. Neither,’ said Miss Lavinia, ‘Mr George + Sampson, do I wish to imagine. It is enough for me to know in my own heart + that I am not going to—’ having imprudently got into a sentence + without providing a way out of it, Miss Lavinia was constrained to close + with ‘going to it’. A weak conclusion which, however, derived some + appearance of strength from disdain. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh yes!’ cried Mr Sampson, with bitterness. ‘Thus it ever is. I never—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you mean to say,’ Miss Lavvy cut him short, that you never brought up + a young gazelle, you may save yourself the trouble, because nobody in this + carriage supposes that you ever did. We know you better.’ (As if this were + a home-thrust.) + </p> +<p> + ‘Lavinia,’ returned Mr Sampson, in a dismal vein, ‘I did not mean to say + so. What I did mean to say, was, that I never expected to retain my + favoured place in this family, after Fortune shed her beams upon it. Why + do you take me,’ said Mr Sampson, ‘to the glittering halls with which I + can never compete, and then taunt me with my moderate salary? Is it + generous? Is it kind?’ + </p> +<p> + The stately lady, Mrs Wilfer, perceiving her opportunity of delivering a + few remarks from the throne, here took up the altercation. + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Sampson,’ she began, ‘I cannot permit you to misrepresent the + intentions of a child of mine.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Let him alone, Ma,’ Miss Lavvy interposed with haughtiness. ‘It is + indifferent to me what he says or does.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nay, Lavinia,’ quoth Mrs Wilfer, ‘this touches the blood of the family. + If Mr George Sampson attributes, even to my youngest daughter—’ + </p> +<p> + (‘I don’t see why you should use the word “even”, Ma,’ Miss Lavvy + interposed, ‘because I am quite as important as any of the others.’) + </p> +<p> + ‘Peace!’ said Mrs Wilfer, solemnly. ‘I repeat, if Mr George Sampson + attributes, to my youngest daughter, grovelling motives, he attributes + them equally to the mother of my youngest daughter. That mother repudiates + them, and demands of Mr George Sampson, as a youth of honour, what he + <i>would </i>have? I may be mistaken—nothing is more likely—but Mr + George Sampson,’ proceeded Mrs Wilfer, majestically waving her gloves, + ‘appears to me to be seated in a first-class equipage. Mr George Sampson + appears to me to be on his way, by his own admission, to a residence that + may be termed Palatial. Mr George Sampson appears to me to be invited to + participate in the—shall I say the—Elevation which has + descended on the family with which he is ambitious, shall I say to Mingle? + Whence, then, this tone on Mr Sampson’s part?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It is only, ma’am,’ Mr Sampson explained, in exceedingly low spirits, + ‘because, in a pecuniary sense, I am painfully conscious of my + unworthiness. Lavinia is now highly connected. Can I hope that she will + still remain the same Lavinia as of old? And is it not pardonable if I + feel sensitive, when I see a disposition on her part to take me up short?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘If you are not satisfied with your position, sir,’ observed Miss Lavinia, + with much politeness, ‘we can set you down at any turning you may please + to indicate to my sister’s coachman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Dearest Lavinia,’ urged Mr Sampson, pathetically, ‘I adore you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Then if you can’t do it in a more agreeable manner,’ returned the young + lady, ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I also,’ pursued Mr Sampson, ‘respect you, ma’am, to an extent which must + ever be below your merits, I am well aware, but still up to an uncommon + mark. Bear with a wretch, Lavinia, bear with a wretch, ma’am, who feels + the noble sacrifices you make for him, but is goaded almost to madness,’ + Mr Sampson slapped his forehead, ‘when he thinks of competing with the + rich and influential.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘When you have to compete with the rich and influential, it will probably + be mentioned to you,’ said Miss Lavvy, ‘in good time. At least, it will if + the case is <i>my</i> case.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sampson immediately expressed his fervent Opinion that this was ‘more + than human’, and was brought upon his knees at Miss Lavinia’s feet. + </p> +<p> + It was the crowning addition indispensable to the full enjoyment of both + mother and daughter, to bear Mr Sampson, a grateful captive, into the + glittering halls he had mentioned, and to parade him through the same, at + once a living witness of their glory, and a bright instance of their + condescension. Ascending the staircase, Miss Lavinia permitted him to walk + at her side, with the air of saying: ‘Notwithstanding all these + surroundings, I am yours as yet, George. How long it may last is another + question, but I am yours as yet.’ She also benignantly intimated to him, + aloud, the nature of the objects upon which he looked, and to which he was + unaccustomed: as, ‘Exotics, George,’ ‘An aviary, George,’ ‘An ormolu + clock, George,’ and the like. While, through the whole of the decorations, + Mrs Wilfer led the way with the bearing of a Savage Chief, who would feel + himself compromised by manifesting the slightest token of surprise or + admiration. + </p> +<p> + Indeed, the bearing of this impressive woman, throughout the day, was a + pattern to all impressive women under similar circumstances. She renewed + the acquaintance of Mr and Mrs Boffin, as if Mr and Mrs Boffin had said of + her what she had said of them, and as if Time alone could quite wear her + injury out. She regarded every servant who approached her, as her sworn + enemy, expressly intending to offer her affronts with the dishes, and to + pour forth outrages on her moral feelings from the decanters. She sat + erect at table, on the right hand of her son-in-law, as half suspecting + poison in the viands, and as bearing up with native force of character + against other deadly ambushes. Her carriage towards Bella was as a + carriage towards a young lady of good position, whom she had met in + society a few years ago. Even when, slightly thawing under the influence + of sparkling champagne, she related to her son-in-law some passages of + domestic interest concerning her papa, she infused into the narrative such + Arctic suggestions of her having been an unappreciated blessing to + mankind, since her papa’s days, and also of that gentleman’s having been a + frosty impersonation of a frosty race, as struck cold to the very soles of + the feet of the hearers. The Inexhaustible being produced, staring, and + evidently intending a weak and washy smile shortly, no sooner beheld her, + than it was stricken spasmodic and inconsolable. When she took her leave + at last, it would have been hard to say whether it was with the air of + going to the scaffold herself, or of leaving the inmates of the house for + immediate execution. Yet, John Harmon enjoyed it all merrily, and told his + wife, when he and she were alone, that her natural ways had never seemed + so dearly natural as beside this foil, and that although he did not + dispute her being her father’s daughter, he should ever remain stedfast in + the faith that she could not be her mother’s. + </p> +<p> + This visit was, as has been said, a grand event. Another event, not grand + but deemed in the house a special one, occurred at about the same period; + and this was, the first interview between Mr Sloppy and Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + The dolls’ dressmaker, being at work for the Inexhaustible upon a + full-dressed doll some two sizes larger than that young person, Mr Sloppy + undertook to call for it, and did so. + </p> +<p> + ‘Come in, sir,’ said Miss Wren, who was working at her bench. ‘And who may + you be?’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sloppy introduced himself by name and buttons. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh indeed!’ cried Jenny. ‘Ah! I have been looking forward to knowing you. + I heard of your distinguishing yourself.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Did you, Miss?’ grinned Sloppy. ‘I am sure I am glad to hear it, but I + don’t know how.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pitching somebody into a mud-cart,’ said Miss Wren. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! That way!’ cried Sloppy. ‘Yes, Miss.’ And threw back his head and + laughed. + </p> +<p> + ‘Bless us!’ exclaimed Miss Wren, with a start. ‘Don’t open your mouth as + wide as that, young man, or it’ll catch so, and not shut again some day.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sloppy opened it, if possible, wider, and kept it open until his laugh + was out. + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, you’re like the giant,’ said Miss Wren, ‘when he came home in the + land of Beanstalk, and wanted Jack for supper.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was he good-looking, Miss?’ asked Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Miss Wren. ‘Ugly.’ + </p> +<p> + Her visitor glanced round the room—which had many comforts in it + now, that had not been in it before—and said: ‘This is a pretty + place, Miss.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Glad you think so, sir,’ returned Miss Wren. ‘And what do you think of + Me?’ + </p> +<p> + The honesty of Mr Sloppy being severely taxed by the question, he twisted + a button, grinned, and faltered. + </p> +<p> + ‘Out with it!’ said Miss Wren, with an arch look. ‘Don’t you think me a + queer little comicality?’ In shaking her head at him after asking the + question, she shook her hair down. + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh!’ cried Sloppy, in a burst of admiration. ‘What a lot, and what a + colour!’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren, with her usual expressive hitch, went on with her work. But, + left her hair as it was; not displeased by the effect it had made. + </p> +<p> + ‘You don’t live here alone; do you, Miss?’ asked Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Miss Wren, with a chop. ‘Live here with my fairy godmother.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘With;’ Mr Sloppy couldn’t make it out; ‘with who did you say, Miss?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Well!’ replied Miss Wren, more seriously. ‘With my second father. Or with + my first, for that matter.’ And she shook her head, and drew a sigh. ‘If + you had known a poor child I used to have here,’ she added, ‘you’d have + understood me. But you didn’t, and you can’t. All the better!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You must have been taught a long time,’ said Sloppy, glancing at the + array of dolls in hand, ‘before you came to work so neatly, Miss, and with + such a pretty taste.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never was taught a stitch, young man!’ returned the dress-maker, tossing + her head. ‘Just gobbled and gobbled, till I found out how to do it. Badly + enough at first, but better now.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And here have I,’ said Sloppy, in something of a self-reproachful tone, + ‘been a learning and a learning, and here has Mr Boffin been a paying and + a paying, ever so long!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have heard what your trade is,’ observed Miss Wren; ‘it’s + cabinet-making.’ + </p> +<p> + Mr Sloppy nodded. ‘Now that the Mounds is done with, it is. I’ll tell you + what, Miss. I should like to make you something.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Much obliged. But what?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I could make you,’ said Sloppy, surveying the room, ‘I could make you a + handy set of nests to lay the dolls in. Or I could make you a handy little + set of drawers, to keep your silks and threads and scraps in. Or I could + turn you a rare handle for that crutch-stick, if it belongs to him you + call your father.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It belongs to me,’ returned the little creature, with a quick flush of + her face and neck. ‘I am lame.’ + </p> +<p> + Poor Sloppy flushed too, for there was an instinctive delicacy behind his + buttons, and his own hand had struck it. He said, perhaps, the best thing + in the way of amends that could be said. ‘I am very glad it’s yours, + because I’d rather ornament it for you than for any one else. Please may I + look at it?’ + </p> +<p> + Miss Wren was in the act of handing it to him over her bench, when she + paused. ‘But you had better see me use it,’ she said, sharply. ‘This is + the way. Hoppetty, Kicketty, Pep-peg-peg. Not pretty; is it?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘It seems to me that you hardly want it at all,’ said Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + The little dressmaker sat down again, and gave it into his hand, saying, + with that better look upon her, and with a smile: ‘Thank you!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And as concerning the nests and the drawers,’ said Sloppy, after + measuring the handle on his sleeve, and softly standing the stick aside + against the wall, ‘why, it would be a real pleasure to me. I’ve heerd tell + that you can sing most beautiful; and I should be better paid with a song + than with any money, for I always loved the likes of that, and often giv’ + Mrs Higden and Johnny a comic song myself, with “Spoken” in it. Though + that’s not your sort, I’ll wager.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are a very kind young man,’ returned the dressmaker; ‘a really kind + young man. I accept your offer.—I suppose He won’t mind,’ she added + as an afterthought, shrugging her shoulders; ‘and if he does, he may!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Meaning him that you call your father, Miss,’ asked Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + ‘No, no,’ replied Miss Wren. ‘Him, Him, Him!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Him, him, him?’ repeated Sloppy; staring about, as if for Him. + </p> +<p> + ‘Him who is coming to court and marry me,’ returned Miss Wren. ‘Dear me, + how slow you are!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Oh! <i>him</i>!’ said Sloppy. And seemed to turn thoughtful and a little + troubled. ‘I never thought of him. When is he coming, Miss?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘What a question!’ cried Miss Wren. ‘How should I know!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Where is he coming from, Miss?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Why, good gracious, how can I tell! He is coming from somewhere or other, + I suppose, and he is coming some day or other, I suppose. I don’t know any + more about him, at present.’ + </p> +<p> + This tickled Mr Sloppy as an extraordinarily good joke, and he threw back + his head and laughed with measureless enjoyment. At the sight of him + laughing in that absurd way, the dolls’ dressmaker laughed very heartily + indeed. So they both laughed, till they were tired. + </p> +<p> + ‘There, there, there!’ said Miss Wren. ‘For goodness’ sake, stop, Giant, + or I shall be swallowed up alive, before I know it. And to this minute you + haven’t said what you’ve come for.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I have come for little Miss Harmonses doll,’ said Sloppy. + </p> +<p> + ‘I thought as much,’ remarked Miss Wren, ‘and here is little Miss + Harmonses doll waiting for you. She’s folded up in silver paper, you see, + as if she was wrapped from head to foot in new Bank notes. Take care of + her, and there’s my hand, and thank you again.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I’ll take more care of her than if she was a gold image,’ said Sloppy, + ‘and there’s both <i>my</i> hands, Miss, and I’ll soon come back again.’ + </p> +<p> + But, the greatest event of all, in the new life of Mr and Mrs John Harmon, + was a visit from Mr and Mrs Eugene Wrayburn. Sadly wan and worn was the + once gallant Eugene, and walked resting on his wife’s arm, and leaning + heavily upon a stick. But, he was daily growing stronger and better, and + it was declared by the medical attendants that he might not be much + disfigured by-and-by. It was a grand event, indeed, when Mr and Mrs Eugene + Wrayburn came to stay at Mr and Mrs John Harmon’s house: where, by the + way, Mr and Mrs Boffin (exquisitely happy, and daily cruising about, to + look at shops,) were likewise staying indefinitely. + </p> +<p> + To Mr Eugene Wrayburn, in confidence, did Mrs John Harmon impart what she + had known of the state of his wife’s affections, in his reckless time. And + to Mrs John Harmon, in confidence, did Mr Eugene Wrayburn impart that, + please God, she should see how his wife had changed him! + </p> +<p> + ‘I make no protestations,’ said Eugene; ‘—who does, who means them!—I + have made a resolution.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But would you believe, Bella,’ interposed his wife, coming to resume her + nurse’s place at his side, for he never got on well without her: ‘that on + our wedding day he told me he almost thought the best thing he could do, + was to die?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘As I didn’t do it, Lizzie,’ said Eugene, ‘I’ll do that better thing you + suggested—for your sake.’ + </p> +<p> + That same afternoon, Eugene lying on his couch in his own room upstairs, + Lightwood came to chat with him, while Bella took his wife out for a ride. + ‘Nothing short of force will make her go,’ Eugene had said; so, Bella had + playfully forced her. + </p> +<p> + ‘Dear old fellow,’ Eugene began with Lightwood, reaching up his hand, ‘you + couldn’t have come at a better time, for my mind is full, and I want to + empty it. First, of my present, before I touch upon my future. M. R. F., + who is a much younger cavalier than I, and a professed admirer of beauty, + was so affable as to remark the other day (he paid us a visit of two days + up the river there, and much objected to the accommodation of the hotel), + that Lizzie ought to have her portrait painted. Which, coming from M. R. + F., may be considered equivalent to a melodramatic blessing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘You are getting well,’ said Mortimer, with a smile. + </p> +<p> + ‘Really,’ said Eugene, ‘I mean it. When M. R. F. said that, and followed + it up by rolling the claret (for which he called, and I paid), in his + mouth, and saying, “My dear son, why do you drink this trash?” it was + tantamount in him—to a paternal benediction on our union, + accompanied with a gush of tears. The coolness of M. R. F. is not to be + measured by ordinary standards.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘True enough,’ said Lightwood. + </p> +<p> + ‘That’s all,’ pursued Eugene, ‘that I shall ever hear from M. R. F. on the + subject, and he will continue to saunter through the world with his hat on + one side. My marriage being thus solemnly recognized at the family altar, + I have no further trouble on that score. Next, you really have done + wonders for me, Mortimer, in easing my money-perplexities, and with such a + guardian and steward beside me, as the preserver of my life (I am hardly + strong yet, you see, for I am not man enough to refer to her without a + trembling voice—she is so inexpressibly dear to me, Mortimer!), the + little that I can call my own will be more than it ever has been. It need + be more, for you know what it always has been in my hands. Nothing.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Worse than nothing, I fancy, Eugene. My own small income (I devoutly wish + that my grandfather had left it to the Ocean rather than to me!) has been + an effective Something, in the way of preventing me from turning to at + Anything. And I think yours has been much the same.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘There spake the voice of wisdom,’ said Eugene. ‘We are shepherds both. In + turning to at last, we turn to in earnest. Let us say no more of that, for + a few years to come. Now, I have had an idea, Mortimer, of taking myself + and my wife to one of the colonies, and working at my vocation there.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should be lost without you, Eugene; but you may be right.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ said Eugene, emphatically. ‘Not right. Wrong!’ + </p> +<p> + He said it with such a lively—almost angry—flash, that + Mortimer showed himself greatly surprised. + </p> +<p> + ‘You think this thumped head of mine is excited?’ Eugene went on, with a + high look; ‘not so, believe me. I can say to you of the healthful music of + my pulse what Hamlet said of his. My blood is up, but wholesomely up, when + I think of it. Tell me! Shall I turn coward to Lizzie, and sneak away with + her, as if I were ashamed of her! Where would your friend’s part in this + world be, Mortimer, if she had turned coward to him, and on immeasurably + better occasion?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Honourable and stanch,’ said Lightwood. ‘And yet, Eugene—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet what, Mortimer?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And yet, are you sure that you might not feel (for her sake, I say for + her sake) any slight coldness towards her on the part of—Society?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘O! You and I may well stumble at the word,’ returned Eugene, laughing. + ‘Do we mean our Tippins?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Perhaps we do,’ said Mortimer, laughing also. + </p> +<p> + ‘Faith, we <i>do</i>!’ returned Eugene, with great animation. ‘We may hide behind + the bush and beat about it, but we <i>do</i>! Now, my wife is something nearer to + my heart, Mortimer, than Tippins is, and I owe her a little more than I + owe to Tippins, and I am rather prouder of her than I ever was of Tippins. + Therefore, I will fight it out to the last gasp, with her and for her, + here, in the open field. When I hide her, or strike for her, + faint-heartedly, in a hole or a corner, do you whom I love next best upon + earth, tell me what I shall most righteously deserve to be told:—that + she would have done well to turn me over with her foot that night when I + lay bleeding to death, and spat in my dastard face.’ + </p> +<p> + The glow that shone upon him as he spoke the words, so irradiated his + features that he looked, for the time, as though he had never been + mutilated. His friend responded as Eugene would have had him respond, and + they discoursed of the future until Lizzie came back. After resuming her + place at his side, and tenderly touching his hands and his head, she said: + </p> +<p> + ‘Eugene, dear, you made me go out, but I ought to have stayed with you. + You are more flushed than you have been for many days. What have you been + doing?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Nothing,’ replied Eugene, ‘but looking forward to your coming back.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘And talking to Mr Lightwood,’ said Lizzie, turning to him with a smile. + ‘But it cannot have been Society that disturbed you.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Faith, my dear love!’ retorted Eugene, in his old airy manner, as he + laughed and kissed her, ‘I rather think it <i>was </i>Society though!’ + </p> +<p> + The word ran so much in Mortimer Lightwood’s thoughts as he went home to + the Temple that night, that he resolved to take a look at Society, which + he had not seen for a considerable period. + </p> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0067"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br><br><br><br> +</div> +<h2> + Chapter 17 + </h2> +<h3> + THE VOICE OF SOCIETY + </h3> +<p> + Behoves Mortimer Lightwood, therefore, to answer a dinner card from Mr and + Mrs Veneering requesting the honour, and to signify that Mr Mortimer + Lightwood will be happy to have the other honour. The Veneerings have + been, as usual, indefatigably dealing dinner cards to Society, and whoever + desires to take a hand had best be quick about it, for it is written in + the Books of the Insolvent Fates that Veneering shall make a resounding + smash next week. Yes. Having found out the clue to that great mystery how + people can contrive to live beyond their means, and having over-jobbed his + jobberies as legislator deputed to the Universe by the pure electors of + Pocket-Breaches, it shall come to pass next week that Veneering will + accept the Chiltern Hundreds, that the legal gentleman in Britannia’s + confidence will again accept the Pocket-Breaches Thousands, and that the + Veneerings will retire to Calais, there to live on Mrs Veneering’s + diamonds (in which Mr Veneering, as a good husband, has from time to time + invested considerable sums), and to relate to Neptune and others, how + that, before Veneering retired from Parliament, the House of Commons was + composed of himself and the six hundred and fifty-seven dearest and oldest + friends he had in the world. It shall likewise come to pass, at as nearly + as possible the same period, that Society will discover that it always did + despise Veneering, and distrust Veneering, and that when it went to + Veneering’s to dinner it always had misgivings—though very secretly + at the time, it would seem, and in a perfectly private and confidential + manner. + </p> +<p> + The next week’s books of the Insolvent Fates, however, being not yet + opened, there is the usual rush to the Veneerings, of the people who go to + their house to dine with one another and not with them. There is Lady + Tippins. There are Podsnap the Great, and Mrs Podsnap. There is Twemlow. + There are Buffer, Boots, and Brewer. There is the Contractor, who is + Providence to five hundred thousand men. There is the Chairman, travelling + three thousand miles per week. There is the brilliant genius who turned + the shares into that remarkably exact sum of three hundred and seventy + five thousand pounds, no shillings, and nopence. + </p> +<p> + To whom, add Mortimer Lightwood, coming in among them with a reassumption + of his old languid air, founded on Eugene, and belonging to the days when + he told the story of the man from Somewhere. + </p> +<p> + That fresh fairy, Tippins, all but screams at sight of her false swain. + She summons the deserter to her with her fan; but the deserter, + predetermined not to come, talks Britain with Podsnap. Podsnap always + talks Britain, and talks as if he were a sort of Private Watchman + employed, in the British interests, against the rest of the world. ‘We + know what Russia means, sir,’ says Podsnap; ‘we know what France wants; we + see what America is up to; but we know what England is. That’s enough for + us.’ + </p> +<p> + However, when dinner is served, and Lightwood drops into his old place + over against Lady Tippins, she can be fended off no longer. ‘Long banished + Robinson Crusoe,’ says the charmer, exchanging salutations, ‘how did you + leave the Island?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Thank you,’ says Lightwood. ‘It made no complaint of being in pain + anywhere.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Say, how did you leave the savages?’ asks Lady Tippins. + </p> +<p> + ‘They were becoming civilized when I left Juan Fernandez,’ says Lightwood. + ‘At least they were eating one another, which looked like it.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Tormentor!’ returns the dear young creature. ‘You know what I mean, and + you trifle with my impatience. Tell me something, immediately, about the + married pair. You were at the wedding.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Was I, by-the-by?’ Mortimer pretends, at great leisure, to consider. ‘So + I was!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘How was the bride dressed? In rowing costume?’ + </p> +<p> + Mortimer looks gloomy, and declines to answer. + </p> +<p> + ‘I hope she steered herself, skiffed herself, paddled herself, larboarded + and starboarded herself, or whatever the technical term may be, to the + ceremony?’ proceeds the playful Tippins. + </p> +<p> + ‘However she got to it, she graced it,’ says Mortimer. + </p> +<p> + Lady Tippins with a skittish little scream, attracts the general + attention. ‘Graced it! Take care of me if I faint, Veneering. He means to + tell us, that a horrid female waterman is graceful!’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me. I mean to tell you nothing, Lady Tippins,’ replies Lightwood. + And keeps his word by eating his dinner with a show of the utmost + indifference. + </p> +<p> + ‘You shall not escape me in this way, you morose backwoodsman,’ retorts + Lady Tippins. ‘You shall not evade the question, to screen your friend + Eugene, who has made this exhibition of himself. The knowledge shall be + brought home to you that such a ridiculous affair is condemned by the + voice of Society. My dear Mrs Veneering, do let us resolve ourselves into + a Committee of the whole House on the subject.’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Veneering, always charmed by this rattling sylph, cries. ‘Oh yes! Do + let us resolve ourselves into a Committee of the whole House! So + delicious!’ Veneering says, ‘As many as are of that opinion, say Aye,—contrary, + No—the Ayes have it.’ But nobody takes the slightest notice of his + joke. + </p> +<p> + ‘Now, I am Chairwoman of Committees!’ cries Lady Tippins. + </p> +<p> + (‘What spirits she has!’ exclaims Mrs Veneering; to whom likewise nobody + attends.) + </p> +<p> + ‘And this,’ pursues the sprightly one, ‘is a Committee of the whole House + to what-you-may-call-it—elicit, I suppose—the voice of + Society. The question before the Committee is, whether a young man of very + fair family, good appearance, and some talent, makes a fool or a wise man + of himself in marrying a female waterman, turned factory girl.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Hardly so, I think,’ the stubborn Mortimer strikes in. ‘I take the + question to be, whether such a man as you describe, Lady Tippins, does + right or wrong in marrying a brave woman (I say nothing of her beauty), + who has saved his life, with a wonderful energy and address; whom he knows + to be virtuous, and possessed of remarkable qualities; whom he has long + admired, and who is deeply attached to him.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘But, excuse me,’ says Podsnap, with his temper and his shirt-collar about + equally rumpled; ‘was this young woman ever a female waterman?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never. But she sometimes rowed in a boat with her father, I believe.’ + </p> +<p> + General sensation against the young woman. Brewer shakes his head. Boots + shakes his head. Buffer shakes his head. + </p> +<p> + ‘And now, Mr Lightwood, was she ever,’ pursues Podsnap, with his + indignation rising high into those hair-brushes of his, ‘a factory girl?’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Never. But she had some employment in a paper mill, I believe.’ + </p> +<p> + General sensation repeated. Brewer says, ‘Oh dear!’ Boots says, ‘Oh dear!’ + Buffer says, ‘Oh dear!’ All, in a rumbling tone of protest. + </p> +<p> + ‘Then all I have to say is,’ returns Podsnap, putting the thing away with + his right arm, ‘that my gorge rises against such a marriage—that it + offends and disgusts me—that it makes me sick—and that I + desire to know no more about it.’ + </p> +<p> + (‘Now I wonder,’ thinks Mortimer, amused, ‘whether <i>you </i>are the Voice of + Society!’) + </p> +<p> + ‘Hear, hear, hear!’ cries Lady Tippins. ‘Your opinion of this <i>mesalliance</i>, + honourable colleagues of the honourable member who has just sat down?’ + </p> +<p> + Mrs Podsnap is of opinion that in these matters there should be an + equality of station and fortune, and that a man accustomed to Society + should look out for a woman accustomed to Society and capable of bearing + her part in it with—an ease and elegance of carriage—that.’ + Mrs Podsnap stops there, delicately intimating that every such man should + look out for a fine woman as nearly resembling herself as he may hope to + discover. + </p> +<p> + (‘Now I wonder,’ thinks Mortimer, ‘whether you are the Voice!’) + </p> +<p> + Lady Tippins next canvasses the Contractor, of five hundred thousand + power. It appears to this potentate, that what the man in question should + have done, would have been, to buy the young woman a boat and a small + annuity, and set her up for herself. These things are a question of + beefsteaks and porter. You buy the young woman a boat. Very good. You buy + her, at the same time, a small annuity. You speak of that annuity in + pounds sterling, but it is in reality so many pounds of beefsteaks and so + many pints of porter. On the one hand, the young woman has the boat. On + the other hand, she consumes so many pounds of beefsteaks and so many + pints of porter. Those beefsteaks and that porter are the fuel to that + young woman’s engine. She derives therefrom a certain amount of power to + row the boat; that power will produce so much money; you add that to the + small annuity; and thus you get at the young woman’s income. That (it + seems to the Contractor) is the way of looking at it. + </p> +<p> + The fair enslaver having fallen into one of her gentle sleeps during the + last exposition, nobody likes to wake her. Fortunately, she comes awake of + herself, and puts the question to the Wandering Chairman. The Wanderer can + only speak of the case as if it were his own. If such a young woman as the + young woman described, had saved his own life, he would have been very + much obliged to her, wouldn’t have married her, and would have got her a + berth in an Electric Telegraph Office, where young women answer very well. + </p> +<p> + What does the Genius of the three hundred and seventy-five thousand + pounds, no shillings, and nopence, think? He can’t say what he thinks, + without asking: Had the young woman any money? + </p> +<p> + ‘No,’ says Lightwood, in an uncompromising voice; ‘no money.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Madness and moonshine,’ is then the compressed verdict of the Genius. ‘A + man may do anything lawful, for money. But for no money!—Bosh!’ + </p> +<p> + What does Boots say? + </p> +<p> + Boots says he wouldn’t have done it under twenty thousand pound. + </p> +<p> + What does Brewer say? + </p> +<p> + Brewer says what Boots says. + </p> +<p> + What does Buffer say? + </p> +<p> + Buffer says he knows a man who married a bathing-woman, and bolted. + </p> +<p> + Lady Tippins fancies she has collected the suffrages of the whole + Committee (nobody dreaming of asking the Veneerings for their opinion), + when, looking round the table through her eyeglass, she perceives Mr + Twemlow with his hand to his forehead. + </p> +<p> + Good gracious! My Twemlow forgotten! My dearest! My own! What is his vote? + </p> +<p> + Twemlow has the air of being ill at ease, as he takes his hand from his + forehead and replies. + </p> +<p> + ‘I am disposed to think,’ says he, ‘that this is a question of the + feelings of a gentleman.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘A gentleman can have no feelings who contracts such a marriage,’ flushes + Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘Pardon me, sir,’ says Twemlow, rather less mildly than usual, ‘I don’t + agree with you. If this gentleman’s feelings of gratitude, of respect, of + admiration, and affection, induced him (as I presume they did) to marry + this lady—’ + </p> +<p> + ‘This lady!’ echoes Podsnap. + </p> +<p> + ‘Sir,’ returns Twemlow, with his wristbands bristling a little, ‘<i>you</i> + repeat the word; I repeat the word. This lady. What else would you call + her, if the gentleman were present?’ + </p> +<p> + This being something in the nature of a poser for Podsnap, he merely waves + it away with a speechless wave. + </p> +<p> + ‘I say,’ resumes Twemlow, ‘if such feelings on the part of this gentleman, + induced this gentleman to marry this lady, I think he is the greater + gentleman for the action, and makes her the greater lady. I beg to say, + that when I use the word, gentleman, I use it in the sense in which the + degree may be attained by any man. The feelings of a gentleman I hold + sacred, and I confess I am not comfortable when they are made the subject + of sport or general discussion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘I should like to know,’ sneers Podsnap, ‘whether your noble relation + would be of your opinion.’ + </p> +<p> + ‘Mr Podsnap,’ retorts Twemlow, ‘permit me. He might be, or he might not + be. I cannot say. But, I could not allow even him to dictate to me on a + point of great delicacy, on which I feel very strongly.’ + </p> +<p> + Somehow, a canopy of wet blanket seems to descend upon the company, and + Lady Tippins was never known to turn so very greedy or so very cross. + Mortimer Lightwood alone brightens. He has been asking himself, as to + every other member of the Committee in turn, ‘I wonder whether you are the + Voice!’ But he does not ask himself the question after Twemlow has spoken, + and he glances in Twemlow’s direction as if he were grateful. When the + company disperse—by which time Mr and Mrs Veneering have had quite + as much as they want of the honour, and the guests have had quite as much + as <i>they </i>want of the other honour—Mortimer sees Twemlow home, shakes + hands with him cordially at parting, and fares to the Temple, gaily. + </p> +<p> +<br> <br> <br> <br> +</p> +<h2> + POSTSCRIPT + </h2> +<h3> + IN LIEU OF PREFACE + </h3> +<p> + When I devised this story, I foresaw the likelihood that a class of + readers and commentators would suppose that I was at great pains to + conceal exactly what I was at great pains to suggest: namely, that Mr John + Harmon was not slain, and that Mr John Rokesmith was he. Pleasing myself + with the idea that the supposition might in part arise out of some + ingenuity in the story, and thinking it worth while, in the interests of + art, to hint to an audience that an artist (of whatever denomination) may + perhaps be trusted to know what he is about in his vocation, if they will + concede him a little patience, I was not alarmed by the anticipation. + </p> +<p> + To keep for a long time unsuspected, yet always working itself out, + another purpose originating in that leading incident, and turning it to a + pleasant and useful account at last, was at once the most interesting and + the most difficult part of my design. Its difficulty was much enhanced by + the mode of publication; for, it would be very unreasonable to expect that + many readers, pursuing a story in portions from month to month through + nineteen months, will, until they have it before them complete, perceive + the relations of its finer threads to the whole pattern which is always + before the eyes of the story-weaver at his loom. Yet, that I hold the + advantages of the mode of publication to outweigh its disadvantages, may + be easily believed of one who revived it in the Pickwick Papers after long + disuse, and has pursued it ever since. + </p> +<p> + There is sometimes an odd disposition in this country to dispute as + improbable in fiction, what are the commonest experiences in fact. + Therefore, I note here, though it may not be at all necessary, that there + are hundreds of Will Cases (as they are called), far more remarkable than + that fancied in this book; and that the stores of the Prerogative Office + teem with instances of testators who have made, changed, contradicted, + hidden, forgotten, left cancelled, and left uncancelled, each many more + wills than were ever made by the elder Mr Harmon of Harmony Jail. + </p> +<p> + In my social experiences since Mrs Betty Higden came upon the scene and + left it, I have found Circumlocutional champions disposed to be warm with + me on the subject of my view of the Poor Law. My friend Mr Bounderby could + never see any difference between leaving the Coketown ‘hands’ exactly as + they were, and requiring them to be fed with turtle soup and venison out + of gold spoons. Idiotic propositions of a parallel nature have been freely + offered for my acceptance, and I have been called upon to admit that I + would give Poor Law relief to anybody, anywhere, anyhow. Putting this + nonsense aside, I have observed a suspicious tendency in the champions to + divide into two parties; the one, contending that there are no deserving + Poor who prefer death by slow starvation and bitter weather, to the + mercies of some Relieving Officers and some Union Houses; the other, + admitting that there are such Poor, but denying that they have any cause + or reason for what they do. The records in our newspapers, the late + exposure by <i>The Lancet</i>, and the common sense and senses of common people, + furnish too abundant evidence against both defences. But, that my view of + the Poor Law may not be mistaken or misrepresented, I will state it. I + believe there has been in England, since the days of the <i>Stuarts</i>, no law + so often infamously administered, no law so often openly violated, no law + habitually so ill-supervised. In the majority of the shameful cases of + disease and death from destitution, that shock the Public and disgrace the + country, the illegality is quite equal to the inhumanity—and known + language could say no more of their lawlessness. + </p> +<p> + On Friday the Ninth of June in the present year, Mr and Mrs Boffin (in + their manuscript dress of receiving Mr and Mrs Lammle at breakfast) were + on the South Eastern Railway with me, in a terribly destructive accident. + When I had done what I could to help others, I climbed back into my + carriage—nearly turned over a viaduct, and caught aslant upon the + turn—to extricate the worthy couple. They were much soiled, but + otherwise unhurt. The same happy result attended Miss Bella Wilfer on her + wedding day, and Mr Riderhood inspecting Bradley Headstone’s red + neckerchief as he lay asleep. I remember with devout thankfulness that I + can never be much nearer parting company with my readers for ever, than I + was then, until there shall be written against my life, the two words with + which I have this day closed this book:—THE END. + </p> +<p> + September 2nd, 1865. + </p> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 883 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/883-h/images/0010.jpg b/883-h/images/0010.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..576ae3b --- /dev/null +++ b/883-h/images/0010.jpg diff --git a/883-h/images/0010m.jpg b/883-h/images/0010m.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d25192e --- /dev/null +++ b/883-h/images/0010m.jpg diff --git a/883-h/images/0012.jpg b/883-h/images/0012.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe5b2bf --- /dev/null +++ b/883-h/images/0012.jpg diff --git a/883-h/images/0012m.jpg b/883-h/images/0012m.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4a1d3d --- /dev/null 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