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Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

PREFACE

What is exaggeration to one class of minds and perceptions
is plain truth to another. That which is commonly called a long-sight
perceives in a prospect innumerable features and bearings
non-existent to a short-sighted person. I sometimes ask myself
whether there may occasionally be a difference of this kind between
some writers and some readers; whether it is ALWAYS the writer
who colours highlyor whether it is now and then the reader
whose eye for colour is a little dull?

On this head of exaggeration I have a positive experiencemore
curious than the speculation I have just set down. It is this:
I have never touched a character precisely from the lifebut some
counterpart of that character has incredulously asked me: "Now
reallydid I ever reallysee one like it?"

All the Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreedI believe
that Mr. Pecksniff is an exaggerationand that no such character
ever existed. I will not offer any plea on his behalf to so
powerful and genteel a bodybut will make a remark on the
character of Jonas Chuzzlewit.

I conceive that the sordid coarseness and brutality of Jonas
would be unnaturalif there had been nothing in his early
educationand in the precept and example always before him
to engender and develop the vices that make him odious. But
so born and so bredadmired for that which made him hateful
and justified from his cradle in cunningtreacheryand avarice;
I claim him as the legitimate issue of the father upon whom those
vices are seen to recoil. And I submit that their recoil upon
that old manin his unhonoured ageis not a mere piece of
poetical justicebut is the extreme exposition of a direct truth.

I make this commentand solicit the reader's attention to it in
his or her consideration of this talebecause nothing is more
common in real life than a want of profitable reflection on the
causes of many vices and crimes that awaken the general horror.
What is substantially true of families in this respectis true
of a whole commonwealth. As we sowwe reap. Let the reader go
into the children's side of any prison in EnglandorI grieve
to addof many workhousesand judge whether those are monsters
who disgrace our streetspeople our hulks and penitentiariesand
overcrowd our penal coloniesor are creatures whom we have
deliberately suffered to be bred for misery and ruin.

The American portion of this story is in no other respect a
caricature than as it is an exhibitionfor the most part (Mr.
Bevan expected)of a ludicrous sideONLYof the American
character--of that side which wasfour-and-twenty years ago
from its naturethe most obtrusiveand the most likely to be
seen by such travellers as Young Martin and Mark Tapley. As I
had neverin writing fictionhad any disposition to soften what


is ridiculous or wrong at homeso I then hoped that the
good-humored people of the United States would not be generally
disposed to quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad.
I am happy to believe that my confidence in that great nation was
not misplaced.

When this book was first publishedI was given to understandby
some authoritiesthat the Watertoast Association and eloquence
were beyond all bounds of belief. Therefore I record the fact
that all that portion of Martin Chuzzlewit's experiences is a
literal paraphrase of some reports of public proceedings in the
United States (especially of the proceedings of a certain Brandywine
Association)which were printed in the Times Newspaper in June
and July1843--at about the time when I was engaged in writing
those parts of the book; and which remain on the file of the Times
Newspaperof course.

In all my writingsI hope I have taken every available opportunity
of showing the want of sanitary improvements in the neglected
dwellings of the poor. Mrs. Sarah Gamp wasfour-and-twenty years
agoa fair representation of the hired attendant on the poor in
sickness. The hospitals of London werein many respectsnoble
Institutions; in othersvery defective. I think it not the least
among the instances of their mismanagementthat Mrs. Betsey Prig
was a fair specimen of a Hospital Nurse; and that the Hospitals
with their means and fundsshould have left it to private humanity
and enterpriseto enter on an attempt to improve that class of
persons--sincegreatly improved through the agency of good women.

POSTSCRIPT

At a Public Dinner given to me on Saturday the 18th of April1868
in the city of New Yorkby two hundred representatives of the Press
of the United States of AmericaI made the following observations
among others:-


So much of my voice has lately been heard in the land, that I
might have been contented with troubling you no further from my
present standing-point, were it not a duty with which I henceforth
charge myself, not only here but on every suitable occasion,
whatsoever and wheresoever, to express my high and grateful sense
of my second reception in America, and to bear my honest testimony
to the national generosity and magnanimity. Also, to declare how
astounded I have been by the amazing changes I have seen around me
on every side--changes moral, changes physical, changes in the
amount of land subdued and peopled, changes in the rise of vast
new cities, changes in the growth of older cities almost out of
recognition, changes in the graces and amenities of life, changes
in the Press, without whose advancement no advancement can take
place anywhere. Nor am I, believe me, so arrogant as to suppose
that in five-and-twenty years there have been no changes in me,
and that I had nothing to learn and no extreme impressions to
correct when I was here first. And this brings me to a point on
which I have, ever since I landed in the United States last November,
observed a strict silence, though sometimes tempted to break it,
but in reference to which I will, with your good leave, take you
into my confidence now. Even the Press, being human, may be
sometimes mistaken or misinformed, and I rather think that I have
in one or two rare instances observed its information to be not
strictly accurate with reference to myself. Indeed, I have, now
and again, been more surprised by printed news that I have read of
myself, than by any printed news that I have ever read in my present


state of existence. Thus, the vigour and perseverance with which
I have for some months past been collecting materials for, and
hammering away at, a new book on America has much astonished me;
seeing that all that time my declaration has been perfectly well
known to my publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, that no
consideration on earth would induce me to write one. But what
I have intended, what I have resolved upon (and this is the
confidence I seek to place in you), is, on my return to England,
in my own person, in my own Journal, to bear, for the behoof of my
countrymen, such testimony to the gigantic changes in this country
as I have hinted at to-night. Also, to record that wherever I have
been, in the smallest places equally with the largest, I have been
received with unsurpassable politeness, delicacy, sweet temper,
hospitality, consideration, and with unsurpassable respect for
the privacy daily enforced upon me by the nature of my avocation
here and the state of my health. This testimony, so long as I live,
and so long as my descendants have any legal right in my books,
I shall cause to be republished, as an appendix to every copy of
those two books of mine in which I have referred to America.
And this I will do and cause to be done, not in mere love and
thankfulness, but because I regard it as an act of plain justice
and honour.

I said these words with the greatest earnestness that I could lay
upon themand I repeat them in print here with equal earnestness.
So long as this book shall lastI hope that they will form a part
of itand will be fairly read as inseparable from my experiences
and impressions of America.

CHARLES DICKENS.

May1868.

CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTORYCONCERNING THE PEDIGREE OF THE CHUZZLEWIT FAMILY

As no lady or gentlemanwith any claims to polite breedingcan
possibly sympathize with the Chuzzlewit Family without being first
assured of the extreme antiquity of the raceit is a great
satisfaction to know that it undoubtedly descended in a direct line
from Adam and Eve; and wasin the very earliest timesclosely
connected with the agricultural interest. If it should ever be
urged by grudging and malicious personsthat a Chuzzlewitin any
period of the family historydisplayed an overweening amount of
family pridesurely the weakness will be considered not only
pardonable but laudablewhen the immense superiority of the house
to the rest of mankindin respect of this its ancient originis
taken into account.

It is remarkable that as there wasin the oldest family of which we
have any recorda murderer and a vagabondso we never fail to
meetin the records of all old familieswith innumerable
repetitions of the same phase of character. Indeedit may be laid
down as a general principlethat the more extended the ancestry
the greater the amount of violence and vagabondism; for in ancient
days those two amusementscombining a wholesome excitement with a
promising means of repairing shattered fortuneswere at once the
ennobling pursuit and the healthful recreation of the Quality of


this land.

Consequentlyit is a source of inexpressible comfort and happiness
to findthat in various periods of our historythe Chuzzlewits
were actively connected with divers slaughterous conspiracies and
bloody frays. It is further recorded of themthat being clad from
head to heel in steel of proofthey did on many occasions lead
their leather-jerkined soldiers to the death with invincible
courageand afterwards return home gracefully to their relations
and friends.

There can be no doubt that at least one Chuzzlewit came over with
William the Conqueror. It does not appear that this illustrious
ancestor 'came over' that monarchto employ the vulgar phraseat
any subsequent period; inasmuch as the Family do not seem to have
been ever greatly distinguished by the possession of landed estate.
And it is well known that for the bestowal of that kind of property
upon his favouritesthe liberality and gratitude of the Norman were
as remarkable as those virtues are usually found to be in great men
when they give away what belongs to other people.

Perhaps in this place the history may pause to congratulate itself
upon the enormous amount of braverywisdomeloquencevirtue
gentle birthand true nobilitythat appears to have come into
England with the Norman Invasion: an amount which the genealogy of
every ancient family lends its aid to swelland which would beyond
all question have been found to be just as greatand to the full as
prolific in giving birth to long lines of chivalrous descendants
boastful of their origineven though William the Conqueror had been
William the Conquered; a change of circumstances whichit is quite
certainwould have made no manner of difference in this respect.

There was unquestionably a Chuzzlewit in the Gunpowder Plotif
indeed the arch-traitorFawkes himselfwere not a scion of this
remarkable stock; as he might easily have beensupposing another
Chuzzlewit to have emigrated to Spain in the previous generation
and there intermarried with a Spanish ladyby whom he had issue
one olive-complexioned son. This probable conjecture is
strengthenedif not absolutely confirmedby a fact which cannot
fail to be interesting to those who are curious in tracing the
progress of hereditary tastes through the lives of their unconscious
inheritors. It is a notable circumstance that in these later times
many Chuzzlewitsbeing unsuccessful in other pursuitshave
without the smallest rational hope of enriching themselvesor any
conceivable reasonset up as coal-merchants; and havemonth after
monthcontinued gloomily to watch a small stock of coalswithout
in any one instance negotiating with a purchaser. The remarkable
similarity between this course of proceeding and that adopted by
their Great Ancestor beneath the vaults of the Parliament House at
Westminsteris too obvious and too full of interestto stand in
need of comment.

It is also clearly proved by the oral traditions of the Familythat
there existedat some one period of its history which is not
distinctly stateda matron of such destructive principlesand so
familiarized to the use and composition of inflammatory and
combustible enginesthat she was called 'The Match Maker;' by which
nickname and byword she is recognized in the Family legends to this
day. Surely there can be no reasonable doubt that this was the
Spanish ladythe mother of Chuzzlewit Fawkes.

But there is one other piece of evidencebearing immediate
reference to their close connection with this memorable event in
English Historywhich must carry convictioneven to a mind (if


such a mind there be) remaining unconvinced by these presumptive
proofs.

There waswithin a few yearsin the possession of a highly
respectable and in every way credible and unimpeachable member of
the Chuzzlewit Family (for his bitterest enemy never dared to hint
at his being otherwise than a wealthy man)a dark lantern of
undoubted antiquity; rendered still more interesting by beingin
shape and patternextremely like such as are in use at the present
day. Now this gentlemansince deceasedwas at all times ready to
make oathand did again and again set forth upon his solemn
asseverationthat he had frequently heard his grandmother saywhen
contemplating this venerable relic'Ayeaye! This was carried by
my fourth son on the fifth of Novemberwhen he was a Guy Fawkes.'
These remarkable words wrought (as well they might) a strong
impression on his mindand he was in the habit of repeating them
very often. The just interpretation which they bearand the
conclusion to which they leadare triumphant and irresistible. The
old ladynaturally strong-mindedwas nevertheless frail and
fading; she was notoriously subject to that confusion of ideasor
to say the leastof speechto which age and garrulity are liable.
The slightthe very slightconfusion apparent in these expressions
is manifestand is ludicrously easy of correction. 'Ayeaye'
quoth sheand it will be observed that no emendation whatever is
necessary to be made in these two initiative remarks'Ayeaye!
This lantern was carried by my forefather'--not fourth sonwhich is
preposterous--'on the fifth of November. And HE was Guy Fawkes.'
Here we have a remark at once consistentclearnaturaland in
strict accordance with the character of the speaker. Indeed the
anecdote is so plainly susceptible of this meaning and no other
that it would be hardly worth recording in its original statewere
it not a proof of what may be (and very often is) affected not only
in historical prose but in imaginative poetryby the exercise of a
little ingenious labour on the part of a commentator.

It has been said that there is no instancein modern timesof a
Chuzzlewit having been found on terms of intimacy with the Great.
But here again the sneering detractors who weave such miserable
figments from their malicious brainsare stricken dumb by evidence.
For letters are yet in the possession of various branches of the
familyfrom which it distinctly appearsbeing stated in so many
wordsthat one Diggory Chuzzlewit was in the habit of perpetually
dining with Duke Humphrey. So constantly was he a guest at that
nobleman's tableindeed; and so unceasingly were His Grace's
hospitality and companionship forcedas it wereupon him; that we
find him uneasyand full of constraint and reluctance; writing his
friends to the effect that if they fail to do so and so by bearer
he will have no choice but to dine again with Duke Humphrey; and
expressing himself in a very marked and extraordinary manner as one
surfeited of High Life and Gracious Company.

It has been rumouredand it is needless to say the rumour
originated in the same base quartersthat a certain male
Chuzzlewitwhose birth must be admitted to be involved in some
obscuritywas of very mean and low descent. How stands the proof?
When the son of that individualto whom the secret of his father's
birth was supposed to have been communicated by his father in his
lifetimelay upon his deathbedthis question was put to him in a
distinctsolemnand formal way: 'Toby Chuzzlewitwho was your
grandfather?' To which hewith his last breathno less distinctly
solemnlyand formally replied: and his words were taken down at the
timeand signed by six witnesseseach with his name and address in
full: 'The Lord No Zoo.' It may be said--it HAS been saidfor human
wickedness has no limits--that there is no Lord of that nameand


that among the titles which have become extinctnone at all
resembling thisin sound evenis to be discovered. But what is
the irresistible inference? Rejecting a theory broached by some
well-meaning but mistaken personsthat this Mr Toby Chuzzlewit's
grandfatherto judge from his namemust surely have been a
Mandarin (which is wholly insupportablefor there is no pretence of
his grandmother ever having been out of this countryor of any
Mandarin having been in it within some years of his father's birth;
except those in the tea-shopswhich cannot for a moment be regarded
as having any bearing on the questionone way or other)rejecting
this hypothesisis it not manifest that Mr Toby Chuzzlewit had
either received the name imperfectly from his fatheror that he had
forgotten itor that he had mispronounced it? and that even at the
recent period in questionthe Chuzzlewits were connected by a bend
sinisteror kind of heraldic over-the-leftwith some unknown noble
and illustrious House?

From documentary evidenceyet preserved in the familythe fact is
clearly established that in the comparatively modern days of the
Diggory Chuzzlewit before mentionedone of its members had attained
to very great wealth and influence. Throughout such fragments of
his correspondence as have escaped the ravages of the moths (whoin
right of their extensive absorption of the contents of deeds and
papersmay be called the general registers of the Insect World)we
find him making constant reference to an unclein respect of whom
he would seem to have entertained great expectationsas he was in
the habit of seeking to propitiate his favour by presents of plate
jewelsbookswatchesand other valuable articles. Thushe
writes on one occasion to his brother in reference to a gravy-spoon
the brother's propertywhich he (Diggory) would appear to have
borrowed or otherwise possessed himself of: 'Do not be angryI have
parted with it--to my uncle.' On another occasion he expresses
himself in a similar manner with regard to a child's mug which had
been entrusted to him to get repaired. On another occasion he says
'I have bestowed upon that irresistible uncle of mine everything I
ever possessed.' And that he was in the habit of paying long and
constant visits to this gentleman at his mansionifindeedhe did
not wholly reside thereis manifest from the following sentence:
'With the exception of the suit of clothes I carry about with me
the whole of my wearing apparel is at present at my uncle's.' This
gentleman's patronage and influence must have been very extensive
for his nephew writes'His interest is too high'--'It is too much'
--'It is tremendous'--and the like. Still it does not appear (which
is strange) to have procured for him any lucrative post at court or
elsewhereor to have conferred upon him any other distinction than
that which was necessarily included in the countenance of so great a
manand the being invited by him to certain entertainment'sso
splendid and costly in their naturethat he calls them 'Golden
Balls.'

It is needless to multiply instances of the high and lofty station
and the vast importance of the Chuzzlewitsat different periods.
If it came within the scope of reasonable probability that further
proofs were requiredthey might be heaped upon each other until
they formed an Alps of testimonybeneath which the boldest
scepticism should be crushed and beaten flat. As a goodly tumulus
is already collectedand decently battened up above the Family
gravethe present chapter is content to leave it as it is: merely
addingby way of a final spadefulthat many Chuzzlewitsboth male
and femaleare proved to demonstrationon the faith of letters
written by their own mothersto have had chiselled noses
undeniable chinsforms that might have served the sculptor for a
modelexquisitely-turned limbs and polished foreheads of so
transparent a texture that the blue veins might be seen branching


off in various directionslike so many roads on an ethereal map.
This fact in itselfthough it had been a solitary onewould have
utterly settled and clenched the business in hand; for it is well
knownon the authority of all the books which treat of such
mattersthat every one of these phenomenabut especially that of
the chisellingare invariably peculiar toand only make themselves
apparent inpersons of the very best condition.

This history havingto its own perfect satisfaction(and
consequentlyto the full contentment of all its readers) proved
the Chuzzlewits to have had an originand to have been at one time
or other of an importance which cannot fail to render them highly
improving and acceptable acquaintance to all right-minded
individualsmay now proceed in earnest with its task. And having
shown that they must have hadby reason of their ancient birtha
pretty large share in the foundation and increase of the human
familyit will one day become its province to submitthat such of
its members as shall be introduced in these pageshave still many
counterparts and prototypes in the Great World about us. At present
it contents itself with remarkingin a general wayon this head:
Firstlythat it may be safely assertedand yet without implying
any direct participation in the Manboddo doctrine touching the
probability of the human race having once been monkeysthat men do
play very strange and extraordinary tricks. Secondlyand yet
without trenching on the Blumenbach theory as to the descendants of
Adam having a vast number of qualities which belong more
particularly to swine than to any other class of animals in the
creationthat some men certainly are remarkable for taking uncommon
good care of themselves.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEREIN CERTAIN PERSONS ARE PRESENTED TO THE READERWITH WHOM HE
MAYIF HE PLEASEBECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED

It was pretty late in the autumn of the yearwhen the declining sun
struggling through the mist which had obscured it all daylooked
brightly down upon a little Wiltshire villagewithin an easy
journey of the fair old town of Salisbury.

Like a sudden flash of memory or spirit kindling up the mind of an
old manit shed a glory upon the scenein which its departed youth
and freshness seemed to live again. The wet grass sparkled in the
light; the scanty patches of verdure in the hedges--where a few
green twigs yet stood together bravelyresisting to the last the
tyranny of nipping winds and early frosts--took heart and brightened
up; the stream which had been dull and sullen all day longbroke
out into a cheerful smile; the birds began to chirp and twitter on
the naked boughsas though the hopeful creatures half believed that
winter had gone byand spring had come already. The vane upon the
tapering spire of the old church glistened from its lofty station in
sympathy with the general gladness; and from the ivy-shaded windows
such gleams of light shone back upon the glowing skythat it seemed
as if the quiet buildings were the hoarding-place of twenty summers
and all their ruddiness and warmth were stored within.

Even those tokens of the season which emphatically whispered of the
coming wintergraced the landscapeandfor the momenttinged its
livelier features with no oppressive air of sadness. The fallen
leaveswith which the ground was strewngave forth a pleasant
fragranceand subduing all harsh sounds of distant feet and wheels


created a repose in gentle unison with the light scattering of seed
hither and thither by the distant husbandmanand with the
noiseless passage of the plough as it turned up the rich brown
earthand wrought a graceful pattern in the stubbled fields. On
the motionless branches of some treesautumn berries hung like
clusters of coral beadsas in those fabled orchards where the
fruits were jewels; others stripped of all their garniturestood
each the centre of its little heap of bright red leaveswatching
their slow decay; others againstill wearing theirshad them all
crunched and crackled upas though they had been burnt; about the
stems of some were piledin ruddy moundsthe apples they had borne
that year; while others (hardy evergreens this class) showed
somewhat stern and gloomy in their vigouras charged by nature with
the admonition that it is not to her more sensitive and joyous
favourites she grants the longest term of life. Still athwart their
darker boughsthe sunbeams struck out paths of deeper gold; and the
red lightmantling in among their swarthy branchesused them as
foils to set its brightness offand aid the lustre of the dying
day.

A momentand its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath the
long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy
citywall heaped on walland battlement on battlement; the light
was all withdrawn; the shining church turned cold and dark; the
stream forgot to smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of
winter dwelt on everything.

An evening wind uprose tooand the slighter branches cracked and
rattled as they movedin skeleton dancesto its moaning music.
The withering leaves no longer quiethurried to and fro in search
of shelter from its chill pursuit; the labourer unyoked his horses
and with head bent downtrudged briskly home beside them; and from
the cottage windows lights began to glance and wink upon the
darkening fields.

Then the village forge came out in all its bright importance. The
lusty bellows roared Ha ha! to the clear firewhich roared in turn
and bade the shining sparks dance gayly to the merry clinking of the
hammers on the anvil. The gleaming ironin its emulationsparkled
tooand shed its red-hot gems around profusely. The strong smith
and his men dealt such strokes upon their workas made even the
melancholy night rejoiceand brought a glow into its dark face as
it hovered about the door and windowspeeping curiously in above
the shoulders of a dozen loungers. As to this idle companythere
they stoodspellbound by the placeandcasting now and then a
glance upon the darkness in their rearsettled their lazy elbows
more at ease upon the silland leaned a little further in: no more
disposed to tear themselves away than if they had been born to
cluster round the blazing hearth like so many crickets.

Out upon the angry wind! how from sighingit began to bluster round
the merry forgebanging at the wicketand grumbling in the
chimneyas if it bullied the jolly bellows for doing anything to
order. And what an impotent swaggerer it was toofor all its
noise; for if it had any influence on that hoarse companionit was
but to make him roar his cheerful song the louderand by
consequence to make the fire burn the brighterand the sparks to
dance more gayly yet; at lengththey whizzed so madly round and
roundthat it was too much for such a surly wind to bear; so off it
flew with a howl giving the old sign before the ale-house door such
a cuff as it wentthat the Blue Dragon was more rampant than usual
ever afterwardsand indeedbefore Christmasreared clean out of
its crazy frame.


It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to go wreaking its
vengeance on such poor creatures as the fallen leavesbut this wind
happening to come up with a great heap of them just after venting
its humour on the insulted Dragondid so disperse and scatter them
that they fled awaypell-mellsome heresome thererolling over
each otherwhirling round and round upon their thin edgestaking
frantic flights into the airand playing all manner of
extraordinary gambols in the extremity of their distress. Nor was
this enough for its malicious fury; for not content with driving
them abroadit charged small parties of them and hunted them into
the wheel wright's saw-pitand below the planks and timbers in the
yardandscattering the sawdust in the airit looked for them
underneathand when it did meet with anywhew! how it drove them
on and followed at their heels!

The scared leaves only flew the faster for all thisand a giddy
chase it was; for they got into unfrequented placeswhere there was
no outletand where their pursuer kept them eddying round and round
at his pleasure; and they crept under the eaves of housesand clung
tightly to the sides of hay-rickslike bats; and tore in at open
chamber windowsand cowered close to hedges; andin shortwent
anywhere for safety. But the oddest feat they achieved wasto take
advantage of the sudden opening of Mr Pecksniff's front-doorto
dash wildly into his passage; whither the wind following close upon
themand finding the back-door openincontinently blew out the
lighted candle held by Miss Pecksniffand slammed the front-door
against Mr Pecksniff who was at that moment enteringwith such
violencethat in the twinkling of an eye he lay on his back at the
bottom of the steps. Being by this time weary of such trifling
performancesthe boisterous rover hurried away rejoicingroaring
over moor and meadowhill and flatuntil it got out to seawhere
it met with other winds similarly disposedand made a night of it.

In the meantime Mr Pecksniffhaving received from a sharp angle in
the bottom step but onethat sort of knock on the head which lights
upfor the patient's entertainmentan imaginary general
illumination of very bright short-sixeslay placidly staring at his
own street door. And it would seem to have been more suggestive in
its aspect than street doors usually are; for he continued to lie
thererather a lengthy and unreasonable timewithout so much as
wondering whether he was hurt or no; neitherwhen Miss Pecksniff
inquired through the key-hole in a shrill voicewhich might have
belonged to a wind in its teens'Who's there' did he make any
reply; norwhen Miss Pecksniff opened the door againand shading
the candle with her handpeered outand looked provokingly round
himand about himand over himand everywhere but at himdid he
offer any remarkor indicate in any manner the least hint of a
desire to be picked up.

'I see you' cried Miss Pecksniffto the ideal inflicter of a
runaway knock. 'You'll catch itsir!'

Still Mr Pecksniffperhaps from having caught it alreadysaid
nothing.

'You're round the corner now' cried Miss Pecksniff. She said it at
a venturebut there was appropriate matter in it too; for Mr
Pecksniffbeing in the act of extinguishing the candles before
mentioned pretty rapidlyand of reducing the number of brass knobs
on his street door from four or five hundred (which had previously
been juggling of their own accord before his eyes in a very novel
manner) to a dozen or somight in one sense have been said to be
coming round the cornerand just turning it.


With a sharply delivered warning relative to the cage and the
constableand the stocks and the gallowsMiss Pecksniff was about
to close the door againwhen Mr Pecksniff (being still at the
bottom of the steps) raised himself on one elbowand sneezed.

'That voice!' cried Miss Pecksniff. 'My parent!'

At this exclamationanother Miss Pecksniff bounced out of the
parlour; and the two Miss Pecksniffswith many incoherent
expressionsdragged Mr Pecksniff into an upright posture.

'Pa!' they cried in concert. 'Pa! SpeakPa! Do not look so wild my
dearest Pa!'

But as a gentleman's looksin such a case of all othersare by no
means under his own controlMr Pecksniff continued to keep his
mouth and his eyes very wide openand to drop his lower jaw
somewhat after the manner of a toy nut-cracker; and as his hat had
fallen offand his face was paleand his hair erectand his coat
muddythe spectacle he presented was so very dolefulthat neither
of the Miss Pecksniffs could repress an involuntary screech.

'That'll do' said Mr Pecksniff. 'I'm better.'

'He's come to himself!' cried the youngest Miss Pecksniff.

'He speaks again!' exclaimed the eldest.

With these joyful words they kissed Mr Pecksniff on either cheek;
and bore him into the house. Presentlythe youngest Miss Pecksniff
ran out again to pick up his hathis brown paper parcelhis
umbrellahis glovesand other small articles; and that doneand
the door closedboth young ladies applied themselves to tending Mr
Pecksniff's wounds in the back parlour.

They were not very serious in their nature; being limited to
abrasions on what the eldest Miss Pecksniff called 'the knobby
parts' of her parent's anatomysuch as his knees and elbowsand to
the development of an entirely new organunknown to phrenologists
on the back of his head. These injuries having been comforted
externallywith patches of pickled brown paperand Mr Pecksniff
having been comforted internallywith some stiff brandy-and-water
the eldest Miss Pecksniff sat down to make the teawhich was all
ready. In the meantime the youngest Miss Pecksniff brought from the
kitchen a smoking dish of ham and eggsandsetting the same before
her fathertook up her station on a low stool at his feet; thereby
bringing her eyes on a level with the teaboard.

It must not be inferred from this position of humilitythat the
youngest Miss Pecksniff was so young as to beas one may say
forced to sit upon a stoolby reason of the shortness of her legs.
Miss Pecksniff sat upon a stool because of her simplicity and
innocencewhich were very greatvery great. Miss Pecksniff sat
upon a stool because she was all girlishnessand playfulnessand
wildnessand kittenish buoyancy. She was the most arch and at the
same time the most artless creaturewas the youngest Miss
Pecksniffthat you can possibly imagine. It was her great charm.
She was too fresh and guilelessand too full of child-like
vivacitywas the youngest Miss Pecksniffto wear combs in her
hairor to turn it upor to frizzle itor braid it. She wore it
in a cropa loosely flowing cropwhich had so many rows of curls
in itthat the top row was only one curl. Moderately buxom was her
shapeand quite womanly too; but sometimes--yessometimes--she
even wore a pinafore; and how charming THAT was! Oh! she was indeed


'a gushing thing' (as a young gentleman had observed in versein
the Poet's Corner of a provincial newspaper)was the youngest Miss
Pecksniff!

Mr Pecksniff was a moral man--a grave mana man of noble sentiments
and speech--and he had had her christened Mercy. Mercy! ohwhat a
charming name for such a pure-souled Being as the youngest Miss
Pecksniff! Her sister's name was Charity. There was a good thing!
Mercy and Charity! And Charitywith her fine strong sense and her
mildyet not reproachful gravitywas so well namedand did so
well set off and illustrate her sister! What a pleasant sight was
that the contrast they presented; to see each loved and loving one
sympathizing withand devoted toand leaning onand yet
correcting and counter-checkingandas it wereantidotingthe
other! To behold each damsel in her very admiration of her sister
setting up in business for herself on an entirely different
principleand announcing no connection with over-the-wayand if the
quality of goods at that establishment don't please youyou are
respectfully invited to favour ME with a call! And the crowning
circumstance of the whole delightful catalogue wasthat both the
fair creatures were so utterly unconscious of all this! They had no
idea of it. They no more thought or dreamed of it than Mr Pecksniff
did. Nature played them off against each other; THEY had no hand in
itthe two Miss Pecksniffs.

It has been remarked that Mr Pecksniff was a moral man. So he was.
Perhaps there never was a more moral man than Mr Pecksniff
especially in his conversation and correspondence. It was once said
of him by a homely admirerthat he had a Fortunatus's purse of good
sentiments in his inside. In this particular he was like the girl
in the fairy taleexcept that if they were not actual diamonds
which fell from his lipsthey were the very brightest pasteand
shone prodigiously. He was a most exemplary man; fuller of virtuous
precept than a copy book. Some people likened him to a directionpost
which is always telling the way to a placeand never goes
there; but these were his enemiesthe shadows cast by his
brightness; that was all. His very throat was moral. You saw a
good deal of it. You looked over a very low fence of white cravat
(whereof no man had ever beheld the tie for he fastened it behind)
and there it laya valley between two jutting heights of collar
serene and whiskerless before you. It seemed to sayon the part of
Mr Pecksniff'There is no deceptionladies and gentlemenall is
peacea holy calm pervades me.' So did his hairjust grizzled with
an iron-grey which was all brushed off his foreheadand stood bolt
uprightor slightly drooped in kindred action with his heavy
eyelids. So did his personwhich was sleek though free from
corpulency. So did his mannerwhich was soft and oily. In a word
even his plain black suitand state of widower and dangling double
eye-glassall tended to the same purposeand cried aloud'Behold
the moral Pecksniff!'

The brazen plate upon the door (which being Mr Pecksniff'scould
not lie) bore this inscription'PECKSNIFFARCHITECT' to which Mr
Pecksniffon his cards of businessaddedAND LAND SURVEYOR.' In
one senseand only onehe may be said to have been a Land Surveyor
on a pretty large scaleas an extensive prospect lay stretched out
before the windows of his house. Of his architectural doings
nothing was clearly knownexcept that he had never designed or
built anything; but it was generally understood that his knowledge
of the science was almost awful in its profundity.

Mr Pecksniff's professional engagementsindeedwere almostif not
entirelyconfined to the reception of pupils; for the collection of
rentswith which pursuit he occasionally varied and relieved his


graver toilscan hardly be said to be a strictly architectural
employment. His genius lay in ensnaring parents and guardiansand
pocketing premiums. A young gentleman's premium being paidand the
young gentleman come to Mr Pecksniff's houseMr Pecksniff borrowed
his case of mathematical instruments (if silver-mounted or otherwise
valuable); entreated himfrom that momentto consider himself one
of the family; complimented him highly on his parents or guardians
as the case might be; and turned him loose in a spacious room on the
two-pair front; wherein the company of certain drawing-boards
parallel rulersvery stiff-legged compassesand twoor perhaps
threeother young gentlemenhe improved himselffor three or five
yearsaccording to his articlesin making elevations of Salisbury
Cathedral from every possible point of sight; and in constructing in
the air a vast quantity of CastlesHouses of Parliamentand other
Public Buildings. Perhaps in no place in the world were so many
gorgeous edifices of this class erected as under Mr Pecksniff's
auspices; and if but one-twentieth part of the churches which were
built in that front roomwith one or other of the Miss Pecksniffs
at the altar in the act of marrying the architectcould only be
made available by the parliamentary commissionersno more churches
would be wanted for at least five centuries.

'Even the worldly goods of which we have just disposed' said Mr
Pecksniffglancing round the table when he had finished'even
creamsugarteatoastham--'

'And eggs' suggested Charity in a low voice.

'And eggs' said Mr Pecksniff'even they have their moral. See how
they come and go! Every pleasure is transitory. We can't even eat
long. If we indulge in harmless fluidswe get the dropsy; if in
exciting liquidswe get drunk. What a soothing reflection is
that!'

'Don't say WE get drunkPa' urged the eldest Miss Pecksniff.

'When I say wemy dear' returned her father'I mean mankind in
general; the human raceconsidered as a bodyand not as
individuals. There is nothing personal in moralitymy love. Even
such a thing as this' said Mr Pecksnifflaying the fore-finger of
his left hand upon the brown paper patch on the top of his head
'slight casual baldness though it bereminds us that we are but'-he
was going to say 'worms' but recollecting that worms were not
remarkable for heads of hairhe substituted 'flesh and blood.'

'Which' cried Mr Pecksniff after a pauseduring which he seemed to
have been casting about for a new moraland not quite successfully
'which is also very soothing. Mercymy dearstir the fire and
throw up the cinders.'

The young lady obeyedand having done soresumed her stool
reposed one arm upon her father's kneeand laid her blooming cheek
upon it. Miss Charity drew her chair nearer the fireas one
prepared for conversationand looked towards her father.

'Yes' said Mr Pecksniffafter a short pauseduring which he had
been silently smilingand shaking his head at the fire--'I have
again been fortunate in the attainment of my object. A new inmate
will very shortly come among us.'

'A youthpapa?' asked Charity.

'Ye-esa youth' said Mr Pecksniff. 'He will avail himself of the
eligible opportunity which now offersfor uniting the advantages of


the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a
homeand the constant association with some who (however humble
their sphereand limited their capacity) are not unmindful of their
moral responsibilities.'

'Oh Pa!' cried Mercyholding up her finger archly. 'See
advertisement!'

'Playful--playful warbler' said Mr Pecksniff. It may be observed
in connection with his calling his daughter a 'warbler' that she was
not at all vocalbut that Mr Pecksniff was in the frequent habit of
using any word that occurred to him as having a good soundand
rounding a sentence well without much care for its meaning. And he
did this so boldlyand in such an imposing mannerthat he would
sometimes stagger the wisest people with his eloquenceand make
them gasp again.

His enemies assertedby the waythat a strong trustfulness in
sounds and forms was the master-key to Mr Pecksniff's character.

'Is he handsomePa?' inquired the younger daughter.

'Silly Merry!' said the eldest: Merry being fond for Mercy. 'What
is the premiumPa? tell us that.'

'Ohgood graciousCherry!' cried Miss Mercyholding up her hands
with the most winning giggle in the world'what a mercenary girl
you are! oh you naughtythoughtfulprudent thing!'

It was perfectly charmingand worthy of the Pastoral ageto see
how the two Miss Pecksniffs slapped each other after thisand then
subsided into an embrace expressive of their different dispositions.

'He is well looking' said Mr Pecksniffslowly and distinctly;
'well looking enough. I do not positively expect any immediate
premium with him.'

Notwithstanding their different naturesboth Charity and Mercy
concurred in opening their eyes uncommonly wide at this
announcementand in looking for the moment as blank as if their
thoughts had actually had a direct bearing on the main chance.

'But what of that!' said Mr Pecksniffstill smiling at the fire.
'There is disinterestedness in the worldI hope? We are not all
arrayed in two opposite ranks; the OFfensive and the DEfensive.
Some few there are who walk between; who help the needy as they go;
and take no part with either side. Umph!'

There was something in these morsels of philanthropy which reassured
the sisters. They exchanged glancesand brightened very much.

'Oh! let us not be for ever calculatingdevisingand plotting for
the future' said Mr Pecksniffsmiling more and moreand looking
at the fire as a man mightwho was cracking a joke with it: 'I am
weary of such arts. If our inclinations are but good and openhearted
let us gratify them boldlythough they bring upon us Loss
instead of Profit. EhCharity?'

Glancing towards his daughters for the first time since he had begun
these reflectionsand seeing that they both smiledMr Pecksniff
eyed them for an instant so jocosely (though still with a kind of
saintly waggishness) that the younger one was moved to sit upon his
knee forthwithput her fair arms round his neckand kiss him
twenty times. During the whole of this affectionate display she


laughed to a most immoderate extent: in which hilarious indulgence
even the prudent Cherry joined.

'Tuttut' said Mr Pecksniffpushing his latest-born away and
running his fingers through his hairas he resumed his tranquil
face. 'What folly is this! Let us take heed how we laugh without
reason lest we cry with it. What is the domestic news since
yesterday? John Westlock is goneI hope?'

'Indeedno' said Charity.

'And why not?' returned her father. 'His term expired yesterday.
And his box was packedI know; for I saw itin the morning
standing in the hall.'

'He slept last night at the Dragon' returned the young lady'and
had Mr Pinch to dine with him. They spent the evening togetherand
Mr Pinch was not home till very late.'

'And when I saw him on the stairs this morningPa' said Mercy with
her usual sprightliness'he lookedoh goodnessSUCH a monster!
with his face all manner of coloursand his eyes as dull as if they
had been boiledand his head aching dreadfullyI am sure from the
look of itand his clothes smellingoh it's impossible to say how
strongoh'--here the young lady shuddered--'of smoke and punch.'

'Now I think' said Mr Pecksniff with his accustomed gentleness
though still with the air of one who suffered under injury without
complaint'I think Mr Pinch might have done better than choose for
his companion one whoat the close of a long intercoursehad
endeavouredas he knewto wound my feelings. I am not quite sure
that this was delicate in Mr Pinch. I am not quite sure that this
was kind in Mr Pinch. I will go further and sayI am not quite
sure that this was even ordinarily grateful in Mr Pinch.'

'But what can anyone expect from Mr Pinch!' cried Charitywith as
strong and scornful an emphasis on the name as if it would have
given her unspeakable pleasure to express itin an acted charade
on the calf of that gentleman's leg.

'Ayeaye' returned her fatherraising his hand mildly: 'it is
very well to say what can we expect from Mr Pinchbut Mr Pinch is a
fellow-creaturemy dear; Mr Pinch is an item in the vast total of
humanitymy love; and we have a rightit is our dutyto expect in
Mr Pinch some development of those better qualitiesthe possession
of which in our own persons inspires our humble self-respect. No'
continued Mr Pecksniff. 'No! Heaven forbid that I should say
nothing can be expected from Mr Pinch; or that I should saynothing
can be expected from any man alive (even the most degradedwhich Mr
Pinch is notnoreally); but Mr Pinch has disappointed me; he has
hurt me; I think a little the worse of him on this accountbut not
if human nature. Ohnono!'

'Hark!' said Miss Charityholding up her fingeras a gentle rap
was heard at the street door. 'There is the creature! Now mark my
wordshe has come back with John Westlock for his boxand is going
to help him to take it to the mail. Only mark my wordsif that
isn't his intention!'

Even as she spokethe box appeared to be in progress of conveyance
from the housebut after a brief murmuring of question and answer
it was put down againand somebody knocked at the parlour door.

'Come in!' cried Mr Pecksniff--not severely; only virtuously. 'Come


in!'

An ungainlyawkward-looking manextremely short-sightedand
prematurely baldavailed himself of this permission; and seeing
that Mr Pecksniff sat with his back towards himgazing at the fire
stood hesitatingwith the door in his hand. He was far from
handsome certainly; and was drest in a snuff-coloured suitof an
uncouth make at the bestwhichbeing shrunk with long wearwas
twisted and tortured into all kinds of odd shapes; but
notwithstanding his attireand his clumsy figurewhich a great
stoop in his shouldersand a ludicrous habit he had of thrusting
his head forwardby no means redeemedone would not have been
disposed (unless Mr Pecksniff said so) to consider him a bad fellow
by any means. He was perhaps about thirtybut he might have been
almost any age between sixteen and sixty; being one of those strange
creatures who never decline into an ancient appearancebut look
their oldest when they are very youngand get it over at once.

Keeping his hand upon the lock of the doorhe glanced from Mr
Pecksniff to Mercyfrom Mercy to Charityand from Charity to Mr
Pecksniff againseveral times; but the young ladies being as intent
upon the fire as their father wasand neither of the three taking
any notice of himhe was fain to sayat last

'Oh! I beg your pardonMr Pecksniff: I beg your pardon for
intruding; but--'

'No intrusionMr Pinch' said that gentleman very sweetlybut
without looking round. 'Pray be seatedMr Pinch. Have the
goodness to shut the doorMr Pinchif you please.'

'Certainlysir' said Pinch; not doing sohoweverbut holding it
rather wider open than beforeand beckoning nervously to somebody
without: 'Mr Westlocksirhearing that you were come home--'

'Mr PinchMr Pinch!' said Pecksniffwheeling his chair aboutand
looking at him with an aspect of the deepest melancholy'I did not
expect this from you. I have not deserved this from you!'

'Nobut upon my wordsir--' urged Pinch.

'The less you sayMr Pinch' interposed the other'the better. I
utter no complaint. Make no defence.'

'Nobut do have the goodnesssir' cried Pinchwith great
earnestness'if you please. Mr Westlocksirgoing away for good
and allwishes to leave none but friends behind him. Mr Westlock
and yousirhad a little difference the other day; you have had
many little differences.'

'Little differences!' cried Charity.

'Little differences!' echoed Mercy.

'My loves!' said Mr Pecksniffwith the same serene upraising of his
hand; 'My dears!' After a solemn pause he meekly bowed to Mr Pinch
as who should say'Proceed;' but Mr Pinch was so very much at a
loss how to resumeand looked so helplessly at the two Miss
Pecksniffsthat the conversation would most probably have
terminated thereif a good-looking youthnewly arrived at man's
estatehad not stepped forward from the doorway and taken up the
thread of the discourse.

'ComeMr Pecksniff' he saidwith a smile'don't let there be any


ill-blood between uspray. I am sorry we have ever differedand
extremely sorry I have ever given you offence. Bear me no ill-will
at partingsir.'

'I bear' answered Mr Pecksniffmildly'no ill-will to any man on
earth.'

'I told you he didn't' said Pinchin an undertone; 'I knew he
didn't! He always says he don't.'

'Then you will shake handssir?' cried Westlockadvancing a step
or twoand bespeaking Mr Pinch's close attention by a glance.

'Umph!' said Mr Pecksniffin his most winning tone.

'You will shake handssir.'

'NoJohn' said Mr Pecksniffwith a calmness quite ethereal; 'no
I will not shake handsJohn. I have forgiven you. I had already
forgiven youeven before you ceased to reproach and taunt me. I
have embraced you in the spiritJohnwhich is better than shaking
hands.'

'Pinch' said the youthturning towards himwith a hearty disgust
of his late master'what did I tell you?'

Poor Pinch looked down uneasily at Mr Pecksniffwhose eye was fixed
upon him as it had been from the first; and looking up at the
ceiling againmade no reply.

'As to your forgivenessMr Pecksniff' said the youth'I'll not
have it upon such terms. I won't be forgiven.'

'Won't youJohn?' retorted Mr Pecksniffwith a smile. 'You must.
You can't help it. Forgiveness is a high quality; an exalted
virtue; far above YOUR control or influenceJohn. I WILL forgive
you. You cannot move me to remember any wrong you have ever done
meJohn.'

'Wrong!' cried the otherwith all the heat and impetuosity of his
age. 'Here's a pretty fellow! Wrong! Wrong I have done him! He'll
not even remember the five hundred pounds he had with me under false
pretences; or the seventy pounds a year for board and lodging that
would have been dear at seventeen! Here's a martyr!'

'MoneyJohn' said Mr Pecksniff'is the root of all evil. I
grieve to see that it is already bearing evil fruit in you. But I
will not remember its existence. I will not even remember the
conduct of that misguided person'--and herealthough he spoke like
one at peace with all the worldhe used an emphasis that plainly
said "I have my eye upon the rascal now"--'that misguided person who
has brought you here to-nightseeking to disturb (it is a happiness
to sayin vain) the heart's repose and peace of one who would have
shed his dearest blood to serve him.'

The voice of Mr Pecksniff trembled as he spokeand sobs were heard
from his daughters. Sounds floated on the airmoreoveras if two
spirit voices had exclaimed: one'Beast!' the other'Savage!'

'Forgiveness' said Mr Pecksniff'entire and pure forgiveness is
not incompatible with a wounded heart; perchance when the heart is
woundedit becomes a greater virtue. With my breast still wrung
and grieved to its inmost core by the ingratitude of that personI
am proud and glad to say that I forgive him. Nay! I beg' cried Mr


Pecksniffraising his voiceas Pinch appeared about to speak'I
beg that individual not to offer a remark; he will truly oblige me
by not uttering one wordjust now. I am not sure that I am equal
to the trial. In a very short space of timeI shall have
sufficient fortitudeI trust to converse with him as if these
events had never happened. But not' said Mr Pecksniffturning
round again towards the fireand waving his hand in the direction
of the door'not now.'

'Bah!' cried John Westlockwith the utmost disgust and disdain the
monosyllable is capable of expressing. 'Ladiesgood evening.
ComePinchit's not worth thinking of. I was right and you were
wrong. That's small matter; you'll be wiser another time.'

So sayinghe clapped that dejected companion on the shoulder
turned upon his heeland walked out into the passagewhither poor
Mr Pinchafter lingering irresolutely in the parlour for a few
secondsexpressing in his countenance the deepest mental misery and
gloom followed him. Then they took up the box between themand
sallied out to meet the mail.

That fleet conveyance passedevery nightthe corner of a lane at
some distance; towards which point they bent their steps. For some
minutes they walked along in silenceuntil at length young Westlock
burst into a loud laughand at intervals into anotherand another.
Still there was no response from his companion.

'I'll tell you whatPinch!' he said abruptlyafter another
lengthened silence--'You haven't half enough of the devil in you.
Half enough! You haven't any.'

'Well!' said Pinch with a sigh'I don't knowI'm sure. It's
compliment to say so. If I haven'tI supposeI'm all the better
for it.'

'All the better!' repeated his companion tartly: 'All the worseyou
mean to say.'

'And yet' said Pinchpursuing his own thoughts and not this last
remark on the part of his friend'I must have a good deal of what
you call the devil in metooor how could I make Pecksniff so
uncomfortable? I wouldn't have occasioned him so much distress-don't
laughplease--for a mine of money; and Heaven knows I could
find good use for it tooJohn. How grieved he was!'

'HE grieved!' returned the other.

'Why didn't you observe that the tears were almost starting out of
his eyes!' cried Pinch. 'Bless my soulJohnis it nothing to see
a man moved to that extent and know one's self to be the cause! And
did you hear him say that he could have shed his blood for me?'

'Do you WANT any blood shed for you?' returned his friendwith
considerable irritation. 'Does he shed anything for you that you DO
want? Does he shed employment for youinstruction for youpocket
money for you? Does he shed even legs of mutton for you in any
decent proportion to potatoes and garden stuff?'

'I am afraid' said Pinchsighing again'that I am a great eater;
I can't disguise from myself that I'm a great eater. Nowyou know
thatJohn.'

'You a great eater!' retorted his companionwith no less
indignation than before. 'How do you know you are?'


There appeared to be forcible matter in this inquiryfor Mr Pinch
only repeated in an undertone that he had a strong misgiving on the
subjectand that he greatly feared he was.

'Besideswhether I am or no' he added'that has little or nothing
to do with his thinking me ungrateful. Johnthere is scarcely a
sin in the world that is in my eyes such a crying one as
ingratitude; and when he taxes me with thatand believes me to be
guilty of ithe makes me miserable and wretched.'

'Do you think he don't know that?' returned the other scornfully.
'But comePinchbefore I say anything more to youjust run over
the reasons you have for being grateful to him at allwill you?
Change hands firstfor the box is heavy. That'll do. Nowgo on.'

'In the first place' said Pinch'he took me as his pupil for much
less than he asked.'

'Well' rejoined his friendperfectly unmoved by this instance of
generosity. 'What in the second place?'

'What in the second place?' cried Pinchin a sort of desperation
'whyeverything in the second place. My poor old grandmother died
happy to think that she had put me with such an excellent man. I
have grown up in his houseI am in his confidenceI am his
assistanthe allows me a salary; when his business improvesmy
prospects are to improve too. All thisand a great deal moreis
in the second place. And in the very prologue and preface to the
first placeJohnyou must consider thiswhich nobody knows better
than I: that I was born for much plainer and poorer thingsthat I
am not a good hand for his kind of businessand have no talent for
itor indeed for anything else but odds and ends that are of no use
or service to anybody.'

He said this with so much earnestnessand in a tone so full of
feelingthat his companion instinctively changed his manner as he
sat down on the box (they had by this time reached the finger-post
at the end of the lane); motioned him to sit down beside him; and
laid his hand upon his shoulder.

'I believe you are one of the best fellows in the world' he said
'Tom Pinch.'

'Not at all' rejoined Tom. 'If you only knew Pecksniff as well as
I doyou might say it of himindeedand say it truly.'

'I'll say anything of himyou like' returned the other'and not
another word to his disparagement.'

'It's for my sakethen; not hisI am afraid' said Pinchshaking
his head gravely.

'For whose you pleaseTomso that it does please you. Oh! He's a
famous fellow! HE never scraped and clawed into his pouch all your
poor grandmother's hard savings--she was a housekeeperwasn't she
Tom?'

'Yes' said Mr Pinchnursing one of his large kneesand nodding
his head; 'a gentleman's housekeeper.'

'HE never scraped and clawed into his pouch all her hard savings;
dazzling her with prospects of your happiness and advancementwhich
he knew (and no man better) never would be realised! HE never


speculated and traded on her pride in youand her having educated
youand on her desire that you at least should live to be a
gentleman. Not heTom!'

'No' said Tomlooking into his friend's faceas if he were a
little doubtful of his meaning. 'Of course not.'

'So I say' returned the youth'of course he never did. HE didn't
take less than he had askedbecause that less was all she hadand
more than he expected; not heTom! He doesn't keep you as his
assistant because you are of any use to him; because your wonderful
faith in his pretensions is of inestimable service in all his mean
disputes; because your honesty reflects honesty on him; because your
wandering about this little place all your spare hoursreading in
ancient books and foreign tonguesgets noised abroadeven as far
as Salisburymaking of himPecksniff the mastera man of learning
and of vast importance. HE gets no credit from youTomnot he.'

'Whyof course he don't' said Pinchgazing at his friend with a
more troubled aspect than before. 'Pecksniff get credit from me!
Well!'

'Don't I say that it's ridiculous' rejoined the other'even to
think of such a thing?'

'Whyit's madness' said Tom.

'Madness!' returned young Westlock. 'Certainly it's madness. Who
but a madman would suppose he cares to hear it said on Sundaysthat
the volunteer who plays the organ in the churchand practises on
summer evenings in the darkis Mr Pecksniff's young manehTom?
Who but a madman would suppose it is the game of such a man as he
to have his name in everybody's mouthconnected with the thousand
useless odds and ends you do (and whichof coursehe taught you)
ehTom? Who but a madman would suppose you advertised him
hereaboutsmuch cheaper and much better than a chalker on the walls
couldehTom? As well might one suppose that he doesn't on all
occasions pour out his whole heart and soul to you; that he doesn't
make you a very liberal and indeed rather an extravagant allowance;
orto be more wild and monstrous stillif that be possibleas
well might one suppose' and hereat every wordhe struck him
lightly on the breast'that Pecksniff traded in your natureand
that your nature was to be timid and distrustful of yourselfand
trustful of all other menbut most of allof him who least
deserves it. There would be madnessTom!'

Mr Pinch had listened to all this with looks of bewildermentwhich
seemed to be in part occasioned by the matter of his companion's
speechand in part by his rapid and vehement manner. Now that he
had come to a closehe drew a very long breath; and gazing
wistfully in his face as if he were unable to settle in his own mind
what expression it woreand were desirous to draw from it as good a
clue to his real meaning as it was possible to obtain in the dark
was about to answerwhen the sound of the mail guard's horn came
cheerily upon their earsputting an immediate end to the
conference; greatly as it seemed to the satisfaction of the younger
manwho jumped up brisklyand gave his hand to his companion.

'Both handsTom. I shall write to you from Londonmind!'

'Yes' said Pinch. 'Yes. Doplease. Good-bye. Good-bye. I can
hardly believe you're going. It seemsnowbut yesterday that you
came. Good-bye! my dear old fellow!'


John Westlock returned his parting words with no less heartiness of
mannerand sprung up to his seat upon the roof. Off went the mail
at a canter down the dark road; the lamps gleaming brightlyand the
horn awakening all the echoesfar and wide.

'Go your ways' said Pinchapostrophizing the coach; 'I can hardly
persuade myself but you're aliveand are some great monster who
visits this place at certain intervalsto bear my friends away into
the world. You're more exulting and rampant than usual tonightI
think; and you may well crow over your prize; for he is a fine lad
an ingenuous ladand has but one fault that I know of; he don't
mean itbut he is most cruelly unjust to Pecksniff!'

CHAPTER THREE

IN WHICH CERTAIN OTHER PERSONS ARE INTRODUCED; ON THE SAME TERMS AS
IN THE LAST CHAPTER

Mention has been already made more than onceof a certain Dragon
who swung and creaked complainingly before the village alehouse
door. A fadedand an ancient dragon he was; and many a wintry storm
of rainsnowsleetand hailhad changed his colour from a gaudy
blue to a faint lack-lustre shade of grey. But there he hung;
rearingin a state of monstrous imbecilityon his hind legs;
waxingwith every month that passedso much more dim and
shapelessthat as you gazed at him on one side of the sign-board it
seemed as if he must be gradually melting through itand coming out
upon the other.

He was a courteous and considerate dragontoo; or had been in his
distincter days; for in the midst of his rampant feeblenesshe kept
one of his forepaws near his noseas though he would say'Don't
mind me--it's only my fun;' while he held out the other in polite
and hospitable entreaty. Indeed it must be conceded to the whole
brood of dragons of modern timesthat they have made a great
advance in civilisation and refinement. They no longer demand a
beautiful virgin for breakfast every morningwith as much
regularity as any tame single gentleman expects his hot rollbut
rest content with the society of idle bachelors and roving married
men; and they are now remarkable rather for holding aloof from the
softer sex and discouraging their visits (especially on Saturday
nights)than for rudely insisting on their company without any
reference to their inclinationsas they are known to have done in
days of yore.

Nor is this tribute to the reclaimed animals in question so wide a
digression into the realms of Natural History as it mayat first
sightappear to be; for the present business of these pages in with
the dragon who had his retreat in Mr Pecksniff's neighbourhoodand
that courteous animal being already on the carpetthere is nothing
in the way of its immediate transaction.

For many yearsthenhe had swung and creakedand flapped himself
aboutbefore the two windows of the best bedroom of that house of
entertainment to which he lent his name; but never in all his
swingingcreakingand flappinghad there been such a stir within
its dingy precinctsas on the evening next after that upon which
the incidentsdetailed in the last chapter occurred; when there was
such a hurrying up and down stairs of feetsuch a glancing of
lightssuch a whispering of voicessuch a smoking and sputtering
of wood newly lighted in a damp chimneysuch an airing of linen


such a scorching smell of hot warming-panssuch a domestic bustle
and to-doin shortas never dragongriffinunicornor other
animal of that species presided oversince they first began to
interest themselves in household affairs.

An old gentleman and a young ladytravellingunattendedin a
rusty old chariot with post-horses; coming nobody knew whence and
going nobody knew whither; had turned out of the high roadand
driven unexpectedly to the Blue Dragon; and here was the old
gentlemanwho had taken this step by reason of his sudden illness
in the carriagesuffering the most horrible cramps and spasmsyet
protesting and vowing in the very midst of his painthat he
wouldn't have a doctor sent forand wouldn't take any remedies but
those which the young lady administered from a small medicine-chest
and wouldn'tin a worddo anything but terrify the landlady out of
her five witsand obstinately refuse compliance with every
suggestion that was made to him.

Of all the five hundred proposals for his relief which the good
woman poured out in less than half an hourhe would entertain but
one. That was that he should go to bed. And it was in the
preparation of his bed and the arrangement of his chamberthat all
the stir was made in the room behind the Dragon.

He wasbeyond all questionvery illand suffered exceedingly; not
the lessperhapsbecause he was a strong and vigorous old man
with a will of ironand a voice of brass. But neither the
apprehensions which he plainly entertainedat timesfor his life
nor the great pain he underwentinfluenced his resolution in the
least degree. He would have no person sent for. The worse he grew
the more rigid and inflexible he became in his determination. If
they sent for any person to attend himmanwomanor childhe
would leave the house directly (so he told them)though he quitted
it on footand died upon the threshold of the door.

Nowthere being no medical practitioner actually resident in the
villagebut a poor apothecary who was also a grocer and general
dealerthe landlady hadupon her own responsibilitysent for him
in the very first burst and outset of the disaster. Of course it
followedas a necessary result of his being wantedthat he was not
at home. He had gone some miles awayand was not expected home
until late at night; so the landladybeing by this time pretty well
beside herselfdispatched the same messenger in all haste for Mr
Pecksniffas a learned man who could bear a deal of responsibility
and a moral man who could administer a world of comfort to a
troubled mind. That her guest had need of some efficient services
under the latter head was obvious enough from the restless
expressionsimportinghoweverrather a worldly than a spiritual
anxietyto which he gave frequent utterance.

From this last-mentioned secret errandthe messenger returned with
no better news than from the first; Mr Pecksniff was not at home.
Howeverthey got the patient into bed without him; and in the
course of two hourshe gradually became so far better that there
were much longer intervals than at first between his terms of
suffering. By degreeshe ceased to suffer at all; though his
exhaustion was occasionally so great that it suggested hardly less
alarm than his actual endurance had done.

It was in one of his intervals of reposewhenlooking round with
great cautionand reaching uneasily out of his nest of pillowshe
endeavouredwith a strange air of secrecy and distrustto make use
of the writing materials which he had ordered to be placed on a
table beside himthat the young lady and the mistress of the Blue


Dragon found themselves sitting side by side before the fire in the
sick chamber.

The mistress of the Blue Dragon was in outward appearance just what
a landlady should be: broadbuxomcomfortableand good looking
with a face of clear red and whitewhichby its jovial aspectat
once bore testimony to her hearty participation in the good things
of the larder and cellarand to their thriving and healthful
influences. She was a widowbut years ago had passed through her
state of weedsand burst into flower again; and in full bloom she
had continued ever since; and in full bloom she was now; with roses
on her ample skirtsand roses on her bodiceroses in her cap
roses in her cheeks--ayeand rosesworth the gathering tooon
her lipsfor that matter. She had still a bright black eyeand
jet black hair; was comelydimpledplumpand tight as a
gooseberry; and though she was not exactly what the world calls
youngyou may make an affidaviton trustbefore any mayor or
magistrate in Christendomthat there are a great many young ladies
in the world (blessings on them one and all!) whom you wouldn't like
half as wellor admire half as muchas the beaming hostess of the
Blue Dragon.

As this fair matron sat beside the fireshe glanced occasionally
with all the pride of ownershipabout the room; which was a large
apartmentsuch as one may see in country placeswith a low roof
and a sunken flooringall downhill from the doorand a descent of
two steps on the inside so exquisitely unexpectedthat strangers
despite the most elaborate cautioningusually dived in head first
as into a plunging-bath. It was none of your frivolous and
preposterously bright bedroomswhere nobody can close an eye with
any kind of propriety or decent regard to the association of ideas;
but it was a gooddullleadendrowsy placewhere every article
of furniture reminded you that you came there to sleepand that you
were expected to go to sleep. There was no wakeful reflection of
the fire thereas in your modern chamberswhich upon the darkest
nights have a watchful consciousness of French polish; the old
Spanish mahogany winked at it now and thenas a dozing cat or dog
mightnothing more. The very size and shapeand hopeless
immovability of the bedsteadand wardrobeand in a minor degree of
even the chairs and tablesprovoked sleep; they were plainly
apoplectic and disposed to snore. There were no staring portraits
to remonstrate with you for being lazy; no round-eyed birds upon the
curtainsdisgustingly wide awakeand insufferably prying. The
thick neutral hangingsand the dark blindsand the heavy heap of
bed-clotheswere all designed to hold in sleepand act as
nonconductors to the day and getting up. Even the old stuffed
fox upon the top of the wardrobe was devoid of any spark of
vigilancefor his glass eye had fallen outand he slumbered
as he stood.

The wandering attention of the mistress of the Blue Dragon roved to
these things but twice or thriceand then for but an instant at a
time. It soon deserted themand even the distant bed with its
strange burdenfor the young creature immediately before herwho
with her downcast eyes intently fixed upon the firesat wrapped in
silent meditation.

She was very young; apparently no more than seventeen; timid and
shrinking in her mannerand yet with a greater share of self
possession and control over her emotions than usually belongs to a
far more advanced period of female life. This she had abundantly
shownbut nowin her tending of the sick gentleman. She was short
in stature; and her figure was slightas became her years; but all
the charms of youth and maidenhood set it offand clustered on her


gentle brow. Her face was very palein part no doubt from recent
agitation. Her dark brown hairdisordered from the same causehad
fallen negligently from its bondsand hung upon her neck; for which
instance of its waywardness no male observer would have had the
heart to blame it.

Her attire was that of a ladybut extremely plain; and in her
mannereven when she sat as still as she did thenthere was an
indefinable something which appeared to be in kindred with her
scrupulously unpretending dress. She had satat first looking
anxiously towards the bed; but seeing that the patient remained
quietand was busy with his writingshe had softly moved her chair
into its present place; partlyas it seemedfrom an instinctive
consciousness that he desired to avoid observation; and partly that
she mightunseen by himgive some vent to the natural feelings she
had hitherto suppressed.

Of all thisand much morethe rosy landlady of the Blue Dragon
took as accurate note and observation as only woman can take of
woman. And at length she saidin a voice too lowshe knewto
reach the bed:

'You have seen the gentleman in this way beforemiss? Is he used
to these attacks?'

'I have seen him very ill beforebut not so ill as he has been
tonight.'

'What a Providence!' said the landlady of the Dragon'that you had
the prescriptions and the medicines with youmiss!'

'They are intended for such an emergency. We never travel without
them.'

'Oh!' thought the hostess'then we are in the habit of travelling
and of travelling together.'

She was so conscious of expressing this in her facethat meeting
the young lady's eyes immediately afterwardsand being a very
honest hostessshe was rather confused.

'The gentleman--your grandpapa'--she resumedafter a short pause
'being so bent on having no assistancemust terrify you very much
miss?'

'I have been very much alarmed to-night. He--he is not my
grandfather.'

'FatherI should have said' returned the hostesssensible of
having made an awkward mistake.

'Nor my father' said the young lady. 'Nor' she addedslightly
smiling with a quick perception of what the landlady was going to
add'Nor my uncle. We are not related.'

'Oh dear me!' returned the landladystill more embarrassed than
before; 'how could I be so very much mistaken; knowingas anybody
in their proper senses might that when a gentleman is illhe looks
so much older than he really is? That I should have called you
Miss,tooma'am!' But when she had proceeded thus farshe
glanced involuntarily at the third finger of the young lady's left
handand faltered again; for there was no ring upon it.

'When I told you we were not related' said the other mildlybut


not without confusion on her own part'I meant not in any way. Not
even by marriage. Did you call meMartin?'

'Call you?' cried the old manlooking quickly upand hurriedly
drawing beneath the coverlet the paper on which he had been writing.
'No.'

She had moved a pace or two towards the bedbut stopped
immediatelyand went no farther.

'No' he repeatedwith a petulant emphasis. 'Why do you ask me?
If I had called youwhat need for such a question?'

'It was the creaking of the sign outsidesirI dare say' observed
the landlady; a suggestion by the way (as she felt a moment after
she had made it)not at all complimentary to the voice of the old
gentleman.

'No matter whatma'am' he rejoined: 'it wasn't I. Why how you
stand thereMaryas if I had the plague! But they're all afraid of
me' he addedleaning helplessly backward on his pillow; 'even she!
There is a curse upon me. What else have I to look for?'

'Oh dearno. Oh noI'm sure' said the good-tempered landlady
risingand going towards him. 'Be of better cheersir. These are
only sick fancies.'

'What are only sick fancies?' he retorted. 'What do you know about
fancies? Who told you about fancies? The old story! Fancies!'

'Only see again therehow you take one up!' said the mistress of
the Blue Dragonwith unimpaired good humour. 'Dear heart alive
there is no harm in the wordsirif it is an old one. Folks in
good health have their fanciestooand strange onesevery day.'

Harmless as this speech appeared to beit acted on the traveller's
distrustlike oil on fire. He raised his head up in the bedand
fixing on her two dark eyes whose brightness was exaggerated by the
paleness of his hollow cheeksas they in turntogether with his
straggling locks of long grey hairwere rendered whiter by the
tight black velvet skullcap which he worehe searched her face
intently.

'Ah! you begin too soon' he saidin so low a voice that he seemed
to be thinking itrather than addressing her. 'But you lose no
time. You do your errandand you earn your fee. Nowwho may be
your client?'

The landlady looked in great astonishment at her whom he called
Maryand finding no rejoinder in the drooping facelooked back
again at him. At first she had recoiled involuntarilysupposing
him disordered in his mind; but the slow composure of his manner
and the settled purpose announced in his strong featuresand
gatheringmost of allabout his puckered mouthforbade the
supposition.

'Come' he said'tell me who is it? Being hereit is not very
hard for me to guessyou may suppose.'

'Martin' interposed the young ladylaying her hand upon his arm;
'reflect how short a time we have been in this houseand that even
your name is unknown here.'

'Unless' he said'you--' He was evidently tempted to express a


suspicion of her having broken his confidence in favour of the
landladybut either remembering her tender nursingor being moved
in some sort by her facehe checked himselfand changing his
uneasy posture in the bedwas silent.

'There!' said Mrs Lupin; for in that name the Blue Dragon was
licensed to furnish entertainmentboth to man and beast. 'Nowyou
will be well againsir. You forgotfor the momentthat there
were none but friends here.'

'Oh!' cried the old manmoaning impatientlyas he tossed one
restless arm upon the coverlet; 'why do you talk to me of friends!
Can you or anybody teach me to know who are my friendsand who my
enemies?'

'At least' urged Mrs Lupingently'this young lady is your
friendI am sure.'

'She has no temptation to be otherwise' cried the old manlike one
whose hope and confidence were utterly exhausted. 'I suppose she
is. Heaven knows. Therelet me try to sleep. Leave the candle
where it is.'

As they retired from the bedhe drew forth the writing which had
occupied him so longand holding it in the flame of the taper burnt
it to ashes. That donehe extinguished the lightand turning his
face away with a heavy sighdrew the coverlet about his headand
lay quite still.

This destruction of the paperboth as being strangely inconsistent
with the labour he had devoted to itand as involving considerable
danger of fire to the Dragonoccasioned Mrs Lupin not a little
consternation. But the young lady evincing no surprisecuriosity
or alarmwhispered herwith many thanks for her solicitude and
companythat she would remain there some time longer; and that she
begged her not to share her watchas she was well used to being
aloneand would pass the time in reading.

Mrs Lupin had her full share and dividend of that large capital of
curiosity which is inherited by her sexand at another time it
might have been difficult so to impress this hint upon her as to
induce her to take it. But nowin sheer wonder and amazement at
these mysteriesshe withdrew at onceand repairing straightway to
her own little parlour below stairssat down in her easy-chair with
unnatural composure. At this very crisisa step was heard in the
entryand Mr Pecksnifflooking sweetly over the half-door of the
barand into the vista of snug privacy beyondmurmured:

'Good eveningMrs Lupin!'

'Oh dear mesir!' she criedadvancing to receive him'I am so
very glad you have come.'

'And I am very glad I have come' said Mr Pecksniff'if I can be of
service. I am very glad I have come. What is the matterMrs
Lupin?'

'A gentleman taken ill upon the roadhas been so very bad upstairs
sir' said the tearful hostess.

'A gentleman taken ill upon the roadhas been so very bad upstairs
has he?' repeated Mr Pecksniff. 'Wellwell!'

Now there was nothing that one may call decidedly original in this


remarknor can it be exactly said to have contained any wise
precept theretofore unknown to mankindor to have opened any
hidden source of consolation; but Mr Pecksniff's manner was so
blandand he nodded his head so soothinglyand showed in
everything such an affable sense of his own excellencethat anybody
would have beenas Mrs Lupin wascomforted by the mere voice and
presence of such a man; andthough he had merely said 'a verb must
agree with its nominative case in number and personmy good
friend' or 'eight times eight are sixty-fourmy worthy soul' must
have felt deeply grateful to him for his humanity and wisdom.

'And how' asked Mr Pecksniffdrawing off his gloves and warming
his hands before the fireas benevolently as if they were somebody
else'snot his; 'and how is he now?'

'He is betterand quite tranquil' answered Mrs Lupin.

'He is betterand quite tranquil' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Very well!
Ve-ry well!'

Here againthough the statement was Mrs Lupin's and not Mr
Pecksniff'sMr Pecksniff made it his own and consoled her with it.
It was not much when Mrs Lupin said itbut it was a whole book when
Mr Pecksniff said it. 'I observe' he seemed to say'and through
memorality in general remarksthat he is better and quite
tranquil.'

'There must be weighty matters on his mindthough' said the
hostessshaking her head'for he talkssirin the strangest way
you ever heard. He is far from easy in his thoughtsand wants some
proper advice from those whose goodness makes it worth his having.'

'Then' said Mr Pecksniff'he is the sort of customer for me.' But
though he said this in the plainest languagehe didn't speak a
word. He only shook his head; disparagingly of himself too.

'I am afraidsir' continued the landladyfirst looking round to
assure herself that there was nobody within hearingand then
looking down upon the floor. 'I am very much afraidsirthat his
conscience is troubled by his not being related to--or--or even
married to--a very young lady--'

'Mrs Lupin!' said Mr Pecksniffholding up his hand with something
in his manner as nearly approaching to severity as any expression of
hismild being that he wascould ever do. 'Person! young person?'

'A very young person' said Mrs Lupincurtseying and blushing; '--I
beg your pardonsirbut I have been so hurried to-nightthat I
don't know what I say--who is with him now.'

'Who is with him now' ruminated Mr Pecksniffwarming his back (as
he had warmed his hands) as if it were a widow's backor an
orphan's backor an enemy's backor a back that any less excellent
man would have suffered to be cold. 'Oh dear medear me!'

'At the same time I am bound to sayand I do say with all my
heart' observed the hostessearnestly'that her looks and manner
almost disarm suspicion.'

'Your suspicionMrs Lupin' said Mr Pecksniff gravely'is very
natural.'

Touching which remarklet it be written down to their confusion
that the enemies of this worthy man unblushingly maintained that he


always said of what was very badthat it was very natural; and that
he unconsciously betrayed his own nature in doing so.

'Your suspicionMrs Lupin' he repeated'is very naturaland I
have no doubt correct. I will wait upon these travellers.'

With that he took off his great-coatand having run his fingers
through his hairthrust one hand gently in the bosom of his waistcoat
and meekly signed to her to lead the way.

'Shall I knock?' asked Mrs Lupinwhen they reached the chamber
door.

'No' said Mr Pecksniff'enter if you please.'

They went in on tiptoe; or rather the hostess took that precaution
for Mr Pecksniff always walked softly. The old gentleman was still
asleepand his young companion still sat reading by the fire.

'I am afraid' said Mr Pecksniffpausing at the doorand giving
his head a melancholy roll'I am afraid that this looks artful. I
am afraidMrs Lupindo you knowthat this looks very artful!'

As he finished this whisperhe advanced before the hostess; and at
the same time the young ladyhearing footstepsrose. Mr Pecksniff
glanced at the volume she heldand whispered Mrs Lupin again; if
possiblewith increased despondency.

'Yesma'am' he said'it is a good book. I was fearful of that
beforehand. I am apprehensive that this is a very deep thing
indeed!'

'What gentleman is this?' inquired the object of his virtuous
doubts.

'Hush! don't trouble yourselfma'am' said Mr Pecksniffas the
landlady was about to answer. 'This young'--in spite of himself he
hesitated when "person" rose to his lipsand substituted another
word: 'this young strangerMrs Lupinwill excuse me for replying
brieflythat I reside in this village; it may be in an influential
mannerhoweverundeserved; and that I have been summoned here by
you. I am hereas I am everywhereI hopein sympathy for the
sick and sorry.'

With these impressive wordsMr Pecksniff passed over to the
bedsidewhereafter patting the counterpane once or twice in a
very solemn manneras if by that means he gained a clear insight
into the patient's disorderhe took his seat in a large arm-chair
and in an attitude of some thoughtfulness and much comfortwaited
for his waking. Whatever objection the young lady urged to Mrs
Lupin went no furtherfor nothing more was said to Mr Pecksniff
and Mr Pecksniff said nothing more to anybody else.

Full half an hour elapsed before the old man stirredbut at length
he turned himself in bedandthough not yet awakegave tokens
that his sleep was drawing to an end. By little and little he
removed the bed-clothes from about his headand turned still more
towards the side where Mr Pecksniff sat. In course of time his eyes
opened; and he lay for a few moments as people newly roused
sometimes willgazing indolently at his visitorwithout any
distinct consciousness of his presence.

There was nothing remarkable in these proceedingsexcept the
influence they worked on Mr Pecksniffwhich could hardly have been


surpassed by the most marvellous of natural phenomena. Gradually
his hands became tightly clasped upon the elbows of the chairhis
eyes dilated with surprisehis mouth openedhis hair stood more
erect upon his forehead than its custom wasuntilat lengthwhen
the old man rose in bedand stared at him with scarcely less
emotion than he showed himselfthe Pecksniff doubts were all
resolvedand he exclaimed aloud:

'You ARE Martin Chuzzlewit!'

His consternation of surprise was so genuinethat the old manwith
all the disposition that he clearly entertained to believe it
assumedwas convinced of its reality.

'I am Martin Chuzzlewit' he saidbitterly: 'and Martin Chuzzlewit
wishes you had been hangedbefore you had come here to disturb him
in his sleep. WhyI dreamed of this fellow!' he saidlying down
againand turning away his face'before I knew that he was near
me!'

'My good cousin--' said Mr Pecksniff.

'There! His very first words!' cried the old manshaking his grey
head to and fro upon the pillowand throwing up his hands. 'In his
very first words he asserts his relationship! I knew he would; they
all do it! Near or distantblood or waterit's all one. Ugh! What
a calendar of deceitand lyingand false-witnessingthe sound of
any word of kindred opens before me!'

'Pray do not be hastyMr Chuzzlewit' said Pecksniffin a tone
that was at once in the sublimest degree compassionate and
dispassionate; for he had by this time recovered from his surprise
and was in full possession of his virtuous self. 'You will regret
being hastyI know you will.'

'You know!' said Martincontemptuously.

'Yes' retorted Mr Pecksniff. 'AyeayeMr Chuzzlewit; and don't
imagine that I mean to court or flatter you; for nothing is further
from my intention. Neithersirneed you entertain the least
misgiving that I shall repeat that obnoxious word which has given
you so much offence already. Why should I? What do I expect or
want from you? There is nothing in your possession that I know of
Mr Chuzzlewitwhich is much to be coveted for the happiness it
brings you.'

'That's true enough' muttered the old man.

'Apart from that consideration' said Mr Pecksniffwatchful of the
effect he made'it must be plain to you (I am sure) by this time
that if I had wished to insinuate myself into your good opinionI
should have beenof all thingscareful not to address you as a
relative; knowing your humourand being quite certain beforehand
that I could not have a worse letter of recommendation.'

Martin made not any verbal answer; but he as clearly implied though
only by a motion of his legs beneath the bed-clothesthat there was
reason in thisand that he could not dispute itas if he had said
as much in good set terms.

'No' said Mr Pecksniffkeeping his hand in his waistcoat as though
he were readyon the shortest noticeto produce his heart for
Martin Chuzzlewit's inspection'I came here to offer my services to
a stranger. I make no offer of them to youbecause I know you


would distrust me if I did. But lying on that bedsirI regard
you as a strangerand I have just that amount of interest in you
which I hope I should feel in any strangercircumstanced as you
are. Beyond thatI am quite as indifferent to youMr Chuzzlewit
as you are to me.'

Having said whichMr Pecksniff threw himself back in the easy-chair;
so radiant with ingenuous honestythat Mrs Lupin almost wondered
not to see a stained-glass Glorysuch as the Saint wore in the
churchshining about his head.

A long pause succeeded. The old manwith increased restlessness
changed his posture several times. Mrs Lupin and the young lady
gazed in silence at the counterpane. Mr Pecksniff toyed
abstractedly with his eye-glassand kept his eyes shutthat he
might ruminate the better.

'Eh?' he said at lastopening them suddenlyand looking towards
the bed. 'I beg your pardon. I thought you spoke. Mrs Lupin' he
continuedslowly rising 'I am not aware that I can be of any
service to you here. The gentleman is betterand you are as good a
nurse as he can have. Eh?'

This last note of interrogation bore reference to another change of
posture on the old man's partwhich brought his face towards Mr
Pecksniff for the first time since he had turned away from him.

'If you desire to speak to me before I gosir' continued that
gentlemanafter another pause'you may command my leisure; but I
must stipulatein justice to myselfthat you do so as to a
strangerstrictly as to a stranger.'

Now if Mr Pecksniff knewfrom anything Martin Chuzzlewit had
expressed in gesturesthat he wanted to speak to himhe could only
have found it out on some such principle as prevails in melodramas
and in virtue of which the elderly farmer with the comic son always
knows what the dumb girl means when she takes refuge in his garden
and relates her personal memoirs in incomprehensible pantomime. But
without stopping to make any inquiry on this pointMartin
Chuzzlewit signed to his young companion to withdrawwhich she
immediately didalong with the landlady leaving him and Mr
Pecksniff alone together. For some time they looked at each other
in silence; or rather the old man looked at Mr Pecksniffand Mr
Pecksniff again closing his eyes on all outward objectstook an
inward survey of his own breast. That it amply repaid him for his
troubleand afforded a delicious and enchanting prospectwas clear
from the expression of his face.

'You wish me to speak to you as to a total stranger' said the old
man'do you?'

Mr Pecksniff repliedby a shrug of his shoulders and an apparent
turning round of his eyes in their sockets before he opened them
that he was still reduced to the necessity of entertaining that
desire.

'You shall be gratified' said Martin. 'SirI am a rich man. Not
so rich as some supposeperhapsbut yet wealthy. I am not a miser
sirthough even that charge is made against meas I hearand
currently believed. I have no pleasure in hoarding. I have no
pleasure in the possession of moneyThe devil that we call by that
name can give me nothing but unhappiness.'

It would be no description of Mr Pecksniff's gentleness of manner to


adopt the common parlanceand say that he looked at this moment as
if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He rather looked as if any
quantity of butter might have been made out of himby churning the
milk of human kindnessas it spouted upwards from his heart.

'For the same reason that I am not a hoarder of money' said the old
man'I am not lavish of it. Some people find their gratification
in storing it up; and others theirs in parting with it; but I have
no gratification connected with the thing. Pain and bitterness are
the only goods it ever could procure for me. I hate it. It is a
spectre walking before me through the worldand making every social
pleasure hideous.'

A thought arose in Pecksniff's mindwhich must have instantly
mounted to his faceor Martin Chuzzlewit would not have resumed as
quickly and as sternly as he did:

'You would advise me for my peace of mindto get rid of this source
of miseryand transfer it to some one who could bear it better.
Even youperhapswould rid me of a burden under which I suffer so
grievously. Butkind stranger' said the old manwhose every
feature darkened as he spoke'good Christian strangerthat is a
main part of my trouble. In other handsI have known money do
good; in other hands I have known it triumphed inand boasted of
with reasonas the master-key to all the brazen gates that close
upon the paths to worldly honourfortuneand enjoyment. To what
man or woman; to what worthyhonestincorruptible creature; shall
I confide such a talismaneither now or when I die? Do you know
any such person? YOUR virtues are of course inestimablebut can
you tell me of any other living creature who will bear the test of
contact with myself?'

'Of contact with yourselfsir?' echoed Mr Pecksniff.

'Aye' returned the old man'the test of contact with me--with me.
You have heard of him whose misery (the gratification of his own
foolish wish) wasthat he turned every thing he touched into gold.
The curse of my existenceand the realisation of my own mad desire
is that by the golden standard which I bear about meI am doomed to
try the metal of all other menand find it false and hollow.'

Mr Pecksniff shook his headand said'You think so.'

'Oh yes' cried the old man'I think so! and in your telling me "I
think so I recognize the true unworldly ring of YOUR metal. I
tell you, man,' he added, with increasing bitterness, 'that I have
gone, a rich man, among people of all grades and kinds; relatives,
friends, and strangers; among people in whom, when I was poor, I had
confidence, and justly, for they never once deceived me then, or, to
me, wronged each other. But I have never found one nature, no, not
one, in which, being wealthy and alone, I was not forced to detect
the latent corruption that lay hid within it waiting for such as I
to bring it forth. Treachery, deceit, and low design; hatred of
competitors, real or fancied, for my favour; meanness, falsehood,
baseness, and servility; or,' and here he looked closely in his
cousin's eyes, 'or an assumption of honest independence, almost
worse than all; these are the beauties which my wealth has brought
to light. Brother against brother, child against parent, friends
treading on the faces of friends, this is the social company by whom
my way has been attended. There are stories told--they may be true
or false--of rich men who, in the garb of poverty, have found out
virtue and rewarded it. They were dolts and idiots for their pains.
They should have made the search in their own characters. They
should have shown themselves fit objects to be robbed and preyed


upon and plotted against and adulated by any knaves, who, but for
joy, would have spat upon their coffins when they died their dupes;
and then their search would have ended as mine has done, and they
would be what I am.'

Mr Pecksniff, not at all knowing what it might be best to say in the
momentary pause which ensued upon these remarks, made an elaborate
demonstration of intending to deliver something very oracular
indeed; trusting to the certainty of the old man interrupting him,
before he should utter a word. Nor was he mistaken, for Martin
Chuzzlewit having taken breath, went on to say:

'Hear me to an end; judge what profit you are like to gain from any
repetition of this visit; and leave me. I have so corrupted and
changed the nature of all those who have ever attended on me, by
breeding avaricious plots and hopes within them; I have engendered
such domestic strife and discord, by tarrying even with members of
my own family; I have been such a lighted torch in peaceful homes,
kindling up all the inflammable gases and vapours in their moral
atmosphere, which, but for me, might have proved harmless to the
end, that I have, I may say, fled from all who knew me, and taking
refuge in secret places have lived, of late, the life of one who is
hunted. The young girl whom you just now saw--what! your eye
lightens when I talk of her! You hate her already, do you?'

'Upon my word, sir!' said Mr Pecksniff, laying his hand upon his
breast, and dropping his eyelids.

'I forgot,' cried the old man, looking at him with a keenness which
the other seemed to feel, although he did not raise his eyes so as
to see it. 'I ask your pardon. I forgot you were a stranger. For
the moment you reminded me of one Pecksniff, a cousin of mine. As I
was saying--the young girl whom you just now saw, is an orphan
child, whom, with one steady purpose, I have bred and educated, or,
if you prefer the word, adopted. For a year or more she has been my
constant companion, and she is my only one. I have taken, as she
knows, a solemn oath never to leave her sixpence when I die, but
while I live I make her an annual allowance; not extravagant in its
amount and yet not stinted. There is a compact between us that no
term of affectionate cajolery shall ever be addressed by either to
the other, but that she shall call me always by my Christian name; I
her, by hers. She is bound to me in life by ties of interest, and
losing by my death, and having no expectation disappointed, will
mourn it, perhaps; though for that I care little. This is the only
kind of friend I have or will have. Judge from such premises what a
profitable hour you have spent in coming here, and leave me, to
return no more.'

With these words, the old man fell slowly back upon his pillow. Mr
Pecksniff as slowly rose, and, with a prefatory hem, began as
follows:

'Mr Chuzzlewit.'

'There. Go!' interposed the other. 'Enough of this. I am weary of
you.'

'I am sorry for that, sir,' rejoined Mr Pecksniff, 'because I have a
duty to discharge, from which, depend upon it, I shall not shrink.
No, sir, I shall not shrink.'

It is a lamentable fact, that as Mr Pecksniff stood erect beside the
bed, in all the dignity of Goodness, and addressed him thus, the old
man cast an angry glance towards the candlestick, as if he were


possessed by a strong inclination to launch it at his cousin's head.
But he constrained himself, and pointing with his finger to the
door, informed him that his road lay there.

'Thank you,' said Mr Pecksniff; 'I am aware of that. I am going.
But before I go, I crave your leave to speak, and more than that, Mr
Chuzzlewit, I must and will--yes indeed, I repeat it, must and will
--be heard. I am not surprised, sir, at anything you have told me
tonight. It is natural, very natural, and the greater part of it
was known to me before. I will not say,' continued Mr Pecksniff,
drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, and winking with both eyes at
once, as it were, against his will, 'I will not say that you are
mistaken in me. While you are in your present mood I would not say
so for the world. I almost wish, indeed, that I had a different
nature, that I might repress even this slight confession of
weakness; which I cannot disguise from you; which I feel is
humiliating; but which you will have the goodness to excuse. We
will say, if you please,' added Mr Pecksniff, with great tenderness
of manner, 'that it arises from a cold in the head, or is
attributable to snuff, or smelling-salts, or onions, or anything but
the real cause.'

Here he paused for an instant, and concealed his face behind his
pocket-handkerchief. Then, smiling faintly, and holding the bed
furniture with one hand, he resumed:

'But, Mr Chuzzlewit, while I am forgetful of myself, I owe it to
myself, and to my character--aye, sir, and I HAVE a character which
is very dear to me, and will be the best inheritance of my two
daughters--to tell you, on behalf of another, that your conduct is
wrong, unnatural, indefensible, monstrous. And I tell you, sir,'
said Mr Pecksniff, towering on tiptoe among the curtains, as if he
were literally rising above all worldly considerations, and were
fain to hold on tight, to keep himself from darting skyward like a
rocket, 'I tell you without fear or favour, that it will not do for
you to be unmindful of your grandson, young Martin, who has the
strongest natural claim upon you. It will not do, sir,' repeated Mr
Pecksniff, shaking his head. 'You may think it will do, but it
won't. You must provide for that young man; you shall provide for
him; you WILL provide for him. I believe,' said Mr Pecksniff,
glancing at the pen-and-ink, 'that in secret you have already done
so. Bless you for doing so. Bless you for doing right, sir. Bless
you for hating me. And good night!'

So saying, Mr Pecksniff waved his right hand with much solemnity,
and once more inserting it in his waistcoat, departed. There was
emotion in his manner, but his step was firm. Subject to human
weaknesses, he was upheld by conscience.

Martin lay for some time, with an expression on his face of silent
wonder, not unmixed with rage; at length he muttered in a whisper:

'What does this mean? Can the false-hearted boy have chosen such a
tool as yonder fellow who has just gone out? Why not! He has
conspired against me, like the rest, and they are but birds of one
feather. A new plot; a new plot! Oh self, self, self! At every
turn nothing but self!'

He fell to trifling, as he ceased to speak, with the ashes of the
burnt paper in the candlestick. He did so, at first, in pure
abstraction, but they presently became the subject of his thoughts.

'Another will made and destroyed,' he said, 'nothing determined on,
nothing done, and I might have died to-night! I plainly see to what


foul uses all this money will be put at last,' he cried, almost
writhing in the bed; 'after filling me with cares and miseries all
my life, it will perpetuate discord and bad passions when I am dead.
So it always is. What lawsuits grow out of the graves of rich men,
every day; sowing perjury, hatred, and lies among near kindred,
where there should be nothing but love! Heaven help us, we have much
to answer for! Oh self, self, self! Every man for himself, and no
creature for me!'

Universal self! Was there nothing of its shadow in these
reflections, and in the history of Martin Chuzzlewit, on his own
showing?

CHAPTER FOUR

FROM WHICH IT WILL APPEAR THAT IF UNION BE STRENGTH, AND FAMILY
AFFECTION BE PLEASANT TO CONTEMPLATE, THE CHUZZLEWITS WERE THE
STRONGEST AND MOST AGREEABLE FAMILY IN THE WORLD

That worthy man Mr Pecksniff having taken leave of his cousin in
the solemn terms recited in the last chapter, withdrew to his own
home, and remained there three whole days; not so much as going out
for a walk beyond the boundaries of his own garden, lest he should
be hastily summoned to the bedside of his penitent and remorseful
relative, whom, in his ample benevolence, he had made up his mind to
forgive unconditionally, and to love on any terms. But such was the
obstinacy and such the bitter nature of that stern old man, that no
repentant summons came; and the fourth day found Mr Pecksniff
apparently much farther from his Christian object than the first.

During the whole of this interval, he haunted the Dragon at all
times and seasons in the day and night, and, returning good for evil
evinced the deepest solicitude in the progress of the obdurate
invalid, in so much that Mrs Lupin was fairly melted by his
disinterested anxiety (for he often particularly required her to
take notice that he would do the same by any stranger or pauper in
the like condition), and shed many tears of admiration and delight.

Meantime, old Martin Chuzzlewit remained shut up in his own chamber,
and saw no person but his young companion, saving the hostess of the
Blue Dragon, who was, at certain times, admitted to his presence.
So surely as she came into the room, however, Martin feigned to fall
asleep. It was only when he and the young lady were alone, that he
would utter a word, even in answer to the simplest inquiry; though
Mr Pecksniff could make out, by hard listening at the door, that
they two being left together, he was talkative enough.

It happened on the fourth evening, that Mr Pecksniff walking, as
usual, into the bar of the Dragon and finding no Mrs Lupin there,
went straight upstairs; purposing, in the fervour of his
affectionate zeal, to apply his ear once more to the keyhole, and
quiet his mind by assuring himself that the hard-hearted patient was
going on well. It happened that Mr Pecksniff, coming softly upon
the dark passage into which a spiral ray of light usually darted
through the same keyhole, was astonished to find no such ray
visible; and it happened that Mr Pecksniff, when he had felt his way
to the chamber-door, stooping hurriedly down to ascertain by
personal inspection whether the jealousy of the old man had caused
this keyhole to be stopped on the inside, brought his head into such
violent contact with another head that he could not help uttering in
an audible voice the monosyllable 'Oh!' which was, as it were,


sharply unscrewed and jerked out of him by very anguish. It
happened then, and lastly, that Mr Pecksniff found himself
immediately collared by something which smelt like several damp
umbrellas, a barrel of beer, a cask of warm brandy-and-water, and a
small parlour-full of stale tobacco smoke, mixed; and was
straightway led downstairs into the bar from which he had lately
come, where he found himself standing opposite to, and in the grasp
of, a perfectly strange gentleman of still stranger appearance who,
with his disengaged hand, rubbed his own head very hard, and looked
at him, Pecksniff, with an evil countenance.

The gentleman was of that order of appearance which is currently
termed shabby-genteel, though in respect of his dress he can hardly
be said to have been in any extremities, as his fingers were a long
way out of his gloves, and the soles of his feet were at an
inconvenient distance from the upper leather of his boots. His
nether garments were of a bluish grey--violent in its colours once,
but sobered now by age and dinginess--and were so stretched and
strained in a tough conflict between his braces and his straps, that
they appeared every moment in danger of flying asunder at the knees.
His coat, in colour blue and of a military cut, was buttoned and
frogged up to his chin. His cravat was, in hue and pattern, like
one of those mantles which hairdressers are accustomed to wrap about
their clients, during the progress of the professional mysteries.
His hat had arrived at such a pass that it would have been hard to
determine whether it was originally white or black. But he wore a
moustache--a shaggy moustache too; nothing in the meek and merciful
way, but quite in the fierce and scornful style; the regular Satanic
sort of thing--and he wore, besides, a vast quantity of unbrushed
hair. He was very dirty and very jaunty; very bold and very mean;
very swaggering and very slinking; very much like a man who might
have been something better, and unspeakably like a man who deserved
to be something worse.

'You were eaves-dropping at that door, you vagabond!' said this
gentleman.

Mr Pecksniff cast him off, as Saint George might have repudiated the
Dragon in that animal's last moments, and said:

'Where is Mrs Lupin, I wonder! can the good woman possibly be aware
that there is a person here who--'

'Stay!' said the gentleman. 'Wait a bit. She DOES know. What
then?'

'What then, sir?' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'What then? Do you know,
sir, that I am the friend and relative of that sick gentleman? That
I am his protector, his guardian, his--'

'Not his niece's husband,' interposed the stranger, 'I'll be sworn;
for he was there before you.'

'What do you mean?' said Mr Pecksniff, with indignant surprise.
'What do you tell me, sir?'

'Wait a bit!' cried the other, 'Perhaps you are a cousin--the cousin
who lives in this place?'

'I AM the cousin who lives in this place,' replied the man of worth.

'Your name is Pecksniff?' said the gentleman.

'It is.'


'I am proud to know you, and I ask your pardon,' said the gentleman,
touching his hat, and subsequently diving behind his cravat for a
shirt-collar, which however he did not succeed in bringing to the
surface. 'You behold in me, sir, one who has also an interest in
that gentleman upstairs. Wait a bit.'

As he said this, he touched the tip of his high nose, by way of
intimation that he would let Mr Pecksniff into a secret presently;
and pulling off his hat, began to search inside the crown among a
mass of crumpled documents and small pieces of what may be called
the bark of broken cigars; whence he presently selected the cover of
an old letter, begrimed with dirt and redolent of tobacco.

'Read that,' he cried, giving it to Mr Pecksniff.

'This is addressed to Chevy Slyme, Esquire,' said that gentleman.

'You know Chevy Slyme, Esquire, I believe?' returned the stranger.

Mr Pecksniff shrugged his shoulders as though he would say 'I know
there is such a person, and I am sorry for it.'

'Very good,' remarked the gentleman. 'That is my interest and
business here.' With that he made another dive for his shirt-collar
and brought up a string.

'Now, this is very distressing, my friend,' said Mr Pecksniff,
shaking his head and smiling composedly. 'It is very distressing to
me, to be compelled to say that you are not the person you claim to
be. I know Mr Slyme, my friend; this will not do; honesty is the
best policy you had better not; you had indeed.'

'Stop' cried the gentleman, stretching forth his right arm, which
was so tightly wedged into his threadbare sleeve that it looked like
a cloth sausage. 'Wait a bit!'

He paused to establish himself immediately in front of the fire with
his back towards it. Then gathering the skirts of his coat under
his left arm, and smoothing his moustache with his right thumb and
forefinger, he resumed:

'I understand your mistake, and I am not offended. Why? Because
it's complimentary. You suppose I would set myself up for Chevy
Slyme. Sir, if there is a man on earth whom a gentleman would feel
proud and honoured to be mistaken for, that man is my friend Slyme.
For he is, without an exception, the highest-minded, the most
independent-spirited, most original, spiritual, classical, talented,
the most thoroughly Shakspearian, if not Miltonic, and at the same
time the most disgustingly-unappreciated dog I know. But, sir, I
have not the vanity to attempt to pass for Slyme. Any other man in
the wide world, I am equal to; but Slyme is, I frankly confess, a
great many cuts above me. Therefore you are wrong.'

'I judged from this,' said Mr Pecksniff, holding out the cover of
the letter.

'No doubt you did,' returned the gentleman. 'But, Mr Pecksniff, the
whole thing resolves itself into an instance of the peculiarities of
genius. Every man of true genius has his peculiarity. Sir, the
peculiarity of my friend Slyme is, that he is always waiting round
the corner. He is perpetually round the corner, sir. He is round
the corner at this instant. Now,' said the gentleman, shaking his
forefinger before his nose, and planting his legs wider apart as he


looked attentively in Mr Pecksniff's face, 'that is a remarkably
curious and interesting trait in Mr Slyme's character; and whenever
Slyme's life comes to be written, that trait must be thoroughly
worked out by his biographer or society will not be satisfied.
Observe me, society will not be satisfied!'

Mr Pecksniff coughed.

'Slyme's biographer, sir, whoever he may be,' resumed the gentleman,
'must apply to me; or, if I am gone to that what's-his-name from
which no thingumbob comes back, he must apply to my executors for
leave to search among my papers. I have taken a few notes in my
poor way, of some of that man's proceedings--my adopted brother,
sir,--which would amaze you. He made use of an expression, sir,
only on the fifteenth of last month when he couldn't meet a little
bill and the other party wouldn't renew, which would have done
honour to Napoleon Bonaparte in addressing the French army.'

'And pray,' asked Mr Pecksniff, obviously not quite at his ease,
'what may be Mr Slyme's business here, if I may be permitted to
inquire, who am compelled by a regard for my own character to
disavow all interest in his proceedings?'

'In the first place,' returned the gentleman, 'you will permit me to
say, that I object to that remark, and that I strongly and
indignantly protest against it on behalf of my friend Slyme. In the
next place, you will give me leave to introduce myself. My name,
sir, is Tigg. The name of Montague Tigg will perhaps be familiar to
you, in connection with the most remarkable events of the Peninsular
War?'

Mr Pecksniff gently shook his head.

'No matter,' said the gentleman. 'That man was my father, and I
bear his name. I am consequently proud--proud as Lucifer. Excuse
me one moment. I desire my friend Slyme to be present at the
remainder of this conference.'

With this announcement he hurried away to the outer door of the Blue
Dragon, and almost immediately returned with a companion shorter
than himself, who was wrapped in an old blue camlet cloak with a
lining of faded scarlet. His sharp features being much pinched and
nipped by long waiting in the cold, and his straggling red whiskers
and frowzy hair being more than usually dishevelled from the same
cause, he certainly looked rather unwholesome and uncomfortable than
Shakspearian or Miltonic.

'Now,' said Mr Tigg, clapping one hand on the shoulder of his
prepossessing friend, and calling Mr Pecksniff's attention to him
with the other, 'you two are related; and relations never did agree,
and never will; which is a wise dispensation and an inevitable
thing, or there would be none but family parties, and everybody in
the world would bore everybody else to death. If you were on good
terms, I should consider you a most confoundedly unnatural pair; but
standing towards each other as you do, I took upon you as a couple
of devilish deep-thoughted fellows, who may be reasoned with to any
extent.'

Here Mr Chevy Slyme, whose great abilities seemed one and all to
point towards the sneaking quarter of the moral compass, nudged his
friend stealthily with his elbow, and whispered in his ear.

'Chiv,' said Mr Tigg aloud, in the high tone of one who was not to
be tampered with. 'I shall come to that presently. I act upon my


own responsibility, or not at all. To the extent of such a trifling
loan as a crownpiece to a man of your talents, I look upon Mr
Pecksniff as certain;' and seeing at this juncture that the
expression of Mr Pecksniff's face by no means betokened that he
shared this certainty, Mr Tigg laid his finger on his nose again for
that gentleman's private and especial behoof; calling upon him
thereby to take notice that the requisition of small loans was
another instance of the peculiarities of genius as developed in his
friend Slyme; that he, Tigg, winked at the same, because of the
strong metaphysical interest which these weaknesses possessed; and
that in reference to his own personal advocacy of such small
advances, he merely consulted the humour of his friend, without the
least regard to his own advantage or necessities.

'Oh, Chiv, Chiv!' added Mr Tigg, surveying his adopted brother with
an air of profound contemplation after dismissing this piece of
pantomime. 'You are, upon my life, a strange instance of the little
frailties that beset a mighty mind. If there had never been a
telescope in the world, I should have been quite certain from my
observation of you, Chiv, that there were spots on the sun! I wish I
may die, if this isn't the queerest state of existence that we find
ourselves forced into without knowing why or wherefore, Mr
Pecksniff! Well, never mind! Moralise as we will, the world goes on.
As Hamlet says, Hercules may lay about him with his club in every
possible direction, but he can't prevent the cats from making a most
intolerable row on the roofs of the houses, or the dogs from being
shot in the hot weather if they run about the streets unmuzzled.
Life's a riddle; a most infernally hard riddle to guess, Mr
Pecksniff. My own opinions, that like that celebrated conundrum,
Why's a man in jail like a man out of jail?" there's no answer to
it. Upon my soul and bodyit's the queerest sort of thing
altogether--but there's no use in talking about it. Ha! Ha!'

With which consolatory deduction from the gloomy premises recited
Mr Tigg roused himself by a great effortand proceeded in his
former strain.

'Now I'll tell you what it is. I'm a most confoundedly soft-hearted
kind of fellow in my wayand I cannot stand byand see you two
blades cutting each other's throats when there's nothing to be got
by it. Mr Pecksniffyou're the cousin of the testator upstairs
and we're the nephew--I say wemeaning Chiv. Perhaps in all
essential points you are more nearly related to him than we are.
Very good. If soso be it. But you can't get at himneither can
we. I give you my brightest word of honoursirthat I've been
looking through that keyhole with short intervals of restever
since nine o'clock this morningin expectation of receiving an
answer to one of the most moderate and gentlemanly applications for
a little temporary assistance--only fifteen poundsand MY security
--that the mind of man can conceive. In the meantimesirhe is
perpetually closeted withand pouring his whole confidence into the
bosom ofa stranger. Now I say decisively with regard to this
state of circumstancesthat it won't do; that it won't act; that it
can't be; and that it must not be suffered to continue.'

'Every man' said Mr Pecksniff'has a rightan undoubted right
(which Ifor onewould not call in question for any earthly
consideration; oh no!) to regulate his own proceedings by his own
likings and dislikingssupposing they are not immoral and not
irreligious. I may feel in my own breastthat Mr Chuzzlewit does
not regard--mefor instance; say me--with exactly that amount of
Christian love which should subsist between us. I may feel grieved
and hurt at the circumstance; still I may not rush to the conclusion
that Mr Chuzzlewit is wholly without a justification in all his


coldnesses. Heaven forbid! Besides; howMr Tigg' continued
Pecksniff even more gravely and impressively than he had spoken yet
'how could Mr Chuzzlewit be prevented from having these peculiar and
most extraordinary confidences of which you speak; the existence of
which I must admit; and which I cannot but deplore--for his sake?
Considermy good sir--' and here Mr Pecksniff eyed him wistfully-'
how very much at random you are talking.'

'Whyas to that' rejoined Tigg'it certainly is a difficult
question.'

'Undoubtedly it is a difficult question' Mr Pecksniff answered. As
he spoke he drew himself aloftand seemed to grow more mindful
suddenlyof the moral gulf between himself and the creature he
addressed. 'Undoubtedly it is a very difficult question. And I am
far from feeling sure that it is a question any one is authorized to
discuss. Good evening to you.'

'You don't know that the Spottletoes are hereI suppose?' said Mr
Tigg.

'What do you meansir? what Spottletoes?' asked Pecksniff
stopping abruptly on his way to the door.

'Mr and Mrs Spottletoe' said Chevy SlymeEsquirespeaking aloud
for the first timeand speaking very sulkily; shambling with his
legs the while. 'Spottletoe married my father's brother's child
didn't he? And Mrs Spottletoe is Chuzzlewit's own nieceisn't she?
She was his favourite once. You may well ask what Spottletoes.'

'Now upon my sacred word!' cried Mr Pecksnifflooking upwards.
'This is dreadful. The rapacity of these people is absolutely
frightful!'

'It's not only the Spottletoes eitherTigg' said Slymelooking at
that gentleman and speaking at Mr Pecksniff. 'Anthony Chuzzlewit
and his son have got wind of itand have come down this afternoon.
I saw 'em not five minutes agowhen I was waiting round the
corner.'

'OhMammonMammon!' cried Mr Pecksniffsmiting his forehead.

'So there' said Slymeregardless of the interruption'are his
brother and another nephew for youalready.'

'This is the whole thingsir' said Mr Tigg; 'this is the point and
purpose at which I was gradually arriving when my friend Slyme here
with six wordshit it full. Mr Pecksniffnow that your cousin
(and Chiv's uncle) has turned upsome steps must be taken to
prevent his disappearing again; andif possibleto counteract the
influence which is exercised over him nowby this designing
favourite. Everybody who is interested feels itsir. The whole
family is pouring down to this place. The time has come when
individual jealousies and interests must be forgotten for a time
sirand union must be made against the common enemy. When the
common enemy is routedyou will all set up for yourselves again;
every lady and gentleman who has a part in the gamewill go in on
their own account and bowl awayto the best of their abilityat
the testator's wicketand nobody will be in a worse position than
before. Think of it. Don't commit yourself now. You'll find us at
the Half Moon and Seven Stars in this villageat any timeand open
to any reasonable proposition. Hem! Chivmy dear fellowgo out
and see what sort of a night it is.'


Mr Slyme lost no time in disappearingand it is to be presumed in
going round the corner. Mr Tiggplanting his legs as wide apart as
he could be reasonably expected by the most sanguine man to keep
themshook his head at Mr Pecksniff and smiled.

'We must not be too hard' he said'upon the little eccentricities
of our friend Slyme. You saw him whisper me?'

Mr Pecksniff had seen him.

'You heard my answerI think?'

Mr Pecksniff had heard it.

'Five shillingseh?' said Mr Tiggthoughtfully. 'Ah! what an
extraordinary fellow! Very moderate too!'

Mr Pecksniff made no answer.

'Five shillings!' pursued Mr Tiggmusing; 'and to be punctually
repaid next week; that's the best of it. You heard that?'

Mr Pecksniff had not heard that.

'No! You surprise me!' cried Tigg. 'That's the cream of the thing
sir. I never knew that man fail to redeem a promisein my life.
You're not in want of changeare you?'

'No' said Mr Pecksniff'thank you. Not at all.'

'Just so' returned Mr Tigg. 'If you had beenI'd have got it for
you.' With that he began to whistle; but a dozen seconds had not
elapsed when he stopped shortand looking earnestly at Mr
Pecksniffsaid:

'Perhaps you'd rather not lend Slyme five shillings?'

'I would much rather not' Mr Pecksniff rejoined.

'Egad!' cried Tigggravely nodding his head as if some ground of
objection occurred to him at that moment for the first time'it's
very possible you may be right. Would you entertain the same sort
of objection to lending me five shillings now?'

'YesI couldn't do itindeed' said Mr Pecksniff.

'Not even half-a-crownperhaps?' urged Mr Tigg.

'Not even half-a-crown.'

'Whythen we come' said Mr Tigg'to the ridiculously small amount
of eighteen pence. Ha! ha!'

'And that' said Mr Pecksniff'would be equally objectionable.'

On receipt of this assuranceMr Tigg shook him heartily by both
handsprotesting with much earnestnessthat he was one of the most
consistent and remarkable men he had ever metand that he desired
the honour of his better acquaintance. He moreover observed that
there were many little characteristics about his friend Slymeof
which he could by no meansas a man of strict honourapprove; but
that he was prepared to forgive him all these slight drawbacksand
much morein consideration of the great pleasure he himself had
that day enjoyed in his social intercourse with Mr Pecksniffwhich


had given him a far higher and more enduring delight than the
successful negotiation of any small loan on the part of his friend
could possibly have imparted. With which remarks he would beg
leavehe saidto wish Mr Pecksniff a very good evening. And so he
took himself off; as little abashed by his recent failure as any
gentleman would desire to be.

The meditations of Mr Pecksniff that evening at the bar of the
Dragonand that night in his own housewere very serious and grave
indeed; the more especially as the intelligence he had received from
Messrs Tigg and Slyme touching the arrival of other members of the
familywere fully confirmed on more particular inquiry. For the
Spottletoes had actually gone straight to the Dragonwhere they
were at that moment housed and mounting guardand where their
appearance had occasioned such a vast sensation that Mrs Lupin
scenting their errand before they had been under her roof half an
hourcarried the news herself with all possible secrecy straight to
Mr Pecksniff's house; indeed it was her great caution in doing so
which occasioned her to miss that gentlemanwho entered at the
front door of the Dragon just as she emerged from the back one.
MoreoverMr Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Jonas were economically
quartered at the Half Moon and Seven Starswhich was an obscure
ale-house; and by the very next coach there came posting to the
scene of actionso many other affectionate members of the family
(who quarrelled with each otherinside and outall the way down
to the utter distraction of the coachman)that in less than fourand-
twenty hours the scanty tavern accommodation was at a premium
and all the private lodgings in the placeamounting to full four
beds and sofarose cent per cent in the market.

In a wordthings came to that pass that nearly the whole family sat
down before the Blue Dragonand formally invested it; and Martin
Chuzzlewit was in a state of siege. But he resisted bravely;
refusing to receive all lettersmessagesand parcels; obstinately
declining to treat with anybody; and holding out no hope or promise
of capitulation. Meantime the family forces were perpetually
encountering each other in divers parts of the neighbourhood; and
as no one branch of the Chuzzlewit tree had ever been known to agree
with another within the memory of manthere was such a skirmishing
and floutingand snapping off of headsin the metaphorical sense
of that expression; such a bandying of words and calling of names;
such an upturning of noses and wrinkling of brows; such a formal
interment of good feelings and violent resurrection of ancient
grievances; as had never been known in those quiet parts since the
earliest record of their civilized existence.

At lengthin utter despair and hopelessnesssome few of the
belligerents began to speak to each other in only moderate terms of
mutual aggravation; and nearly all addressed themselves with a show
of tolerable decency to Mr Pecksniffin recognition of his high
character and influential position. Thusby little and littlethey
made common cause of Martin Chuzzlewit's obduracyuntil it was
agreed (if such a word can be used in connection with the
Chuzzlewits) that there should be a general council and conference
held at Mr Pecksniff's house upon a certain day at noon; which all
members of the family who had brought themselves within reach of the
summonswere forthwith bidden and invitedsolemnlyto attend.

If ever Mr Pecksniff wore an apostolic lookhe wore it on this
memorable day. If ever his unruffled smile proclaimed the words'I
am a messenger of peace!' that was its mission now. If ever man
combined within himself all the mild qualities of the lamb with a
considerable touch of the doveand not a dash of the crocodileor
the least possible suggestion of the very mildest seasoning of the


serpentthat man was he. Andohthe two Miss Pecksniffs! Ohthe
serene expression on the face of Charitywhich seemed to say'I
know that all my family have injured me beyond the possibility of
reparationbut I forgive themfor it is my duty so to do!' And
ohthe gay simplicity of Mercy; so charminginnocentand infantlike
that if she had gone out walking by herselfand it had been a
little earlier in the seasonthe robin-redbreasts might have
covered her with leaves against her willbelieving her to be one of
the sweet children in the woodcome out of itand issuing forth
once more to look for blackberries in the young freshness of her
heart! What words can paint the Pecksniffs in that trying hour? Oh
none; for words have naughty company among themand the Pecksniffs
were all goodness.

But when the company arrived! That was the time. When Mr Pecksniff
rising from his seat at the table's headwith a daughter on either
handreceived his guests in the best parlour and motioned them to
chairswith eyes so overflowing and countenance so damp with
gracious perspirationthat he may be said to have been in a kind of
moist meekness! And the company; the jealous stony-hearted
distrustful companywho were all shut up in themselvesand had no
faith in anybodyand wouldn't believe anythingand would no more
allow themselves to be softened or lulled asleep by the Pecksniffs
than if they had been so many hedgehogs or porcupines!

Firstthere was Mr Spottletoewho was so bald and had such big
whiskersthat he seemed to have stopped his hairby the sudden
application of some powerful remedyin the very act of falling off
his headand to have fastened it irrevocably on his face. Then
there was Mrs Spottletoewho being much too slim for her yearsand
of a poetical constitutionwas accustomed to inform her more
intimate friends that the said whiskers were 'the lodestar of her
existence;' and who could nowby reason of her strong affection for
her uncle Chuzzlewitand the shock it gave her to be suspected of
testamentary designs upon himdo nothing but cry--except moan.
Then there were Anthony Chuzzlewitand his son Jonas; the face of
the old man so sharpened by the wariness and cunning of his life
that it seemed to cut him a passage through the crowded roomas he
edged away behind the remotest chairs; while the son had so well
profited by the precept and example of the fatherthat he looked a
year or two the elder of the twainas they stood winking their red
eyesside by sideand whispering to each other softly. Then there
was the widow of a deceased brother of Mr Martin Chuzzlewitwho
being almost supernaturally disagreeableand having a dreary face
and a bony figure and a masculine voicewasin right of these
qualitieswhat is commonly called a strong-minded woman; and who
if she couldwould have established her claim to the titleand
have shown herselfmentally speakinga perfect Samsonby shutting
up her brother-in-law in a private madhouseuntil he proved his
complete sanity by loving her very much. Beside her sat her
spinster daughtersthree in numberand of gentlemanly deportment
who had so mortified themselves with tight staysthat their tempers
were reduced to something less than their waistsand sharp lacing
was expressed in their very noses. Then there was a young
gentlemangrandnephew of Mr Martin Chuzzlewitvery dark and very
hairyand apparently born for no particular purpose but to save
looking-glasses the trouble of reflecting more than just the first
idea and sketchy notion of a facewhich had never been carried out.
Then there was a solitary female cousin who was remarkable for
nothing but being very deafand living by herselfand always
having the toothache. Then there was George Chuzzlewita gay
bachelor cousinwho claimed to be young but had been youngerand
was inclined to corpulencyand rather overfed himself; to that
extentindeedthat his eyes were strained in their socketsas if


with constant surprise; and he had such an obvious disposition to
pimplesthat the bright spots on his cravatthe rich pattern on
his waistcoatand even his glittering trinketsseemed to have
broken out upon himand not to have come into existence
comfortably. Last of all there were present Mr Chevy Slyme and his
friend Tigg. And it is worthy of remarkthat although each person
present disliked the othermainly because he or she DID belong to
the familythey one and all concurred in hating Mr Tigg because he
didn't.

Such was the pleasant little family circle now assembled in Mr
Pecksniff's best parlouragreeably prepared to fall foul of Mr
Pecksniff or anybody else who might venture to say anything whatever
upon any subject.

'This' said Mr Pecksniffrising and looking round upon them with
folded hands'does me good. It does my daughters good. We thank
you for assembling here. We are grateful to you with our whole
hearts. It is a blessed distinction that you have conferred upon
usand believe me'-- it is impossible to conceive how he smiled
here--'we shall not easily forget it.'

'I am sorry to interrupt youPecksniff' remarked Mr Spottletoe
with his whiskers in a very portentous state; 'but you are assuming
too much to yourselfsir. Who do you imagine has it in
contemplation to confer a distinction upon YOUsir?'

A general murmur echoed this inquiryand applauded it.

'If you are about to pursue the course with which you have begun
sir' pursued Mr Spottletoe in a great heatand giving a violent
rap on the table with his knuckles'the sooner you desistand this
assembly separatesthe better. I am no strangersirto your
preposterous desire to be regarded as the head of this familybut I
can tell YOUsir--'

Oh yesindeed! HE tell. HE! What? He was the headwas he? From
the strong-minded woman downwards everybody fellthat instantupon
Mr Spottletoewho after vainly attempting to be heard in silence
was fain to sit down againfolding his arms and shaking his head
most wrathfullyand giving Mrs Spottletoe to understand in dumb
showthat that scoundrel Pecksniff might go on for the presentbut
he would cut in presentlyand annihilate him.

'I am not sorry' said Mr Pecksniff in resumption of his address'I
am really not sorry that this little incident has happened. It is
good to feel that we are met here without disguise. It is good to
know that we have no reserve before each otherbut are appearing
freely in our own characters.'

Herethe eldest daughter of the strong-minded woman rose a little
way from her seatand trembling violently from head to footmore
as it seemed with passion than timidityexpressed a general hope
that some people WOULD appear in their own charactersif it were
only for such a proceeding having the attraction of novelty to
recommend it; and that when they (meaning the some people before
mentioned) talked about their relationsthey would be careful to
observe who was present in company at the time; otherwise it might
come round to those relations' earsin a way they little expected;
and as to red noses (she observed) she had yet to learn that a red
nose was any disgraceinasmuch as people neither made nor coloured
their own nosesbut had that feature provided for them without
being first consulted; though even upon that branch of the subject
she had great doubts whether certain noses were redder than other


nosesor indeed half as red as some. This remark being received
with a shrill titter by the two sisters of the speakerMiss Charity
Pecksniff begged with much politeness to be informed whether any of
those very low observations were levelled at her; and receiving no
more explanatory answer than was conveyed in the adage 'Those the
cap fitslet them wear it' immediately commenced a somewhat
acrimonious and personal retortwherein she was much comforted and
abetted by her sister Mercywho laughed at the same with great
heartiness; indeed far more naturally than life. And it being quite
impossible that any difference of opinion can take place among women
without every woman who is within hearing taking active part in it
the strong-minded lady and her two daughtersand Mrs Spottletoe
and the deaf cousin (who was not at all disqualified from joining in
the dispute by reason of being perfectly unacquainted with its
merits)one and all plunged into the quarrel directly.

The two Miss Pecksniffs being a pretty good match for the three Miss
Chuzzlewitsand all five young ladies havingin the figurative
language of the daya great amount of steam to dispose ofthe
altercation would no doubt have been a long one but for the high
valour and prowess of the strong-minded womanwhoin right of her
reputation for powers of sarcasmdid so belabour and pummel Mrs
Spottletoe with taunting words that the poor ladybefore the
engagement was two minutes oldhad no refuge but in tears. These
she shed so plentifullyand so much to the agitation and grief of
Mr Spottletoethat that gentlemanafter holding his clenched fist
close to Mr Pecksniff's eyesas if it were some natural curiosity
from the near inspection whereof he was likely to derive high
gratification and improvementand after offering (for no particular
reason that anybody could discover) to kick Mr George Chuzzlewit
forand in consideration ofthe trifling sum of sixpencetook his
wife under his arm and indignantly withdrew. This diversionby
distracting the attention of the combatantsput an end to the
strifewhichafter breaking out afresh some twice or thrice in
certain inconsiderable spurts and dashesdied away in silence.

It was then that Mr Pecksniff once more rose from his chair. It was
then that the two Miss Pecksniffs composed themselves to look as if
there were no such beings--not to say presentbut in the whole
compass of the world--as the three Miss Chuzzlewits; while the three
Miss Chuzzlewits became equally unconscious of the existence of the
two Miss Pecksniffs.

'It is to be lamented' said Mr Pecksniffwith a forgiving
recollection of Mr Spottletoe's fist'that our friend should have
withdrawn himself so very hastilythough we have cause for mutual
congratulation even in thatsince we are assured that he is not
distrustful of us in regard to anything we may say or do while he is
absent. Nowthat is very soothingis it not?'

'Pecksniff' said Anthonywho had been watching the whole party
with peculiar keenness from the first--'don't you be a hypocrite.'

'A whatmy good sir?' demanded Mr Pecksniff.

'A hypocrite.'

'Charitymy dear' said Mr Pecksniff'when I take my chamber
candlestick to-nightremind me to be more than usually particular
in praying for Mr Anthony Chuzzlewit; who has done me an injustice.'

This was said in a very bland voiceand asideas being addressed
to his daughter's private ear. With a cheerfulness of conscience
prompting almost a sprightly demeanourhe then resumed:


'All our thoughts centring in our very dear but unkind relativeand
he being as it were beyond our reachwe are met to-dayreally as
if we were a funeral partyexcept--a blessed exception--that there
is no body in the house.'

The strong-minded lady was not at all sure that this was a blessed
exception. Quite the contrary.

'Wellmy dear madam!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Be that as it mayhere
we are; and being herewe are to consider whether it is possible by
any justifiable means--'

'Whyyou know as well as I' said the strong-minded lady'that any
means are justifiable in such a casedon't you?'

'Very goodmy dear madamvery good; whether it is possible by ANY
meanswe will say by ANY meansto open the eyes of our valued
relative to his present infatuation. Whether it is possible to make
him acquainted by any means with the real character and purpose of
that young female whose strangewhose very strange positionin
reference to himself'--here Mr Pecksniff sunk his voice to an
impressive whisper--'really casts a shadow of disgrace and shame
upon this family; and whowe know'--here he raised his voice again
--'else why is she his companion? harbours the very basest designs
upon his weakness and his property.'

In their strong feeling on this pointtheywho agreed in nothing
elseall concurred as one mind. Good Heaventhat she should
harbour designs upon his property! The strong-minded lady was for
poisonher three daughters were for Bridewell and bread-and-water
the cousin with the toothache advocated Botany Baythe two Miss
Pecksniffs suggested flogging. Nobody but Mr Tiggwho
notwithstanding his extreme shabbinesswas still understood to be
in some sort a lady's manin right of his upper lip and his frogs
indicated a doubt of the justifiable nature of these measures; and
he only ogled the three Miss Chuzzlewits with the least admixture of
banter in his admirationas though he would observe'You are
positively down upon her to too great an extentmy sweet creatures
upon my soul you are!'

'Now' said Mr Pecksniffcrossing his two forefingers in a manner
which was at once conciliatory and argumentative; 'I will notupon
the one handgo so far as to say that she deserves all the
inflictions which have been so very forcibly and hilariously
suggested;' one of his ornamental sentences; 'nor will Iupon the
otheron any account compromise my common understanding as a man
by making the assertion that she does not. What I would observe is
that I think some practical means might be devised of inducing our
respectedshall I say our revered--?'

'No!' interposed the strong-minded woman in a loud voice.

'Then I will not' said Mr Pecksniff. 'You are quite rightmy dear
madamand I appreciate and thank you for your discriminating
objection--our respected relativeto dispose himself to listen to
the promptings of natureand not to the--'

'Go onPa!' cried Mercy.

'Whythe truth ismy dear' said Mr Pecksniffsmiling upon his
assembled kindred'that I am at a loss for a word. The name of
those fabulous animals (paganI regret to say) who used to sing in
the waterhas quite escaped me.'


Mr George Chuzzlewit suggested 'swans.'

'No' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Not swans. Very like swanstoo. Thank
you.'

The nephew with the outline of a countenancespeaking for the first
and last time on that occasionpropounded 'Oysters.'

'No' said Mr Pecksniffwith his own peculiar urbanity'nor
oysters. But by no means unlike oysters; a very excellent idea;
thank youmy dear sirvery much. Wait! Sirens. Dear me! sirens
of course. I thinkI saythat means might be devised of disposing
our respected relative to listen to the promptings of natureand
not to the siren-like delusions of art. Now we must not lose sight
of the fact that our esteemed friend has a grandsonto whom he was
until latelyvery much attachedand whom I could have wished to
see here to-dayfor I have a real and deep regard for him. A fine
young man. a very fine young man! I would submit to youwhether we
might not remove Mr Chuzzlewit's distrust of usand vindicate our
own disinterestedness by--'

'If Mr George Chuzzlewit has anything to say to ME' interposed the
strong-minded womansternly'I beg him to speak out like a man;
and not to look at me and my daughters as if he could eat us.'

'As to lookingI have heard it saidMrs Ned' returned Mr George
angrily'that a cat is free to contemplate a monarch; and therefore
I hope I have some righthaving been born a member of this family
to look at a person who only came into it by marriage. As to
eatingI beg to saywhatever bitterness your jealousies and
disappointed expectations may suggest to youthat I am not a
cannibalma'am.'

'I don't know that!' cried the strong-minded woman.

'At all eventsif I was a cannibal' said Mr George Chuzzlewit
greatly stimulated by this retort'I think it would occur to me
that a lady who had outlived three husbandsand suffered so very
little from their lossmust be most uncommonly tough.'

The strong-minded woman immediately rose.

'And I will further add' said Mr Georgenodding his head violently
at every second syllable; 'naming no namesand therefore hurting
nobody but those whose consciences tell them they are alluded to
that I think it would be much more decent and becomingif those who
hooked and crooked themselves into this family by getting on the
blind side of some of its members before marriageand
manslaughtering them afterwards by crowing over them to that strong
pitch that they were glad to diewould refrain from acting the part
of vultures in regard to other members of this family who are
living. I think it would be full as wellif not betterif those
individuals would keep at homecontenting themselves with what they
have got (luckily for them) already; instead of hovering aboutand
thrusting their fingers intoa family piewhich they flavour much
more than enoughI can tell themwhen they are fifty miles away.'

'I might have been prepared for this!' cried the strong-minded
womanlooking about her with a disdainful smile as she moved
towards the doorfollowed by her three daughters. 'Indeed I was
fully prepared for it from the first. What else could I expect in
such an atmosphere as this!'


'Don't direct your halfpay-officers' gaze at mema'amif you
please' interposed Miss Charity; 'for I won't bear it.'

This was a smart stab at a pension enjoyed by the strong-minded
womanduring her second widowhood and before her last coverture.
It told immensely.

'I passed from the memory of a grateful countryyou very miserable
minx' said Mrs Ned'when I entered this family; and I feel now
though I did not feel thenthat it served me rightand that I lost
my claim upon the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland when I
so degraded myself. Nowmy dearsif you're quite readyand have
sufficiently improved yourselves by taking to heart the genteel
example of these two young ladiesI think we'll go. Mr Pecksniff
we are very much obliged to youreally. We came to be entertained
and you have far surpassed our utmost expectationsin the amusement
you have provided for us. Thank you. Good-bye!'

With such departing wordsdid this strong-minded female paralyse
the Pecksniffian energies; and so she swept out of the roomand out
of the houseattended by her daughterswhoas with one accord
elevated their three noses in the airand joined in a contemptuous
titter. As they passed the parlour window on the outsidethey were
seen to counterfeit a perfect transport of delight among themselves;
and with this final blow and great discouragement for those within
they vanished.

Before Mr Pecksniff or any of his remaining visitors could offer a
remarkanother figure passed this windowcomingat a great rate
in the opposite direction; and immediately afterwardsMr Spottletoe
burst into the chamber. Compared with his present state of heathe
had gone out a man of snow or ice. His head distilled such oil upon
his whiskersthat they were rich and clogged with unctuous drops;
his face was violently inflamedhis limbs trembled; and he gasped
and strove for breath.

'My good sir!' cried Mr Pecksniff.

'Oh yes!' returned the other; 'oh yescertainly! Oh to be sure! Oh
of course! You hear him? You hear him? all of you!'

'What's the matter?' cried several voices.

'Oh nothing!' cried Spottletoestill gasping. 'Nothing at all!
It's of no consequence! Ask him! HE'll tell you!'

'I do not understand our friend' said Mr Pecksnifflooking about
him in utter amazement. 'I assure you that he is quite
unintelligible to me.'

'Unintelligiblesir!' cried the other. 'Unintelligible! Do you
mean to saysirthat you don't know what has happened! That you
haven't decoyed us hereand laid a plot and a plan against us! Will
you venture to say that you didn't know Mr Chuzzlewit was going
sirand that you don't know he's gonesir?'

'Gone!' was the general cry.

'Gone' echoed Mr Spottletoe. 'Gone while we were sitting here.
Gone. Nobody knows where he's gone. Ohof course not! Nobody knew
he was going. Ohof course not! The landlady thought up to the
very last moment that they were merely going for a ride; she had no
other suspicion. Ohof course not! She's not this fellow's
creature. Ohof course not!'


Adding to these exclamations a kind of ironical howland gazing
upon the company for one brief instant afterwardsin a sudden
silencethe irritated gentleman started off again at the same
tremendous paceand was seen no more.

It was in vain for Mr Pecksniff to assure them that this new and
opportune evasion of the family was at least as great a shock and
surprise to him as to anybody else. Of all the bullyings and
denunciations that were ever heaped on one unlucky headnone can
ever have exceeded in energy and heartiness those with which he was
complimented by each of his remaining relativessinglyupon
bidding him farewell.

The moral position taken by Mr Tigg was something quite tremendous;
and the deaf cousinwho had the complicated aggravation of seeing
all the proceedings and hearing nothing but the catastrophe
actually scraped her shoes upon the scraperand afterwards
distributed impressions of them all over the top stepin token that
she shook the dust from her feet before quitting that dissembling
and perfidious mansion.

Mr Pecksniff hadin shortbut one comfortand that was the
knowledge that all these his relations and friends had hated him to
the very utmost extent before; and that hefor his parthad not
distributed among them any more love thanwith his ample capital in
that respecthe could comfortably afford to part with. This view
of his affairs yielded him great consolation; and the fact deserves
to be notedas showing with what ease a good man may be consoled
under circumstances of failure and disappointment.

CHAPTER FIVE

CONTAINING A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE INSTALLATION OF MR PECKSNIFF'S
NEW PUPIL INTO THE BOSOM OF MR PECKSNIFF'S FAMILY. WITH ALL THE
FESTIVITIES HELD ON THAT OCCASIONAND THE GREAT ENJOYMENT OF
MR PINCH

The best of architects and land surveyors kept a horsein whom the
enemies already mentioned more than once in these pages pretended to
detect a fanciful resemblance to his master. Not in his outward
personfor he was a raw-bonedhaggard horsealways on a much
shorter allowance of corn than Mr Pecksniff; but in his moral
characterwhereinsaid theyhe was full of promisebut of no
performance. He was always in a mannergoing to goand never
going. When at his slowest rate of travelling he would sometimes
lift up his legs so highand display such mighty actionthat it
was difficult to believe he was doing less than fourteen miles an
hour; and he was for ever so perfectly satisfied with his own speed
and so little disconcerted by opportunities of comparing himself
with the fastest trottersthat the illusion was the more difficult
of resistance. He was a kind of animal who infused into the breasts
of strangers a lively sense of hopeand possessed all those who
knew him better with a grim despair. In what respecthaving these
points of characterhe might be fairly likened to his masterthat
good man's slanderers only can explain. But it is a melancholy
truthand a deplorable instance of the uncharitableness of the
worldthat they made the comparison.

In this horseand the hooded vehiclewhatever its proper name
might beto which he was usually harnessed--it was more like a gig


with a tumour than anything else--all Mr Pinch's thoughts and
wishes centredone bright frosty morning; for with this gallant
equipage he was about to drive to Salisbury alonethere to meet
with the new pupiland thence to bring him home in triumph.

Blessings on thy simple heartTom Pinchhow proudly dost thou
button up that scanty coatcalled by a sad misnomerfor these many
yearsa 'great' one; and how thoroughlyas with thy cheerful voice
thou pleasantly adjurest Sam the hostler 'not to let him go yet'
dost thou believe that quadruped desires to goand would go if he
might! Who could repress a smile--of love for theeTom Pinchand
not in jest at thy expensefor thou art poor enough alreadyHeaven
knows--to think that such a holiday as lies before thee should
awaken that quick flow and hurry of the spiritsin which thou
settest down againalmost untastedon the kitchen window-sill
that great white mug (put byby thy own handslast nightthat
breakfast might not hold thee late)and layest yonder crust upon
the seat beside theeto be eaten on the roadwhen thou art calmer
in thy high rejoicing! Whoas thou drivest offa happymanand
noddest with a grateful lovingness to Pecksniff in his nightcap at
his chamber-windowwould not cry'Heaven speed theeTomand send
that thou wert going off for ever to some quiet home where thou
mightst live at peaceand sorrow should not touch thee!'

What better time for drivingridingwalkingmoving through the
air by any meansthan a freshfrosty morningwhen hope runs
cheerily through the veins with the brisk bloodand tingles in the
frame from head to foot! This was the glad commencement of a bracing
day in early wintersuch as may put the languid summer season
(speaking of it when it can't be had) to the blushand shame the
spring for being sometimes cold by halves. The sheep-bells rang as
clearly in the vigorous airas if they felt its wholesome influence
like living creatures; the treesin lieu of leaves or blossoms
shed upon the ground a frosty rime that sparkled as it felland
might have been the dust of diamonds. So it was to Tom. From
cottage chimneyssmoke went streaming up highhighas if the
earth had lost its grossnessbeing so fairand must not be
oppressed by heavy vapour. The crust of ice on the else rippling
brook was so transparentand so thin in texturethat the lively
water might of its own free will have stopped--in Tom's glad mind it
had--to look upon the lovely morning. And lest the sun should break
this charm too eagerlythere moved between him and the grounda
mist like that which waits upon the moon on summer nights--the very
same to Tom--and wooed him to dissolve it gently.

Tom Pinch went on; not fastbut with a sense of rapid motionwhich
did just as well; and as he wentall kinds of things occurred to
keep him happy. Thus when he came within sight of the turnpikeand
was--oh a long way off!--he saw the tollman's wifewho had that
moment checked a waggonrun back into the little house again like
madto say (she knew) that Mr Pinch was coming up. And she was
rightfor when he drew within hail of the gateforth rushed the
tollman's childrenshrieking in tiny chorus'Mr Pinch!' to Tom's
intense delight. The very tollmanthough an ugly chap in general
and one whom folks were rather shy of handlingcame out himself to
take the tolland give him rough good morning; and that with all
thisand a glimpse of the family breakfast on a little round table
before the firethe crust Tom Pinch had brought away with him
acquired as rich a flavour as though it had been cut from a fairy
loaf.

But there was more than this. It was not only the married people
and the children who gave Tom Pinch a welcome as he passed. Nono.
Sparkling eyes and snowy breasts came hurriedly to many an upper


casement as he clattered byand gave him back his greeting: not
stinted eitherbut sevenfoldgood measure. They were all merry.
They all laughed. And some of the wickedest among them even kissed
their hands as Tom looked back. For who minded poor Mr Pinch?
There was no harm in HIM.

And now the morning grew so fairand all things were so wide awake
and gaythat the sun seeming to say--Tom had no doubt he said--'I
can't stand it any longer; I must have a look' streamed out in
radiant majesty. The misttoo shy and gentle for such lusty
companyfled offquite scaredbefore it; and as it swept away
the hills and mounds and distant pasture landsteeming with placid
sheep and noisy crowscame out as bright as though they were
unrolled bran new for the occasion. In compliment to which
discoverythe brook stood still no longerbut ran briskly off to
bear the tidings to the water-millthree miles away.

Mr Pinch was jogging alongfull of pleasant thoughts and cheerful
influenceswhen he sawupon the path before himgoing in the same
direction with himselfa traveller on footwho walked with a light
quick stepand sang as he went--for certain in a very loud voice
but not unmusically. He was a young fellowof some five or sixand-
twenty perhapsand was dressed in such a free and fly-away
fashionthat the long ends of his loose red neckcloth were
streaming out behind him quite as often as before; and the bunch of
bright winter berries in the buttonhole of his velveteen coat was as
visible to Mr Pinch's rearward observationas if he had worn that
garment wrong side foremost. He continued to sing with so much
energythat he did not hear the sound of wheels until it was close
behind him; when he turned a whimsical face and a very merry pair of
blue eyes on Mr Pinchand checked himself directly.

'WhyMark?' said Tom Pinchstopping. 'Who'd have thought of
seeing you here? Well! this is surprising!'

Mark touched his hatand saidwith a very sudden decrease of
vivacitythat he was going to Salisbury.

'And how spruce you aretoo!' said Mr Pinchsurveying him with
great pleasure. 'ReallyI didn't think you were half such a tightmade
fellowMark!'

'ThankeeMr Pinch. Pretty well for thatI believe. It's not my
faultyou know. With regard to being sprucesirthat's where it
isyou see.' And here he looked particularly gloomy.

'Where what is?' Mr Pinch demanded.

'Where the aggravation of it is. Any man may be in good spirits and
good temper when he's well dressed. There an't much credit in that.
If I was very ragged and very jollythen I should begin to feel I
had gained a pointMr Pinch.'

'So you were singing just nowto bear upas it wereagainst being
well dressedehMark?' said Pinch.

'Your conversation's always equal to printsir' rejoined Mark
with a broad grin. 'That was it.'

'Well!' cried Pinch'you are the strangest young manMarkI ever
knew in my life. I always thought so; but now I am quite certain of
it. I am going to Salisburytoo. Will you get in? I shall be
very glad of your company.'


The young fellow made his acknowledgments and accepted the offer;
stepping into the carriage directlyand seating himself on the very
edge of the seat with his body half out of itto express his being
there on sufferanceand by the politeness of Mr Pinch. As they
went alongthe conversation proceeded after this manner.

'I more than half believedjust nowseeing you so very smart'
said Pinch'that you must be going to be marriedMark.'

'WellsirI've thought of thattoo' he replied. 'There might be
some credit in being jolly with a wife'specially if the children
had the measles and thatand was very fractious indeed. But I'm
a'most afraid to try it. I don't see my way clear.'

'You're not very fond of anybodyperhaps?' said Pinch.

'Not particularsirI think.'

'But the way would beyou knowMarkaccording to your views of
things' said Mr Pinch'to marry somebody you didn't likeand who
was very disagreeable.'

'So it wouldsir; but that might be carrying out a principle a
little too farmightn't it?'

'Perhaps it might' said Mr Pinch. At which they both laughed
gayly.

'Lord bless yousir' said Mark'you don't half know methough.
I don't believe there ever was a man as could come out so strong
under circumstances that would make other men miserableas I could
if I could only get a chance. But I can't get a chance. It's my
opinion that nobody never will know half of what's in meunless
something very unexpected turns up. And I don't see any prospect of
that. I'm a-going to leave the Dragonsir.'

'Going to leave the Dragon!' cried Mr Pinchlooking at him with
great astonishment. 'WhyMarkyou take my breath away!'

'Yessir' he rejoinedlooking straight before him and a long way
offas men do sometimes when they cogitate profoundly. 'What's the
use of my stopping at the Dragon? It an't at all the sort of place
for ME. When I left London (I'm a Kentish man by birththough)
and took that situation hereI quite made up my mind that it was
the dullest little out-of-the-way corner in Englandand that there
would be some credit in being jolly under such circumstances. But
Lordthere's no dullness at the Dragon! Skittlescricketquoits
nine-pinscomic songschorusescompany round the chimney corner
every winter's evening. Any man could be jolly at the Dragon.
There's no credit in THAT.'

'But if common report be true for onceMarkas I think it is
being able to confirm it by what I know myself' said Mr Pinch'you
are the cause of half this merrimentand set it going.'

'There may be something in thattoosir' answered Mark. 'But
that's no consolation.'

'Well!' said Mr Pinchafter a short silencehis usually subdued
tone being even now more subdued than ever. 'I can hardly think
enough of what you tell me. Whywhat will become of Mrs Lupin
Mark?'

Mark looked more fixedly before himand further off stillas he


answered that he didn't suppose it would be much of an object to
her. There were plenty of smart young fellows as would be glad of
the place. He knew a dozen himself.

'That's probable enough' said Mr Pinch'but I am not at all sure
that Mrs Lupin would be glad of them. WhyI always supposed that
Mrs Lupin and you would make a match of itMark; and so did every
oneas far as I know.'

'I never' Mark repliedin some confusion'said nothing as was in
a direct way courting-like to hernor she to mebut I don't know
what I mightn't do one of these odd timesand what she mightn't say
in answer. WellsirTHAT wouldn't suit.'

'Not to be landlord of the DragonMark?' cried Mr Pinch.

'Nosircertainly not' returned the otherwithdrawing his gaze
from the horizonand looking at his fellow-traveller. 'Why that
would be the ruin of a man like me. I go and sit down comfortably
for lifeand no man never finds me out. What would be the credit
of the landlord of the Dragon's being jolly? Whyhe couldn't help
itif he tried.'

'Does Mrs Lupin know you are going to leave her?' Mr Pinch inquired.

'I haven't broke it to her yetsirbut I must. I'm looking out
this morning for something new and suitable' he saidnodding
towards the city.

'What kind of thing now?' Mr Pinch demanded.

'I was thinking' Mark replied'of something in the grave-digging.
way.'

'Good graciousMark?' cried Mr Pinch.

'It's a good dampwormy sort of businesssir' said Markshaking
his head argumentatively'and there might be some credit in being
jollywith one's mind in that pursuitunless grave-diggers is
usually given that way; which would be a drawback. You don't happen
to know how that is in generaldo yousir?'

'No' said Mr Pinch'I don't indeed. I never thought upon the
subject.'

'In case of that not turning out as well as one could wishyou
know' said Markmusing again'there's other businesses.
Undertaking now. That's gloomy. There might be credit to be gained
there. A broker's man in a poor neighbourhood wouldn't be bad
perhaps. A jailor sees a deal of misery. A doctor's man is in the
very midst of murder. A bailiff's an't a lively office nat'rally.
Even a tax-gatherer must find his feelings rather worked uponat
times. There's lots of trades in which I should have an
opportunityI think.'

Mr Pinch was so perfectly overwhelmed by these remarks that he could
do nothing but occasionally exchange a word or two on some
indifferent subjectand cast sidelong glances at the bright face of
his odd friend (who seemed quite unconscious of his observation)
until they reached a certain corner of the roadclose upon the
outskirts of the citywhen Mark said he would jump down thereif
he pleased.

'But bless my soulMark' said Mr Pinchwho in the progress of his


observation just then made the discovery that the bosom of his
companion's shirt was as much exposed as if it was Midsummerand
was ruffled by every breath of air'why don't you wear a
waistcoat?'

'What's the good of onesir?' asked Mark.

'Good of one?' said Mr Pinch. 'Whyto keep your chest warm.'

'Lord love yousir!' cried Mark'you don't know me. My chest
don't want no warming. Even if it didwhat would no waistcoat
bring it to? Inflammation of the lungsperhaps? Wellthere'd be
some credit in being jollywith a inflammation of the lungs.'

As Mr Pinch returned no other answer than such as was conveyed in
his breathing very hardand opening his eyes very wideand nodding
his head very muchMark thanked him for his rideand without
troubling him to stopjumped lightly down. And away he fluttered
with his red neckerchiefand his open coatdown a cross-lane;
turning back from time to time to nod to Mr Pinchand looking one
of the most carelessgood-humoured comical fellows in life. His
late companionwith a thoughtful face pursued his way to Salisbury.

Mr Pinch had a shrewd notion that Salisbury was a very desperate
sort of place; an exceeding wild and dissipated city; and when he
had put up the horseand given the hostler to understand that he
would look in again in the course of an hour or two to see him take
his cornhe set forth on a stroll about the streets with a vague
and not unpleasant idea that they teemed with all kinds of mystery
and bedevilment. To one of his quiet habits this little delusion
was greatly assisted by the circumstance of its being market-day
and the thoroughfares about the market-place being filled with
cartshorsesdonkeysbasketswaggonsgarden-stuffmeattripe
piespoultry and huckster's wares of every opposite description and
possible variety of character. Then there were young farmers and
old farmers with smock-frocksbrown great-coatsdrab great-coats
red worsted comfortersleather-leggingswonderful shaped hats
hunting-whipsand rough sticksstanding about in groupsor
talking noisily together on the tavern stepsor paying and
receiving huge amounts of greasy wealthwith the assistance of such
bulky pocket-books that when they were in their pockets it was
apoplexy to get them outand when they were out it was spasms to
get them in again. Also there were farmers' wives in beaver bonnets
and red cloaksriding shaggy horses purged of all earthly passions
who went soberly into all manner of places without desiring to know
whyand whoif requiredwould have stood stock still in a china
shopwith a complete dinner-service at each hoof. Also a great
many dogswho were strongly interested in the state of the market
and the bargains of their masters; and a great confusion of tongues
both brute and human.

Mr Pinch regarded everything exposed for sale with great delightand
was particularly struck by the itinerant cutlerywhich he
considered of the very keenest kindinsomuch that he purchased a
pocket knife with seven blades in itand not a cut (as he
afterwards found out) among them. When he had exhausted the marketplace
and watched the farmers safe into the market dinnerhe went
back to look after the horse. Having seen him eat unto his heart's
content he issued forth againto wander round the town and regale
himself with the shop windows; previously taking a long stare at the
bankand wondering in what direction underground the caverns might
be where they kept the money; and turning to look back at one or two
young men who passed himwhom he knew to be articled to solicitors
in the town; and who had a sort of fearful interest in his eyesas


jolly dogs who knew a thing or twoand kept it up tremendously.

But the shops. First of all there were the jewellers' shopswith
all the treasures of the earth displayed thereinand such large
silver watches hanging up in every pane of glassthat if they were
anything but first-rate goers it certainly was not because the works
could decently complain of want of room. In good sooth they were
big enoughand perhapsas the saying isugly enoughto be the
most correct of all mechanical performers; in Mr Pinch's eyes
however they were smaller than Geneva ware; and when he saw one very
bloated watch announced as a repeatergifted with the uncommon
power of striking every quarter of an hour inside the pocket of its
happy ownerhe almost wished that he were rich enough to buy it.

But what were even gold and silverprecious stones and clockwork
to the bookshopswhence a pleasant smell of paper freshly pressed
came issuing forthawakening instant recollections of some new
grammar had at schoollong time agowith 'Master PinchGrove
House Academy' inscribed in faultless writing on the fly-leaf! That
whiff of russia leathertooand all those rows on rows of volumes
neatly ranged within--what happiness did they suggest! And in the
window were the spick-and-span new works from Londonwith the
title-pagesand sometimes even the first page of the first chapter
laid wide open; tempting unwary men to begin to read the bookand
thenin the impossibility of turning overto rush blindly inand
buy it! Here too were the dainty frontispiece and trim vignette
pointing like handposts on the outskirts of great citiesto the
rich stock of incident beyond; and store of bookswith many a grave
portrait and time-honoured namewhose matter he knew welland
would have given mines to havein any formupon the narrow shell
beside his bed at Mr Pecksniff's. What a heart-breaking shop it
was!

There was another; not quite so bad at firstbut still a trying
shop; where children's books were soldand where poor Robinson
Crusoe stood alone in his mightwith dog and hatchetgoat-skin cap
and fowling-pieces; calmly surveying Philip Quarn and the host of
imitators round himand calling Mr Pinch to witness that heof all
the crowdimpressed one solitary footprint on the shore of boyish
memorywhereof the tread of generations should not stir the
lightest grain of sand. And there too were the Persian taleswith
flying chests and students of enchanted books shut up for years in
caverns; and there too was Abudahthe merchantwith the terrible
little old woman hobbling out of the box in his bedroom; and there
the mighty talismanthe rare Arabian Nightswith Cassim Baba
divided by fourlike the ghost of a dreadful sumhanging upall
goryin the robbers' cave. Which matchless wonderscoming fast on
Mr Pinch's minddid so rub up and chafe that wonderful lamp within
himthat when he turned his face towards the busy streeta crowd
of phantoms waited on his pleasureand he lived againwith new
delightthe happy days before the Pecksniff era.

He had less interest now in the chemists' shopswith their great
glowing bottles (with smaller repositories of brightness in their
very stoppers); and in their agreeable compromises between medicine
and perfumeryin the shape of toothsome lozenges and virgin honey.
Neither had he the least regard (but he never had much) for the
tailors'where the newest metropolitan waistcoat patterns were
hanging upwhich by some strange transformation always looked
amazing thereand never appeared at all like the same thing
anywhere else. But he stopped to read the playbill at the theatre
and surveyed the doorway with a kind of awewhich was not
diminished when a sallow gentleman with long dark hair came outand
told a boy to run home to his lodgings and bring down his


broadsword. Mr Pinch stood rooted to the spot on hearing thisand
might have stood there until darkbut that the old cathedral bell
began to ring for vesper serviceon which he tore himself away.

Nowthe organist's assistant was a friend of Mr Pinch'swhich was
a good thingfor he too was a very quiet gentle souland had been
like Toma kind of old-fashioned boy at schoolthough well liked
by the noisy fellow too. As good luck would have it (Tom always
said he had great good luck) the assistant chanced that very
afternoon to be on duty by himselfwith no one in the dusty organ
loft but Tom; so while he playedTom helped him with the stops; and
finallythe service being just overTom took the organ himself.
It was then turning darkand the yellow light that streamed in
through the ancient windows in the choir was mingled with a murky
red. As the grand tones resounded through the churchthey seemed
to Tomto find an echo in the depth of every ancient tombno less
than in the deep mystery of his own heart. Great thoughts and hopes
came crowding on his mind as the rich music rolled upon the air and
yet among them--something more grave and solemn in their purpose
but the same--were all the images of that daydown to its very
lightest recollection of childhood. The feeling that the sounds
awakenedin the moment of their existenceseemed to include his
whole life and being; and as the surrounding realities of stone and
wood and glass grew dimmer in the darknessthese visions grew so
much the brighter that Tom might have forgotten the new pupil and
the expectant masterand have sat there pouring out his grateful
heart till midnightbut for a very earthy old verger insisting on
locking up the cathedral forthwith. So he took leave of his friend
with many thanksgroped his way outas well as he couldinto the
now lamp-lighted streetsand hurried off to get his dinner.

All the farmers being by this time jogging homewardsthere was
nobody in the sanded parlour of the tavern where he had left the
horse; so he had his little table drawn out close before the fire
and fell to work upon a well-cooked steak and smoking hot potatoes
with a strong appreciation of their excellenceand a very keen
sense of enjoyment. Beside himtoothere stood a jug of most
stupendous Wiltshire beer; and the effect of the whole was so
transcendentthat he was obliged every now and then to lay down his
knife and forkrub his handsand think about it. By the time the
cheese and celery cameMr Pinch had taken a book out of his pocket
and could afford to trifle with the viands; now eating a littlenow
drinking a littlenow reading a littleand now stopping to wonder
what sort of a young man the new pupil would turn out to be. He had
passed from this latter theme and was deep in his book againwhen
the door openedand another guest came inbringing with him such a
quantity of cold airthat he positively seemed at first to put the
fire out.

'Very hard frost to-nightsir' said the newcomercourteously
acknowledging Mr Pinch's withdrawal of the little tablethat he
might have place: 'Don't disturb yourselfI beg.'

Though he said this with a vast amount of consideration for Mr
Pinch's comforthe dragged one of the great leather-bottomed chairs
to the very centre of the hearthnotwithstanding; and sat down in
front of the firewith a foot on each hob.

'My feet are quite numbed. Ah! Bitter cold to be sure.'

'You have been in the air some considerable timeI dare say?' said
Mr Pinch.

'All day. Outside a coachtoo.'


'That accounts for his making the room so cool' thought Mr Pinch.
'Poor fellow! How thoroughly chilled he must be!'

The stranger became thoughtful likewiseand sat for five or ten
minutes looking at the fire in silence. At length he rose and
divested himself of his shawl and great-coatwhich (far different
from Mr Pinch's) was a very warm and thick one; but he was not a
whit more conversational out of his great-coat than in itfor he
sat down again in the same place and attitudeand leaning back in
his chairbegan to bite his nails. He was young--one-and-twenty
perhaps--and handsome; with a keen dark eyeand a quickness of look
and manner which made Tom sensible of a great contrast in his own
bearingand caused him to feel even more shy than usual.

There was a clock in the roomwhich the stranger often turned to
look at. Tom made frequent reference to it also; partly from a
nervous sympathy with its taciturn companion; and partly because the
new pupil was to inquire for him at half after sixand the hands
were getting on towards that hour. Whenever the stranger caught him
looking at this clocka kind of confusion came upon Tom as if he
had been found out in something; and it was a perception of his
uneasiness which caused the younger man to sayperhapswith a
smile:

'We both appear to be rather particular about the time. The fact
isI have an engagement to meet a gentleman here.'

'So have I' said Mr Pinch.

'At half-past six' said the stranger.

'At half-past six' said Tom in the very same breath; whereupon the
other looked at him with some surprise.

'The young gentlemanI expect' remarked Tomtimidly'was to
inquire at that time for a person by the name of Pinch.'

'Dear me!' cried the otherjumping up. 'And I have been keeping
the fire from you all this while! I had no idea you were Mr Pinch.
I am the Mr Martin for whom you were to inquire. Pray excuse me.
How do you do? Ohdo draw nearerpray!'

'Thank you' said Tom'thank you. I am not at all coldand you
are; and we have a cold ride before us. Wellif you wish itI
will. I--I am very glad' said Tomsmiling with an embarrassed
frankness peculiarly hisand which was as plainly a confession of
his own imperfectionsand an appeal to the kindness of the person
he addressedas if he had drawn one up in simple language and
committed it to paper: 'I am very glad indeed that you turn out to
be the party I expected. I was thinkingbut a minute agothat I
could wish him to be like you.'

'I am very glad to hear it' returned Martinshaking hands with him
again; 'for I assure youI was thinking there could be no such luck
as Mr Pinch's turning out like you.'

'Noreally!' said Tomwith great pleasure. 'Are you serious?'

'Upon my word I am' replied his new acquaintance. 'You and I will
get on excellently wellI know; which it's no small relief to me to
feelfor to tell you the truthI am not at all the sort of fellow
who could get on with everybodyand that's the point on which I had
the greatest doubts. But they're quite relieved now.--Do me the


favour to ring the bellwill you?'

Mr Pinch roseand complied with great alacrity--the handle hung
just over Martin's headas he warmed himself--and listened with a
smiling face to what his friend went on to say. It was:

'If you like punchyou'll allow me to order a glass apieceas hot
as it can be madethat we may usher in our friendship in a becoming
manner. To let you into a secretMr PinchI never was so much in
want of something warm and cheering in my life; but I didn't like to
run the chance of being found drinking itwithout knowing what kind
of person you were; for first impressionsyou knowoften go a long
wayand last a long time.'

Mr Pinch assentedand the punch was ordered. In due course it
came; hot and strong. After drinking to each other in the steaming
mixturethey became quite confidential.

'I'm a sort of relation of Pecksniff'syou know' said the young
man.

'Indeed!' cried Mr Pinch.

'Yes. My grandfather is his cousinso he's kith and kin to me
somehowif you can make that out. I can't.'

'Then Martin is your Christian name?' said Mr Pinchthoughtfully.
'Oh!'

'Of course it is' returned his friend: 'I wish it was my surname
for my own is not a very pretty oneand it takes a long time to
sign Chuzzlewit is my name.'

'Dear me!' cried Mr Pinchwith an involuntary start.

'You're not surprised at my having two namesI suppose?' returned
the othersetting his glass to his lips. 'Most people have.'

'Ohno' said Mr Pinch'not at all. Oh dear no! Well!' And then
remembering that Mr Pecksniff had privately cautioned him to say
nothing in reference to the old gentleman of the same name who had
lodged at the Dragonbut to reserve all mention of that person for
himhe had no better means of hiding his confusion than by raising
his own glass to his mouth. They looked at each other out of their
respective tumblers for a few secondsand then put them down empty.

'I told them in the stable to be ready for us ten minutes ago' said
Mr Pinchglancing at the clock again. 'Shall we go?'

'If you please' returned the other.

'Would you like to drive?' said Mr Pinch; his whole face beaming
with a consciousness of the splendour of his offer. 'You shallif
you wish.'

'Whythat dependsMr Pinch' said Martinlaughing'upon what
sort of a horse you have. Because if he's a bad oneI would rather
keep my hands warm by holding them comfortably in my greatcoat
pockets.'

He appeared to think this such a good jokethat Mr Pinch was quite
sure it must be a capital one. Accordinglyhe laughed tooand was
fully persuaded that he enjoyed it very much. Then he settled his
billand Mr Chuzzlewit paid for the punch; and having wrapped


themselves upto the extent of their respective meansthey went
out together to the front doorwhere Mr Pecksniff's property
stopped the way.

'I won't drivethank youMr Pinch' said Martingetting into the
sitter's place. 'By the byethere's a box of mine. Can we manage
to take it?'

'Ohcertainly' said Tom. 'Put it inDickanywhere!'

It was not precisely of that convenient size which would admit of
its being squeezed into any odd cornerbut Dick the hostler got it
in somehowand Mr Chuzzlewit helped him. It was all on Mr Pinch's
sideand Mr Chuzzlewit said he was very much afraid it would
encumber him; to which Tom said'Not at all;' though it forced him
into such an awkward positionthat he had much ado to see anything
but his own knees. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any
good; and the wisdom of the saying was verified in this instance;
for the cold air came from Mr Pinch's side of the carriageand by
interposing a perfect wall of box and man between it and the new
pupilhe shielded that young gentleman effectually; which was a
great comfort.

It was a clear eveningwith a bright moon. The whole landscape was
silvered by its light and by the hoar-frost; and everything looked
exquisitely beautiful. At firstthe great serenity and peace
through which they travelleddisposed them both to silence; but in
a very short time the punch within them and the healthful air
withoutmade them loquaciousand they talked incessantly. When
they were halfway homeand stopped to give the horse some water
Martin (who was very generous with his money) ordered another glass
of punchwhich they drank between themand which had not the
effect of making them less conversational than before. Their
principal topic of discourse was naturally Mr Pecksniff and his
family; of whomand of the great obligations they had heaped upon
himTom Pinchwith the tears standing in his eyesdrew such a
picture as would have inclined any one of common feeling almost to
revere them; and of which Mr Pecksniff had not the slightest
foresight or preconceived ideaor he certainly (being very humble)
would not have sent Tom Pinch to bring the pupil home.

In this way they went onand onand on--in the language of the
story-books--until at last the village lights appeared before them
and the church spire cast a long reflection on the graveyard grass;
as if it were a dial (alasthe truest in the world!) marking
whatever light shone out of Heaventhe flight of days and weeks and
yearsby some new shadow on that solemn ground.

'A pretty church!' said Martinobserving that his companion
slackened the slack pace of the horseas they approached.

'Is it not?' cried Tomwith great pride. 'There's the sweetest
little organ there you ever heard. I play it for them.'

'Indeed?' said Martin. 'It is hardly worth the troubleI should
think. What do you get for thatnow?'

'Nothing' answered Tom.

'Well' returned his friend'you ARE a very strange fellow!'

To which remark there succeeded a brief silence.

'When I say nothing' observed Mr Pinchcheerfully'I am wrong


and don't say what I meanbecause I get a great deal of pleasure
from itand the means of passing some of the happiest hours I know.
It led to something else the other day; but you will not care to
hear about that I dare say?'

'Oh yes I shall. What?'

'It led to my seeing' said Tomin a lower voice'one of the
loveliest and most beautiful faces you can possibly picture to
yourself.'

'And yet I am able to picture a beautiful one' said his friend
thoughtfully'or should beif I have any memory.'

'She came' said Tomlaying his hand upon the other's arm'for the
first time very early in the morningwhen it was hardly light; and
when I saw herover my shoulderstanding just within the porchI
turned quite coldalmost believing her to be a spirit. A moment's
reflection got the better of thatof courseand fortunately it
came to my relief so soonthat I didn't leave off playing.'

'Why fortunately?'

'Why? Because she stood therelistening. I had my spectacles on
and saw her through the chinks in the curtains as plainly as I see
you; and she was beautiful. After a while she glided offand I
continued to play until she was out of hearing.'

'Why did you do that?'

'Don't you see?' responded Tom. 'Because she might suppose I hadn't
seen her; and might return.'

'And did she?'

'Certainly she did. Next morningand next evening too; but always
when there were no people aboutand always alone. I rose earlier
and sat there laterthat when she cameshe might find the church
door openand the organ playingand might not be disappointed.
She strolled that way for some daysand always stayed to listen.
But she is gone nowand of all unlikely things in this wide world
it is perhaps the most improbable that I shall ever look upon her
face again.'

'You don't know anything more about her?'

'No.'

'And you never followed her when she went away?'

'Why should I distress her by doing that?' said Tom Pinch. 'Is it
likely that she wanted my company? She came to hear the organnot
to see me; and would you have had me scare her from a place she
seemed to grow quite fond of? NowHeaven bless her!' cried Tom
'to have given her but a minute's pleasure every dayI would have
gone on playing the organ at those times until I was an old man;
quite contented if she sometimes thought of a poor fellow like me
as a part of the music; and more than recompensed if she ever mixed
me up with anything she liked as well as she liked that!'

The new pupil was clearly very much amazed by Mr Pinch's weakness
and would probably have told him soand given him some good advice
but for their opportune arrival at Mr Pecksniff's door; the front
door this timeon account of the occasion being one of ceremony and


rejoicing. The same man was in waiting for the horse who had been
adjured by Mr Pinch in the morning not to yield to his rabid desire
to start; and after delivering the animal into his chargeand
beseeching Mr Chuzzlewit in a whisper never to reveal a syllable of
what he had just told him in the fullness of his heartTom led the
pupil infor instant presentation.

Mr Pecksniff had clearly not expected them for hours to come; for he
was surrounded by open booksand was glancing from volume to
volumewith a black lead-pencil in his mouthand a pair of
compasses in his handat a vast number of mathematical diagramsof
such extraordinary shapes that they looked like designs for
fireworks. Neither had Miss Charity expected themfor she was
busiedwith a capacious wicker basket before herin making
impracticable nightcaps for the poor. Neither had Miss Mercy
expected themfor she was sitting upon her stooltying on the--oh
good gracious!--the petticoat of a large doll that she was dressing
for a neighbour's child--reallyquite a grown-up dollwhich made
it more confusing--and had its little bonnet dangling by the ribbon
from one of her fair curlsto which she had fastened it lest it
should be lost or sat upon. It would be difficultif not
impossibleto conceive a family so thoroughly taken by surprise as
the Pecksniffs wereon this occasion.

Bless my life!' said Mr Pecksnifflooking upand gradually
exchanging his abstracted face for one of joyful recognition. 'Here
already! Martinmy dear boyI am delighted to welcome you to my
poor house!'

With this kind greetingMr Pecksniff fairly took him to his arms
and patted him several times upon the back with his right hand the
whileas if to express that his feelings during the embrace were
too much for utterance.

'But here' he saidrecovering'are my daughtersMartin; my two
only childrenwhom (if you ever saw them) you have not beheld--ah
these sad family divisions!--since you were infants together. Nay
my dearswhy blush at being detected in your everyday pursuits? We
had prepared to give you the reception of a visitorMartinin our
little room of state' said Mr Pecksniffsmiling'but I like this
betterI like this better!'

Oh blessed star of Innocencewherever you may behow did you
glitter in your home of etherwhen the two Miss Pecksniffs put
forth each her lily handand gave the samewith mantling cheeks
to Martin! How did you twinkleas if fluttering with sympathywhen
Mercyreminded of the bonnet in her hairhid her fair face and
turned her head aside; the while her gentle sister plucked it out
and smote her with a sister's soft reproofupon her buxom shoulder!

'And how' said Mr Pecksniffturning round after the contemplation
of these passagesand taking Mr Pinch in a friendly manner by the
elbow'how has our friend used youMartin?'

'Very well indeedsir. We are on the best termsI assure you.'

'Old Tom Pinch!' said Mr Pecksnifflooking on him with affectionate
sadness. 'Ah! It seems but yesterday that Thomas was a boy fresh
from a scholastic course. Yet years have passedI thinksince
Thomas Pinch and I first walked the world together!'

Mr Pinch could say nothing. He was too much moved. But he pressed
his master's handand tried to thank him.


'And Thomas Pinch and I' said Mr Pecksniffin a deeper voice
'will walk it yetin mutual faithfulness and friendship! And if it
comes to pass that either of us be run over in any of those busy
crossings which divide the streets of lifethe other will convey
him to the hospital in Hopeand sit beside his bed in Bounty!'

'Wellwellwell!' he added in a happier toneas he shook Mr
Pinch's elbow hard. 'No more of this! Martinmy dear friendthat
you may be at home within these wallslet me show you how we live
and where. Come!'

With that he took up a lighted candleandattended by his young
relativeprepared to leave the room. At the doorhe stopped.

'You'll bear us companyTom Pinch?'

Ayecheerfullythough it had been to deathwould Tom have
followed him; glad to lay down his life for such a man!

'This' said Mr Pecksniffopening the door of an opposite parlour
'is the little room of stateI mentioned to you. My girls have
pride in itMartin! This' opening another door'is the little
chamber in which my works (slight things at best) have been
concocted. Portrait of myself by Spiller. Bust by Spoker. The
latter is considered a good likeness. I seem to recognize something
about the left-hand corner of the nosemyself.'

Martin thought it was very likebut scarcely intellectual enough.
Mr Pecksniff observed that the same fault had been found with it
before. It was remarkable it should have struck his young relation
too. He was glad to see he had an eye for art.

'Various books you observe' said Mr Pecksniffwaving his hand
towards the wall'connected with our pursuit. I have scribbled
myselfbut have not yet published. Be careful how you come
upstairs. This' opening another door'is my chamber. I read here
when the family suppose I have retired to rest. Sometimes I injure
my health rather more than I can quite justify to myselfby doing
so; but art is long and time is short. Every facility you see for
jotting down crude notionseven here.'

These latter words were explained by his pointing to a small round
table on which were a lampdivers sheets of papera piece of India
rubberand a case of instruments; all put readyin case an
architectural idea should come into Mr Pecksniff's head in the
night; in which event he would instantly leap out of bedand fix it
for ever.

Mr Pecksniff opened another door on the same floorand shut it
againall at onceas if it were a Blue Chamber. But before he had
well done sohe looked smilingly roundand said'Why not?'

Martin couldn't say why notbecause he didn't know anything at all
about it. So Mr Pecksniff answered himselfby throwing open the
doorand saying:

'My daughters' room. A poor first-floor to usbut a bower to them.
Very neat. Very airy. Plants you observe; hyacinths; books again;
birds.' These birdsby the byecomprisedin allone staggering
old sparrow without a tailwhich had been borrowed expressly from
the kitchen. 'Such trifles as girls love are here. Nothing more.
Those who seek heartless splendourwould seek here in vain.'

With that he led them to the floor above.


'This' said Mr Pecksniffthrowing wide the door of the memorable
two-pair front; 'is a room where some talent has been developed I
believe. This is a room in which an idea for a steeple occurred to
me that I may one day give to the world. We work heremy dear
Martin. Some architects have been bred in this room; a fewI
thinkMr Pinch?'

Tom fully assented; andwhat is morefully believed it.

'You see' said Mr Pecksniffpassing the candle rapidly from roll
to roll of paper'some traces of our doings here. Salisbury
Cathedral from the north. From the south. From the east. From the
west. From the south-east. From the nor'west. A bridge. An
almshouse. A jail. A church. A powder-magazine. A wine-cellar.
A portico. A summer-house. An ice-house. Planselevations
sectionsevery kind of thing. And this' he addedhaving by this
time reached another large chamber on the same storywith four
little beds in it'this is your roomof which Mr Pinch here is the
quiet sharer. A southern aspect; a charming prospect; Mr Pinch's
little libraryyou perceive; everything agreeable and appropriate.
If there is any additional comfort you would desire to have here at
anytimepray mention it. Even to strangersfar less to youmy
dear Martinthere is no restriction on that point.'

It was undoubtedly trueand may be stated in corroboration of Mr
Pecksniffthat any pupil had the most liberal permission to mention
anything in this way that suggested itself to his fancy. Some young
gentlemen had gone on mentioning the very same thing for five years
without ever being stopped.

'The domestic assistants' said Mr Pecksniff'sleep above; and that
is all.' After whichand listening complacently as he wentto the
encomiums passed by his young friend on the arrangements generally
he led the way to the parlour again.

Here a great change had taken place; for festive preparations on a
rather extensive scale were already completedand the two Miss
Pecksniffs were awaiting their return with hospitable looks. There
were two bottles of currant winewhite and red; a dish of
sandwiches (very long and very slim); another of apples; another of
captain's biscuits (which are always a moist and jovial sort of
viand); a plate of oranges cut up small and gritty; with powdered
sugarand a highly geological home-made cake. The magnitude of
these preparations quite took away Tom Pinch's breath; for though
the new pupils were usually let down softlyas one may say
particularly in the wine departmentwhich had so many stages of
declensionthat sometimes a young gentleman was a whole fortnight
in getting to the pump; still this was a banquet; a sort of Lord
Mayor's feast in private life; a something to think ofand hold on
byafterwards.

To this entertainmentwhich apart from its own intrinsic merits
had the additional choice qualitythat it was in strict keeping
with the nightbeing both light and coolMr Pecksniff besought the
company to do full justice.

'Martin' he said'will seat himself between you twomy dearsand
Mr Pinch will come by me. Let us drink to our new inmateand may
we be happy together! Martinmy dear friendmy love to you! Mr
Pinchif you spare the bottle we shall quarrel.'

And trying (in his regard for the feelings of the rest) to look as
if the wine were not acid and didn't make him winkMr Pecksniff did


honour to his own toast.

'This' he saidin allusion to the partynot the wine'is a
mingling that repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let
us be merry.' Here he took a captain's biscuit. 'It is a poor heart
that never rejoices; and our hearts are not poor. No!'

With such stimulants to merriment did he beguile the timeand do
the honours of the table; while Mr Pinchperhaps to assure himself
that what he saw and heard was holiday realityand not a charming
dreamate of everythingand in particular disposed of the slim
sandwiches to a surprising extent. Nor was he stinted in his
draughts of wine; but on the contraryremembering Mr Pecksniff's
speechattacked the bottle with such vigourthat every time he
filled his glass anewMiss Charitydespite her amiable resolves
could not repress a fixed and stony glareas if her eyes had rested
on a ghost. Mr Pecksniff also became thoughtful at those moments
not to say dejected; but as he knew the vintageit is very likely
he may have been speculating on the probable condition of Mr Pinch
upon the morrowand discussing within himself the best remedies for
colic.

Martin and the young ladies were excellent friends alreadyand
compared recollections of their childish daysto their mutual
liveliness and entertainment. Miss Mercy laughed immensely at
everything that was said; and sometimesafter glancing at the happy
face of Mr Pinchwas seized with such fits of mirth as brought her
to the very confines of hysterics. But for these bursts of gaiety
her sisterin her better sensereproved her; observingin an
angry whisperthat it was far from being a theme for jest; and that
she had no patience with the creature; though it generally ended in
her laughing too--but much more moderately--and saying that indeed
it was a little too ridiculous and intolerable to be serious about.

At length it became high time to remember the first clause of that
great discovery made by the ancient philosopherfor securing
healthrichesand wisdom; the infallibility of which has been for
generations verified by the enormous fortunes constantly amassed by
chimney-sweepers and other persons who get up early and go to bed
betimes. The young ladies accordingly roseand having taken leave
of Mr Chuzzlewit with much sweetnessand of their father with much
duty and of Mr Pinch with much condescensionretired to their
bower. Mr Pecksniff insisted on accompanying his young friend
upstairs for personal superintendence of his comforts; and taking
him by the armconducted him once more to his bedroomfollowed by
Mr Pinchwho bore the light.

'Mr Pinch' said Pecksniffseating himself with folded arms on one
of the spare beds. 'I don't see any snuffers in that candlestick.
Will you oblige me by going downand asking for a pair?'

Mr Pinchonly too happy to be usefulwent off directly.

'You will excuse Thomas Pinch's want of polishMartin' said Mr
Pecksniffwith a smile of patronage and pityas soon as he had
left the room. 'He means well.'

'He is a very good fellowsir.'

'Ohyes' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Yes. Thomas Pinch means well. He
is very grateful. I have never regretted having befriended Thomas
Pinch.'

'I should think you never wouldsir.'


'No' said Mr Pecksniff. 'No. I hope not. Poor fellowhe is
always disposed to do his best; but he is not gifted. You will make
him useful to youMartinif you please. If Thomas has a faultit
is that he is sometimes a little apt to forget his position. But
that is soon checked. Worthy soul! You will find him easy to
manage. Good night!'

'Good nightsir.'

By this time Mr Pinch had returned with the snuffers.

'And good night to YOUMr Pinch' said Pecksniff. 'And sound sleep
to you both. Bless you! Bless you!'

Invoking this benediction on the heads of his young friends with
great fervourhe withdrew to his own room; while theybeing tired
soon fell asleep. If Martin dreamed at allsome clue to the matter
of his visions may possibly be gathered from the after-pages of this
history. Those of Thomas Pinch were all of holidayschurch organs
and seraphic Pecksniffs. It was some time before Mr Pecksniff
dreamed at allor even sought his pillowas he sat for full two
hours before the fire in his own chamberlooking at the coals and
thinking deeply. But hetooslept and dreamed at last. Thus in
the quiet hours of the nightone house shuts in as many incoherent
and incongruous fancies as a madman's head.

CHAPTER SIX

COMPRISESAMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERSPECKSNIFFIAN AND
ARCHITECTURALAND EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE BY MR PINCH
IN THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEW PUPIL

It was morning; and the beautiful Auroraof whom so much hath been
writtensaidand sungdidwith her rosy fingersnip and tweak
Miss Pecksniff's nose. It was the frolicsome custom of the Goddess
in her intercourse with the fair Cherryso to do; or in more
prosaic phrasethe tip of that feature in the sweet girl's
countenance was always very red at breakfast-time. For the most
partindeedit woreat that season of the daya scraped and
frosty lookas if it had been rasped; while a similar phenomenon
developed itself in her humourwhich was then observed to be of a
sharp and acid qualityas though an extra lemon (figuratively
speaking) had been squeezed into the nectar of her dispositionand
had rather damaged its flavour.

This additional pungency on the part of the fair young creature led
on ordinary occasionsto such slight consequences as the copious
dilution of Mr Pinch's teaor to his coming off uncommonly short in
respect of butteror to other the like results. But on the morning
after the Installation Banquetshe suffered him to wander to and
fro among the eatables and drinkablesa perfectly free and
unchecked man; so utterly to Mr Pinch's wonder and confusionthat
like the wretched captive who recovered his liberty in his old age
he could make but little use of his enlargementand fell into a
strange kind of flutter for want of some kind hand to scrape his
breadand cut him off in the article of sugar with a lumpand pay
him those other little attentions to which he was accustomed. There
was something almost awfultooabout the self-possession of the
new pupil; who 'troubled' Mr Pecksniff for the loafand helped
himself to a rasher of that gentleman's own particular and private


baconwith all the coolness in life. He even seemed to think that
he was doing quite a regular thingand to expect that Mr Pinch
would follow his examplesince he took occasion to observe of that
young man 'that he didn't get on'; a speech of so tremendous a
characterthat Tom cast down his eyes involuntarilyand felt as if
he himself had committed some horrible deed and heinous breach of Mr
Pecksniff's confidence. Indeedthe agony of having such an
indiscreet remark addressed to him before the assembled familywas
breakfast enough in itselfand wouldwithout any other matter of
reflectionhave settled Mr Pinch's business and quenched his
appetitefor one mealthough he had been never so hungry.

The young ladieshoweverand Mr Pecksniff likewiseremained in
the very best of spirits in spite of these severe trialsthough
with something of a mysterious understanding among themselves. When
the meal was nearly overMr Pecksniff smilingly explained the cause
of their common satisfaction.

'It is not often' he said'Martinthat my daughters and I desert
our quiet home to pursue the giddy round of pleasures that revolves
abroad. But we think of doing so to-day.'

'Indeedsir!' cried the new pupil.

'Yes' said Mr Pecksnifftapping his left hand with a letter which
he held in his right. 'I have a summons here to repair to London;
on professional businessmy dear Martin; strictly on professional
business; and I promised my girlslong agothat whenever that
happened againthey should accompany me. We shall go forth to-
night by the heavy coach--like the dove of oldmy dear Martin--and
it will be a week before we again deposit our olive-branches in the
passage. When I say olive-branches' observed Mr Pecksniffin
explanation'I meanour unpretending luggage.'

'I hope the young ladies will enjoy their trip' said Martin.

'Oh! that I'm sure we shall!' cried Mercyclapping her hands.
'Good graciousCherrymy darlingthe idea of London!'

'Ardent child!' said Mr Pecksniffgazing on her in a dreamy way.
'And yet there is a melancholy sweetness in these youthful hopes!
It is pleasant to know that they never can be realised. I remember
thinking once myselfin the days of my childhoodthat pickled
onions grew on treesand that every elephant was born with an
impregnable castle on his back. I have not found the fact to be so;
far from it; and yet those visions have comforted me under
circumstances of trial. Even when I have had the anguish of
discovering that I have nourished in my breast on ostrichand not a
human pupil--even in that hour of agonythey have soothed me.'

At this dread allusion to John WestlockMr Pinch precipitately
choked in his tea; for he had that very morning received a letter
from himas Mr Pecksniff very well knew.

'You will take caremy dear Martin' said Mr Pecksniffresuming
his former cheerfulness'that the house does not run away in our
absence. We leave you in charge of everything. There is no
mystery; all is free and open. Unlike the young man in the Eastern
tale--who is described as a one-eyed almanacif I am not mistaken
Mr Pinch?--'

'A one-eyed calenderI thinksir' faltered Tom.

'They are pretty nearly the same thingI believe' said Mr


Pecksniffsmiling compassionately; 'or they used to be in my time.
Unlike that young manmy dear Martinyou are forbidden to enter no
corner of this house; but are requested to make yourself perfectly
at home in every part of it. You will be jovialmy dear Martin
and will kill the fatted calf if you please!'

There was not the least objectiondoubtlessto the young man's
slaughtering and appropriating to his own use any calffat or lean
that he might happen to find upon the premises; but as no such
animal chanced at that time to be grazing on Mr Pecksniff's estate
this request must be considered rather as a polite compliment that a
substantial hospitality. It was the finishing ornament of the
conversation; for when he had delivered itMr Pecksniff rose and
led the way to that hotbed of architectural geniusthe two-pair
front.

'Let me see' he saidsearching among the papers'how you can best
employ yourselfMartinwhile I am absent. Suppose you were to
give me your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London; or a tomb
for a sheriff; or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a
nobleman's park. Do you knownow' said Mr Pecksnifffolding his
handsand looking at his young relation with an air of pensive
interest'that I should very much like to see your notion of a
cow-house?'

But Martin by no means appeared to relish this suggestion.

'A pump' said Mr Pecksniff'is very chaste practice. I have found
that a lamp post is calculated to refine the mind and give it a
classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect
upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning with an
ornamental turnpike?'

'Whatever Mr Pecksniff pleased' said Martindoubtfully.

'Stay' said that gentleman. 'Come! as you're ambitiousand are a
very neat draughtsmanyou shall--ha ha!--you shall try your hand on
these proposals for a grammar-school; regulating your planof
courseby the printed particulars. Upon my wordnow' said Mr
Pecksniffmerrily'I shall be very curious to see what you make of
the grammar-school. Who knows but a young man of your taste might
hit upon somethingimpracticable and unlikely in itselfbut which
I could put into shape? For it really ismy dear Martinit really
is in the finishing touches alonethat great experience and long
study in these matters tell. Hahaha! Now it really will be'
continued Mr Pecksniffclapping his young friend on the back in his
droll humour'an amusement to meto see what you make of the
grammar-school.'

Martin readily undertook this taskand Mr Pecksniff forthwith
proceeded to entrust him with the materials necessary for its
execution; dwelling meanwhile on the magical effect of a few
finishing touches from the hand of a master; whichindeedas some
people said (and these were the old enemies again!) was
unquestionably very surprisingand almost miraculous; as there were
cases on record in which the masterly introduction of an additional
back windowor a kitchen dooror half-a-dozen stepsor even a
water spouthad made the design of a pupil Mr Pecksniff's own work
and had brought substantial rewards into that gentleman's pocket.
But such is the magic of geniuswhich changes all it handles into
gold!

'When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of occupation'
said Mr Pecksniff'Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of


surveying the back gardenor in ascertaining the dead level of the
road between this house and the finger-postor in any other
practical and pleasing pursuit. There are a cart-load of loose
bricksand a score or two of old flower-potsin the back yard. If
you could pile them up my dear Martininto any form which would
remind me on my return say of St. Peter's at Romeor the Mosque of
St. Sophia at Constantinopleit would be at once improving to you
and agreeable to my feelings. And now' said Mr Pecksniffin
conclusion'to dropfor the presentour professional relations
and advert to private mattersI shall be glad to talk with you in
my own roomwhile I pack up my portmanteau.'

Martin attended him; and they remained in secret conference
together for an hour or more; leaving Tom Pinch alone. When the
young man returnedhe was very taciturn and dullin which state he
remained all day; so that Tomafter trying him once or twice with
indifferent conversationfelt a delicacy in obtruding himself upon
his thoughtsand said no more.

He would not have had leisure to say muchhad his new friend been
ever so loquacious; for first of all Mr Pecksniff called him down to
stand upon the top of his portmanteau and represent ancient statues
thereuntil such time as it would consent to be locked; and then
Miss Charity called him to come and cord her trunk; and then Miss
Mercy sent for him to come and mend her box; and then he wrote the
fullest possible cards for all the luggage; and then he volunteered
to carry it all downstairs; and after that to see it safely carried
on a couple of barrows to the old finger-post at the end of the
lane; and then to mind it till the coach came up. In shorthis
day's work would have been a pretty heavy one for a porterbut his
thorough good-will made nothing of it; and as he sat upon the
luggage at lastwaiting for the Pecksniffsescorted by the new
pupilto come down the lanehis heart was light with the hope of
having pleased his benefactor.

'I was almost afraid' said Tomtaking a letter from his pocket and
wiping his facefor he was hot with bustling about though it was a
cold day'that I shouldn't have had time to write itand that
would have been a thousand pities; postage from such a distance
being a serious considerationwhen one's not rich. She will be
glad to see my handpoor girland to hear that Pecksniff is as
kind as ever. I would have asked John Westlock to call and see her
and tell her all about me by word of mouthbut I was afraid he
might speak against Pecksniff to herand make her uneasy. Besides
they are particular people where she isand it might have rendered
her situation uncomfortable if she had had a visit from a young man
like John. Poor Ruth!'

Tom Pinch seemed a little disposed to be melancholy for half a
minute or sobut he found comfort very soonand pursued his
ruminations thus:

'I'm a nice manI don't thinkas John used to say (John was a
kindmerry-hearted fellow; I wish he had liked Pecksniff better)
to be feeling lowon account of the distance between uswhen I
ought to be thinkinginsteadof my extraordinary good luck in
having ever got here. I must have been born with a silver spoon in
my mouthI am sureto have ever come across Pecksniff. And here
have I fallen again into my usual good luck with the new pupil! Such
an affablegenerousfree fellowas he isI never saw. Whywe
were companions directly! and he a relation of Pecksniff's tooand
a cleverdashing youth who might cut his way through the world as
if it were a cheese! Here he comes while the words are on my lips'
said Tom; 'walking down the lane as if the lane belonged to him.'


In truththe new pupilnot at all disconcerted by the honour of
having Miss Mercy Pecksniff on his armor by the affectionate
adieux of that young ladyapproached as Mr Pinch spokefollowed by
Miss Charity and Mr Pecksniff. As the coach appeared at the same
momentTom lost no time in entreating the gentleman last mentioned
to undertake the delivery of his letter.

'Oh!' said Mr Pecksniffglancing at the superscription. 'For your
sisterThomas. Yesoh yesit shall be deliveredMr Pinch. Make
your mind easy upon that score. She shall certainly have itMr
Pinch.'

He made the promise with so much condescension and patronagethat
Tom felt he had asked a great deal (this had not occurred to his
mind before)and thanked him earnestly. The Miss Pecksniffs
according to a custom they hadwere amused beyond description at
the mention of Mr Pinch's sister. Oh the fright! The bare idea
of a Miss Pinch! Good heavens!

Tom was greatly pleased to see them so merryfor he took it as a
token of their favourand good-humoured regard. Therefore he
laughed too and rubbed his hands and wished them a pleasant journey
and safe returnand was quite brisk. Even when the coach had
rolled away with the olive-branches in the boot and the family of
doves insidehe stood waving his hand and bowing; so much gratified
by the unusually courteous demeanour of the young ladiesthat he
was quite regardlessfor the momentof Martin Chuzzlewitwho
stood leaning thoughtfully against the finger-postand who after
disposing of his fair charge had hardly lifted his eyes from the
ground.

The perfect silence which ensued upon the bustle and departure of
the coachtogether with the sharp air of the wintry afternoon
roused them both at the same time. They turnedas by mutual
consentand moved off arm-in-arm.

'How melancholy you are!' said Tom; 'what is the matter?'

'Nothing worth speaking of' said Martin. 'Very little more than
was the matter yesterdayand much moreI hopethan will be the
matter to-morrow. I'm out of spiritsPinch.'

'Well' cried Tom'now do you know I am in capital spirits today
and scarcely ever felt more disposed to be good company. It was a
very kind thing in your predecessorJohnto write to mewas it
not?'

'Whyyes' said Martin carelessly; 'I should have thought he would
have had enough to do to enjoy himselfwithout thinking of you
Pinch.'

'Just what I felt to be so very likely' Tom rejoined; 'but nohe
keeps his wordand saysMy dear Pinch, I often think of you,and
all sorts of kind and considerate things of that description.'

'He must be a devilish good-natured fellow' said Martinsomewhat
peevishly: 'because he can't mean thatyou know.'

'I don't suppose he caneh?' said Tomlooking wistfully in his
companion's face. 'He says so to please meyou think?'

'Whyis it likely' rejoined Martinwith greater earnestness
'that a young man newly escaped from this kennel of a placeand


fresh to all the delights of being his own master in Londoncan
have much leisure or inclination to think favourably of anything or
anybody he has left behind him here? I put it to youPinchis it
natural?'

After a short reflectionMr Pinch repliedin a more subdued tone
that to be sure it was unreasonable to expect any such thingand
that he had no doubt Martin knew best.

'Of course I know best' Martin observed.

'YesI feel that' said Mr Pinch mildly. 'I said so.' And when he
had made this rejoinderthey fell into a blank silence againwhich
lasted until they reached home; by which time it was dark.

NowMiss Charity Pecksniffin consideration of the inconvenience
of carrying them with her in the coachand the impossibility of
preserving them by artificial means until the family's returnhad
set forthin a couple of platesthe fragments of yesterday's
feast. In virtue of which liberal arrangementthey had the
happiness to find awaiting them in the parlour two chaotic heaps of
the remains of last night's pleasureconsisting of certain filmy
bits of orangessome mummied sandwichesvarious disrupted masses
of the geological cakeand several entire captain's biscuits. That
choice liquor in which to steep these dainties might not be wanting
the remains of the two bottles of currant wine had been poured
together and corked with a curl-paper; so that every material was at
hand for making quite a heavy night of it.

Martin Chuzzlewit beheld these roystering preparations with infinite
contemptand stirring the fire into a blaze (to the great
destruction of Mr Pecksniff's coals)sat moodily down before itin
the most comfortable chair he could find. That he might the better
squeeze himself into the small corner that was left for himMr
Pinch took up his position on Miss Mercy Pecksniff's stooland
setting his glass down upon the hearthrug and putting his plate
upon his kneesbegan to enjoy himself.

If Diogenes coming to life again could have rolled himselftub and
allinto Mr Pecksniff's parlour and could have seen Tom Pinch as he
sat on Mercy Pecksniff's stool with his plate and glass before him
he could not have faced it outthough in his surliest moodbut
must have smiled good-temperedly. The perfect and entire
satisfaction of Tom; his surpassing appreciation of the husky
sandwicheswhich crumbled in his mouth like saw-dust; the
unspeakable relish with which he swallowed the thin wine by drops
and smacked his lipsas though it were so rich and generous that to
lose an atom of its fruity flavour were a sin; the look with which
he paused sometimeswith his glass in his handproposing silent
toasts to himself; and the anxious shade that came upon his
contented face whenafter wandering round the roomexulting in its
uninvaded snugnesshis glance encountered the dull brow of his
companion; no cynic in the worldthough in his hatred of its men a
very griffincould have withstood these things in Thomas Pinch.

Some men would have slapped him on the backand pledged him in a
bumper of the currant winethough it had been the sharpest vinegar
--ayeand liked its flavour too; some would have seized him by his
honest handand thanked him for the lesson that his simple nature
taught them. Some would have laughed withand others would have
laughed at him; of which last class was Martin Chuzzlewitwho
unable to restrain himselfat last laughed loud and long.

'That's right' said Tomnodding approvingly. 'Cheer up! That's


capital!'

At which encouragement young Martin laughed again; and saidas soon
as he had breath and gravity enough:

'I never saw such a fellow as you arePinch.'

'Didn't you though?' said Tom. 'Wellit's very likely you do find
me strangebecause I have hardly seen anything of the worldand
you have seen a good deal I dare say?'

'Pretty well for my time of life' rejoined Martindrawing his
chair still nearer to the fireand spreading his feet out on the
fender. 'Deuce take itI must talk openly to somebody. I'll talk
openly to youPinch.'

'Do!' said Tom. 'I shall take it as being very friendly of you'

'I'm not in your wayam I?' inquired Martinglancing down at Mr
Pinchwho was by this time looking at the fire over his leg.

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'You must know thento make short of a long story' said Martin
beginning with a kind of effortas if the revelation were not
agreeable to him; 'that I have been bred up from childhood with
great expectationsand have always been taught to believe that I
should beone dayvery rich. So I should have beenbut for
certain brief reasons which I am going to tell youand which have
led to my being disinherited.'

'By your father?' inquired Mr Pinchwith open eyes.

'By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years.
Scarcely within my remembrance.'

'Neither have I' said Tomtouching the young man's hand with his
own and timidly withdrawing it again. 'Dear me!'

'Whyas to thatyou knowPinch' pursued the otherstirring the
fire againand speaking in his rapidoff-hand way; 'it's all very
right and proper to be fond of parents when we have themand to
bear them in remembrance after they're deadif you have ever known
anything of them. But as I never did know anything about mine
personallyyou knowwhyI can't be expected to be very
sentimental about 'em. And I am not; that's the truth.'

Mr Pinch was just then looking thoughtfully at the bars. But on his
companion pausing in this placehe startedand said 'Oh! of
course'--and composed himself to listen again.

'In a word' said Martin'I have been bred and reared all my life
by this grandfather of whom I have just spoken. Nowhe has a great
many good points--there is no doubt about that; I'll not disguise
the fact from you--but he has two very great faultswhich are the
staple of his bad side. In the first placehe has the most
confirmed obstinacy of character you ever met with in any human
creature. In the secondhe is most abominably selfish.'

'Is he indeed?' cried Tom.

'In those two respects' returned the other'there never was such a
man. I have often heard from those who knowthat they have been
time out of mindthe failings of our family; and I believe there's


some truth in it. But I can't say of my own knowledge. All I have
to doyou knowis to be very thankful that they haven't descended
to meandto be very careful that I don't contract 'em.'

'To be sure' said Mr Pinch. 'Very proper.'

'Wellsir' resumed Martinstirring the fire once moreand
drawing his chair still closer to it'his selfishness makes him
exactingyou see; and his obstinacy makes him resolute in his
exactions. The consequence is that he has always exacted a great
deal from me in the way of respectand submissionand self-denial
when his wishes were in questionand so forth. I have borne a
great deal from himbecause I have been under obligations to him
(if one can ever be said to be under obligations to one's own
grandfather)and because I have been really attached to him; but we
have had a great many quarrels for all thatfor I could not
accommodate myself to his ways very often--not out of the least
reference to myselfyou understandbut because--' he stammered
hereand was rather at a loss.

Mr Pinch being about the worst man in the world to help anybody out
of a difficulty of this sortsaid nothing.

'Well! as you understand me' resumed Martinquickly'I needn't
hunt for the precise expression I want. Now I come to the cream of
my storyand the occasion of my being here. I am in lovePinch.'

Mr Pinch looked up into his face with increased interest.

'I say I am in love. I am in love with one of the most beautiful
girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is wholly and entirely
dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and if he were to
know that she favoured my passionshe would lose her home and
everything she possesses in the world. There is nothing very
selfish in THAT loveI think?'

'Selfish!' cried Tom. 'You have acted nobly. To love her as I am
sure you doand yet in consideration for her state of dependence
not even to disclose--'

'What are you talking aboutPinch?' said Martin pettishly: 'don't
make yourself ridiculousmy good fellow! What do you mean by not
disclosing?'

'I beg your pardon' answered Tom. 'I thought you meant thator I
wouldn't have said it.'

'If I didn't tell her I loved herwhere would be the use of my
being in love?' said Martin: 'unless to keep myself in a perpetual
state of worry and vexation?'

'That's true' Tom answered. 'Well! I can guess what SHE said when
you told her' he addedglancing at Martin's handsome face.

'Whynot exactlyPinch' he rejoinedwith a slight frown;
'because she has some girlish notions about duty and gratitudeand
all the rest of itwhich are rather hard to fathom; but in the main
you are right. Her heart was mineI found.'

'Just what I supposed' said Tom. 'Quite natural!' andin his
great satisfactionhe took a long sip out of his wine-glass.

'Although I had conducted myself from the first with the utmost
circumspection' pursued Martin'I had not managed matters so well


but that my grandfatherwho is full of jealousy and distrust
suspected me of loving her. He said nothing to herbut straightway
attacked me in privateand charged me with designing to corrupt the
fidelity to himself (there you observe his selfishness)of a young
creature whom he had trained and educated to be his only
disinterested and faithful companionwhen he should have disposed
of me in marriage to his heart's content. Upon thatI took fire
immediatelyand told him that with his good leave I would dispose
of myself in marriageand would rather not be knocked down by him
or any other auctioneer to any bidder whomsoever.'

Mr Pinch opened his eyes widerand looked at the fire harder than
he had done yet.

'You may be sure' said Martin'that this nettled himand that he
began to be the very reverse of complimentary to myself. Interview
succeeded interview; words engendered wordsas they always do; and
the upshot of it wasthat I was to renounce heror be renounced by
him. Now you must bear in mindPinchthat I am not only
desperately fond of her (for though she is poorher beauty and
intellect would reflect great credit on anybodyI don't care of
what pretensions who might become her husband)but that a chief
ingredient in my composition is a most determined--'

'Obstinacy' suggested Tom in perfect good faith. But the
suggestion was not so well received as he had expected; for the
young man immediately rejoinedwith some irritation

'What a fellow you arePinch!'

'I beg your pardon' said Tom'I thought you wanted a word.'

'I didn't want that word' he rejoined. 'I told you obstinacy was
no part of my characterdid I not? I was going to sayif you had
given me leavethat a chief ingredient in my composition is a most
determined firmness.'

'Oh!' cried Tomscrewing up his mouthand nodding. 'Yesyes; I
see!'

'And being firm' pursued Martin'of course I was not going to
yield to himor give way by so much as the thousandth part of an
inch.'

'Nono' said Tom.

'On the contrarythe more he urgedthe more I was determined to
oppose him.'

'To be sure!' said Tom.

'Very well' rejoined Martinthrowing himself back in his chair
with a careless wave of both handsas if the subject were quite
settledand nothing more could be said about it--'There is an end
of the matterand here am I!'

Mr Pinch sat staring at the fire for some minutes with a puzzled
looksuch as he might have assumed if some uncommonly difficult
conundrum had been proposedwhich he found it impossible to guess.
At length he said:

'Pecksniffof courseyou had known before?'

'Only by name. NoI had never seen himfor my grandfather kept


not only himself but mealoof from all his relations. But our
separation took place in a town in the adjoining country. From that
place I came to Salisburyand there I saw Pecksniff's
advertisementwhich I answeredhaving always had some natural
tasteI believein the matters to which it referredand thinking
it might suit me. As soon as I found it to be hisI was doubly
bent on coming to him if possibleon account of his being--'

'Such an excellent man' interposed Tomrubbing his hands: 'so he
is. You were quite right.'

'Whynot so much on that accountif the truth must be spoken'
returned Martin'as because my grandfather has an inveterate
dislike to himand after the old man's arbitrary treatment of meI
had a natural desire to run as directly counter to all his opinions
as I could. Well! As I said beforehere I am. My engagement with
the young lady I have been telling you about is likely to be a
tolerably long one; for neither her prospects nor mine are very
bright; and of course I shall not think of marrying until I am well
able to do so. It would never doyou knowfor me to be plunging
myself into poverty and shabbiness and love in one room up three
pair of stairsand all that sort of thing.'

'To say nothing of her' remarked Tom Pinchin a low voice.

'Exactly so' rejoined Martinrising to warm his backand leaning
against the chimney-piece. 'To say nothing of her. At the same
timeof course it's not very hard upon her to be obliged to yield
to the necessity of the case; firstbecause she loves me very much;
and secondlybecause I have sacrificed a great deal on her account
and might have done much betteryou know.'

It was a very long time before Tom said 'Certainly;' so longthat
he might have taken a nap in the intervalbut he did say it at
last.

'Nowthere is one odd coincidence connected with this love-story'
said Martin'which brings it to an end. You remember what you told
me last night as we were coming hereabout your pretty visitor in
the church?'

'Surely I do' said Tomrising from his stooland seating himself
in the chair from which the other had lately risenthat he might
see his face. 'Undoubtedly.'

'That was she.'

'I knew what you were going to say' cried Tomlooking fixedly at
himand speaking very softly. 'You don't tell me so?'

'That was she' repeated the young man. 'After what I have heard
from PecksniffI have no doubt that she came and went with my
grandfather.--Don't you drink too much of that sour wineor you'll
have a fit of some sortPinchI see.'

'It is not very wholesomeI am afraid' said Tomsetting down the
empty glass he had for some time held. 'So that was shewas it?'

Martin nodded assent; and addingwith a restless impatiencethat
if he had been a few days earlier he would have seen her; and that
now she might befor anything he knewhundreds of miles away;
threw himselfafter a few turns across the roominto a chairand
chafed like a spoilt child.


Tom Pinch's heart was very tenderand he could not bear to see the
most indifferent person in distress; still less one who had awakened
an interest in himand who regarded him (either in factor as he
supposed) with kindnessand in a spirit of lenient construction.
Whatever his own thoughts had been a few moments before--and to
judge from his face they must have been pretty serious--he dismissed
them instantlyand gave his young friend the best counsel and
comfort that occurred to him.

'All will be well in time' said Tom'I have no doubt; and some
trial and adversity just now will only serve to make you more
attached to each other in better days. I have always read that the
truth is soand I have a feeling within mewhich tells me how
natural and right it is that it should be. That never ran smooth
yet' said Tomwith a smile whichdespite the homeliness of his
facewas pleasanter to see than many a proud beauty's brightest
glance; 'what never ran smooth yetcan hardly be expected to change
its character for us; so we must take it as we find itand fashion
it into the very best shape we canby patience and good-humour. I
have no power at all; I needn't tell you that; but I have an
excellent will; and if I could ever be of use to youin any way
whateverhow very glad I should be!'

'Thank you' said Martinshaking his hand. 'You're a good fellow
upon my wordand speak very kindly. Of course you know' he added
after a moment's pauseas he drew his chair towards the fire again
'I should not hesitate to avail myself of your services if you could
help me at all; but mercy on us!'--Here he rumpled his hair
impatiently with his handand looked at Tom as if he took it rather
ill that he was not somebody else--'you might as well be a toastingfork
or a frying-panPinchfor any help you can render me.'

'Except in the inclination' said Tomgently.

'Oh! to be sure. I meant thatof course. If inclination went for
anythingI shouldn't want help. I tell you what you may do
thoughif you willand at the present moment too.'

'What is that?' demanded Tom.

'Read to me.'

'I shall be delighted' cried Tomcatching up the candle with
enthusiasm. 'Excuse my leaving you in the dark a momentand I'll
fetch a book directly. What will you like? Shakespeare?'

'Aye!' replied his friendyawning and stretching himself. 'He'll
do. I am tired with the bustle of to-dayand the novelty of
everything about me; and in such a casethere's no greater
luxury in the worldI thinkthan being read to sleep. You
won't mind my going to sleepif I can?'

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when you see
me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired)for it's pleasant to wake
gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try that?'

'NoI never tried that' said Tom

'Well! You canyou knowone of these days when we're both in the
right humour. Don't mind leaving me in the dark. Look sharp!'

Mr Pinch lost no time in moving away; and in a minute or two


returned with one of the precious volumes from the shelf beside his
bed. Martin had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as
circumstances would permitby constructing before the fire a
temporary sofa of three chairs with Mercy's stool for a pillowand
lying down at full-length upon it.

'Don't be too loudplease' he said to Pinch.

'Nono' said Tom.

'You're sure you're not cold'

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'I am quite readythen.'

Mr Pinch accordinglyafter turning over the leaves of his book with
as much care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures
made his own selectionand began to read. Before he had completed
fifty lines his friend was snoring.

'Poor fellow!' said Tomsoftlyas he stretched out his head to
peep at him over the backs of the chairs. 'He is very young to have
so much trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all
this confidence in me. And that was shewas it?'

But suddenly remembering their compacthe took up the poem at the
place where he had left offand went on reading; always forgetting
to snuff the candleuntil its wick looked like a mushroom. He
gradually became so much interestedthat he quite forgot to
replenish the fire; and was only reminded of his neglect by Martin
Chuzzlewit starting up after the lapse of an hour or soand crying
with a shiver.

'Whyit's nearly outI declare! No wonder I dreamed of being
frozen. Do call for some coals. What a fellow you arePinch!'

CHAPTER SEVEN

IN WHICH MR CHEVY SLYME ASSERTS THE INDEPENDENCE OF HIS SPIRITAND
THE BLUE DRAGON LOSES A LIMB

Martin began to work at the grammar-school next morningwith so
much vigour and expeditionthat Mr Pinch had new reason to do
homage to the natural endowments of that young gentlemanand to
acknowledge his infinite superiority to himself. The new pupil
received Tom's compliments very graciously; and having by this time
conceived a real regard for himin his own peculiar waypredicted
that they would always be the very best of friendsand that neither
of themhe was certain (but particularly Tom)would ever have
reason to regret the day on which they became acquainted. Mr Pinch
was delighted to hear him say thisand felt so much flattered by
his kind assurances of friendship and protectionthat he was at a
loss how to express the pleasure they afforded him. And indeed it
may be observed of this friendshipsuch as it wasthat it had
within it more likely materials of endurance than many a sworn
brotherhood that has been rich in promise; for so long as the one
party found a pleasure in patronizingand the other in being
patronised (which was in the very essence of their respective
characters)it was of all possible events among the least probable
that the twin demonsEnvy and Pridewould ever arise between them.


So in very many cases of friendshipor what passes for itthe old
axiom is reversedand like clings to unlike more than to like.

They were both very busy on the afternoon succeeding the family's
departure--Martin with the grammar-schooland Tom in balancing
certain receipts of rentsand deducting Mr Pecksniff's commission
from the same; in which abstruse employment he was much distracted
by a habit his new friend had of whistling aloud while he was
drawing--when they were not a little startled by the unexpected
obtrusion into that sanctuary of geniusof a human head which
although a shaggy and somewhat alarming head in appearancesmiled
affably upon them from the doorwayin a manner that was at once
waggishconciliatoryand expressive of approbation.

'I am not industrious myselfgents both' said the head'but I
know how to appreciate that quality in others. I wish I may turn
grey and uglyif it isn't in my opinionnext to geniusone of the
very charmingest qualities of the human mind. Upon my soulI am
grateful to my friend Pecksniff for helping me to the contemplation
of such a delicious picture as you present. You remind me of
Whittingtonafterwards thrice Lord Mayor of London. I give you my
unsullied word of honourthat you very strongly remind me of that
historical character. You are a pair of Whittingtonsgents
without the cat; which is a most agreeable and blessed exception to
mefor I am not attached to the feline species. My name is Tigg;
how do you do?'

Martin looked to Mr Pinch for an explanation; and Tomwho had never
in his life set eyes on Mr Tigg beforelooked to that gentleman
himself.

'Chevy Slyme?' said Mr Tigginterrogativelyand kissing his left
hand in token of friendship. 'You will understand me when I say
that I am the accredited agent of Chevy Slyme; that I am the
ambassador from the court of Chiv? Ha ha!'

'Heyday!' asked Martinstarting at the mention of a name he knew.
'Praywhat does he want with me?'

'If your name is Pinch'--Mr Tigg began.

'It is not' said Martinchecking himself. 'That is Mr Pinch.'

'If that is Mr Pinch' cried Tiggkissing his hand againand
beginning to follow his head into the room'he will permit me to
say that I greatly esteem and respect his characterwhich has been
most highly commended to me by my friend Pecksniff; and that I
deeply appreciate his talent for the organnotwithstanding that I
do notif I may use the expressiongrind myself. If that is Mr
PinchI will venture to express a hope that I see him welland
that he is suffering no inconvenience from the easterly wind?'

'Thank you' said Tom. 'I am very well.'

'That is a comfort' Mr Tigg rejoined. 'Then' he addedshielding
his lips with the palm of his handand applying them close to Mr
Pinch's ear'I have come for the letter.'

'For the letter' said Tomaloud. 'What letter?'

'The letter' whispered Tigg in the same cautious manner as before
'which my friend Pecksniff addressed to Chevy SlymeEsquireand
left with you.'


'He didn't leave any letter with me' said Tom.

'Hush!' cried the other. 'It's all the same thingthough not so
delicately done by my friend Pecksniff as I could have wished. The
money.'

'The money!' cried Tom quite scared.

'Exactly so' said Mr Tigg. With which he rapped Tom twice or
thrice upon the breast and nodded several timesas though he would
say that he saw they understood each other; that it was unnecessary
to mention the circumstance before a third person; and that he would
take it as a particular favour if Tom would slip the amount into his
handas quietly as possible.

Mr Pinchhoweverwas so very much astounded by this (to him)
inexplicable deportmentthat he at once openly declared there must
be some mistakeand that he had been entrusted with no commission
whatever having any reference to Mr Tigg or to his friendeither.
Mr Tigg received this declaration with a grave request that Mr Pinch
would have the goodness to make it again; and on Tom's repeating it
in a still more emphatic and unmistakable mannerchecked it off
sentence for sentenceby nodding his head solemnly at the end of
each. When it had come to a close for the second timeMr Tigg sat
himself down in a chair and addressed the young men as follows:

'Then I tell you what it isgents both. There is at this present
moment in this very placea perfect constellation of talent and
geniuswho is involvedthrough what I cannot but designate as the
culpable negligence of my friend Pecksniffin a situation as
tremendousperhapsas the social intercourse of the nineteenth
century will readily admit of. There is actually at this instant
at the Blue Dragon in this village--an ale-houseobserve; a common
paltrylow-mindedclodhoppingpipe-smoking ale-house--an
individualof whom it may be saidin the language of the Poet
that nobody but himself can in any way come up to him; who is
detained there for his bill. Ha! ha! For his bill. I repeat it-for
his bill. Now' said Mr Tigg'we have heard of Fox's Book of
MartyrsI believeand we have heard of the Court of Requestsand
the Star Chamber; but I fear the contradiction of no man alive or
deadwhen I assert that my friend Chevy Slyme being held in pawn
for a billbeats any amount of cockfighting with which I am
acquainted.'

Martin and Mr Pinch lookedfirst at each otherand afterwards at
Mr Tiggwho with his arms folded on his breast surveyed themhalf
in despondency and half in bitterness.

'Don't mistake megents both' he saidstretching forth his right
hand. 'If it had been for anything but a billI could have borne
itand could still have looked upon mankind with some feeling of
respect; but when such a man as my friend Slyme is detained for a
score--a thing in itself essentially mean; a low performance on a
slateor possibly chalked upon the back of a door--I do feel that
there is a screw of such magnitude loose somewherethat the whole
framework of society is shakenand the very first principles of
things can no longer be trusted. In shortgents both' said Mr
Tigg with a passionate flourish of his hands and head'when a man
like Slyme is detained for such a thing as a billI reject the
superstitions of agesand believe nothing. I don't even believe
that I DON'T believecurse me if I do!'

'I am very sorryI am sure' said Tom after a pause'but Mr
Pecksniff said nothing to me about itand I couldn't act without


his instructions. Wouldn't it be bettersirif you were to go to
--to wherever you came from--yourselfand remit the money to your
friend?'

'How can that be donewhen I am detained also?' said Mr Tigg; 'and
when moreoverowing to the astoundingand I must addguilty
negligence of my friend PecksniffI have no money for coach-hire?'

Tom thought of reminding the gentleman (whono doubtin his
agitation had forgotten it) that there was a post-office in the
land; and that possibly if he wrote to some friend or agent for a
remittance it might not be lost upon the road; or at all events that
the chancehowever desperatewas worth trusting to. Butas his
good-nature presently suggested to him certain reasons for
abstaining from this hinthe paused againand then asked:

'Did you saysirthat you were detained also?'

'Come here' said Mr Tiggrising. 'You have no objection to my
opening this window for a moment?'

'Certainly not' said Tom.

'Very good' said Mr Tigglifting the sash. 'You see a fellow down
there in a red neckcloth and no waistcoat?'

'Of course I do' cried Tom. 'That's Mark Tapley.'

'Mark Tapley is it?' said the gentleman. 'Then Mark Tapley had not
only the great politeness to follow me to this housebut is waiting
nowto see me home again. And for that attentionsir' added Mr
Tiggstroking his moustache'I can tell youthat Mark Tapley had
better in his infancy have been fed to suffocation by Mrs Tapley
than preserved to this time.'

Mr Pinch was not so dismayed by this terrible threatbut that he
had voice enough to call to Mark to come inand upstairs; a
summons which he so speedily obeyedthat almost as soon as Tom and
Mr Tigg had drawn in their heads and closed the window againhe
the denouncedappeared before them.

'Come hereMark!' said Mr Pinch. 'Good gracious me! what's the
matter between Mrs Lupin and this gentleman?'

'What gentlemansir?' said Mark. 'I don't see no gentleman here
sirexcepting you and the new gentleman' to whom he made a rough
kind of bow--'and there's nothing wrong between Mrs Lupin and either
of youMr PinchI am sure.'

'NonsenseMark!' cried Tom. 'You see Mr--'

'Tigg' interposed that gentleman. 'Wait a bit. I shall crush him
soon. All in good time!'

'Oh HIM!' rejoined Markwith an air of careless defiance. 'YesI
see HIM. I could see him a little betterif he'd shave himself
and get his hair cut.'

Mr Tigg shook his head with a ferocious lookand smote himself once
upon the breast.

'It's no use' said Mark. 'If you knock ever so much in that
quarteryou'll get no answer. I know better. There's nothing
there but padding; and a greasy sort it is.'


'NayMark' urged Mr Pinchinterposing to prevent hostilities
'tell me what I ask you. You're not out of temperI hope?'

'Out of tempersir!' cried Markwith a grin; 'why nosir.
There's a little credit--not much--in being jollywhen such fellows
as him is a-going about like roaring lions; if there is any breed of
lionsat leastas is all roar and mane. What is there between him
and Mrs Lupinsir? Whythere's a score between him and Mrs Lupin.
And I think Mrs Lupin lets him and his friend off very easy in not
charging 'em double prices for being a disgrace to the Dragon.
That's my opinion. I wouldn't have any such Peter the Wild Boy as
him in my housesirnot if I was paid race-week prices for it.
He's enough to turn the very beer in the casks sour with his looks;
he is! So he wouldif it had judgment enough.'

'You're not answering my questionyou knowMark' observed Mr
Pinch.

'Wellsir' said Mark'I don't know as there's much to answer
further than that. Him and his friend goes and stops at the Moon
and Stars till they've run a bill there; and then comes and stops
with us and does the same. The running of bills is common enough Mr
Pinch; it an't that as we object to; it's the ways of this chap.
Nothing's good enough for him; all the women is dying for him he
thinksand is overpaid if he winks at 'em; and all the men was made
to be ordered about by him. This not being aggravation enoughhe
says this morning to mein his usual captivating wayWe're going
to-night, my man.Are you, sir?says I. "Perhaps you'd like the
bill got readysir?" "Oh nomy man he says; you needn't mind
that. I'll give Pecksniff orders to see to that." In reply to
whichthe Dragon makes answerThankee, sir, you're very kind to
honour us so far, but as we don't know any particular good of you,
and you don't travel with luggage, and Mr Pecksniff an't at home
(which perhaps you mayn't happen to be aware of, sir), we should
prefer something more satisfactory;and that's where the matter
stands. And I ask' said Mr Tapleypointingin conclusionto Mr
Tiggwith his hat'any lady or gentlemanpossessing ordinary
strength of mindto say whether he's a disagreeable-looking chap or
not!'

'Let me inquire' said Martininterposing between this candid
speech and the delivery of some blighting anathema by Mr Tigg'what
the amount of this debt may be?'

'In point of moneysirvery little' answered Mark. 'Only just
turned of three pounds. But it an't that; it's the--'

'Yesyesyou told us so before' said Martin. 'Pincha word with
you.'

'What is it?' asked Tomretiring with him to a corner of the room.

'Whysimply--I am ashamed to say--that this Mr Slyme is a relation
of mineof whom I never heard anything pleasant; and that I don't
want him here just nowand think he would be cheaply got rid of
perhapsfor three or four pounds. You haven't enough money to pay
this billI suppose?'

Tom shook his head to an extent that left no doubt of his entire
sincerity.

'That's unfortunatefor I am poor too; and in case you had had it
I'd have borrowed it of you. But if we told this landlady we would


see her paidI suppose that would answer the same purpose?'

'Oh dearyes!' said Tom. 'She knows mebless you!'

'Then let us go down at once and tell her so; for the sooner we are
rid of their company the better. As you have conducted the
conversation with this gentleman hithertoperhaps you'll tell him
what we purpose doing; will you?'

Mr Pinchcomplyingat once imparted the intelligence to Mr Tigg
who shook him warmly by the hand in returnassuring him that his
faith in anything and everything was again restored. It was not so
muchhe saidfor the temporary relief of this assistance that he
prized itas for its vindication of the high principle that
Nature's Nobs felt with Nature's Nobsand that true greatness of
soul sympathized with true greatness of soulall the world over.
It proved to himhe saidthat like him they admired geniuseven
when it was coupled with the alloy occasionally visible in the metal
of his friend Slyme; and on behalf of that friendhe thanked them;
as warmly and heartily as if the cause were his own. Being cut
short in these speeches by a general move towards the stairshe
took possession at the street door of the lapel of Mr Pinch's coat
as a security against further interruption; and entertained that
gentleman with some highly improving discourse until they reached
the Dragonwhither they were closely followed by Mark and the new
pupil.

The rosy hostess scarcely needed Mr Pinch's word as a preliminary to
the release of her two visitorsof whom she was glad to be rid on
any terms; indeedtheir brief detention had originated mainly with
Mr Tapleywho entertained a constitutional dislike to gentleman
out-at-elbows who flourished on false pretences; and had conceived a
particular aversion to Mr Tigg and his friendas choice specimens
of the species. The business in hand thus easily settledMr Pinch
and Martin would have withdrawn immediatelybut for the urgent
entreaties of Mr Tigg that they would allow him the honour of
presenting them to his friend Slymewhich were so very difficult of
resistance thatyielding partly to these persuasions and partly to
their own curiositythey suffered themselves to be ushered into the
presence of that distinguished gentleman.

He was brooding over the remains of yesterday's decanter of brandy
and was engaged in the thoughtful occupation of making a chain of
rings on the top of the table with the wet foot of his drinkingglass.
Wretched and forlorn as he lookedMr Slyme had once been in
his waythe choicest of swaggerers; putting forth his pretensions
boldlyas a man of infinite taste and most undoubted promise. The
stock-in-trade requisite to set up an amateur in this department of
business is very slightand easily got together; a trick of the
nose and a curl of the lip sufficient to compound a tolerable sneer
being ample provision for any exigency. Butin an evil hourthis
off-shoot of the Chuzzlewit trunkbeing lazyand ill qualified for
any regular pursuit and having dissipated such means as he ever
possessedhad formally established himself as a professor of Taste
for a livelihood; and findingtoo latethat something more than
his old amount of qualifications was necessary to sustain him in
this callinghad quickly fallen to his present levelwhere he
retained nothing of his old self but his boastfulness and his bile
and seemed to have no existence separate or apart from his friend
Tigg. And now so abject and so pitiful was he--at once so maudlin
insolentbeggarlyand proud--that even his friend and parasite
standing erect beside himswelled into a Man by contrast.

'Chiv' said Mr Tiggclapping him on the back'my friend Pecksniff


not being at homeI have arranged our trifling piece of business
with Mr Pinch and friend. Mr Pinch and friendMr Chevy Slyme!
ChivMr Pinch and friend!'

'These are agreeable circumstances in which to be introduced to
strangers' said Chevy Slymeturning his bloodshot eyes towards Tom
Pinch. 'I am the most miserable man in the worldI believe!'

Tom begged he wouldn't mention it; and finding him in this
conditionretiredafter an awkward pausefollowed by Martin. But
Mr Tigg so urgently conjured themby coughs and signsto remain in
the shadow of the doorthat they stopped there.

'I swear' cried Mr Slymegiving the table an imbecile blow with
his fistand then feebly leaning his head upon his handwhile some
drunken drops oozed from his eyes'that I am the wretchedest
creature on record. Society is in a conspiracy against me. I'm the
most literary man alive. I'm full of scholarship. I'm full of
genius; I'm full of information; I'm full of novel views on every
subject; yet look at my condition! I'm at this moment obliged to two
strangers for a tavern bill!'

Mr Tigg replenished his friend's glasspressed it into his hand
and nodded an intimation to the visitors that they would see him in
a better aspect immediately.

'Obliged to two strangers for a tavern billeh!' repeated Mr Slyme
after a sulky application to his glass. 'Very pretty! And crowds of
impostorsthe whilebecoming famous; men who are no more on a
level with me than--TiggI take you to witness that I am the most
persecuted hound on the face of the earth.'

With a whinenot unlike the cry of the animal he namedin its
lowest state of humiliationhe raised his glass to his mouth again.
He found some encouragement in it; for when he set it down he
laughed scornfully. Upon that Mr Tigg gesticulated to the visitors
once moreand with great expressionimplying that now the time was
come when they would see Chiv in his greatness.

'Hahaha' laughed Mr Slyme. 'Obliged to two strangers for a
tavern bill! Yet I think I've a rich uncleTiggwho could buy up
the uncles of fifty strangers! Have Ior have I not? I come of a
good familyI believe! Do Ior do I not? I'm not a man of common
capacity or accomplishmentsI think! Am Ior am I not?'

'You are the American aloe of the human racemy dear Chiv' said Mr
Tigg'which only blooms once in a hundred years!'

'Hahaha!' laughed Mr Slyme again. 'Obliged to two strangers for
a tavern bill! I obliged to two architect's apprentices. Fellows
who measure earth with iron chainsand build houses like
bricklayers. Give me the names of those two apprentices. How dare
they oblige me!'

Mr Tigg was quite lost in admiration of this noble trait in his
friend's character; as he made known to Mr Pinch in a neat little
ballet of actionspontaneously invented for the purpose.

'I'll let 'em knowand I'll let all men know' cried Chevy Slyme
'that I'm none of the meangrovellingtame characters they meet
with commonly. I have an independent spirit. I have a heart that
swells in my bosom. I have a soul that rises superior to base
considerations.'


'Oh ChivChiv' murmured Mr Tigg'you have a nobly independent
natureChiv!'

'You go and do your dutysir' said Mr Slymeangrily'and borrow
money for travelling expenses; and whoever you borrow it oflet 'em
know that I possess a haughty spiritand a proud spiritand have
infernally finely-touched chords in my naturewhich won't brook
patronage. Do you hear? Tell 'em I hate 'emand that that's the
way I preserve my self-respect; and tell 'em that no man ever
respected himself more than I do!'

He might have added that he hated two sorts of men; all those who
did him favoursand all those who were better off than himself; as
in either case their position was an insult to a man of his
stupendous merits. But he did not; for with the apt closing words
above recitedMr Slyme; of too haughty a stomach to workto beg
to borrowor to steal; yet mean enough to be worked or borrowed
begged or stolen forby any catspaw that would serve his turn; too
insolent to lick the hand that fed him in his needyet cur enough
to bite and tear it in the dark; with these apt closing words Mr
Slyme fell forward with his head upon the tableand so declined
into a sodden sleep.

'Was there ever' cried Mr Tiggjoining the young men at the door
and shutting it carefully behind him'such an independent spirit as
is possessed by that extraordinary creature? Was there ever such a
Roman as our friend Chiv? Was there ever a man of such a purely
classical turn of thoughtand of such a toga-like simplicity of
nature? Was there ever a man with such a flow of eloquence? Might
he notgents bothI askhave sat upon a tripod in the ancient
timesand prophesied to a perfectly unlimited extentif previously
supplied with gin-and-water at the public cost?'

Mr Pinch was about to contest this latter position with his usual
mildnesswhenobserving that his companion had already gone
downstairshe prepared to follow him.

'You are not goingMr Pinch?' said Tigg.

'Thank you' answered Tom. 'Yes. Don't come down.'

'Do you know that I should like one little word in private with you
Mr Pinch?' said Tiggfollowing him. 'One minute of your company in
the skittle-ground would very much relieve my mind. Might I beseech
that favour?'

'Ohcertainly' replied Tom'if you really wish it.' So he
accompanied Mr Tigg to the retreat in question; on arriving at which
place that gentleman took from his hat what seemed to be the fossil
remains of an antediluvian pocket-handkerchiefand wiped his eyes
therewith.

'You have not beheld me this day' said Mr Tigg'in a favourable
light.'

'Don't mention that' said Tom'I beg.'

'But you have NOT' cried Tigg. 'I must persist in that opinion.
If you could have seen meMr Pinchat the head of my regiment on
the coast of Africacharging in the form of a hollow squarewith
the women and children and the regimental plate-chest in the centre
you would not have known me for the same man. You would have
respected mesir.'


Tom had certain ideas of his own upon the subject of glory; and
consequently he was not quite so much excited by this picture as Mr
Tigg could have desired.

'But no matter!' said that gentleman. 'The school-boy writing home
to his parents and describing the milk-and-watersaid "This is
indeed weakness." I repeat that assertion in reference to myself at
the present moment; and I ask your pardon. Siryou have seen my
friend Slyme?'

'No doubt' said Mr Pinch.

'Siryou have been impressed by my friend Slyme?'

'Not very pleasantlyI must say' answered Tomafter a little
hesitation.

'I am grieved but not surprised' cried Mr Tiggdetaining him with
both hands'to hear that you have come to that conclusion; for it
is my own. ButMr Pinchthough I am a rough and thoughtless man
I can honour Mind. I honour Mind in following my friend. To you of
all menMr PinchI have a right to make appeal on Mind's behalf
when it has not the art to push its fortune in the world. And so
sir--not for myselfwho have no claim upon youbut for my crushed
my sensitive and independent friendwho has--I ask the loan of
three half-crowns. I ask you for the loan of three half-crowns
distinctlyand without a blush. I ask italmost as a right. And
when I add that they will be returned by postthis weekI feel
that you will blame me for that sordid stipulation.'

Mr Pinch took from his pocket an old-fashioned red-leather purse
with a steel claspwhich had probably once belonged to his deceased
grandmother. It held one half-sovereign and no more. All Tom's
worldly wealth until next quarter-day.

'Stay!' cried Mr Tiggwho had watched this proceeding keenly. 'I
was just about to saythat for the convenience of posting you had
better make it gold. Thank you. A general directionI supposeto
Mr Pinch at Mr Pecksniff's--will that find you?'

'That'll find me' said Tom. 'You had better put Esquire to Mr
Pecksniff's nameif you please. Direct to meyou knowat Seth
Pecksniff'sEsquire.'

'At Seth Pecksniff'sEsquire' repeated Mr Tiggtaking an exact
note of it with a stump of pencil. 'We said this weekI believe?'

'Yes; or Monday will do' observed Tom.

'NonoI beg your pardon. Monday will NOT do' said Mr Tigg. 'If
we stipulated for this weekSaturday is the latest day. Did we
stipulate for this week?'

'Since you are so particular about it' said Tom'I think we did.'

Mr Tigg added this condition to his memorandum; read the entry over
to himself with a severe frown; and that the transaction might be
the more correct and business-likeappended his initials to the
whole. That donehe assured Mr Pinch that everything was now
perfectly regular; andafter squeezing his hand with great fervour
departed.

Tom entertained enough suspicion that Martin might possibly turn
this interview into a jestto render him desirous to avoid the


company of that young gentleman for the present. With this view he
took a few turns up and down the skittle-groundand did not reenter
the house until Mr Tigg and his friend had quitted itand the
new pupil and Mark were watching their departure from one of the
windows.

'I was just a-sayingsirthat if one could live by it' observed
Markpointing after their late guests'that would be the sort of
service for me. Waiting on such individuals as them would be better
than grave-diggingsir.'

'And staying here would be better than eitherMark' replied Tom.
'So take my adviceand continue to swim easily in smooth water.'

'It's too late to take it nowsir' said Mark. 'I have broke it to
hersir. I am off to-morrow morning.'

'Off!' cried Mr Pinch'where to?'

'I shall go up to Londonsir.'

'What to be?' asked Mr Pinch.

'Well! I don't know yetsir. Nothing turned up that day I opened
my mind to youas was at all likely to suit me. All them trades I
thought of was a deal too jolly; there was no credit at all to be
got in any of 'em. I must look for a private serviceI suppose
sir. I might be brought out strongperhapsin a serious family
Mr Pinch.'

'Perhaps you might come out rather too strong for a serious family's
tasteMark.'

'That's possiblesir. If I could get into a wicked familyI might
do myself justice; but the difficulty is to make sure of one's
groundbecause a young man can't very well advertise that he wants
a placeand wages an't so much an object as a wicked sitivation; can
hesir?'

'Whyno' said Mr Pinch'I don't think he can.'

'An envious family' pursued Markwith a thoughtful face; 'or a
quarrelsome familyor a malicious familyor even a good out-andout
mean familywould open a field of action as I might do
something in. The man as would have suited me of all other men was
that old gentleman as was took ill herefor he really was a trying
customer. HowseverI must wait and see what turns upsir; and
hope for the worst.'

'You are determined to go then?' said Mr Pinch.

'My box is gone alreadysirby the waggonand I'm going to walk
on to-morrow morningand get a lift by the day coach when it
overtakes me. So I wish you good-byeMr Pinch--and you toosir-and
all good luck and happiness!'

They both returned his greeting laughinglyand walked home arm-inarm.
Mr Pinch imparting to his new friendas they wentsuch
further particulars of Mark Tapley's whimsical restlessness as the
reader is already acquainted with.

In the meantime Markhaving a shrewd notion that his mistress was
in very low spiritsand that he could not exactly answer for the
consequences of any lengthened TETE-A-TETE in the barkept himself


obstinately out of her way all the afternoon and evening. In this
piece of generalship he was very much assisted by the great influx
of company into the taproom; for the news of his intention having
gone abroadthere was a perfect throng there all the eveningand
much drinking of healths and clinking of mugs. At length the house
was closed for the night; and there being now no help for itMark
put the best face he could upon the matterand walked doggedly to
the bar-door.

'If I look at her' said Mark to himself'I'm done. I feel that
I'm a-going fast.'

'You have come at last' said Mrs Lupin.

AyeMark said: There he was.

'And you are determined to leave usMark?' cried Mrs Lupin.

'Whyyes; I am' said Mark; keeping his eyes hard upon the floor.

'I thought' pursued the landladywith a most engaging hesitation
'that you had been--fond--of the Dragon?'

'So I am' said Mark.

'Then' pursued the hostess--and it really was not an unnatural
inquiry--'why do you desert it?'

But as he gave no manner of answer to this question; not even on its
being repeated; Mrs Lupin put his money into his handand asked
him--not unkindlyquite the contrary--what he would take?

It is proverbial that there are certain things which flesh and blood
cannot bear. Such a question as thispropounded in such a manner
at such a timeand by such a personproved (at leastas far as
Mark's flesh and blood were concerned) to be one of them. He looked
up in spite of himself directly; and having once looked upthere
was no looking down again; for of all the tightplumpbuxom
bright-eyeddimple-faced landladies that ever shone on earththere
stood before him thenbodily in that barthe very pink and
pineapple.

'WhyI tell you what' said Markthrowing off all his constraint
in an instant and seizing the hostess round the waist--at which she
was not at all alarmedfor she knew what a good young man he was-'
if I took what I liked mostI should take you. If I only thought
what was best for meI should take you. If I took what nineteen
young fellows in twenty would be glad to takeand would take at any
priceI should take you. YesI should' cried Mr Tapleyshaking
his head expressively enoughand looking (in a momentary state of
forgetfulness) rather hard at the hostess's ripe lips. 'And no man
wouldn't wonder if I did!'

Mrs Lupin said he amazed her. She was astonished how he could say
such things. She had never thought it of him.

'WhyI never thought if of myself till now!' said Markraising his
eyebrows with a look of the merriest possible surprise. 'I always
expected we should partand never have no explanation; I meant to
do it when I come in here just now; but there's something about you
as makes a man sensible. Then let us have a word or two together;
letting it be understood beforehand' he added this in a grave tone
to prevent the possibility of any mistake'that I'm not a-going to
make no loveyou know.'


There was for just one second a shadethough not by any means a
dark oneon the landlady's open brow. But it passed off instantly
in a laugh that came from her very heart.

'Ohvery good!' she said; 'if there is to be no love-makingyou
had better take your arm away.'

'Lordwhy should I!' cried Mark. 'It's quite innocent.'

'Of course it's innocent' returned the hostess'or I shouldn't
allow it.'

'Very well!' said Mark. 'Then let it be.'

There was so much reason in this that the landlady laughed again
suffered it to remainand bade him say what he had to sayand be
quick about it. But he was an impudent fellowshe added.

'Ha ha! I almost think I am!' cried Mark'though I never thought so
before. WhyI can say anything to-night!'

'Say what you're going to say if you pleaseand be quick' returned
the landlady'for I want to get to bed.'

'Whythenmy dear good soul' said Mark'and a kinder woman than
you are never drawed breath--let me see the man as says she did!-what
would be the likely consequence of us two being--'

'Oh nonsense!' cried Mrs Lupin. 'Don't talk about that any more.'

'Nonobut it an't nonsense' said Mark; 'and I wish you'd attend.
What would be the likely consequence of us two being married? If I
can't be content and comfortable in this here lively Dragon nowis
it to be looked for as I should be then? By no means. Very good.
Then youeven with your good humourwould be always on the fret
and worritalways uncomfortable in your own mindalways a-thinking
as you was getting too old for my tastealways a-picturing me to
yourself as being chained up to the Dragon doorand wanting to
break away. I don't know that it would be so' said Mark'but I
don't know that it mightn't be. I am a roving sort of chapI know.
I'm fond of change. I'm always a-thinking that with my good health
and spirits it would be more creditable in me to be jolly where
there's things a-going on to make one dismal. It may be a mistake
of mine you seebut nothing short of trying how it acts will set it
right. Then an't it best that I should go; particular when your
free way has helped me out to say all thisand we can part as good
friends as we have ever been since first I entered this here noble
Dragonwhich' said Mr Tapley in conclusion'has my good word and
my good wish to the day of my death!'

The hostess sat quite silent for a little timebut she very soon
put both her hands in Mark's and shook them heartily.

'For you are a good man' she said; looking into his face with a
smilewhich was rather serious for her. 'And I do believe have
been a better friend to me to-night than ever I have had in all my
life.'

'Oh! as to thatyou know' said Mark'that's nonsense. But love
my heart alive!' he addedlooking at her in a sort of rapture'if
you ARE that way disposedwhat a lot of suitable husbands there is
as you may drive distracted!'


She laughed again at this compliment; andonce more shaking him by
both handsand bidding himif he should ever want a friendto
remember herturned gayly from the little bar and up the Dragon
staircase.

'Humming a tune as she goes' said Marklistening'in case I
should think she's at all put outand should be made down-hearted.
Comehere's some credit in being jollyat last!'

With that piece of comfortvery ruefully utteredhe wentin
anything but a jolly mannerto bed.

He rose early next morningand was a-foot soon after sunrise. But
it was of no use; the whole place was up to see Mark Tapley off; the
boysthe dogsthe childrenthe old menthe busy people and the
idlers; there they wereall calling out 'Good-b'yeMark' after
their own mannerand all sorry he was going. Somehow he had a kind
of sense that his old mistress was peeping from her chamber-window
but he couldn't make up his mind to look back.

'Good-b'ye onegood-b'ye all!' cried Markwaving his hat on the
top of his walking-stickas he strode at a quick pace up the little
street. 'Hearty chaps them wheelwrights--hurrah! Here's the
butcher's dog a-coming out of the garden--downold fellow! And Mr
Pinch a-going to his organ--good-b'yesir! And the terrier-bitch
from over the way--hiethenlass! And children enough to hand down
human natur to the latest posterity--good-b'yeboys and girls!
There's some credit in it now. I'm a-coming out strong at last.
These are the circumstances that would try a ordinary mind; but I'm
uncommon jolly. Not quite as jolly as I could wish to bebut very
near. Good-b'ye! good-b'ye!'

CHAPTER EIGHT

ACCOMPANIES MR PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS TO THE CITY OF
LONDON; AND RELATES WHAT FELL OUT UPON THEIR WAY THITHER

When Mr Pecksniff and the two young ladies got into the heavy
coach at the end of the lanethey found it emptywhich was a great
comfort; particularly as the outside was quite full and the
passengers looked very frosty. For as Mr Pecksniff justly observed
--when he and his daughters had burrowed their feet deep in the
strawwrapped themselves to the chinand pulled up both windows-it
is always satisfactory to feelin keen weatherthat many other
people are not as warm as you are. And thishe saidwas quite
naturaland a very beautiful arrangement; not confined to coaches
but extending itself into many social ramifications. 'For' (he
observed)'if every one were warm and well-fedwe should lose the
satisfaction of admiring the fortitude with which certain conditions
of men bear cold and hunger. And if we were no better off than
anybody elsewhat would become of our sense of gratitude; which'
said Mr Pecksniff with tears in his eyesas he shook his fist at a
beggar who wanted to get up behind'is one of the holiest feelings
of our common nature.'

His children heard with becoming reverence these moral precepts from
the lips of their fatherand signified their acquiescence in the
sameby smiles. That he might the better feed and cherish that
sacred flame of gratitude in his breastMr Pecksniff remarked that
he would trouble his eldest daughtereven in this early stage of
their journeyfor the brandy-bottle. And from the narrow neck of


that stone vessel he imbibed a copious refreshment.

'What are we?' said Mr Pecksniff'but coaches? Some of us are slow
coaches'-


'GoodnessPa!' cried Charity.

'Some of usI say' resumed her parent with increased emphasis
'are slow coaches; some of us are fast coaches. Our passions are
the horses; and rampant animals too--!'

'ReallyPa' cried both the daughters at once. 'How very
unpleasant.'

'And rampant animals too' repeated Mr Pecksniff with so much
determinationthat he may be said to have exhibitedat the moment
a sort of moral rampancy himself;'--and Virtue is the drag. We start
from The Mother's Armsand we run to The Dust Shovel.'

When he had said thisMr Pecksniffbeing exhaustedtook some
further refreshment. When he had done thathe corked the bottle
tightwith the air of a man who had effectually corked the subject
also; and went to sleep for three stages.

The tendency of mankind when it falls asleep in coachesis to wake
up cross; to find its legs in its way; and its corns an aggravation.
Mr Pecksniff not being exempt from the common lot of humanity found
himselfat the end of his napso decidedly the victim of these
infirmitiesthat he had an irresistible inclination to visit them
upon his daughters; which he had already begun to do in the shape of
divers random kicksand other unexpected motions of his shoeswhen
the coach stoppedand after a short delay the door was opened.

'Now mind' said a thin sharp voice in the dark. 'I and my son go
insidebecause the roof is fullbut you agree only to charge us
outside prices. It's quite understood that we won't pay more. Is
it?'

'All rightsir' replied the guard.

'Is there anybody inside now?' inquired the voice.

'Three passengers' returned the guard.

'Then I ask the three passengers to witness this bargainif they
will be so good' said the voice. 'My boyI think we may safely
get in.'

In pursuance of which opiniontwo people took their seats in the
vehiclewhich was solemnly licensed by Act of Parliament to carry
any six persons who could be got in at the door.

'That was lucky!' whispered the old manwhen they moved on again.
'And a great stroke of policy in you to observe it. Hehehe! We
couldn't have gone outside. I should have died of the rheumatism!'

Whether it occurred to the dutiful son that he had in some degree
over-reached himself by contributing to the prolongation of his
father's days; or whether the cold had effected his temper; is
doubtful. But he gave his father such a nudge in replythat that
good old gentleman was taken with a cough which lasted for full five
minutes without intermissionand goaded Mr Pecksniff to that pitch
of irritationthat he said at last--and very suddenly:


'There is no room! There is really no room in this coach for any
gentleman with a cold in his head!'

'Mine' said the old manafter a moment's pause'is upon my chest
Pecksniff.'

The voice and mannertogethernow that he spoke out; the composure
of the speaker; the presence of his son; and his knowledge of Mr
Pecksniff; afforded a clue to his identity which it was impossible
to mistake.

'Hem! I thought' said Mr Pecksniffreturning to his usual
mildness'that I addressed a stranger. I find that I address a
relativeMr Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Mr Jonas--for theymy
dear childrenare our travelling companions--will excuse me for an
apparently harsh remark. It is not MY desire to wound the feelings
of any person with whom I am connected in family bonds. I may be a
Hypocrite' said Mr Pecksniffcuttingly; 'but I am not a Brute.'

'Poohpooh!' said the old man. 'What signifies that word
Pecksniff? Hypocrite! whywe are all hypocrites. We were all
hypocrites t'other day. I am sure I felt that to be agreed upon
among usor I shouldn't have called you one. We should not have
been there at allif we had not been hypocrites. The only
difference between you and the rest was--shall I tell you the
difference between you and the rest nowPecksniff?'

'If you pleasemy good sir; if you please.'

'Whythe annoying quality in YOUis' said the old man'that you
never have a confederate or partner in YOUR juggling; you would
deceive everybodyeven those who practise the same art; and have a
way with youas if you--hehehe!--as if you really believed
yourself. I'd lay a handsome wager now' said the old man'if I
laid wagerswhich I don't and never didthat you keep up
appearances by a tacit understandingeven before your own daughters
here. Now Iwhen I have a business scheme in handtell Jonas what
it isand we discuss it openly. You're not offendedPecksniff?'

'Offendedmy good sir!' cried that gentlemanas if he had received
the highest compliments that language could convey.

'Are you travelling to LondonMr Pecksniff?' asked the son.

'YesMr Jonaswe are travelling to London. We shall have the
pleasure of your company all the wayI trust?'

'Oh! ecodyou had better ask father that' said Jonas. 'I am not
a-going to commit myself.'

Mr Pecksniff wasas a matter of coursegreatly entertained by this
retort. His mirth having subsidedMr Jonas gave him to understand
that himself and parent were in fact travelling to their home in the
metropolis; and thatsince the memorable day of the great family
gatheringthey had been tarrying in that part of the country
watching the sale of certain eligible investmentswhich they had
had in their copartnership eye when they came down; for it was their
customMr Jonas saidwhenever such a thing was practicableto
kill two birds with one stoneand never to throw away spratsbut
as bait for whales. When he had communicated to Mr Pecksniff these
pithy scraps of intelligencehe said'That if it was all the same
to himhe would turn him over to fatherand have a chat with the
gals;' and in furtherance of this polite schemehe vacated his seat
adjoining that gentlemanand established himself in the opposite


cornernext to the fair Miss Mercy.

The education of Mr Jonas had been conducted from his cradle on the
strictest principles of the main chance. The very first word he
learnt to spell was 'gain' and the second (when he got into two
syllables)'money.' But for two resultswhich were not clearly
foreseen perhaps by his watchful parent in the beginninghis
training may be said to have been unexceptionable. One of these
flaws wasthat having been long taught by his father to over-reach
everybodyhe had imperceptibly acquired a love of over-reaching that
venerable monitor himself. The otherthat from his early habits of
considering everything as a question of propertyhe had gradually
come to lookwith impatienceon his parent as a certain amount of
personal estatewhich had no right whatever to be going at large
but ought to be secured in that particular description of iron safe
which is commonly called a coffinand banked in the grave.

'Wellcousin!' said Mr Jonas--'Because we ARE cousinsyou knowa
few times removed--so you're going to London?'

Miss Mercy replied in the affirmativepinching her sister's arm at
the same timeand giggling excessively.

'Lots of beaux in Londoncousin!' said Mr Jonasslightly advancing
his elbow.

'Indeedsir!' cried the young lady. 'They won't hurt ussirI
dare say.' And having given him this answer with great demureness
she was so overcome by her own humourthat she was fain to stifle
her merriment in her sister's shawl.

'Merry' cried that more prudent damsel'really I am ashamed of
you. How can you go on so? You wild thing!' At which Miss Merry
only laughed the moreof course.

'I saw a wildness in her eyet'other day' said Mr Jonas
addressing Charity. 'But you're the one to sit solemn! I say--You
were regularly primcousin!'

Oh! The old-fashioned fright!' cried Merry, in a whisper. 'Cherry
my dear, upon my word you must sit next him. I shall die outright
if he talks to me any more; I shall, positively!' To prevent which
fatal consequence, the buoyant creature skipped out of her seat as
she spoke, and squeezed her sister into the place from which she had
risen.

'Don't mind crowding me,' cried Mr Jonas. 'I like to be crowded by
gals. Come a little closer, cousin.'

'No, thank you, sir,' said Charity.

'There's that other one a-laughing again,' said Mr Jonas; 'she's alaughing
at my father, I shouldn't wonder. If he puts on that old
flannel nightcap of his, I don't know what she'll do! Is that my
father a-snoring, Pecksniff?'

'Yes, Mr Jonas.'

'Tread upon his foot, will you be so good?' said the young
gentleman. 'The foot next you's the gouty one.'

Mr Pecksniff hesitating to perform this friendly office, Mr Jonas
did it himself; at the same time crying:


'Come, wake up, father, or you'll be having the nightmare, and
screeching out, I know.--Do you ever have the nightmare, cousin?' he
asked his neighbour, with characteristic gallantry, as he dropped
his voice again.

'Sometimes,' answered Charity. 'Not often.'

'The other one,' said Mr Jonas, after a pause. 'Does SHE ever have
the nightmare?'

'I don't know,' replied Charity. 'You had better ask her.'

'She laughs so,' said Jonas; 'there's no talking to her. Only hark
how she's a-going on now! You're the sensible one, cousin!'

'Tut, tut!' cried Charity.

'Oh! But you are! You know you are!'

'Mercy is a little giddy,' said Miss Charity. But she'll sober down
in time.'

'It'll be a very long time, then, if she does at all,' rejoined her
cousin. 'Take a little more room.'

'I am afraid of crowding you,' said Charity. But she took it
notwithstanding; and after one or two remarks on the extreme
heaviness of the coach, and the number of places it stopped at, they
fell into a silence which remained unbroken by any member of the
party until supper-time.

Although Mr Jonas conducted Charity to the hotel and sat himself
beside her at the board, it was pretty clear that he had an eye to
'the other one' also, for he often glanced across at Mercy, and
seemed to draw comparisons between the personal appearance of the
two, which were not unfavourable to the superior plumpness of the
younger sister. He allowed himself no great leisure for this kind
of observation, however, being busily engaged with the supper,
which, as he whispered in his fair companion's ear, was a contract
business, and therefore the more she ate, the better the bargain
was. His father and Mr Pecksniff, probably acting on the same wise
principle, demolished everything that came within their reach, and
by that means acquired a greasy expression of countenance,
indicating contentment, if not repletion, which it was very pleasant
to contemplate.

When they could eat no more, Mr Pecksniff and Mr Jonas subscribed
for two sixpenny-worths of hot brandy-and-water, which the latter
gentleman considered a more politic order than one shillingsworth;
there being a chance of their getting more spirit out of the
innkeeper under this arrangement than if it were all in one glass.
Having swallowed his share of the enlivening fluid, Mr Pecksniff,
under pretence of going to see if the coach were ready, went
secretly to the bar, and had his own little bottle filled, in order
that he might refresh himself at leisure in the dark coach without
being observed.

These arrangements concluded, and the coach being ready, they got
into their old places and jogged on again. But before he composed
himself for a nap, Mr Pecksniff delivered a kind of grace after
meat, in these words:

'The process of digestion, as I have been informed by anatomical
friends, is one of the most wonderful works of nature. I do not


know how it may be with others, but it is a great satisfaction to me
to know, when regaling on my humble fare, that I am putting in
motion the most beautiful machinery with which we have any
acquaintance. I really feel at such times as if I was doing a
public service. When I have wound myself up, if I may employ such a
term,' said Mr Pecksniff with exquisite tenderness, 'and know that I
am Going, I feel that in the lesson afforded by the works within me,
I am a Benefactor to my Kind!'

As nothing could be added to this, nothing was said; and Mr
Pecksniff, exulting, it may be presumed, in his moral utility, went
to sleep again.

The rest of the night wore away in the usual manner. Mr Pecksniff
and Old Anthony kept tumbling against each other and waking up much
terrified, or crushed their heads in opposite corners of the coach
and strangely tattooed the surface of their faces--Heaven knows how
--in their sleep. The coach stopped and went on, and went on and
stopped, times out of number. Passengers got up and passengers got
down, and fresh horses came and went and came again, with scarcely
any interval between each team as it seemed to those who were
dozing, and with a gap of a whole night between every one as it
seemed to those who were broad awake. At length they began to jolt
and rumble over horribly uneven stones, and Mr Pecksniff looking out
of window said it was to-morrow morning, and they were there.

Very soon afterwards the coach stopped at the office in the city;
and the street in which it was situated was already in a bustle,
that fully bore out Mr Pecksniff's words about its being morning,
though for any signs of day yet appearing in the sky it might have
been midnight. There was a dense fog too; as if it were a city in
the clouds, which they had been travelling to all night up a magic
beanstalk; and there was a thick crust upon the pavement like
oilcake; which, one of the outsides (mad, no doubt) said to another
(his keeper, of course), was Snow.

Taking a confused leave of Anthony and his son, and leaving the
luggage of himself and daughters at the office to be called for
afterwards, Mr Pecksniff, with one of the young ladies under each
arm, dived across the street, and then across other streets, and so
up the queerest courts, and down the strangest alleys and under the
blindest archways, in a kind of frenzy; now skipping over a kennel,
now running for his life from a coach and horses; now thinking he
had lost his way, now thinking he had found it; now in a state of
the highest confidence, now despondent to the last degree, but
always in a great perspiration and flurry; until at length they
stopped in a kind of paved yard near the Monument. That is to say,
Mr Pecksniff told them so; for as to anything they could see of the
Monument, or anything else but the buildings close at hand, they
might as well have been playing blindman's buff at Salisbury.

Mr Pecksniff looked about him for a moment, and then knocked at the
door of a very dingy edifice, even among the choice collection of
dingy edifices at hand; on the front of which was a little oval
board like a tea-tray, with this inscription--'Commercial Boarding-
House: M. Todgers.'

It seemed that M. Todgers was not up yet, for Mr Pecksniff knocked
twice and rang thrice, without making any impression on anything but
a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were withdrawn
with a rusty noise, as if the weather had made the very fastenings
hoarse, and a small boy with a large red head, and no nose to speak
of, and a very dirty Wellington boot on his left arm, appeared; who
(being surprised) rubbed the nose just mentioned with the back of a


shoe-brush, and said nothing.

'Still a-bed my man?' asked Mr Pecksniff.

'Still a-bed!' replied the boy. 'I wish they wos still a-bed.
They're very noisy a-bed; all calling for their boots at once. I
thought you was the Paper, and wondered why you didn't shove
yourself through the grating as usual. What do you want?'

Considering his years, which were tender, the youth may be said to
have preferred this question sternly, and in something of a defiant
manner. But Mr Pecksniff, without taking umbrage at his bearing put
a card in his hand, and bade him take that upstairs, and show them
in the meanwhile into a room where there was a fire.

'Or if there's one in the eating parlour,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'I can
find it myself.' So he led his daughters, without waiting for any
further introduction, into a room on the ground-floor, where a
table-cloth (rather a tight and scanty fit in reference to the table
it covered) was already spread for breakfast; displaying a mighty
dish of pink boiled beef; an instance of that particular style of
loaf which is known to housekeepers as a slack-baked, crummy
quartern; a liberal provision of cups and saucers; and the usual
appendages.

Inside the fender were some half-dozen pairs of shoes and boots, of
various sizes, just cleaned and turned with the soles upwards to
dry; and a pair of short black gaiters, on one of which was chalked
--in sport, it would appear, by some gentleman who had slipped down
for the purpose, pending his toilet, and gone up again--'Jinkins's
Particular,' while the other exhibited a sketch in profile, claiming
to be the portrait of Jinkins himself.

M. Todgers's Commercial Boarding-House was a house of that sort
which is likely to be dark at any time; but that morning it was
especially dark. There was an odd smell in the passage, as if the
concentrated essence of all the dinners that had been cooked in the
kitchen since the house was built, lingered at the top of the
kitchen stairs to that hour, and like the Black Friar in Don Juan,
'wouldn't be driven away.' In particular, there was a sensation of
cabbage; as if all the greens that had ever been boiled there, were
evergreens, and flourished in immortal strength. The parlour was
wainscoted, and communicated to strangers a magnetic and instinctive
consciousness of rats and mice. The staircase was very gloomy and
very broad, with balustrades so thick and heavy that they would have
served for a bridge. In a sombre corner on the first landing, stood
a gruff old giant of a clock, with a preposterous coronet of three
brass balls on his head; whom few had ever seen--none ever looked in
the face--and who seemed to continue his heavy tick for no other
reason than to warn heedless people from running into him
accidentally. It had not been papered or painted, hadn't Todgers's,
within the memory of man. It was very black, begrimed, and mouldy.
And, at the top of the staircase, was an old, disjointed, rickety,
ill-favoured skylight, patched and mended in all kinds of ways,
which looked distrustfully down at everything that passed below, and
covered Todgers's up as if it were a sort of human cucumber-frame,
and only people of a peculiar growth were reared there.
Mr Pecksniff and his fair daughters had not stood warming themselves
at the fire ten minutes, when the sound of feet was heard upon the
stairs, and the presiding deity of the establishment came hurrying
in.

M. Todgers was a lady, rather a bony and hard-featured lady, with a

row of curls in front of her head, shaped like little barrels of
beer; and on the top of it something made of net--you couldn't call
it a cap exactly--which looked like a black cobweb. She had a
little basket on her arm, and in it a bunch of keys that jingled as
she came. In her other hand she bore a flaming tallow candle,
which, after surveying Mr Pecksniff for one instant by its light,
she put down upon the table, to the end that she might receive him
with the greater cordiality.

'Mr Pecksniff!' cried Mrs Todgers. 'Welcome to London! Who would
have thought of such a visit as this, after so--dear, dear!--so many
years! How do you DO, Mr Pecksniff?'

'As well as ever; and as glad to see you, as ever;' Mr Pecksniff
made response. 'Why, you are younger than you used to be!'

'YOU are, I am sure!' said Mrs Todgers. 'You're not a bit changed.'

'What do you say to this?' cried Mr Pecksniff, stretching out his
hand towards the young ladies. 'Does this make me no older?'

'Not your daughters!' exclaimed the lady, raising her hands and
clasping them. 'Oh, no, Mr Pecksniff! Your second, and her
bridesmaid!'

Mr Pecksniff smiled complacently; shook his head; and said, 'My
daughters, Mrs Todgers. Merely my daughters.'

'Ah!' sighed the good lady, 'I must believe you, for now I look at
'em I think I should have known 'em anywhere. My dear Miss
Pecksniffs, how happy your Pa has made me!'

She hugged them both; and being by this time overpowered by her
feelings or the inclemency of the morning, jerked a little pocket
handkerchief out of the little basket, and applied the same to her
face.

'Now, my good madam,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'I know the rules of your
establishment, and that you only receive gentlemen boarders. But it
occurred to me, when I left home, that perhaps you would give my
daughters house room, and make an exception in their favour.'

'Perhaps?' cried Mrs Todgers ecstatically. 'Perhaps?'

'I may say then, that I was sure you would,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'I
know that you have a little room of your own, and that they can be
comfortable there, without appearing at the general table.'

'Dear girls!' said Mrs Todgers. 'I must take that liberty once
more.'

Mrs Todgers meant by this that she must embrace them once more,
which she accordingly did with great ardour. But the truth was that
the house being full with the exception of one bed, which would now
be occupied by Mr Pecksniff, she wanted time for consideration; and
so much time too (for it was a knotty point how to dispose of them),
that even when this second embrace was over, she stood for some
moments gazing at the sisters, with affection beaming in one eye,
and calculation shining out of the other.

'I think I know how to arrange it,' said Mrs Todgers, at length. 'A
sofa bedstead in the little third room which opens from my own
parlour.--Oh, you dear girls!'


Thereupon she embraced them once more, observing that she could not
decide which was most like their poor mother (which was highly
probable, seeing that she had never beheld that lady), but that she
rather thought the youngest was; and then she said that as the
gentlemen would be down directly, and the ladies were fatigued with
travelling, would they step into her room at once?

It was on the same floor; being, in fact, the back parlour; and had,
as Mrs Todgers said, the great advantage (in London) of not being
overlooked; as they would see when the fog cleared off. Nor was
this a vainglorious boast, for it commanded at a perspective of two
feet, a brown wall with a black cistern on the top. The sleeping
apartment designed for the young ladies was approached from this
chamber by a mightily convenient little door, which would only open
when fallen against by a strong person. It commanded from a similar
point of sight another angle of the wall, and another side of the
cistern. 'Not the damp side,' said Mrs Todgers. 'THAT is Mr
Jinkins's.'

In the first of these sanctuaries a fire was speedily kindled by the
youthful porter, who, whistling at his work in the absence of Mrs
Todgers (not to mention his sketching figures on his corduroys with
burnt firewood), and being afterwards taken by that lady in the
fact, was dismissed with a box on his ears. Having prepared
breakfast for the young ladies with her own hands, she withdrew to
preside in the other room; where the joke at Mr Jinkins's expense
seemed to be proceeding rather noisily.

'I won't ask you yet, my dears,' said Mr Pecksniff, looking in at
the door, 'how you like London. Shall I?'

'We haven't seen much of it, Pa!' cried Merry.

'Nothing, I hope,' said Cherry. (Both very miserably.)

'Indeed,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'that's true. We have our pleasure,
and our business too, before us. All in good time. All in good
time!'

Whether Mr Pecksniff's business in London was as strictly
professional as he had given his new pupil to understand, we shall
see, to adopt that worthy man's phraseology, 'all in good time.'

CHAPTER NINE

TOWN AND TODGER'S

Surely there never was, in any other borough, city, or hamlet in the
world, such a singular sort of a place as Todgers's. And surely
London, to judge from that part of it which hemmed Todgers's round
and hustled it, and crushed it, and stuck its brick-and-mortar
elbows into it, and kept the air from it, and stood perpetually
between it and the light, was worthy of Todgers's, and qualified to
be on terms of close relationship and alliance with hundreds and
thousands of the odd family to which Todgers's belonged.

You couldn't walk about Todgers's neighbourhood, as you could in any
other neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes
and byways, and court-yards, and passages; and you never once
emerged upon anything that might be reasonably called a street. A
kind of resigned distraction came over the stranger as he trod those


devious mazes, and, giving himself up for lost, went in and out and
round about and quietly turned back again when he came to a dead
wall or was stopped by an iron railing, and felt that the means of
escape might possibly present themselves in their own good time, but
that to anticipate them was hopeless. Instances were known of
people who, being asked to dine at Todgers's, had travelled round
and round for a weary time, with its very chimney-pots in view; and
finding it, at last, impossible of attainment, had gone home again
with a gentle melancholy on their spirits, tranquil and
uncomplaining. Nobody had ever found Todgers's on a verbal
direction, though given within a few minutes' walk of it. Cautious
emigrants from Scotland or the North of England had been known to
reach it safely, by impressing a charity-boy, town-bred, and
bringing him along with them; or by clinging tenaciously to the
postman; but these were rare exceptions, and only went to prove the
rule that Todgers's was in a labyrinth, whereof the mystery was
known but to a chosen few.

Several fruit-brokers had their marts near Todgers's; and one of the
first impressions wrought upon the stranger's senses was of oranges
--of damaged oranges--with blue and green bruises on them, festering
in boxes, or mouldering away in cellars. All day long, a stream of
porters from the wharves beside the river, each bearing on his back
a bursting chest of oranges, poured slowly through the narrow
passages; while underneath the archway by the public-house, the
knots of those who rested and regaled within, were piled from
morning until night. Strange solitary pumps were found near
Todgers's hiding themselves for the most part in blind alleys, and
keeping company with fire-ladders. There were churches also by
dozens, with many a ghostly little churchyard, all overgrown with
such straggling vegetation as springs up spontaneously from damp,
and graves, and rubbish. In some of these dingy resting-places
which bore much the same analogy to green churchyards, as the pots
of earth for mignonette and wall-flower in the windows overlooking
them did to rustic gardens, there were trees; tall trees; still
putting forth their leaves in each succeeding year, with such a
languishing remembrance of their kind (so one might fancy, looking
on their sickly boughs) as birds in cages have of theirs. Here,
paralysed old watchmen guarded the bodies of the dead at night, year
after year, until at last they joined that solemn brotherhood; and,
saving that they slept below the ground a sounder sleep than even
they had ever known above it, and were shut up in another kind of
box, their condition can hardly be said to have undergone any
material change when they, in turn, were watched themselves.

Among the narrow thoroughfares at hand, there lingered, here and
there, an ancient doorway of carved oak, from which, of old, the
sounds of revelry and feasting often came; but now these mansions,
only used for storehouses, were dark and dull, and, being filled
with wool, and cotton, and the like--such heavy merchandise as
stifles sound and stops the throat of echo--had an air of palpable
deadness about them which, added to their silence and desertion,
made them very grim. In like manner, there were gloomy courtyards
in these parts, into which few but belated wayfarers ever strayed,
and where vast bags and packs of goods, upward or downward bound,
were for ever dangling between heaven and earth from lofty cranes
There were more trucks near Todgers's than you would suppose whole
city could ever need; not active trucks, but a vagabond race, for
ever lounging in the narrow lanes before their masters' doors and
stopping up the pass; so that when a stray hackney-coach or
lumbering waggon came that way, they were the cause of such an
uproar as enlivened the whole neighbourhood, and made the bells in
the next churchtower vibrate again. In the throats and maws of dark
no-thoroughfares near Todgers's, individual wine-merchants and


wholesale dealers in grocery-ware had perfect little towns of their
own; and, deep among the foundations of these buildings, the ground
was undermined and burrowed out into stables, where cart-horses,
troubled by rats, might be heard on a quiet Sunday rattling their
halters, as disturbed spirits in tales of haunted houses are said to
clank their chains.

To tell of half the queer old taverns that had a drowsy and secret
existence near Todgers's, would fill a goodly book; while a second
volume no less capacious might be devoted to an account of the
quaint old guests who frequented their dimly lighted parlours.
These were, in general, ancient inhabitants of that region; born,
and bred there from boyhood. who had long since become wheezy and
asthmatical, and short of breath, except in the article of storytelling;
in which respect they were still marvellously long-winded.
These gentry were much opposed to steam and all new-fangled ways,
and held ballooning to be sinful, and deplored the degeneracy of the
times; which that particular member of each little club who kept the
keys of the nearest church, professionally, always attributed to the
prevalence of dissent and irreligion; though the major part of the
company inclined to the belief that virtue went out with hairpowder,
and that Old England's greatness had decayed amain with
barbers.

As to Todgers's itself--speaking of it only as a house in that
neighbourhood, and making no reference to its merits as a commercial
boarding establishment--it was worthy to stand where it did. There
was one staircase-window in it, at the side of the house, on the
ground floor; which tradition said had not been opened for a hundred
years at least, and which, abutting on an always dirty lane, was so
begrimed and coated with a century's mud, that no one pane of glass
could possibly fall out, though all were cracked and broken twenty
times. But the grand mystery of Todgers's was the cellarage,
approachable only by a little back door and a rusty grating; which
cellarage within the memory of man had had no connection with the
house, but had always been the freehold property of somebody else,
and was reported to be full of wealth; though in what shape--whether
in silver, brass, or gold, or butts of wine, or casks of gun-powder-was
matter of profound uncertainty and supreme indifference to
Todgers's and all its inmates.

The top of the house was worthy of notice. There was a sort of
terrace on the roof, with posts and fragments of rotten lines, once
intended to dry clothes upon; and there were two or three tea-chests
out there, full of earth, with forgotten plants in them, like old
walking-sticks. Whoever climbed to this observatory, was stunned at
first from having knocked his head against the little door in coming
out; and after that, was for the moment choked from having looked
perforce, straight down the kitchen chimney; but these two stages
over, there were things to gaze at from the top of Todgers's, well
worth your seeing too. For first and foremost, if the day were
bright, you observed upon the house-tops, stretching far away, a
long dark path; the shadow of the Monument; and turning round, the
tall original was close beside you, with every hair erect upon his
golden head, as if the doings of the city frightened him. Then
there were steeples, towers, belfries, shining vanes, and masts of
ships; a very forest. Gables, housetops, garret-windows, wilderness
upon wilderness. Smoke and noise enough for all the world at once.

After the first glance, there were slight features in the midst of
this crowd of objects, which sprung out from the mass without any
reason, as it were, and took hold of the attention whether the
spectator would or no. Thus, the revolving chimney-pots on one
great stack of buildings seemed to be turning gravely to each other


every now and then, and whispering the result of their separate
observation of what was going on below. Others, of a crook-backed
shape, appeared to be maliciously holding themselves askew, that
they might shut the prospect out and baffle Todgers's. The man who
was mending a pen at an upper window over the way, became of
paramount importance in the scene, and made a blank in it,
ridiculously disproportionate in its extent, when he retired. The
gambols of a piece of cloth upon the dyer's pole had far more
interest for the moment than all the changing motion of the crowd.
Yet even while the looker-on felt angry with himself for this, and
wondered how it was, the tumult swelled into a roar; the hosts of
objects seemed to thicken and expand a hundredfold, and after gazing
round him, quite scared, he turned into Todgers's again, much more
rapidly than he came out; and ten to one he told M. Todgers
afterwards that if he hadn't done so, he would certainly have come
into the street by the shortest cut; that is to say, head-foremost.

So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they retired with Mrs Todgers
from this place of espial, leaving the youthful porter to close the
door and follow them downstairs; who, being of a playful temperament,
and contemplating with a delight peculiar to his sex and time of
life, any chance of dashing himself into small fragments, lingered
behind to walk upon the parapet.

It being the second day of their stay in London, the Miss Pecksniffs
and Mrs Todgers were by this time highly confidential, insomuch that
the last-named lady had already communicated the particulars of
three early disappointments of a tender nature; and had furthermore
possessed her young friends with a general summary of the life,
conduct, and character of Mr Todgers. Who, it seemed, had cut his
matrimonial career rather short, by unlawfully running away from his
happiness, and establishing himself in foreign countries as a
bachelor.

'Your pa was once a little particular in his attentions, my dears,'
said Mrs Todgers, 'but to be your ma was too much happiness denied
me. You'd hardly know who this was done for, perhaps?'

She called their attention to an oval miniature, like a little
blister, which was tacked up over the kettle-holder, and in which
there was a dreamy shadowing forth of her own visage.

'It's a speaking likeness!' cried the two Miss Pecksniffs.

'It was considered so once,' said Mrs Todgers, warming herself in a
gentlemanly manner at the fire; 'but I hardly thought you would have
known it, my loves.'

They would have known it anywhere. If they could have met with it
in the street, or seen it in a shop window, they would have cried
'Good gracious! Mrs Todgers!'

'Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with the
features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs,' said Mrs Todgers. 'The gravy
alone, is enough to add twenty years to one's age, I do assure you.'

'Lor'!' cried the two Miss Pecksniffs.

'The anxiety of that one item, my dears,' said Mrs Todgers, 'keeps
the mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion in
human nature, as the passion for gravy among commercial gentlemen.
It's nothing to say a joint won't yield--a whole animal wouldn't
yield--the amount of gravy they expect each day at dinner. And what
I have undergone in consequence,' cried Mrs Todgers, raising her


eyes and shaking her head, 'no one would believe!'

'Just like Mr Pinch, Merry!' said Charity. 'We have always noticed
it in him, you remember?'

'Yes, my dear,' giggled Merry, 'but we have never given it him, you
know.'

'You, my dears, having to deal with your pa's pupils who can't help
themselves, are able to take your own way,' said Mrs Todgers; 'but in
a commercial establishment, where any gentleman may say any Saturday
evening, Mrs Todgersthis day week we partin consequence of the
cheese it is not so easy to preserve a pleasant understanding.
Your pa was kind enough,' added the good lady, 'to invite me to take
a ride with you to-day; and I think he mentioned that you were going
to call upon Miss Pinch. Any relation to the gentleman you were
speaking of just now, Miss Pecksniff?'

'For goodness sake, Mrs Todgers,' interposed the lively Merry,
'don't call him a gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman!
The idea!'

'What a wicked girl you are!' cried Mrs Todgers, embracing her with
great affection. 'You are quite a quiz, I do declare! My dear Miss
Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister's spirits must be to your pa
and self!'

'He's the most hideous, goggle-eyed creature, Mrs Todgers, in
existence,' resumed Merry: 'quite an ogre. The ugliest, awkwardest
frightfullest being, you can imagine. This is his sister, so I
leave you to suppose what SHE is. I shall be obliged to laugh
outright, I know I shall!' cried the charming girl, 'I never shall
be able to keep my countenance. The notion of a Miss Pinch
presuming to exist at all is sufficient to kill one, but to see her
--oh my stars!'

Mrs Todgers laughed immensely at the dear love's humour, and
declared she was quite afraid of her, that she was. She was so very
severe.

'Who is severe?' cried a voice at the door. 'There is no such thing
as severity in our family, I hope!' And then Mr Pecksniff peeped
smilingly into the room, and said, 'May I come in, Mrs Todgers?'

Mrs Todgers almost screamed, for the little door of communication
between that room and the inner one being wide open, there was a
full disclosure of the sofa bedstead in all its monstrous
impropriety. But she had the presence of mind to close this portal
in the twinkling of an eye; and having done so, said, though not
without confusion, 'Oh yes, Mr Pecksniff, you can come in, if you
please.'

'How are we to-day,' said Mr Pecksniff, jocosely. 'and what are our
plans? Are we ready to go and see Tom Pinch's sister? Ha, ha, ha!
Poor Thomas Pinch!'

'Are we ready,' returned Mrs Todgers, nodding her head with
mysterious intelligence, 'to send a favourable reply to Mr Jinkins's
round-robin? That's the first question, Mr Pecksniff.'

'Why Mr Jinkins's robin, my dear madam?' asked Mr Pecksniff, putting
one arm round Mercy, and the other round Mrs Todgers, whom he
seemed, in the abstraction of the moment, to mistake for Charity.
'Why Mr Jinkins's?'


'Because he began to get it up, and indeed always takes the lead in
the house,' said Mrs Todgers, playfully. 'That's why, sir.'

'Jinkins is a man of superior talents,' observed Mr Pecksniff. 'I
have conceived a great regard for Jinkins. I take Jinkins's desire
to pay polite attention to my daughters, as an additional proof of
the friendly feeling of Jinkins, Mrs Todgers.'

'Well now,' returned that lady, 'having said so much, you must say
the rest, Mr Pecksniff; so tell the dear young ladies all about it.'

With these words she gently eluded Mr Pecksniff's grasp, and took
Miss Charity into her own embrace; though whether she was impelled
to this proceeding solely by the irrepressible affection she had
conceived for that young lady, or whether it had any reference to a
lowering, not to say distinctly spiteful expression which had been
visible in her face for some moments, has never been exactly
ascertained. Be this as it may, Mr Pecksniff went on to inform his
daughters of the purport and history of the round-robin aforesaid,
which was in brief, that the commercial gentlemen who helped to make
up the sum and substance of that noun of multitude signifying
many, called Todgers's, desired the honour of their presence at the
general table, so long as they remained in the house, and besought
that they would grace the board at dinner-time next day, the same
being Sunday. He further said, that Mrs Todgers being a consenting
party to this invitation, he was willing, for his part, to accept
it; and so left them that he might write his gracious answer, the
while they armed themselves with their best bonnets for the utter
defeat and overthrow of Miss Pinch.

Tom Pinch's sister was governess in a family, a lofty family;
perhaps the wealthiest brass and copper founders' family known to
mankind. They lived at Camberwell; in a house so big and fierce,
that its mere outside, like the outside of a giant's castle, struck
terror into vulgar minds and made bold persons quail. There was a
great front gate; with a great bell, whose handle was in itself a
note of admiration; and a great lodge; which being close to the
house, rather spoilt the look-out certainly but made the look-in
tremendous. At this entry, a great porter kept constant watch and
ward; and when he gave the visitor high leave to pass, he rang a
second great bell, responsive to whose note a great footman appeared
in due time at the great halldoor, with such great tags upon his
liveried shoulder that he was perpetually entangling and hooking
himself among the chairs and tables, and led a life of torment which
could scarcely have been surpassed, if he had been a blue-bottle in
a world of cobwebs.

To this mansion Mr Pecksniff, accompanied by his daughters and Mrs
Todgers, drove gallantly in a one-horse fly. The foregoing
ceremonies having been all performed, they were ushered into the
house; and so, by degrees, they got at last into a small room with
books in it, where Mr Pinch's sister was at that moment instructing
her eldest pupil; to wit, a premature little woman of thirteen years
old, who had already arrived at such a pitch of whalebone and
education that she had nothing girlish about her, which was a source
of great rejoicing to all her relations and friends.

'Visitors for Miss Pinch!' said the footman. He must have been an
ingenious young man, for he said it very cleverly; with a nice
discrimination between the cold respect with which he would have
announced visitors to the family, and the warm personal interest
with which he would have announced visitors to the cook.


'Visitors for Miss Pinch!'

Miss Pinch rose hastily; with such tokens of agitation as plainly
declared that her list of callers was not numerous. At the same
time, the little pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared
herself to take mental notes of all that might be said and done.
For the lady of the establishment was curious in the natural history
and habits of the animal called Governess, and encouraged her
daughters to report thereon whenever occasion served; which was, in
reference to all parties concerned, very laudable, improving, and
pleasant.

It is a melancholy fact; but it must be related, that Mr Pinch's
sister was not at all ugly. On the contrary, she had a good face; a
very mild and prepossessing face; and a pretty little figure--slight
and short, but remarkable for its neatness. There was something of
her brother, much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner,
and in her look of timid trustfulness; but she was so far from being
a fright, or a dowdy, or a horror, or anything else, predicted by
the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally regarded
her with great indignation, feeling that this was by no means what
they had come to see.

Miss Mercy, as having the larger share of gaiety, bore up the best
against this disappointment, and carried it off, in outward show at
least, with a titter; but her sister, not caring to hide her
disdain, expressed it pretty openly in her looks. As to Mrs
Todgers, she leaned on Mr Pecksniff's arm and preserved a kind of
genteel grimness, suitable to any state of mind, and involving any
shade of opinion.

'Don't be alarmed, Miss Pinch,' said Mr Pecksniff, taking her hand
condescendingly in one of his, and patting it with the other. 'I
have called to see you, in pursuance of a promise given to your
brother, Thomas Pinch. My name--compose yourself, Miss Pinch--is
Pecksniff.'

The good man emphasised these words as though he would have said,
'You see in me, young person, the benefactor of your race; the
patron of your house; the preserver of your brother, who is fed with
manna daily from my table; and in right of whom there is a
considerable balance in my favour at present standing in the books
beyond the sky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to do without
it!'

The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel truth. Her
brother writing in the fullness of his simple heart, had often told
her so, and how much more! As Mr Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung
her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand.

'Oh very well, Miss Pinch!' thought the sharp pupil, 'crying before
strangers, as if you didn't like the situation!'

'Thomas is well,' said Mr Pecksniff; 'and sends his love and this
letter. I cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be
distinguished in our profession; but he has the will to do well,
which is the next thing to having the power; and, therefore, we must
bear with him. Eh?'

'I know he has the will, sir,' said Tom Pinch's sister, 'and I know
how kindly and considerately you cherish it, for which neither he
nor I can ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in writing
to each other. The young ladies too,' she added, glancing
gratefully at his two daughters, 'I know how much we owe to them.'


'My dears,' said Mr Pecksniff, turning to them with a smile:
'Thomas's sister is saying something you will be glad to hear, I
think.'

'We can't take any merit to ourselves, papa!' cried Cherry, as they
both apprised Tom Pinch's sister, with a curtsey, that they would
feel obliged if she would keep her distance. 'Mr Pinch's being so
well provided for is owing to you alone, and we can only say how
glad we are to hear that he is as grateful as he ought to be.'

'Oh very well, Miss Pinch!' thought the pupil again. 'Got a
grateful brother, living on other people's kindness!'

'It was very kind of you,' said Tom Pinch's sister, with Tom's own
simplicity and Tom's own smile, 'to come here; very kind indeed;
though how great a kindness you have done me in gratifying my wish
to see you, and to thank you with my own lips, you, who make so
light of benefits conferred, can scarcely think.'

'Very grateful; very pleasant; very proper,' murmured Mr Pecksniff.

'It makes me happy too,' said Ruth Pinch, who now that her first
surprise was over, had a chatty, cheerful way with her, and a
single-hearted desire to look upon the best side of everything,
which was the very moral and image of Tom; 'very happy to think that
you will be able to tell him how more than comfortably I am situated
here, and how unnecessary it is that he should ever waste a regret
on my being cast upon my own resources. Dear me! So long as I heard
that he was happy, and he heard that I was,' said Tom's sister, 'we
could both bear, without one impatient or complaining thought, a
great deal more than ever we have had to endure, I am very certain.'
And if ever the plain truth were spoken on this occasionally false
earth, Tom's sister spoke it when she said that.

'Ah!' cried Mr Pecksniff whose eyes had in the meantime wandered to
the pupil; 'certainly. And how do YOU do, my very interesting
child?'

'Quite well, I thank you, sir,' replied that frosty innocent.

'A sweet face this, my dears,' said Mr Pecksniff, turning to his
daughters. 'A charming manner!'

Both young ladies had been in ecstasies with the scion of a wealthy
house (through whom the nearest road and shortest cut to her parents
might be supposed to lie) from the first. Mrs Todgers vowed that
anything one quarter so angelic she had never seen. 'She wanted but
a pair of wings, a dear,' said that good woman, 'to be a young
syrup'--meaning, possibly, young sylph, or seraph.

'If you will give that to your distinguished parents, my amiable
little friend,' said Mr Pecksniff, producing one of his professional
cards, 'and will say that I and my daughters--'

'And Mrs Todgers, pa,' said Merry.

'And Mrs Todgers, of London,' added Mr Pecksniff; 'that I, and my
daughters, and Mrs Todgers, of London, did not intrude upon them, as
our object simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, whose
brother is a young man in my employment; but that I could not leave
this very chaste mansion, without adding my humble tribute, as an
Architect, to the correctness and elegance of the owner's taste, and
to his just appreciation of that beautiful art to the cultivation of


which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion of whose glory and
advancement I have sacrified a--a fortune--I shall be very much
obliged to you.'

'Missis's compliments to Miss Pinch,' said the footman, suddenly
appearing, and speaking in exactly the same key as before, 'and begs
to know wot my young lady is a-learning of just now.'

'Oh!' said Mr Pecksniff, 'Here is the young man. HE will take the
card. With my compliments, if you please, young man. My dears, we
are interrupting the studies. Let us go.'

Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by Mrs Todgers's
unstrapping her little flat hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting
the 'young man' with one of her own cards, which, in addition to
certain detailed information relative to the terms of the commercial
establishment, bore a foot-note to the effect that M. T. took that
opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had honoured her with
their favours, and begged they would have the goodness, if satisfied
with the table, to recommend her to their friends. But Mr
Pecksniff, with admirable presence of mind, recovered this document,
and buttoned it up in his own pocket.

Then he said to Miss Pinch--with more condescension and kindness
than ever, for it was desirable the footman should expressly
understand that they were not friends of hers, but patrons:

'Good morning. Good-bye. God bless you! You may depend upon my
continued protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite
at ease, Miss Pinch!'

'Thank you,' said Tom's sister heartily; 'a thousand times.'

'Not at all,' he retorted, patting her gently on the head. 'Don't
mention it. You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child'--to
the pupil--'farewell! That fairy creature,' said Mr Pecksniff,
looking in his pensive mood hard at the footman, as if he meant him,
'has shed a vision on my path, refulgent in its nature, and not
easily to be obliterated. My dears, are you ready?'

They were not quite ready yet, for they were still caressing the
pupil. But they tore themselves away at length; and sweeping past
Miss Pinch with each a haughty inclination of the head and a curtsey
strangled in its birth, flounced into the passage.

The young man had rather a long job in showing them out; for Mr
Pecksniff's delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that
he could not help often stopping (particularly when they were near
the parlour door) and giving it expression, in a loud voice and very
learned terms. Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the
hall, a familiar exposition of the whole science of architecture as
applied to dwelling-houses, and was yet in the freshness of his
eloquence when they reached the garden.

'If you look,' said Mr Pecksniff, backing from the steps, with his
head on one side and his eyes half-shut that he might the better
take in the proportions of the exterior: 'If you look, my dears, at
the cornice which supports the roof, and observe the airiness of its
construction, especially where it sweeps the southern angle of the
building, you will feel with me--How do you do, sir? I hope you're
well?'

Interrupting himself with these words, he very politely bowed to a
middle-aged gentleman at an upper window, to whom he spoke--not


because the gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not),
but as an appropriate accompaniment to his salutation.

'I have no doubt, my dears,' said Mr Pecksniff, feigning to point
out other beauties with his hand, 'that this is the proprietor.
should be glad to know him. It might lead to something. Is he
looking this way, Charity?'

'He is opening the window pa!'

'Ha, ha!' cried Mr Pecksniff softly. 'All right! He has found I'm
professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don't
look! With regard to the fluted pillars in the portico, my dears--'

'Hallo!' cried the gentleman.

'Sir, your servant!' said Mr Pecksniff, taking off his hat. 'I am
proud to make your acquaintance.'

'Come off the grass, will you!' roared the gentleman.

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, doubtful of his having
heard aright. 'Did you--?'

'Come off the grass!' repeated the gentleman, warmly.

'We are unwilling to intrude, sir,' Mr Pecksniff smilingly began.

'But you ARE intruding,' returned the other, 'unwarrantably
intruding. Trespassing. You see a gravel walk, don't you? What
do you think it's meant for? Open the gate there! Show that party
out!'

With that he clapped down the window again, and disappeared.

Mr Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with great deliberation and
in profound silence to the fly, gazing at the clouds as he went,
with great interest. After helping his daughters and Mrs Todgers
into that conveyance, he stood looking at it for some moments, as if
he were not quite certain whether it was a carriage or a temple; but
having settled this point in his mind, he got into his place, spread
his hands out on his knees, and smiled upon the three beholders.

But his daughters, less tranquil-minded, burst into a torrent of
indignation. This came, they said, of cherishing such creatures as
the Pinches. This came of lowering themselves to their level. This
came of putting themselves in the humiliating position of seeming to
know such bold, audacious, cunning, dreadful girls as that. They
had expected this. They had predicted it to Mrs Todgers, as she
(Todgers) could depone, that very morning. To this, they added,
that the owner of the house, supposing them to be Miss Pinch's
friends, had acted, in their opinion, quite correctly, and had done
no more than, under such circumstances, might reasonably have been
expected. To that they added (with a trifling inconsistency), that
he was a brute and a bear; and then they merged into a flood of
tears, which swept away all wandering epithets before it.

Perhaps Miss Pinch was scarcely so much to blame in the matter as
the Seraph, who, immediately on the withdrawal of the visitors, had
hastened to report them at head-quarters, with a full account of
their having presumptuously charged her with the delivery of a
message afterwards consigned to the footman; which outrage, taken in
conjunction with Mr Pecksniff's unobtrusive remarks on the
establishment, might possibly have had some share in their


dismissal. Poor Miss Pinch, however, had to bear the brunt of it
with both parties; being so severely taken to task by the Seraph's
mother for having such vulgar acquaintances, that she was fain to
retire to her own room in tears, which her natural cheerfulness and
submission, and the delight of having seen Mr Pecksniff, and having
received a letter from her brother, were at first insufficient to
repress.

As to Mr Pecksniff, he told them in the fly, that a good action was
its own reward; and rather gave them to understand, that if he could
have been kicked in such a cause, he would have liked it all the
better. But this was no comfort to the young ladies, who scolded
violently the whole way back, and even exhibited, more than once, a
keen desire to attack the devoted Mrs Todgers; on whose personal
appearance, but particularly on whose offending card and handbasket,
they were secretly inclined to lay the blame of half their
failure.

Todgers's was in a great bustle that evening, partly owing to some
additional domestic preparations for the morrow, and partly to the
excitement always inseparable in that house from Saturday night,
when every gentleman's linen arrived at a different hour in its own
little bundle, with his private account pinned on the outside.
There was always a great clinking of pattens downstairs, too, until
midnight or so, on Saturdays; together with a frequent gleaming of
mysterious lights in the area; much working at the pump; and a
constant jangling of the iron handle of the pail. Shrill
altercations from time to time arose between Mrs Todgers and unknown
females in remote back kitchens; and sounds were occasionally heard,
indicative of small articles of iron mongery and hardware being
thrown at the boy. It was the custom of that youth on Saturdays, to
roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and pervade all parts of
the house in an apron of coarse green baize; moreover, he was more
strongly tempted on Saturdays than on other days (it being a busy
time), to make excursive bolts into the neighbouring alleys when he
answered the door, and there to play at leap-frog and other sports
with vagrant lads, until pursued and brought back by the hair of his
head or the lobe of his ear; thus he was quite a conspicuous feature
among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the week at Todgers's.

He was especially so on this particular Saturday evening, and
honoured the Miss Pecksniffs with a deal of notice; seldom passing
the door of Mrs Todgers's private room, where they sat alone before
the fire, working by the light of a solitary candle, without putting
in his head and greeting them with some such compliments as, 'There
you are agin!' 'An't it nice?'--and similar humorous attentions.

'I say,' he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro,
'young ladies, there's soup to-morrow. She's a-making it now. An't
she a-putting in the water? Oh! not at all neither!'

In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head
again.

'I say! There's fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh no!'

Presently he called through the key-hole:

'There's a fish to-morrow. Just come. Don't eat none of him!' And,
with this special warning, vanished again.

By-and-bye, he returned to lay the cloth for supper; it having been
arranged between Mrs Todgers and the young ladies, that they should
partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that


apartment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the
lighted candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of
transparency; after the performance of which feat, he went on with
his professional duties; brightening every knife as he laid it on
the table, by breathing on the blade and afterwards polishing the
same on the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his
preparations, he grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief
that the approaching collation would be of 'rather a spicy sort.'

'Will it be long, before it's ready, Bailey?' asked Mercy.

'No,' said Bailey, 'it IS cooked. When I come up, she was dodging
among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of 'em.'

But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he
received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering
against the wall; and Mrs Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly
before him.

'Oh you little villain!' said that lady. 'Oh you bad, false boy!'

'No worse than yerself,' retorted Bailey, guarding his head, on a
principle invented by Mr Thomas Cribb. 'Ah! Come now! Do that
again, will yer?'

'He's the most dreadful child,' said Mrs Todgers, setting down the
dish, 'I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that
extent, and teach him such things, that I'm afraid nothing but
hanging will ever do him any good.'

'Won't it!' cried Bailey. 'Oh! Yes! Wot do you go a-lowerin the
table-beer for then, and destroying my constitooshun?'

'Go downstairs, you vicious boy,' said Mrs Todgers, holding the
door open. 'Do you hear me? Go along!'

After two or three dexterous feints, he went, and was seen no more
that night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot
water, and much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by squinting
hideously behind the back of the unconscious Mrs Todgers. Having
done this justice to his wounded feelings, he retired underground;
where, in company with a swarm of black beetles and a kitchen
candle, he employed his faculties in cleaning boots and brushing
clothes until the night was far advanced.

Benjamin was supposed to be the real name of this young retainer but
he was known by a great variety of names. Benjamin, for instance,
had been converted into Uncle Ben, and that again had been corrupted
into Uncle; which, by an easy transition, had again passed into
Barnwell, in memory of the celebrated relative in that degree who
was shot by his nephew George, while meditating in his garden at
Camberwell. The gentlemen at Todgers's had a merry habit, too, of
bestowing upon him, for the time being, the name of any notorious
malefactor or minister; and sometimes when current events were flat
they even sought the pages of history for these distinctions; as Mr
Pitt, Young Brownrigg, and the like. At the period of which we
write, he was generally known among the gentlemen as Bailey junior;
a name bestowed upon him in contradistinction, perhaps, to Old
Bailey; and possibly as involving the recollection of an unfortunate
lady of the same name, who perished by her own hand early in life,
and has been immortalised in a ballad.

The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers's was two o'clock--a
suitable time, it was considered for all parties; convenient to Mrs


Todgers, on account of the bakers; and convenient to the gentlemen
with reference to their afternoon engagements. But on the Sunday
which was to introduce the two Miss Pecksniffs to a full knowledge
of Todgers's and its society, the dinner was postponed until five,
in order that everything might be as genteel as the occasion
demanded.

When the hour drew nigh, Bailey junior, testifying great excitement,
appeared in a complete suit of cast-off clothes several sizes too
large for him, and in particular, mounted a clean shirt of such
extraordinary magnitude, that one of the gentlemen (remarkable for
his ready wit) called him 'collars' on the spot. At about a quarter
before five, a deputation, consisting of Mr Jinkins, and another
gentleman, whose name was Gander, knocked at the door of Mrs
Todgers's room, and, being formally introduced to the two Miss
Pecksniffs by their parent who was in waiting, besought the honour
of conducting them upstairs.

The drawing-room at Todgers's was out of the common style; so much
so indeed, that you would hardly have taken it to be a drawingroom,
unless you were told so by somebody who was in the secret. It was
floor-clothed all over; and the ceiling, including a great beam in
the middle, was papered. Besides the three little windows, with
seats in them, commanding the opposite archway, there was another
window looking point blank, without any compromise at all about it
into Jinkins's bedroom; and high up, all along one side of the wall
was a strip of panes of glass, two-deep, giving light to the
staircase. There were the oddest closets possible, with little
casements in them like eight-day clocks, lurking in the wainscot and
taking the shape of the stairs; and the very door itself (which was
painted black) had two great glass eyes in its forehead, with an
inquisitive green pupil in the middle of each.

Here the gentlemen were all assembled. There was a general cry of
'Hear, hear!' and 'Bravo Jink!' when Mr Jinkins appeared with
Charity on his arm; which became quite rapturous as Mr Gander
followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr Pecksniff brought up the rear with
Mrs Todgers.

Then the presentations took place. They included a gentleman of a
sporting turn, who propounded questions on jockey subjects to the
editors of Sunday papers, which were regarded by his friends as
rather stiff things to answer; and they included a gentleman of a
theatrical turn, who had once entertained serious thoughts of
'coming out,' but had been kept in by the wickedness of human
nature; and they included a gentleman of a debating turn, who was
strong at speech-making; and a gentleman of a literary turn, who
wrote squibs upon the rest, and knew the weak side of everybody's
character but his own. There was a gentleman of a vocal turn, and a
gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of a convivial turn;
some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, and a large proportion
of the gentlemen had a strong turn for billiards and betting. They
had all, it may be presumed, a turn for business; being all
commercially employed in one way or other; and had, every one in his
own way, a decided turn for pleasure to boot. Mr Jinkins was of a
fashionable turn; being a regular frequenter of the Parks on
Sundays, and knowing a great many carriages by sight. He spoke
mysteriously, too, of splendid women, and was suspected of having
once committed himself with a Countess. Mr Gander was of a witty
turn being indeed the gentleman who had originated the sally about
'collars;' which sparkling pleasantry was now retailed from mouth to
mouth, under the title of Gander's Last, and was received in all
parts of the room with great applause. Mr Jinkins it may be added,
was much the oldest of the party; being a fish-salesman's book



keeper, aged forty. He was the oldest boarder also; and in right of
his double seniority, took the lead in the house, as Mrs Todgers had
already said.

There was considerable delay in the production of dinner, and poor
Mrs Todgers, being reproached in confidence by Jinkins, slipped in
and out, at least twenty times to see about it; always coming back
as though she had no such thing upon her mind, and hadn't been out
at all. But there was no hitch in the conversation nevertheless;
for one gentleman, who travelled in the perfumery line, exhibited an
interesting nick-nack, in the way of a remarkable cake of shaving
soap which he had lately met with in Germany; and the gentleman of a
literary turn repeated (by desire) some sarcastic stanzas he had
recently produced on the freezing of the tank at the back of the
house. These amusements, with the miscellaneous conversation
arising out of them, passed the time splendidly, until dinner was
announced by Bailey junior in these terms:

'The wittles is up!'

On which notice they immediately descended to the banquet-hall; some
of the more facetious spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as
if they were ladies, in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the
two Miss Pecksniffs.

Mr Pecksniff said grace--a short and pious grace, involving a
blessing on the appetites of those present, and committing all
persons who had nothing to eat, to the care of Providence; whose
business (so said the grace, in effect) it clearly was, to look
after them. This done, they fell to with less ceremony than
appetite; the table groaning beneath the weight, not only of the
delicacies whereof the Miss Pecksniffs had been previously
forewarned, but of boiled beef, roast veal, bacon, pies and
abundance of such heavy vegetables as are favourably known to
housekeepers for their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there
were bottles of stout, bottles of wine, bottles of ale, and divers
other strong drinks, native and foreign.

All this was highly agreeable to the two Miss Pecksniffs, who were
in immense request; sitting one on either hand of Mr Jinkins at the
bottom of the table; and who were called upon to take wine with some
new admirer every minute. They had hardly ever felt so pleasant,
and so full of conversation, in their lives; Mercy, in particular,
was uncommonly brilliant, and said so many good things in the way of
lively repartee that she was looked upon as a prodigy. 'In short,'
as that young lady observed, 'they felt now, indeed, that they were
in London, and for the first time too.'

Their young friend Bailey sympathized in these feelings to the
fullest extent, and, abating nothing of his patronage, gave them
every encouragement in his power; favouring them, when the general
attention was diverted from his proceedings, with many nods and
winks and other tokens of recognition, and occasionally touching his
nose with a corkscrew, as if to express the Bacchanalian character
of the meeting. In truth, perhaps even the spirits of the two Miss
Pecksniffs, and the hungry watchfulness of Mrs Todgers, were less
worthy of note than the proceedings of this remarkable boy, whom
nothing disconcerted or put out of his way. If any piece of
crockery, a dish or otherwise, chanced to slip through his hands
(which happened once or twice), he let it go with perfect good
breeding, and never added to the painful emotions of the company by
exhibiting the least regret. Nor did he, by hurrying to and fro,
disturb the repose of the assembly, as many well-trained servants
do; on the contrary, feeling the hopelessness of waiting upon so


large a party, he left the gentlemen to help themselves to what they
wanted, and seldom stirred from behind Mr Jinkins's chair, where,
with his hands in his pockets, and his legs planted pretty wide
apart, he led the laughter, and enjoyed the conversation.

The dessert was splendid. No waiting either. The pudding-plates
had been washed in a little tub outside the door while cheese was
on, and though they were moist and warm with friction, still there
they were again, up to the mark, and true to time. Quarts of
almonds; dozens of oranges; pounds of raisins; stacks of biffins;
soup-plates full of nuts.--Oh, Todgers's could do it when it chose!
mind that.

Then more wine came on; red wines and white wines; and a large china
bowl of punch, brewed by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who
adjured the Miss Pecksniffs not to be despondent on account of its
dimensions, as there were materials in the house for the decoction
of half a dozen more of the same size. Good gracious, how they
laughed! How they coughed when they sipped it, because it was so
strong; and how they laughed again when somebody vowed that but for
its colour it might have been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous
qualities, for new milk! What a shout of 'No!' burst from the
gentlemen when they pathetically implored Mr Jinkins to suffer them
to qualify it with hot water; and how blushingly, by little and
little, did each of them drink her whole glassful, down to its very
dregs!

Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr Jinkins says (gentlemanly
creature, Jinkins--never at a loss!), is about to leave the
firmament. 'Miss Pecksniff!' says Mrs Todgers, softly, 'will
you--?' 'Oh dear, no more, Mrs Todgers.' Mrs Todgers rises; the
two Miss Pecksniffs rise; all rise. Miss Mercy Pecksniff looks
downward for her scarf. Where is it? Dear me, where CAN it be?
Sweet girl, she has it on; not on her fair neck, but loose upon
her flowing figure. A dozen hands assist her. She is all confusion.
The youngest gentleman in company thirsts to murder Jinkins. She
skips and joins her sister at the door. Her sister has her arm
about the waist of Mrs Todgers. She winds her arm around her
sister. Diana, what a picture! The last things visible are a
shape and a skip. 'Gentlemen, let us drink the ladies!'

The enthusiasm is tremendous. The gentleman of a debating turn
rises in the midst, and suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence
which bears down everything before it. He is reminded of a toast--a
toast to which they will respond. There is an individual present;
he has him in his eye; to whom they owe a debt of gratitude. He
repeats it--a debt of gratitude. Their rugged natures have been
softened and ameliorated that day, by the society of lovely woman.
There is a gentleman in company whom two accomplished and delightful
females regard with veneration, as the fountain of their existence.
Yes, when yet the two Miss Pecksniffs lisped in language scarce
intelligible, they called that individual 'Father!' There is great
applause. He gives them 'Mr Pecksniff, and God bless him!' They all
shake hands with Mr Pecksniff, as they drink the toast. The
youngest gentleman in company does so with a thrill; for he feels
that a mysterious influence pervades the man who claims that being
in the pink scarf for his daughter.

What saith Mr Pecksniff in reply? Or rather let the question be,
What leaves he unsaid? Nothing. More punch is called for, and
produced, and drunk. Enthusiasm mounts still higher. Every man
comes out freely in his own character. The gentleman of a
theatrical turn recites. The vocal gentleman regales them with a
song. Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts whole leagues


behind. HE rises to propose a toast. It is, The Father of
Todgers's. It is their common friend Jink--it is old Jink, if he
may call him by that familiar and endearing appellation. The
youngest gentleman in company utters a frantic negative. He won't
have it--he can't bear it--it mustn't be. But his depth of feeling
is misunderstood. He is supposed to be a little elevated; and
nobody heeds him.

Mr Jinkins thanks them from his heart. It is, by many degrees, the
proudest day in his humble career. When he looks around him on the
present occasion, he feels that he wants words in which to express
his gratitude. One thing he will say. He hopes it has been shown
that Todgers's can be true to itself; and that, an opportunity
arising, it can come out quite as strong as its neighbours--perhaps
stronger. He reminds them, amidst thunders of encouragement, that
they have heard of a somewhat similar establishment in Cannon
Street; and that they have heard it praised. He wishes to draw no
invidious comparisons; he would be the last man to do it; but when
that Cannon Street establishment shall be able to produce such a
combination of wit and beauty as has graced that board that day, and
shall be able to serve up (all things considered) such a dinner as
that of which they have just partaken, he will be happy to talk to
it. Until then, gentlemen, he will stick to Todgers's.

More punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. Everybody's health is
drunk, saving the youngest gentleman's in company. He sits apart,
with his elbow on the back of a vacant chair, and glares
disdainfully at Jinkins. Gander, in a convulsing speech, gives them
the health of Bailey junior; hiccups are heard; and a glass is
broken. Mr Jinkins feels that it is time to join the ladies. He
proposes, as a final sentiment, Mrs Todgers. She is worthy to be
remembered separately. Hear, hear. So she is; no doubt of it.
They all find fault with her at other times; but every man feels
now, that he could die in her defence.

They go upstairs, where they are not expected so soon; for
Mrs Todgers is asleep, Miss Charity is adjusting her hair, and
Mercy, who has made a sofa of one of the window-seats is in a
gracefully recumbent attitude. She is rising hastily, when Mr
Jinkins implores her, for all their sakes, not to stir; she looks
too graceful and too lovely, he remarks, to be disturbed. She
laughs, and yields, and fans herself, and drops her fan, and there
is a rush to pick it up. Being now installed, by one consent, as
the beauty of the party, she is cruel and capricious, and sends
gentlemen on messages to other gentlemen, and forgets all about them
before they can return with the answer, and invents a thousand
tortures, rending their hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the tea
and coffee. There is a small cluster of admirers round Charity; but
they are only those who cannot get near her sister. The youngest
gentleman in company is pale, but collected, and still sits apart;
for his spirit loves to hold communion with itself, and his soul
recoils from noisy revellers. She has a consciousness of his
presence and adoration. He sees it flashing sometimes in the corner
of her eye. Have a care, Jinkins, ere you provoke a desperate man
to frenzy!

Mr Pecksniff had followed his younger friends upstairs, and taken a
chair at the side of Mrs Todgers. He had also spilt a cup of coffee
over his legs without appearing to be aware of the circumstance; nor
did he seem to know that there was muffin on his knee.

'And how have they used you downstairs, sir?' asked the hostess.

'Their conduct has been such, my dear madam,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'as


I can never think of without emotion, or remember without a tear.
Oh, Mrs Todgers!'

'My goodness!' exclaimed that lady. 'How low you are in your
spirits, sir!'

'I am a man, my dear madam,' said Mr Pecksniff, shedding tears and
speaking with an imperfect articulation, 'but I am also a father. I
am also a widower. My feelings, Mrs Todgers, will not consent to be
entirely smothered, like the young children in the Tower. They are
grown up, and the more I press the bolster on them, the more they
look round the corner of it.'

He suddenly became conscious of the bit of muffin, and stared at it
intently; shaking his head the while, in a forlorn and imbecile
manner, as if he regarded it as his evil genius, and mildly
reproached it.

'She was beautiful, Mrs Todgers,' he said, turning his glazed eye
again upon her, without the least preliminary notice. 'She had a
small property.'

'So I have heard,' cried Mrs Todgers with great sympathy.

'Those are her daughters,' said Mr Pecksniff, pointing out the young
ladies, with increased emotion.

Mrs Todgers had no doubt about it.

'Mercy and Charity,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'Charity and Mercy. Not
unholy names, I hope?'

'Mr Pecksniff!' cried Mrs Todgers. 'What a ghastly smile! Are you
ill, sir?'

He pressed his hand upon her arm, and answered in a solemn manner,
and a faint voice, 'Chronic.'

'Cholic?' cried the frightened Mrs Todgers.

'Chron-ic,' he repeated with some difficulty. 'Chron-ic. A chronic
disorder. I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me
to my grave.'

'Heaven forbid!' cried Mrs Todgers.

'Yes, it is,' said Mr Pecksniff, reckless with despair. 'I am
rather glad of it, upon the whole. You are like her, Mrs Todgers.'

'Don't squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr Pecksniff. If any of the
gentlemen should notice us.'

'For her sake,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Permit me--in honour of her
memory. For the sake of a voice from the tomb. You are VERY like
her Mrs Todgers! What a world this is!'

'Ah! Indeed you may say that!' cried Mrs Todgers.

'I'm afraid it is a vain and thoughtless world,' said Mr Pecksniff,
overflowing with despondency. 'These young people about us. Oh!
what sense have they of their responsibilities? None. Give me
your other hand, Mrs Todgers.'

The lady hesitated, and said 'she didn't like.'


'Has a voice from the grave no influence?' said Mr Pecksniff, with,
dismal tenderness. 'This is irreligious! My dear creature.'

'Hush!' urged Mrs Todgers. 'Really you mustn't.'

'It's not me,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Don't suppose it's me; it's the
voice; it's her voice.'

Mrs Pecksniff deceased, must have had an unusually thick and husky
voice for a lady, and rather a stuttering voice, and to say the
truth somewhat of a drunken voice, if it had ever borne much
resemblance to that in which Mr Pecksniff spoke just then. But
perhaps this was delusion on his part.

'It has been a day of enjoyment, Mrs Todgers, but still it has been
a day of torture. It has reminded me of my loneliness. What am I
in the world?'

'An excellent gentleman, Mr Pecksniff,' said Mrs Todgers.

'There is consolation in that too,' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Am I?'

'There is no better man living,' said Mrs Todgers, 'I am sure.'

Mr Pecksniff smiled through his tears, and slightly shook his head.
'You are very good,' he said, 'thank you. It is a great happiness
to me, Mrs Todgers, to make young people happy. The happiness of my
pupils is my chief object. I dote upon 'em. They dote upon me too-sometimes.'


'Always,' said Mrs Todgers.

'When they say they haven't improved, ma'am,' whispered Mr
Pecksniff, looking at her with profound mystery, and motioning to
her to advance her ear a little closer to his mouth. 'When they say
they haven't improved, ma'am, and the premium was too high, they
lie! I shouldn't wish it to be mentioned; you will understand me;
but I say to you as to an old friend, they lie.'

'Base wretches they must be!' said Mrs Todgers.

'Madam,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'you are right. I respect you for that
observation. A word in your ear. To Parents and Guardians. This
is in confidence, Mrs Todgers?'

'The strictest, of course!' cried that lady.

'To Parents and Guardians,' repeated Mr Pecksniff. 'An eligible
opportunity now offers, which unites the advantages of the best
practical architectural education with the comforts of a home, and
the constant association with some, who, however humble their sphere
and limited their capacity--observe!--are not unmindful of their
moral responsibilities.'

Mrs Todgers looked a little puzzled to know what this might mean, as
well she might; for it was, as the reader may perchance remember, Mr
Pecksniff's usual form of advertisement when he wanted a pupil; and
seemed to have no particular reference, at present, to anything.
But Mr Pecksniff held up his finger as a caution to her not to
interrupt him.

'Do you know any parent or guardian, Mrs Todgers,' said Mr
Pecksniff, 'who desires to avail himself of such an opportunity for


a young gentleman? An orphan would be preferred. Do you know of
any orphan with three or four hundred pound?'

Mrs Todgers reflected, and shook her head.

'When you hear of an orphan with three or four hundred pound,' said
Mr Pecksniff, 'let that dear orphan's friends apply, by letter postpaid,
to S. P., Post Office, Salisbury. I don't know who he is
exactly. Don't be alarmed, Mrs Todgers,' said Mr Pecksniff, falling
heavily against her; 'Chronic--chronic! Let's have a little drop of
something to drink.'

'Bless my life, Miss Pecksniffs!' cried Mrs Todgers, aloud, 'your
dear pa's took very poorly!'

Mr Pecksniff straightened himself by a surprising effort, as every
one turned hastily towards him; and standing on his feet, regarded
the assembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gradually it gave
place to a smile; a feeble, helpless, melancholy smile; bland,
almost to sickliness. 'Do not repine, my friends,' said Mr
Pecksniff, tenderly. 'Do not weep for me. It is chronic.' And
with these words, after making a futile attempt to pull off his
shoes, he fell into the fireplace.

The youngest gentleman in company had him out in a second. Yes,
before a hair upon his head was singed, he had him on the hearthrug--
her father!

She was almost beside herself. So was her sister. Jinkins consoled
them both. They all consoled them. Everybody had something to say,
except the youngest gentleman in company, who with a noble selfdevotion
did the heavy work, and held up Mr Pecksniff's head without
being taken notice of by anybody. At last they gathered round, and
agreed to carry him upstairs to bed. The youngest gentleman in
company was rebuked by Jinkins for tearing Mr Pecksniff's coat!
Ha, ha! But no matter.

They carried him upstairs, and crushed the youngest gentleman at
every step. His bedroom was at the top of the house, and it was a
long way; but they got him there in course of time. He asked them
frequently on the road for a little drop of something to drink. It
seemed an idiosyncrasy. The youngest gentleman in company proposed
a draught of water. Mr Pecksniff called him opprobious names for
the suggestion.

Jinkins and Gander took the rest upon themselves, and made him as
comfortable as they could, on the outside of his bed; and when he
seemed disposed to sleep, they left him. But before they had all
gained the bottom of the staircase, a vision of Mr Pecksniff,
strangely attired, was seen to flutter on the top landing. He
desired to collect their sentiments, it seemed, upon the nature of
human life.

'My friends,' cried Mr Pecksniff, looking over the banisters, 'let
us improve our minds by mutual inquiry and discussion. Let us be
moral. Let us contemplate existence. Where is Jinkins?'

'Here,' cried that gentleman. 'Go to bed again'

'To bed!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Bed! 'Tis the voice of the sluggard,
I hear him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must slumber
again. If any young orphan will repeat the remainder of that simple
piece from Doctor Watts's collection, an eligible opportunity now
offers.'


Nobody volunteered.

'This is very soothing,' said Mr Pecksniff, after a pause.
'Extremely so. Cool and refreshing; particularly to the legs! The
legs of the human subject, my friends, are a beautiful production.
Compare them with wooden legs, and observe the difference between
the anatomy of nature and the anatomy of art. Do you know,' said Mr
Pecksniff, leaning over the banisters, with an odd recollection of
his familiar manner among new pupils at home, 'that I should very
much like to see Mrs Todgers's notion of a wooden leg, if perfectly
agreeable to herself!'

As it appeared impossible to entertain any reasonable hopes of him
after this speech, Mr Jinkins and Mr Gander went upstairs again,
and once more got him into bed. But they had not descended to the
second floor before he was out again; nor, when they had repeated
the process, had they descended the first flight, before he was out
again. In a word, as often as he was shut up in his own room, he
darted out afresh, charged with some new moral sentiment, which he
continually repeated over the banisters, with extraordinary relish,
and an irrepressible desire for the improvement of his fellow
creatures that nothing could subdue.

Under these circumstances, when they had got him into bed for the
thirtieth time or so, Mr Jinkins held him, while his companion went
downstairs in search of Bailey junior, with whom he presently
returned. That youth having been apprised of the service required
of him, was in great spirits, and brought up a stool, a candle, and
his supper; to the end that he might keep watch outside the bedroom
door with tolerable comfort.

When he had completed his arrangements, they locked Mr Pecksniff in,
and left the key on the outside; charging the young page to listen
attentively for symptoms of an apoplectic nature, with which the
patient might be troubled, and, in case of any such presenting
themselves, to summon them without delay. To which Mr Bailey
modestly replied that 'he hoped he knowed wot o'clock it wos in
gineral, and didn't date his letters to his friends from Todgers's
for nothing.'

CHAPTER TEN

CONTAINING STRANGE MATTER, ON WHICH MANY EVENTS IN THIS HISTORY MAY,
FOR THEIR GOOD OR EVIL INFLUENCE, CHIEFLY DEPEND

But Mr Pecksniff came to town on business. Had he forgotten that?
Was he always taking his pleasure with Todgers's jovial brood,
unmindful of the serious demands, whatever they might be, upon his
calm consideration? No.

Time and tide will wait for no man, saith the adage. But all men
have to wait for time and tide. That tide which, taken at the
flood, would lead Seth Pecksniff on to fortune, was marked down in
the table, and about to flow. No idle Pecksniff lingered far
inland, unmindful of the changes of the stream; but there, upon the
water's edge, over his shoes already, stood the worthy creature,
prepared to wallow in the very mud, so that it slid towards the
quarter of his hope.

The trustfulness of his two fair daughters was beautiful indeed.


They had that firm reliance on their parent's nature, which taught
them to feel certain that in all he did he had his purpose straight
and full before him. And that its noble end and object was himself,
which almost of necessity included them, they knew. The devotion of
these maids was perfect.

Their filial confidence was rendered the more touching, by their
having no knowledge of their parent's real designs, in the present
instance. All that they knew of his proceedings was, that every
morning, after the early breakfast, he repaired to the post office
and inquired for letters. That task performed, his business for the
day was over; and he again relaxed, until the rising of another sun
proclaimed the advent of another post.

This went on for four or five days. At length, one morning, Mr
Pecksniff returned with a breathless rapidity, strange to observe in
him, at other times so calm; and, seeking immediate speech with his
daughters, shut himself up with them in private conference for two
whole hours. Of all that passed in this period, only the following
words of Mr Pecksniff's utterance are known:

'How he has come to change so very much (if it should turn out as I
expect, that he has), we needn't stop to inquire. My dears, I have
my thoughts upon the subject, but I will not impart them. It is
enough that we will not be proud, resentful, or unforgiving. If he
wants our friendship he shall have it. We know our duty, I hope!'

That same day at noon, an old gentleman alighted from a hackney-coach
at the post-office, and, giving his name, inquired for a letter
addressed to himself, and directed to be left till called for. It
had been lying there some days. The superscription was in Mr
Pecksniff's hand, and it was sealed with Mr Pecksniff's seal.

It was very short, containing indeed nothing more than an address
'with Mr Pecksniff's respectful, and (not withstanding what has
passed) sincerely affectionate regards.' The old gentleman tore off
the direction--scattering the rest in fragments to the winds--and
giving it to the coachman, bade him drive as near that place as he
could. In pursuance of these instructions he was driven to the
Monument; where he again alighted, and dismissed the vehicle, and
walked towards Todgers's.

Though the face, and form, and gait of this old man, and even his
grip of the stout stick on which he leaned, were all expressive of a
resolution not easily shaken, and a purpose (it matters little
whether right or wrong, just now) such as in other days might have
survived the rack, and had its strongest life in weakest death;
still there were grains of hesitation in his mind, which made him
now avoid the house he sought, and loiter to and fro in a gleam of
sunlight, that brightened the little churchyard hard by. There may
have been, in the presence of those idle heaps of dust among the
busiest stir of life, something to increase his wavering; but there
he walked, awakening the echoes as he paced up and down, until the
church clock, striking the quarters for the second time since he had
been there, roused him from his meditation. Shaking off his
incertitude as the air parted with the sound of the bells, he walked
rapidly to the house, and knocked at the door.

Mr Pecksniff was seated in the landlady's little room, and his
visitor found him reading--by an accident; he apologised for it--an
excellent theological work. There were cake and wine upon a little
table--by another accident, for which he also apologised. Indeed he
said, he had given his visitor up, and was about to partake of that
simple refreshment with his children, when he knocked at the door.


'Your daughters are well?' said old Martin, laying down his hat and
stick.

Mr Pecksniff endeavoured to conceal his agitation as a father when
he answered Yes, they were. They were good girls, he said, very
good. He would not venture to recommend Mr Chuzzlewit to take the
easy-chair, or to keep out of the draught from the door. If he made
any such suggestion, he would expose himself, he feared, to most
unjust suspicion. He would, therefore, content himself with
remarking that there was an easy-chair in the room, and that the
door was far from being air-tight. This latter imperfection, he
might perhaps venture to add, was not uncommonly to be met with in
old houses.

The old man sat down in the easy-chair, and after a few moments'
silence, said:

'In the first place, let me thank you for coming to London so
promptly, at my almost unexplained request; I need scarcely add, at
my cost.'

'At YOUR cost, my good sir!' cried Mr Pecksniff, in a tone of great
surprise.

'It is not,' said Martin, waving his hand impatiently, 'my habit to
put my--well! my relatives--to any personal expense to gratify my
caprices.'

'Caprices, my good sir!' cried Mr Pecksniff

'That is scarcely the proper word either, in this instance,' said
the old man. 'No. You are right.'

Mr Pecksniff was inwardly very much relieved to hear it, though he
didn't at all know why.

'You are right,' repeated Martin. 'It is not a caprice. It is
built up on reason, proof, and cool comparison. Caprices never are.
Moreover, I am not a capricious man. I never was.'

'Most assuredly not,' said Mr Pecksniff.

'How do you know?' returned the other quickly. 'You are to begin to
know it now. You are to test and prove it, in time to come. You
and yours are to find that I can be constant, and am not to be
diverted from my end. Do you hear?'

'Perfectly,' said Mr Pecksniff.

'I very much regret,' Martin resumed, looking steadily at him, and
speaking in a slow and measured tone; 'I very much regret that you
and I held such a conversation together, as that which passed
between us at our last meeting. I very much regret that I laid open
to you what were then my thoughts of you, so freely as I did. The
intentions that I bear towards you now are of another kind; deserted
by all in whom I have ever trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who
should help and sustain me; I fly to you for refuge. I confide in
you to be my ally; to attach yourself to me by ties of Interest and
Expectation'--he laid great stress upon these words, though Mr
Pecksniff particularly begged him not to mention it; 'and to help me
to visit the consequences of the very worst species of meanness,
dissimulation, and subtlety, on the right heads.'


'My noble sir!' cried Mr Pecksniff, catching at his outstretched
hand. 'And YOU regret the having harboured unjust thoughts of me!
YOU with those grey hairs!'

'Regrets,' said Martin, 'are the natural property of grey hairs; and
I enjoy, in common with all other men, at least my share of such
inheritance. And so enough of that. I regret having been severed
from you so long. If I had known you sooner, and sooner used you as
you well deserve, I might have been a happier man.'

Mr Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in
rapture.

'Your daughters,' said Martin, after a short silence. 'I don't know
them. Are they like you?'

'In the nose of my eldest and the chin of my youngest, Mr
Chuzzlewit,' returned the widower, 'their sainted parent (not
myself, their mother) lives again.'

'I don't mean in person,' said the old man. 'Morally, morally.'

''Tis not for me to say,' retorted Mr Pecksniff with a gentle smile.
'I have done my best, sir.'

'I could wish to see them,' said Martin; 'are they near at hand?'

They were, very near; for they had in fact been listening at the
door from the beginning of this conversation until now, when they
precipitately retired. Having wiped the signs of weakness from his
eyes, and so given them time to get upstairs, Mr Pecksniff opened
the door, and mildly cried in the passage,

'My own darlings, where are you?'

'Here, my dear pa!' replied the distant voice of Charity.

'Come down into the back parlour, if you please, my love,' said Mr
Pecksniff, 'and bring your sister with you.'

'Yes, my dear pa,' cried Merry; and down they came directly (being
all obedience), singing as they came.

Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the two Miss Pecksniffs
when they found a stranger with their dear papa. Nothing could
surpass their mute amazement when he said, 'My children, Mr
Chuzzlewit!' But when he told them that Mr Chuzzlewit and he were
friends, and that Mr Chuzzlewit had said such kind and tender words
as pierced his very heart, the two Miss Pecksniffs cried with one
accord, 'Thank Heaven for this!' and fell upon the old man's neck.
And when they had embraced him with such fervour of affection that
no words can describe it, they grouped themselves about his chair,
and hung over him, as figuring to themselves no earthly joy like
that of ministering to his wants, and crowding into the remainder
of his life, the love they would have diffused over their whole
existence, from infancy, if he--dear obdurate!--had but consented
to receive the precious offering.

The old man looked attentively from one to the other, and then at Mr
Pecksniff, several times.

'What,' he asked of Mr Pecksniff, happening to catch his eye in its
descent; for until now it had been piously upraised, with something
of that expression which the poetry of ages has attributed to a


domestic bird, when breathing its last amid the ravages of an
electric storm: 'What are their names?'

Mr Pecksniff told him, and added, rather hastily; his caluminators
would have said, with a view to any testamentary thoughts that might
be flitting through old Martin's mind; 'Perhaps, my dears, you had
better write them down. Your humble autographs are of no value in
themselves, but affection may prize them.'

'Affection,' said the old man, 'will expend itself on the living
originals. Do not trouble yourselves, my girls, I shall not so
easily forget you, Charity and Mercy, as to need such tokens of
remembrance. Cousin!'

'Sir!' said Mr Pecksniff, with alacrity.

'Do you never sit down?'

'Why--yes--occasionally, sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, who had been
standing all this time.

'Will you do so now?'

'Can you ask me,' returned Mr Pecksniff, slipping into a chair
immediately, 'whether I will do anything that you desire?'

'You talk confidently,' said Martin, 'and you mean well; but I fear
you don't know what an old man's humours are. You don't know what
it is to be required to court his likings and dislikings; to adapt
yourself to his prejudices; to do his bidding, be it what it may; to
bear with his distrusts and jealousies; and always still be zealous
in his service. When I remember how numerous these failings are in
me, and judge of their occasional enormity by the injurious thoughts
I lately entertained of you, I hardly dare to claim you for my
friend.'

'My worthy sir,' returned his relative, 'how CAN you talk in such a
painful strain! What was more natural than that you should make one
slight mistake, when in all other respects you were so very correct,
and have had such reason--such very sad and undeniable reason--to
judge of every one about you in the worst light!'

'True,' replied the other. 'You are very lenient with me.'

'We always said, my girls and I,' cried Mr Pecksniff with increasing
obsequiousness, 'that while we mourned the heaviness of our
misfortune in being confounded with the base and mercenary, still we
could not wonder at it. My dears, you remember?'

Oh vividly! A thousand times!

'We uttered no complaint,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Occasionally we had
the presumption to console ourselves with the remark that Truth
would in the end prevail, and Virtue be triumphant; but not often.
My loves, you recollect?'

Recollect! Could he doubt it! Dearest pa, what strange unnecessary
questions!

'And when I saw you,' resumed Mr Pecksniff, with still greater
deference, 'in the little, unassuming village where we take the
liberty of dwelling, I said you were mistaken in me, my dear sir;
that was all, I think?'


'No--not all,' said Martin, who had been sitting with his hand upon
his brow for some time past, and now looked up again; 'you said much
more, which, added to other circumstances that have come to my
knowledge, opened my eyes. You spoke to me, disinterestedly, on
behalf of--I needn't name him. You know whom I mean.'

Trouble was expressed in Mr Pecksniff's visage, as he pressed his
hot hands together, and replied, with humility, 'Quite
disinterestedly, sir, I assure you.'

'I know it,' said old Martin, in his quiet way. 'I am sure of it.
I said so. It was disinterested too, in you, to draw that herd of
harpies off from me, and be their victim yourself; most other men
would have suffered them to display themselves in all their
rapacity, and would have striven to rise, by contrast, in my
estimation. You felt for me, and drew them off, for which I owe you
many thanks. Although I left the place, I know what passed behind
my back, you see!'

'You amaze me, sir!' cried Mr Pecksniff; which was true enough.

'My knowledge of your proceedings,' said the old man, does not stop
at this. You have a new inmate in your house.'

'Yes, sir,' rejoined the architect, 'I have.'

'He must quit it' said Martin.

'For--for yours?' asked Mr Pecksniff, with a quavering mildness.

'For any shelter he can find,' the old man answered. 'He has
deceived you.'

'I hope not' said Mr Pecksniff, eagerly. 'I trust not. I have been
extremely well disposed towards that young man. I hope it cannot be
shown that he has forfeited all claim to my protection. Deceit-deceit,
my dear Mr Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself
bound, on proof of deceit, to renounce him instantly.'

The old man glanced at both his fair supporters, but especially at
Miss Mercy, whom, indeed, he looked full in the face, with a greater
demonstration of interest than had yet appeared in his features.
His gaze again encountered Mr Pecksniff, as he said, composedly:

'Of course you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?'

'Oh dear!' cried Mr Pecksniff, rubbing his hair up very stiff upon
his head, and staring wildly at his daughters. 'This is becoming
tremendous!'

'You know the fact?' repeated Martin

'Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation my
dear sir!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Don't tell me that. For the honour
of human nature, say you're not about to tell me that!'

'I thought he had suppressed it,' said the old man.

The indignation felt by Mr Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure,
was only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters.
What! Had they taken to their hearth and home a secretly contracted
serpent; a crocodile, who had made a furtive offer of his hand; an
imposition on society; a bankrupt bachelor with no effects, trading
with the spinster world on false pretences! And oh, to think that he


should have disobeyed and practised on that sweet, that venerable
gentleman, whose name he bore; that kind and tender guardian; his
more than father--to say nothing at all of mother--horrible,
horrible! To turn him out with ignominy would be treatment much too
good. Was there nothing else that could be done to him? Had he
incurred no legal pains and penalties? Could it be that the
statutes of the land were so remiss as to have affixed no punishment
to such delinquency? Monster; how basely had they been deceived!

'I am glad to find you second me so warmly,' said the old man
holding up his hand to stay the torrent of their wrath. 'I will not
deny that it is a pleasure to me to find you so full of zeal. We
will consider that topic as disposed of.'

'No, my dear sir,' cried Mr Pecksniff, 'not as disposed of, until I
have purged my house of this pollution.'

'That will follow,' said the old man, 'in its own time. I look upon
that as done.'

'You are very good, sir,' answered Mr Pecksniff, shaking his hand.
'You do me honour. You MAY look upon it as done, I assure you.'

'There is another topic,' said Martin, 'on which I hope you will
assist me. You remember Mary, cousin?'

'The young lady that I mentioned to you, my dears, as having
interested me so very much,' remarked Mr Pecksniff. 'Excuse my
interrupting you, sir.'

'I told you her history?' said the old man.

'Which I also mentioned, you will recollect, my dears,' cried Mr
Pecksniff. 'Silly girls, Mr Chuzzlewit--quite moved by it, they
were!

'Whylook now!' said Martinevidently pleased; 'I feared I should
have had to urge her case upon youand ask you to regard her
favourably for my sake. But I find you have no jealousies! Well!
You have no cause for anyto be sure. She has nothing to gain from
memy dearsand she knows it.'

The two Miss Pecksniffs murmured their approval of this wise
arrangementand their cordial sympathy with its interesting object.

'If I could have anticipated what has come to pass between us four'
said the old man thoughfully; 'but it is too late to think of that.
You would receive her courteouslyyoung ladiesand be kind to her
if need were?'

Where was the orphan whom the two Miss Pecksniffs would not have
cherished in their sisterly bosom! But when that orphan was
commended to their care by one on whom the dammed-up love of years
was gushing forthwhat exhaustless stores of pure affection yearned
to expend themselves upon her!

An interval ensuedduring which Mr Chuzzlewitin an absent frame
of mindsat gazing at the groundwithout uttering a word; and as
it was plain that he had no desire to be interrupted in his
meditationsMr Pecksniff and his daughters were profoundly silent
also. During the whole of the foregoing dialoguehe had borne his
part with a coldpassionless promptitudeas though he had learned
and painfully rehearsed it all a hundred times. Even when his
expressions were warmest and his language most encouraginghe had


retained the same mannerwithout the least abatement. But now
there was a keener brightness in his eyeand more expression in his
voiceas he saidawakening from his thoughtful mood:

'You know what will be said of this? Have you reflected?'

'Said of whatmy dear sir?' Mr Pecksniff asked.

'Of this new understanding between us.'

Mr Pecksniff looked benevolently sagaciousand at the same time far
above all earthly misconstructionas he shook his headand
observed that a great many things would be said of itno doubt.

'A great many' rejoined the old man. 'Some will say that I dote in
my old age; that illness has shaken me; that I have lost all
strength of mindand have grown childish. You can bear that?'

Mr Pecksniff answered that it would be dreadfully hard to bearbut
he thought he couldif he made a great effort.

'Others will say--I speak of disappointedangry people only--that
you have lied and fawnedand wormed yourself through dirty ways
into my favour; by such concessions and such crooked deedssuch
meannesses and vile endurancesas nothing could repay; nonot the
legacy of half the world we live in. You can bear that?'

Mr Pecksniff made reply that this would be also very hard to bear
as reflectingin some degreeon the discernment of Mr Chuzzlewit.
Still he had a modest confidence that he could sustain the calumny
with the help of a good conscienceand that gentleman's friendship.

'With the great mass of slanderers' said old Martinleaning back
in his chair'the taleas I clearly foreseewill run thus: That
to mark my contempt for the rabble whom I despisedI chose from
among them the very worstand made him do my willand pampered and
enriched him at the cost of all the rest. Thatafter casting about
for the means of a punishment which should rankle in the bosoms of
these kites the mostand strike into their gallI devised this
scheme at a time when the last link in the chain of grateful love
and dutythat held me to my racewas roughly snapped asunder;
roughlyfor I loved him well; roughlyfor I had ever put my trust
in his affection; roughlyfor that he broke it when I loved him
most--God help me!--and he without a pang could throw me offwhile I
clung about his heart! Now' said the old mandismissing this
passionate outburst as suddenly as he had yielded to it'is your
mind made up to bear this likewise? Lay your account with having it
to bearand put no trust in being set right by me.'

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit' cried Pecksniff in an ecstasy'for such a
man as you have shown yourself to be this day; for a man so injured
yet so very humane; for a man so--I am at a loss what precise term
to use--yet at the same time so remarkably--I don't know how to
express my meaning; for such a man as I have describedI hope it is
no presumption to say that Iand I am sure I may add my children
also (my dearswe perfectly agree in thisI think?)would bear
anything whatever!'

'Enough' said Martin. 'You can charge no consequences on me. When
do you retire home?'

'Whenever you pleasemy dear sir. To-night if you desire it.'

'I desire nothing' returned the old man'that is unreasonable.


Such a request would be. Will you be ready to return at the end of
this week?'

The very time of all others that Mr Pecksniff would have suggested
if it had been left to him to make his own choice. As to his
daughters--the words'Let us be at home on Saturdaydear pa' were
actually upon their lips.

'Your expensescousin' said Martintaking a folded slip of paper
from his pocketbook'may possibly exceed that amount. If solet
me know the balance that I owe youwhen we next meet. It would be
useless if I told you where I live just now; indeedI have no fixed
abode. When I haveyou shall know it. You and your daughters may
expect to see me before long; in the meantime I need not tell you
that we keep our own confidence. What you will do when you get home
is understood between us. Give me no account of it at any time; and
never refer to it in any way. I ask that as a favour. I am
commonly a man of few wordscousin; and all that need be said just
now is saidI think.'

'One glass of wine--one morsel of this homely cake?' cried Mr
Pecksniffventuring to detain him. 'My dears--!'

The sisters flew to wait upon him.

'Poor girls!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'You will excuse their agitation
my dear sir. They are made up of feeling. A bad commodity to go
through the world withMr Chuzzlewit! My youngest daughter is
almost as much of a woman as my eldestis she notsir?'

'Which IS the youngest?' asked the old man.

'Mercyby five years' said Mr Pecksniff. 'We sometimes venture to
consider her rather a fine figuresir. Speaking as an artistI
may perhaps be permitted to suggest that its outline is graceful and
correct. I am naturally' said Mr Pecksniffdrying his hands upon
his handkerchiefand looking anxiously in his cousin's face at
almost every word'proudif I may use the expressionto have a
daughter who is constructed on the best models.'

'She seems to have a lively disposition' observed Martin.

'Dear me!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'That is quite remarkable. You have
defined her charactermy dear siras correctly as if you had known
her from her birth. She HAS a lively disposition. I assure youmy
dear sirthat in our unpretending home her gaiety is delightful.'

'No doubt' returned the old man.

'Charityupon the other hand' said Mr Pecksniff'is remarkable
for strong senseand for rather a deep tone of sentimentif the
partiality of a father may be excused in saying so. A wonderful
affection between themmy dear sir! Allow me to drink your health.
Bless you!'

'I little thought' retorted Martin'but a month agothat I should
be breaking bread and pouring wine with you. I drink to you.'

Not at all abashed by the extraordinary abruptness with which these
latter words were spokenMr Pecksniff thanked him devoutly.

'Now let me go' said Martinputting down the wine when he had
merely touched it with his lips. 'My dearsgood morning!'


But this distant form of farewell was by no means tender enough for
the yearnings of the young ladieswho again embraced him with all
their hearts--with all their arms at any rate--to which parting
caresses their new-found friend submitted with a better grace than
might have been expected from one whonot a moment beforehad
pledged their parent in such a very uncomfortable manner. These
endearments terminatedhe took a hasty leave of Mr Pecksniff and
withdrewfollowed to the door by both father and daughterswho
stood there kissing their hands and beaming with affection until he
disappeared; thoughby the wayhe never once looked backafter he
had crossed the threshold.

When they returned into the houseand were again alone in Mrs
Todgers's roomthe two young ladies exhibited an unusual amount of
gaiety; insomuch that they clapped their handsand laughedand
looked with roguish aspects and a bantering air upon their dear
papa. This conduct was so very unaccountablethat Mr Pecksniff
(being singularly grave himself) could scarcely choose but ask them
what it meant; and took them to taskin his gentle mannerfor
yielding to such light emotions.

'If it was possible to divine any cause for this merrimenteven the
most remote' he said'I should not reprove you. But when you can
have none whatever--ohreallyreally!'

This admonition had so little effect on Mercythat she was obliged
to hold her handkerchief before her rosy lipsand to throw herself
back in her chairwith every demonstration of extreme amusement;
which want of duty so offended Mr Pecksniff that he reproved her in
set termsand gave her his parental advice to correct herself in
solitude and contemplation. But at that juncture they were
disturbed by the sound of voices in dispute; and as it proceeded
from the next roomthe subject matter of the altercation quickly
reached their ears.

'I don't care that! Mrs Todgers' said the young gentleman who had
been the youngest gentleman in company on the day of the festival;
'I don't care THATma'am' said hesnapping his fingers'for
Jinkins. Don't suppose I do.'

'I am quite certain you don'tsir' replied Mrs Todgers. 'You have
too independent a spiritI knowto yield to anybody. And quite
right. There is no reason why you should give way to any gentleman.
Everybody must be well aware of that.'

'I should think no more of admitting daylight into the fellow' said
the youngest gentlemanin a desperate voice'than if he was a
bulldog.'

Mrs Todgers did not stop to inquire whetheras a matter of
principlethere was any particular reason for admitting daylight
even into a bulldogotherwise than by the natural channel of his
eyesbut she seemed to wring her handsand she moaned.

'Let him be careful' said the youngest gentleman. 'I give him
warning. No man shall step between me and the current of my
vengeance. I know a Cove--' he used that familiar epithet in his
agitation but corrected himself by adding'a gentleman of property
I mean--who practices with a pair of pistols (fellows too) of his
own. If I am driven to borrow 'emand to send at friend to Jinkins
a tragedy will get into the papers. That's all.'

Again Mrs Todgers moaned.


'I have borne this long enough' said the youngest gentleman but now
my soul rebels against itand I won't stand it any longer. I left
home originallybecause I had that within me which wouldn't be
domineered over by a sister; and do you think I'm going to be put
down by HIM? No.'

'It is very wrong in Mr Jinkins; I know it is perfectly inexcusable
in Mr Jinkinsif he intends it' observed Mrs Todgers

'If he intends it!' cried the youngest gentleman. 'Don't he
interrupt and contradict me on every occasion? Does he ever fail to
interpose himself between me and anything or anybody that he sees I
have set my mind upon? Does he make a point of always pretending to
forget mewhen he's pouring out the beer? Does he make bragging
remarks about his razorsand insulting allusions to people who have
no necessity to shave more than once a week? But let him look out!
He'll find himself shavedpretty closebefore longand so I tell
him.'

The young gentleman was mistaken in this closing sentenceinasmuch
as he never told it to Jinkinsbut always to Mrs Todgers.

'However' he said'these are not proper subjects for ladies' ears.
All I've got to say to youMrs Todgersisa week's notice from
next Saturday. The same house can't contain that miscreant and me
any longer. If we get over the intermediate time without bloodshed
you may think yourself pretty fortunate. I don't myself expect we
shall.'

'Deardear!' cried Mrs Todgers'what would I have given to have
prevented this? To lose yousirwould be like losing the house's
right-hand. So popular as you are among the gentlemen; so generally
looked up to; and so much liked! I do hope you'll think better of
it; if on nobody else's accounton mine.'

'There's Jinkins' said the youngest gentlemanmoodily. 'Your
favourite. He'll console youand the gentlemen toofor the loss
of twenty such as me. I'm not understood in this house. I never
have been.'

'Don't run away with that opinionsir!' cried Mrs Todgerswith a
show of honest indignation. 'Don't make such a charge as that
against the establishmentI must beg of you. It is not so bad as
that comes tosir. Make any remark you please against the
gentlemenor against me; but don't say you're not understood in
this house.'

'I'm not treated as if I was' said the youngest gentleman.

'There you make a great mistakesir' returned Mrs Todgersin the
same strain. 'As many of the gentlemen and I have often saidyou
are too sensitive. That's where it is. You are of too susceptible
a nature; it's in your spirit.'

The young gentleman coughed.

'And as' said Mrs Todgers'as to Mr JinkinsI must beg of youif
we ARE to partto understand that I don't abet Mr Jinkins by any
means. Far from it. I could wish that Mr Jinkins would take a
lower tone in this establishmentand would not be the means of
raising differences between me and gentlemen that I can much less
bear to part with than I could with Mr Jinkins. Mr Jinkins is not
such a boardersir' added Mrs Todgers'that all considerations of
private feeling and respect give way before him. Quite the


contraryI assure you.'

The young gentleman was so much mollified by these and similar
speeches on the part of Mrs Todgersthat he and that lady gradually
changed positions; so that she became the injured partyand he was
understood to be the injurer; but in a complimentarynot in an
offensive sense; his cruel conduct being attributable to his exalted
natureand to that alone. Soin the endthe young gentleman
withdrew his noticeand assured Mrs Todgers of his unalterable
regard; and having done sowent back to business.

'Goodness meMiss Pecksniffs!' cried that ladyas she came into
the back roomand sat wearily downwith her basket on her knees
and her hands folded upon it'what a trial of temper it is to keep
a house like this! You must have heard most of what has just passed.
Now did you ever hear the like?'

'Never!' said the two Miss Pecksniffs.

'Of all the ridiculous young fellows that ever I had to deal with'
resumed Mrs Todgers'that is the most ridiculous and unreasonable.
Mr Jinkins is hard upon him sometimesbut not half as hard as he
deserves. To mention such a gentleman as Mr Jinkins in the same
breath with HIM--you know it's too much! And yet he's as jealous
of himbless youas if he was his equal.'

The young ladies were greatly entertained by Mrs Todgers's account
no less than with certain anecdotes illustrative of the youngest
gentleman's characterwhich she went on to tell them. But Mr
Pecksniff looked quite stern and angry; and when she had concluded
said in a solemn voice:

'PrayMrs Todgersif I may inquirewhat does that young gentleman
contribute towards the support of these premises?'

'Whysirfor what HE hashe pays about eighteen shillings a
week!' said Mrs Todgers.

'Eighteen shillings a week!' repeated Mr Pecksniff.

'Taking one week with another; as near that as possible' said Mrs
Todgers.

Mr Pecksniff rose from his chairfolded his armslooked at her
and shook his head.

'And do you mean to sayma'am--is it possibleMrs Todgers--that
for such a miserable consideration as eighteen shillings a weeka
female of your understanding can so far demean herself as to wear a
double faceeven for an instant?'

'I am forced to keep things on the square if I cansir' faltered
Mrs Todgers. 'I must preserve peace among themand keep my
connection togetherif possibleMr Pecksniff. The profit is very
small.'

'The profit!' cried that gentlemanlaying great stress upon the
word. 'The profitMrs Todgers! You amaze me!'

He was so severethat Mrs Todgers shed tears.

'The profit!' repeated Mr pecksniff. 'The profit of dissimulation!
To worship the golden calf of Baalfor eighteen shillings a week!'


'Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon meMr Pecksniff'
cried Mrs Todgerstaking out her handkerchief.

'Oh CalfCalf!' cried Mr Pecksniff mournfully. 'OhBaalBaal! oh
my friendMrs Todgers! To barter away that precious jewelselfesteem
and cringe to any mortal creature--for eighteen shillings a
week!'

He was so subdued and overcome by the reflectionthat he
immediately took down his hat from its peg in the passageand went
out for a walkto compose his feelings. Anybody passing him in the
street might have known him for a good man at first sight; for his
whole figure teemed with a consciousness of the moral homily he had
read to Mrs Todgers.

Eighteen shillings a week! Justmost justthy censureupright
Pecksniff! Had it been for the sake of a ribbonstaror garter;
sleeves of lawna great man's smilea seat in parliamenta tap
upon the shoulder from a courtly sword; a placea partyor a
thriving lieor eighteen thousand poundsor even eighteen
hundred;--but to worship the golden calf for eighteen shillings a
week! oh pitifulpitiful!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WHEREIN A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN BECOMES PARTICULAR IN HIS ATTENTIONS TO
A CERTAIN LADY; AND MORE COMING EVENTS THAN ONECAST THEIR SHADOWS
BEFORE

The family were within two or three days of their departure from Mrs
Todgers'sand the commercial gentlemen were to a man despondent and
not to be comfortedbecause of the approaching separationwhen
Bailey juniorat the jocund time of noonpresented himself before
Miss Charity Pecksniffthen sitting with her sister in the banquet
chamberhemming six new pocket-handkerchiefs for Mr Jinkins; and
having expressed a hopepreliminary and piousthat he might be
blestgave her in his pleasant way to understand that a visitor
attended to pay his respects to herand was at that moment waiting
in the drawing-room. Perhaps this last announcement showed in a
more striking point of view than many lengthened speeches could have
donethe trustfulness and faith of Bailey's nature; since he had
in factlast seen the visitor on the door-matwhereafter
signifying to him that he would do well to go upstairshe had left
him to the guidance of his own sagacity. Hence it was at least an
even chance that the visitor was then wandering on the roof of the
houseor vainly seeking to extricate himself from the maze of
bedrooms; Todgers's being precisely that kind of establishment in
which an unpiloted stranger is pretty sure to find himself in some
place where he least expects and least desires to be.

'A gentleman for me!' cried Charitypausing in her work; 'my
graciousBailey!'

'Ah!' said Bailey. 'It IS my graciousan't it? Wouldn't I be
gracious neithernot if I wos him!'

The remark was rendered somewhat obscure in itselfby reason (as
the reader may have observed) of a redundancy of negatives; but
accompanied by action expressive of a faithful couple walking armin-
arm towards a parochial churchmutually exchanging looks of
loveit clearly signified this youth's conviction that the caller's


purpose was of an amorous tendency. Miss Charity affected to
reprove so great a liberty; but she could not help smiling. He was
a strange boyto be sure. There was always some ground of
probability and likelihood mingled with his absurd behaviour. That
was the best of it!

'But I don't know any gentlemenBailey' said Miss Pecksniff. 'I
think you must have made a mistake.'

Mr Bailey smiled at the extreme wildness of such a suppositionand
regarded the young ladies with unimpaired affability.

'My dear Merry' said Charity'who CAN it be? Isn't it odd? I
have a great mind not to go to him really. So very strangeyou
know!'

The younger sister plainly considered that this appeal had its
origin in the pride of being called upon and asked for; and that it
was intended as an assertion of superiorityand a retaliation upon
her for having captured the commercial gentlemen. Thereforeshe
repliedwith great affection and politenessthat it wasno doubt
very strange indeed; and that she was totally at a loss to conceive
what the ridiculous person unknown could mean by it.

'Quite impossible to divine!' said Charitywith some sharpness
'though stillat the same timeyou needn't be angrymy dear.'

'Thank you' retorted Merrysinging at her needle. 'I am quite
aware of thatmy love.'

'I am afraid your head is turnedyou silly thing' said Cherry.

'Do you knowmy dear' said Merrywith engaging candour'that I
have been afraid of thatmyselfall along! So much incense and
nonsenseand all the rest of itis enough to turn a stronger head
than mine. What a relief it must be to youmy dearto be so very
comfortable in that respectand not to be worried by those odious
men! How do you do itCherry?'

This artless inquiry might have led to turbulent resultsbut for
the strong emotions of delight evinced by Bailey juniorwhose
relish in the turn the conversation had lately taken was so acute
that it impelled and forced him to the instantaneous performance of
a dancing stepextremely difficult in its natureand only to be
achieved in a moment of ecstasywhich is commonly called The Frog's
Hornpipe. A manifestation so livelybrought to their immediate
recollection the great virtuous precept'Keep up appearances
whatever you do' in which they had been educated. They forbore at
onceand jointly signified to Mr Bailey that if he should presume
to practice that figure any more in their presencethey would
instantly acquaint Mrs Todgers with the factand would demand his
condign punishmentat the hands of that lady. The young gentleman
having expressed the bitterness of his contrition by affecting to
wipe away scalding tears with his apronand afterwards feigning to
wring a vast amount of water from that garmentheld the door open
while Miss Charity passed out; and so that damsel went in state
upstairs to receive her mysterious adorer.

By some strange occurrence of favourable circumstances he had found
out the drawing-roomand was sitting there alone.

'Ahcousin!' he said. 'Here I amyou see. You thought I was
lostI'll be bound. Well! how do you find yourself by this time?'


Miss Charity replied that she was quite welland gave Mr Jonas
Chuzzlewit her hand.

'That's right' said Mr Jonas'and you've got over the fatigues of
the journey have you? I say. How's the other one?'

'My sister is very wellI believe' returned the young lady. 'I
have not heard her complain of any indispositionsir. Perhaps you
would like to see herand ask her yourself?'

'Nono cousin!' said Mr Jonassitting down beside her on the
window-seat. 'Don't be in a hurry. There's no occasion for that
you know. What a cruel girl you are!'

'It's impossible for YOU to know' said Cherry'whether I am or
not.'

'Wellperhaps it is' said Mr Jonas. 'I say--Did you think I was
lost? You haven't told me that.'

'I didn't think at all about it' answered Cherry.

'Didn't you though?' said Jonaspondering upon this strange reply.
'Did the other one?'

'I am sure it's impossible for me to say what my sister mayor may
not have thought on such a subject' cried Cherry. 'She never said
anything to me about itone way or other.'

'Didn't she laugh about it?' inquired Jonas.

'No. She didn't even laugh about it' answered Charity.

'She's a terrible one to laughan't she?' said Jonaslowering his
voice.

'She is very lively' said Cherry.

'Liveliness is a pleasant thing--when it don't lead to spending
money. An't it?' asked Mr Jonas.

'Very much soindeed' said Cherrywith a demureness of manner
that gave a very disinterested character to her assent.

'Such liveliness as yours I meanyou know' observed Mr Jonasas
he nudged her with his elbow. 'I should have come to see you
beforebut I didn't know where you was. How quick you hurried off
that morning!'

'I was amenable to my papa's directions' said Miss Charity.

'I wish he had given me his direction' returned her cousin'and
then I should have found you out before. WhyI shouldn't have
found you even nowif I hadn't met him in the street this morning.
What a sleeksly chap he is! Just like a tomcatan't he?'

'I must trouble you to have the goodness to speak more respectfully
of my papaMr Jonas' said Charity. 'I can't allow such a tone as
thateven in jest.'

'Ecodyou may say what you like of MY fatherthenand so I give
you leave' said Jonas. 'I think it's liquid aggravation that
circulates through his veinsand not regular blood. How old should
you think my father wascousin?'


'Oldno doubt' replied Miss Charity; 'but a fine old gentleman.'

'A fine old gentleman!' repeated Jonasgiving the crown of his hat
an angry knock. 'Ah! It's time he was thinking of being drawn out a
little finer too. Whyhe's eighty!'

'Is heindeed?' said the young lady.

'And ecod' cried Jonas'now he's gone so far without giving inI
don't see much to prevent his being ninety; nonor even a hundred.
Whya man with any feeling ought to be ashamed of being eightylet
alone more. Where's his religionI should like to knowwhen he
goes flying in the face of the Bible like that? Threescore-andten's
the markand no man with a conscienceand a proper sense of
what's expected of himhas any business to live longer.'

Is any one surprised at Mr Jonas making such a reference to such a
book for such a purpose? Does any one doubt the old sawthat the
Devil (being a layman) quotes Scripture for his own ends? If he
will take the trouble to look about himhe may find a greater
number of confirmations of the fact in the occurrences of any single
daythan the steam-gun can discharge balls in a minute.

'But there's enough of my father' said Jonas; 'it's of no use to go
putting one's self out of the way by talking about HIM. I called to
ask you to come and take a walkcousinand see some of the sights;
and to come to our house afterwardsand have a bit of something.
Pecksniff will most likely look in in the eveninghe saysand
bring you home. Seehere's his writing; I made him put it down
this morning when he told me he shouldn't be back before I came
here; in case you wouldn't believe me. There's nothing like proof
is there? Haha! I say--you'll bring the other oneyou know!'

Miss Charity cast her eyes upon her father's autographwhich merely
said--'Gomy childrenwith your cousin. Let there be union among
us when it is possible;' and after enough of hesitation to impart a
proper value to her consentwithdrew to prepare her sister and
herself for the excursion. She soon returnedaccompanied by Miss
Mercywho was by no means pleased to leave the brilliant triumphs
of Todgers's for the society of Mr Jonas and his respected father.

'Aha!' cried Jonas. 'There you areare you?'

'Yesfright' said Mercy'here I am; and I would much rather be
anywhere elseI assure you.'

'You don't mean that' cried Mr Jonas. 'You can'tyou know. It
isn't possible.'

'You can have what opinion you likefright' retorted Mercy. 'I am
content to keep mine; and mine is that you are a very unpleasant
odiousdisagreeable person.' Here she laughed heartilyand seemed
to enjoy herself very much.

'Ohyou're a sharp gal!' said Mr Jonas. 'She's a regular teaser
an't shecousin?'

Miss Charity replied in effectthat she was unable to say what the
habits and propensities of a regular teaser might be; and that even
if she possessed such informationit would ill become her to admit
the existence of any creature with such an unceremonious name in her
family; far less in the person of a beloved sister; 'whatever'
added Cherry with an angry glance'whatever her real nature may


be.'

'Wellmy dear' said Merry'the only observation I have to make
isthat if we don't go out at onceI shall certainly take my
bonnet off againand stay at home.'

This threat had the desired effect of preventing any farther
altercationfor Mr Jonas immediately proposed an adjournmentand
the same being carried unanimouslythey departed from the house
straightway. On the doorstepMr Jonas gave an arm to each cousin;
which act of gallantry being observed by Bailey juniorfrom the
garret windowwas by him saluted with a loud and violent fit of
coughingto which paroxysm he was still the victim when they turned
the corner.

Mr Jonas inquired in the first instance if they were good walkers
and being answered'Yes' submitted their pedestrian powers to a
pretty severe test; for he showed them as many sightsin the way of
bridgeschurchesstreetsoutsides of theatresand other free
spectaclesin that one forenoonas most people see in a
twelvemonth. It was observable in this gentlemanthat he had an
insurmountable distaste to the insides of buildingsand that he was
perfectly acquainted with the merits of all showsin respect of
which there was any charge for admissionwhich it seemed were every
one detestableand of the very lowest grade of merit. He was so
thoroughly possessed with this opinionthat when Miss Charity
happened to mention the circumstance of their having been twice or
thrice to the theatre with Mr Jinkins and partyhe inquiredas a
matter of course'where the orders came from?' and being told that
Mr Jinkins and party paidwas beyond description entertained
observing that 'they must be nice flatscertainly;' and often in
the course of the walkbursting out again into a perfect convulsion
of laughter at the surpassing silliness of those gentlemenand
(doubtless) at his own superior wisdom.

When they had been out for some hours and were thoroughly fatigued
it being by that time twilightMr Jonas intimated that he would
show them one of the best pieces of fun with which he was
acquainted. This joke was of a practical kindand its humour lay
in taking a hackney-coach to the extreme limits of possibility for a
shilling. Happily it brought them to the place where Mr Jonas
dweltor the young ladies might have rather missed the point and
cream of the jest.

The old-established firm of Anthony Chuzzlewit and SonManchester
Warehousemenand so forthhad its place of business in a very
narrow street somewhere behind the Post Office; where every house
was in the brightest summer morning very gloomy; and where light
porters watered the pavementeach before his own employer's
premisesin fantastic patternsin the dog-days; and where spruce
gentlemen with their hands in the pockets of symmetrical trousers
were always to be seen in warm weathercontemplating their
undeniable boots in dusty warehouse doorways; which appeared to be
the hardest work they didexcept now and then carrying pens behind
their ears. A dimdirtysmokytumble-downrotten old house it
wasas anybody would desire to see; but there the firm of Anthony
Chuzzlewit and Son transacted all their business and their pleasure
toosuch as it was; for neither the young man nor the old had any
other residenceor any care or thought beyond its narrow limits.

Businessas may be readily supposedwas the main thing in this
establishment; insomuch indeed that it shouldered comfort out of
doorsand jostled the domestic arrangements at every turn. Thus in
the miserable bedrooms there were files of moth-eaten letters


hanging up against the walls; and linen rollersand fragments of
old patternsand odds and ends of spoiled goodsstrewed upon the
ground; while the meagre bedsteadswashing-standsand scraps of
carpetwere huddled away into corners as objects of secondary
considerationnot to be thought of but as disagreeable necessities
furnishing no profitand intruding on the one affair of life. The
single sitting-room was on the same principlea chaos of boxes and
old papersand had more counting-house stools in it than chairs;
not to mention a great monster of a desk straddling over the middle
of the floorand an iron safe sunk into the wall above the fireplace.
The solitary little table for purposes of refection and social
enjoymentbore as fair a proportion to the desk and other business
furnitureas the graces and harmless relaxations of life had ever
donein the persons of the old man and his sonto their pursuit
of wealth. It was meanly laid out now for dinner; and in a chair
before the fire sat Anthony himselfwho rose to greet his son
and his fair cousins as they entered.

An ancient proverb warns us that we should not expect to find old
heads upon young shoulders; to which it may be added that we seldom
meet with that unnatural combinationbut we feel a strong desire to
knock them off; merely from an inherent love we have of seeing
things in their right places. It is not improbable that many men
in no wise choleric by naturefelt this impulse rising up within
themwhen they first made the acquaintance of Mr Jonas; but if
they had known him more intimately in his own houseand had sat
with him at his own boardit would assuredly have been paramount to
all other considerations.

'Wellghost!' said Mr Jonasdutifully addressing his parent by
that title. 'Is dinner nearly ready?'

'I should think it was' rejoined the old man.

'What's the good of that?' rejoined the son. 'I should think it
was. I want to know.'

'Ah! I don't know for certain' said Anthony.

'You don't know for certain' rejoined his son in a lower tone.
'No. You don't know anything for certainYOU don't. Give me your
candle here. I want it for the gals.'

Anthony handed him a battered old office candlestickwith which Mr
Jonas preceded the young ladies to the nearest bedroomwhere he
left them to take off their shawls and bonnets; and returning
occupied himself in opening a bottle of winesharpening the
carving-knifeand muttering compliments to his fatheruntil they
and the dinner appeared together. The repast consisted of a hot leg
of mutton with greens and potatoes; and the dishes having been set
upon the table by a slipshod old womanthey were left to enjoy it
after their own manner.

'Bachelor's Hallyou knowcousin' said Mr Jonas to Charity. 'I
say--the other one will be having a laugh at this when she gets
homewon't she? Here; you sit on the right side of meand I'll
have her upon the left. Other onewill you come here?'

'You're such a fright' replied Mercy'that I know I shall have no
appetite if I sit so near you; but I suppose I must.'

'An't she lively?' whispered Mr Jonas to the elder sisterwith his
favourite elbow emphasis.


'Oh I really don't know!' replied Miss Pecksnifftartly. 'I am
tired of being asked such ridiculous questions.'

'What's that precious old father of mine about now?' said Mr Jonas
seeing that his parent was travelling up and down the room instead
of taking his seat at table. 'What are you looking for?'

'I've lost my glassesJonas' said old Anthony.

'Sit down without your glassescan't you?' returned his son. 'You
don't eat or drink out of 'emI think; and where's that sleepyheaded
old Chuffey got to! Nowstupid. Oh! you know your namedo
you?'

It would seem that he didn'tfor he didn't come until the father
called. As he spokethe door of a small glass officewhich was
partitioned off from the rest of the roomwas slowly openedand a
little blear-eyedweazen-facedancient man came creeping out. He
was of a remote fashionand dustylike the rest of the furniture;
he was dressed in a decayed suit of black; with breeches garnished
at the knees with rusty wisps of ribbonthe very paupers of
shoestrings; on the lower portion of his spindle legs were dingy
worsted stockings of the same colour. He looked as if he had
been put away and forgotten half a century beforeand somebody
had just found him in a lumber-closet.

Such as he washe came slowly creeping on towards the tableuntil
at last he crept into the vacant chairfrom whichas his dim
faculties became conscious of the presence of strangersand those
strangers ladieshe rose againapparently intending to make a bow.
But he sat down once more without having made itand breathing on
his shrivelled hands to warm themremained with his poor blue nose
immovable above his platelooking at nothingwith eyes that saw
nothingand a face that meant nothing. Take him in that stateand
he was an embodiment of nothing. Nothing else.

'Our clerk' said Mr Jonasas host and master of the ceremonies:
'Old Chuffey.'

'Is he deaf?' inquired one of the young ladies.

'NoI don't know that he is. He an't deafis hefather?'

'I never heard him say he was' replied the old man.

'Blind?' inquired the young ladies.

'N--no. I never understood that he was at all blind' said Jonas
carelessly. 'You don't consider him sodo youfather?'

'Certainly not' replied Anthony.

'What is hethen?'

'WhyI'll tell you what he is' said Mr Jonasapart to the young
ladies'he's precious oldfor one thing; and I an't best pleased
with him for thatfor I think my father must have caught it of him.
He's a strange old chapfor another' he added in a louder voice
'and don't understand any one hardlybut HIM!' He pointed to his
honoured parent with the carving-forkin order that they might know
whom he meant.

'How very strange!' cried the sisters.


'Whyyou see' said Mr Jonas'he's been addling his old brains
with figures and book-keeping all his life; and twenty years ago or
so he went and took a fever. All the time he was out of his head
(which was three weeks) he never left off casting up; and he got to
so many million at last that I don't believe he's ever been quite
right since. We don't do much business now thoughand he an't a
bad clerk.'

'A very good one' said Anthony.

'Well! He an't a dear one at all events' observed Jonas; 'and he
earns his saltwhich is enough for our look-out. I was telling you
that he hardly understands any one except my father; he always
understands himthoughand wakes up quite wonderful. He's been
used to his ways so longyou see! WhyI've seen him play whist
with my father for a partner; and a good rubber too; when he had no
more notion what sort of people he was playing againstthan you
have.'

'Has he no appetite?' asked Merry.

'Ohyes' said Jonasplying his own knife and fork very fast. 'He
eats--when he's helped. But he don't care whether he waits a minute
or an houras long as father's here; so when I'm at all sharp set
as I am to-dayI come to him after I've taken the edge off my own
hungeryou know. NowChuffeystupidare you ready?'

Chuffey remained immovable.

'Always a perverse old filehe was' said Mr Jonascoolly helping
himself to another slice. 'Ask himfather.'

'Are you ready for your dinnerChuffey?' asked the old man

'Yesyes' said Chuffeylighting up into a sentient human creature
at the first sound of the voiceso that it was at once a curious
and quite a moving sight to see him. 'Yesyes. Quite readyMr
Chuzzlewit. Quite readysir. All readyall readyall ready.'
With that he stoppedsmilinglyand listened for some further
address; but being spoken to no morethe light forsook his face by
little and littleuntil he was nothing again.

'He'll be very disagreeablemind' said Jonasaddressing his
cousins as he handed the old man's portion to his father. 'He
always chokes himself when it an't broth. Look at himnow! Did
you ever see a horse with such a wall-eyed expression as he's got?
If it hadn't been for the joke of it I wouldn't have let him come
in to-day; but I thought he'd amuse you.'

The poor old subject of this humane speech washappily for himself
as unconscious of its purport as of most other remarks that were
made in his presence. But the mutton being toughand his gums
weakhe quickly verified the statement relative to his choking
propensitiesand underwent so much in his attempts to dinethat Mr
Jonas was infinitely amused; protesting that he had seldom seen him
better company in all his lifeand that he was enough to make a man
split his sides with laughing. Indeedhe went so far as to assure
the sistersthat in this point of view he considered Chuffey
superior to his own father; whichas he significantly addedwas
saying a great deal.

It was strange enough that Anthony Chuzzlewithimself so old a man
should take a pleasure in these gibings of his estimable son at the
expense of the poor shadow at their table. But he did


unquestionably; though not so much--to do him justice--with
reference to their ancient clerkas in exultation at the sharpness
of Jonas. For the same reason that young man's coarse allusions
even to himselffilled him with a stealthy glee; causing him to rub
his hands and chuckle covertlyas if he said in his sleeve'I
taught him. I trained him. This is the heir of my bringing-up.
Slycunningand covetoushe'll not squander my money. I worked
for this; I hoped for this; it has been the great end and aim of my
life.'

What a noble end and aim it was to contemplate in the attainment
truly! But there be some who manufacture idols after the fashion of
themselvesand fail to worship them when they are made; charging
their deformity on outraged nature. Anthony was better than these
at any rate.

Chuffey boggled over his plate so longthat Mr Joneslosing
patiencetook it from him at last with his own handsand requested
his father to signify to that venerable person that he had better
'peg away at his bread;' which Anthony did.

'Ayeaye!' cried the old manbrightening up as beforewhen this
was communicated to him in the same voice'quite rightquite
right. He's your own sonMr Chuzzlewit! Bless him for a sharp
lad! Bless himbless him!'

Mr Jonas considered this so particularly childish (perhaps with some
reason)that he only laughed the moreand told his cousins that he
was afraid one of these fine daysChuffey would be the death of
him. The cloth was then removedand the bottle of wine set upon
the tablefrom which Mr Jonas filled the young ladies' glasses
calling on them not to spare itas they might be certain there was
plenty more where that came from. But he added with some haste
after this sally that it was only his jokeand they wouldn't
suppose him to be in earnesthe was sure.

'I shall drink' said Anthony'to Pecksniff. Your fathermy
dears. A clever manPecksniff. A wary man! A hypocritethough
eh? A hypocritegirlseh? Hahaha! Wellso he is. Now
among friendshe is. I don't think the worse of him for that
unless it is that he overdoes it. You may overdo anythingmy
darlings. You may overdo even hypocrisy. Ask Jonas!'

'You can't overdo taking care of yourself' observed that hopeful
gentleman with his mouth full.

'Do you hear thatmy dears?' cried Anthonyquite enraptured.
'Wisdomwisdom! A good exceptionJonas. No. It's not easy to
overdo that.'

'Except' whispered Mr Jonas to his favourite cousin'except when
one lives too long. Haha! Tell the other one that--I say!'

'Good gracious me!' said Cherryin a petulant manner. 'You can
tell her yourselfif you wishcan't you?'

'She seems to make such game of one' replied Mr Jonas.

'Then why need you trouble yourself about her?' said Charity. 'I am
sure she doesn't trouble herself much about you.'

'Don't she though?' asked Jonas.

'Good gracious meneed I tell you that she don't?' returned the


young lady.

Mr Jonas made no verbal rejoinderbut he glanced at Mercy with an
odd expression in his face; and said THAT wouldn't break his heart
she might depend upon it. Then he looked on Charity with even
greater favour than beforeand besought heras his polite manner
wasto 'come a little closer.'

'There's another thing that's not easily overdonefather' remarked
Jonasafter a short silence.

'What's that?' asked the father; grinning already in anticipation.

'A bargain' said the son. 'Here's the rule for bargains--"Do
other menfor they would do you." That's the true business precept.
All others are counterfeits.'

The delighted father applauded this sentiment to the echo; and was
so much tickled by itthat he was at the pains of imparting the
same to his ancient clerkwho rubbed his handsnodded his palsied
headwinked his watery eyesand cried in his whistling tones
'Good! good! Your own sonMr Chuzzlewit' with every feeble
demonstration of delight that he was capable of making. But this
old man's enthusiasm had the redeeming quality of being felt in
sympathy with the only creature to whom he was linked by ties of
long associationand by his present helplessness. And if there had
been anybody therewho cared to think about itsome dregs of a
better nature unawakenedmight perhaps have been descried through
that very mediummelancholy though it wasyet lingering at the
bottom of the worn-out cask called Chuffey.

As matters stoodnobody thought or said anything upon the subject;
so Chuffey fell back into a dark corner on one side of the
fireplacewhere he always spent his eveningsand was neither seen
nor heard again that night; save oncewhen a cup of tea was given
himin which he was seen to soak his bread mechanically. There was
no reason to suppose that he went to sleep at these seasonsor that
he heardor sawor feltor thought. He remainedas it were
frozen up--if any term expressive of such a vigorous process can be
applied to him--until he was again thawed for the moment by a word
or touch from Anthony.

Miss Charity made tea by desire of Mr Jonasand felt and looked so
like the lady of the house that she was in the prettiest confusion
imaginable; the more so from Mr Jonas sitting close beside herand
whispering a variety of admiring expressions in her ear. Miss
Mercyfor her partfelt the entertainment of the evening to be so
distinctly and exclusively theirsthat she silently deplored the
commercial gentlemen--at that momentno doubtwearying for her
return--and yawned over yesterday's newspaper. As to Anthonyhe
went to sleep outrightso Jonas and Cherry had a clear stage to
themselves as long as they chose to keep possession of it.

When the tea-tray was taken awayas it was at lastMr Jonas
produced a dirty pack of cardsand entertained the sisters with
divers small feats of dexterity: whereof the main purpose of every
one wasthat you were to decoy somebody into laying a wager with
you that you couldn't do it; and were then immediately to win and
pocket his money. Mr Jonas informed them that these accomplishments
were in high vogue in the most intellectual circlesand that large
amounts were constantly changing hands on such hazards. And it may
be remarked that he fully believed this; for there is a simplicity
of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence; and in all
matters where a lively faith in knavery and meanness was required as


the ground-work of beliefMr Jonas was one of the most credulous of
men. His ignorancewhich was stupendousmay be taken into
accountif the reader pleasesseparately.

This fine young man had all the inclination to be a profligate of
the first waterand only lacked the one good trait in the common
catalogue of debauched vices--open-handedness--to be a notable
vagabond. But there his griping and penurious habits stepped in;
and as one poison will sometimes neutralise anotherwhen wholesome
remedies would not availso he was restrained by a bad passion from
quaffing his full measure of evilwhen virtue might have sought to
hold him back in vain.

By the time he had unfolded all the peddling schemes he knew upon
the cardsit was growing late in the evening; and Mr Pecksniff not
making his appearancethe young ladies expressed a wish to return
home. But thisMr Jonasin his gallantrywould by no means
allowuntil they had partaken of some bread and cheese and porter;
and even then he was excessively unwilling to allow them to depart;
often beseeching Miss Charity to come a little closeror to stop a
little longerand preferring many other complimentary petitions of
that nature in his own hospitable and earnest way. When all his
efforts to detain them were fruitlesshe put on his hat and
greatcoat preparatory to escorting them to Todgers's; remarking that
he knew they would rather walk thither than ride; and that for his
part he was quite of their opinion.

'Good night' said Anthony. 'Good night; remember me to--haha
ha!--to Pecksniff. Take care of your cousinmy dears; beware of
Jonas; he's a dangerous fellow. Don't quarrel for himin any
case!'

'Ohthe creature!' cried Mercy. 'The idea of quarrelling for HIM!
You may take himCherrymy loveall to yourself. I make you a
present of my share.'

'What! I'm a sour grapeam Icousin?' said Jonas.

Miss Charity was more entertained by this repartee than one would
have supposed likelyconsidering its advanced age and simple
character. But in her sisterly affection she took Mr Jonas to task
for leaning so very hard upon a broken reedand said that he must
not be so cruel to poor Merry any moreor she (Charity) would
positively be obliged to hate him. Mercywho really had her share
of good humouronly retorted with a laugh; and they walked home in
consequence without any angry passages of words upon the way. Mr
Jonas being in the middleand having a cousin on each arm
sometimes squeezed the wrong one; so tightly tooas to cause her
not a little inconvenience; but as he talked to Charity in whispers
the whole timeand paid her great attentionno doubt this was an
accidental circumstance. When they arrived at Todgers'sand the
door was openedMercy broke hastily from themand ran upstairs;
but Charity and Jonas lingered on the steps talking together for
more than five minutes; soas Mrs Todgers observed next morningto
a third party'It was pretty clear what was going on THEREand she
was glad of itfor it really was high time that Miss Pecksniff
thought of settling.'

And now the day was coming onwhen that bright vision which had
burst on Todgers's so suddenlyand made a sunshine in the shady
breast of Jinkinswas to be seen no more; when it was to be packed
like a brown paper parcelor a fish-basketor an oyster barrel or a
fat gentlemanor any other dull reality of lifein a stagecoach
and carried down into the country.


'Nevermy dear Miss Pecksniffs' said Mrs Todgerswhen they
retired to rest on the last night of their stay'never have I seen
an establishment so perfectly broken-hearted as mine is at this
present moment of time. I don't believe the gentlemen will be the
gentlemen they wereor anything like it--nonot for weeks to come.
You have a great deal to answer forboth of you.'

They modestly disclaimed any wilful agency in this disastrous state
of thingsand regretted it very much.

'Your pious patoo' said Mrs Todgers. 'There's a loss! My dear
Miss Pecksniffsyour pa is a perfect missionary of peace and love.'

Entertaining an uncertainty as to the particular kind of love
supposed to be comprised in Mr Pecksniff's missionthe young ladies
received the compliment rather coldly.

'If I dared' said Mrs Todgersperceiving this'to violate a
confidence which has been reposed in meand to tell you why I must
beg of you to leave the little door between your room and mine open
tonightI think you would be interested. But I mustn't do itfor I
promised Mr Jinkins faithfullythat I would be as silent as the
tomb.'

'Dear Mrs Todgers! What can you mean?'

'Whythenmy sweet Miss Pecksniffs' said the lady of the house;
'my own lovesif you will allow me the privilege of taking that
freedom on the eve of our separationMr Jinkins and the gentlemen
have made up a little musical party among themselvesand DO intend
in the dead of this nightto perform a serenade upon the stairs
outside the door. I could have wishedI own' said Mrs Todgers
with her usual foresight'that it had been fixed to take place an
hour or two earlier; because when gentlemen sit up late they drink
and when they drink they're not so musicalperhapsas when they
don't. But this is the arrangement; and I know you will be
gratifiedmy dear Miss Pecksniffsby such a mark of their
attention.'

The young ladies were at first so much excited by the newsthat
they vowed they couldn't think of going to bed until the serenade
was over. But half an hour of cool waiting so altered their opinion
that they not only went to bedbut fell asleep; and weremoreover
not ecstatically charmed to be awakened some time afterwards by
certain dulcet strains breaking in upon the silent watches of the
night.

It was very affecting--very. Nothing more dismal could have been
desired by the most fastidious taste. The gentleman of a vocal turn
was head muteor chief mourner; Jinkins took the bass; and the rest
took anything they could get. The youngest gentleman blew his
melancholy into a flute. He didn't blow much out of itbut that
was all the better. If the two Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs Todgers had
perished by spontaneous combustionand the serenade had been in
honour of their ashesit would have been impossible to surpass the
unutterable despair expressed in that one chorus'Go where glory
waits thee!' It was a requiema dirgea moana howla waila
lamentan abstract of everything that is sorrowful and hideous in
sound. The flute of the youngest gentleman was wild and fitful. It
came and went in gustslike the wind. For a long time together he
seemed to have left offand when it was quite settled by Mrs
Todgers and the young ladies thatovercome by his feelingshe had
retired in tearshe unexpectedly turned up again at the very top of


the tunegasping for breath. He was a tremendous performer. There
was no knowing where to have him; and exactly when you thought he
was doing nothing at allthen was he doing the very thing that
ought to astonish you most.

There were several of these concerted pieces; perhaps two or three
too manythough thatas Mrs Todgers saidwas a fault on the right
side. But even theneven at that solemn momentwhen the thrilling
sounds may be presumed to have penetrated into the very depths of
his natureif he had any depthsJinkins couldn't leave the
youngest gentleman alone. He asked him distinctlybefore the
second song began--as a personal favour toomark the villain in
that--not to play. Yes; he said so; not to play. The breathing of
the youngest gentleman was heard through the key-hole of the door.
He DIDN'T play. What vent was a flute for the passions swelling up
within his breast? A trombone would have been a world too mild.

The serenade approached its close. Its crowning interest was at
hand. The gentleman of a literary turn had written a song on the
departure of the ladiesand adapted it to an old tune. They all
joinedexcept the youngest gentleman in companywhofor the
reasons aforesaidmaintained a fearful silence. The song (which
was of a classical nature) invoked the oracle of Apolloand
demanded to know what would become of Todgers's when CHARITY and
MERCY were banished from its walls. The oracle delivered no opinion
particularly worth rememberingaccording to the not infrequent
practice of oracles from the earliest ages down to the present time.
In the absence of enlightenment on that subjectthe strain deserted
itand went on to show that the Miss Pecksniffs were nearly related
to Rule Britanniaand that if Great Britain hadn't been an island
there could have been no Miss Pecksniffs. And being now on a
nautical tackit closed with this verse:

'All hail to the vessel of Pecksniff the sire!
And favouring breezes to fan;
While Tritons flock round itand proudly admire
The architectartistand man!'


As they presented this beautiful picture to the imaginationthe
gentlemen gradually withdrew to bed to give the music the effect of
distance; and so it died awayand Todgers's was left to its
repose.

Mr Bailey reserved his vocal offering until the morningwhen he put
his head into the room as the young ladies were kneeling before
their trunkspacking upand treated them to an imitation of the
voice of a young dog in trying circumstances; when that animal is
supposed by persons of a lively fancyto relieve his feelings by
calling for pen and ink.

'Wellyoung ladies' said the youth'so you're a-going homeare
youworse luck?'

'YesBaileywe're going home' returned Mercy.

'An't you a-going to leave none of 'em a lock of your hair?'
inquired the youth. 'It's realan't it?'

They laughed at thisand told him of course it was.

'Ohis it of coursethough?' said Bailey. 'I know better than
that. Hers an't. WhyI see it hanging up onceon that nail by
the winder. BesidesI have gone behind her at dinner-time and
pulled it; and she never know'd. I sayyoung ladiesI'm a-going


to leave. I an't a-going to stand being called names by herno
longer.'

Miss Mercy inquired what his plans for the future might be; in reply
to whom Mr Bailey intimated that he thought of going either into
top-bootsor into the army.

'Into the army!' cried the young ladieswith a laugh.

'Ah!' said Bailey'why not? There's a many drummers in the Tower.
I'm acquainted with 'em. Don't their country set a valley on 'em
mind you! Not at all!'

'You'll be shotI see' observed Mercy.

'Well!' cried Mr Bailey'wot if I am? There's something gamey in
ityoung ladiesan't there? I'd sooner be hit with a cannon-ball
than a rolling-pinand she's always a-catching up something of that
sortand throwing it at mewhen the gentlemans' appetites is good.
Wot' said Mr Baileystung by the recollection of his wrongs'wot
if they DO consume the per-vishuns. It an't MY faultis it?'

'Surely no one says it is' said Mercy.

'Don't they though?' retorted the youth. 'No. Yes. Ah! oh! No one
mayn't say it is! but some one knows it is. But I an't a-going to
have every rise in prices wisited on me. I an't a-going to be
killed because the markets is dear. I won't stop. And therefore'
added Mr Baileyrelenting into a smile'wotever you mean to give
meyou'd better give me all at oncebecos if ever you come back
aginI shan't be here; and as to the other boyHE won't deserve
nothingI know.'

The young ladieson behalf of Mr Pecksniff and themselvesacted on
this thoughtful advice; and in consideration of their private
friendshippresented Mr Bailey with a gratuity so liberal that he
could hardly do enough to show his gratitude; which found but an
imperfect ventduring the remainder of the dayin divers secret
slaps upon his pocketand other such facetious pantomime. Nor was
it confined to these ebullitions; for besides crushing a bandbox
with a bonnet in ithe seriously damaged Mr Pecksniff's luggageby
ardently hauling it down from the top of the house; and in short
evincedby every means in his powera lively sense of the favours
he had received from that gentleman and his family.

Mr Pecksniff and Mr Jinkins came home to dinner arm-in-arm; for the
latter gentleman had made half-holiday on purpose; thus gaining an
immense advantage over the youngest gentleman and the restwhose
timeas it perversely chancedwas all bespokeuntil the evening.
The bottle of wine was Mr Pecksniff's treatand they were very
sociable indeed; though full of lamentations on the necessity of
parting. While they were in the midst of their enjoymentold
Anthony and his son were announced; much to the surprise of Mr
Pecksniffand greatly to the discomfiture of Jinkins.

'Come to say good-byeyou see' said Anthonyin a low voiceto Mr
Pecksniffas they took their seats apart at the tablewhile the
rest conversed among themselves. 'Where's the use of a division
between you and me? We are the two halves of a pair of scissors
when apartPecksniff; but together we are something. Eh?'

'Unanimitymy good sir' rejoined Mr Pecksniff'is always
delightful.'


'I don't know about that' said the old man'for there are some
people I would rather differ from than agree with. But you know my
opinion of you.'

Mr Pecksniffstill having 'hypocrite' in his mindonly replied by
a motion of his headwhich was something between an affirmative
bowand a negative shake.

'Complimentary' said Anthony. 'Complimentaryupon my word. It
was an involuntary tribute to your abilitieseven at the time; and
it was not a time to suggest compliments either. But we agreed in
the coachyou knowthat we quite understood each other.'

'Ohquite!' assented Mr Pecksniffin a manner which implied that
he himself was misunderstood most cruellybut would not complain.

Anthony glanced at his son as he sat beside Miss Charityand then
at Mr Pecksniffand then at his son againvery many times. It
happened that Mr Pecksniff's glances took a similar direction; but
when he became aware of ithe first cast down his eyesand then
closed them; as if he were determined that the old man should read
nothing there.

'Jonas is a shrewd lad' said the old man.

'He appears' rejoined Mr Pecksniff in his most candid manner'to
be very shrewd.'

'And careful' said the old man.

'And carefulI have no doubt' returned Mr Pecksniff.

'Look ye!' said Anthony in his ear. 'I think he is sweet upon you
daughter.'

'Tutmy good sir' said Mr Pecksniffwith his eyes still closed;
'young people--young people--a kind of cousinstoo--no more
sweetness than is in thatsir.'

'Whythere is very little sweetness in thataccording to our
experience' returned Anthony. 'Isn't there a trifle more here?'

'Impossible to say' rejoined Mr Pecksniff. 'Quite impossible! You
surprise me.'

'YesI know that' said the old mandrily. 'It may last; I mean
the sweetnessnot the surprise; and it may die off. Supposing it
should lastperhaps (you having feathered your nest pretty well
and I having done the same)we might have a mutual interest in the
matter.'

Mr Pecksniffsmiling gentlywas about to speakbut Anthony
stopped him.

'I know what you are going to say. It's quite unnecessary. You
have never thought of this for a moment; and in a point so nearly
affecting the happiness of your dear childyou couldn'tas a
tender fatherexpress an opinion; and so forth. Yesquite right.
And like you! But it seems to memy dear Pecksniff' added Anthony
laying his hand upon his sleeve'that if you and I kept up the joke
of pretending not to see thisone of us might possibly be placed in
a position of disadvantage; and as I am very unwilling to be that
party myselfyou will excuse my taking the liberty of putting the
matter beyond a doubt thus early; and having it distinctly


understoodas it is nowthat we do see itand do know it. Thank
you for your attention. We are now upon an equal footing; which is
agreeable to us bothI am sure.'

He rose as he spoke; and giving Mr Pecksniff a nod of intelligence
moved away from him to where the young people were sitting; leaving
that good man somewhat puzzled and discomfited by such very plain
dealingand not quite free from a sense of having been foiled in
the exercise of his familiar weapons.

But the night-coach had a punctual characterand it was time to
join it at the office; which was so near at hand that they had
already sent their luggage and arranged to walk. Thither the whole
party repairedthereforeafter no more delay than sufficed for the
equipment of the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs Todgers. They found the
coach already at its starting-placeand the horses in; theretoo
were a large majority of the commercial gentlemenincluding the
youngestwho was visibly agitatedand in a state of deep mental
dejection.

Nothing could equal the distress of Mrs Todgers in parting from the
young ladiesexcept the strong emotions with which she bade adieu
to Mr Pecksniff. Never surely was a pocket-handkerchief taken in
and out of a flat reticule so often as Mrs Todgers's wasas she
stood upon the pavement by the coach-door supported on either side
by a commercial gentleman; and by the sight of the coach-lamps
caught such brief snatches and glimpses of the good man's faceas
the constant interposition of Mr Jinkins allowed. For Jinkinsto
the last the youngest gentleman's rock a-head in lifestood upon the
coachstep talking to the ladies. Upon the other step was Mr Jonas
who maintained that position in right of his cousinship; whereas the
youngest gentlemanwho had been first upon the groundwas deep in
the booking-office among the black and red placardsand the
portraits of fast coacheswhere he was ignominiously harassed by
portersand had to contend and strive perpetually with heavy
baggage. This false positioncombined with his nervous excitement
brought about the very consummation and catastrophe of his miseries;
for when in the moment of parting he aimed a flowera hothouse
flower that had cost moneyat the fair hand of Mercyit reached
insteadthe coachman on the boxwho thanked him kindlyand stuck
it in his buttonhole.

They were off now; and Todgers's was alone again. The two young
ladiesleaning back in their separate cornersresigned themselves
to their own regretful thoughts. But Mr Pecksniffdismissing all
ephemeral considerations of social pleasure and enjoyment
concentrated his meditations on the one great virtuous purpose
before himof casting out that ingrate and deceiverwhose presence
yet troubled his domestic hearthand was a sacrilege upon the
altars of his household gods.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WILL BE SEEN IN THE LONG RUNIF NOT IN THE SHORT ONETO CONCERN
MR PINCH AND OTHERSNEARLY. MR PECKSNIFF ASSERTS THE DIGNITY OF
OUTRAGED VIRTUE. YOUNG MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT FORMS A DESPERATE
RESOLUTION

Mr Pinch and Martinlittle dreaming of the stormy weather that
impendedmade themselves very comfortable in the Pecksniffian
hallsand improved their friendship daily. Martin's facilityboth


of invention and executionbeing remarkablethe grammar-school
proceeded with great vigour; and Tom repeatedly declaredthat if
there were anything like certainty in human affairsor impartiality
in human judgesa design so new and full of merit could not fail to
carry off the first prize when the time of competition arrived.
Without being quite so sanguine himselfMartin had his hopeful
anticipations too; and they served to make him brisk and eager at
his task.

'If I should turn out a great architectTom' said the new pupil
one dayas he stood at a little distance from his drawingand eyed
it with much complacency'I'll tell you what should be one of the
things I'd build.'

'Aye!' cried Tom. 'What?'

'Whyyour fortune.'

'No!' said Tom Pinchquite as much delighted as if the thing were
done. 'Would you though? How kind of you to say so.'

'I'd build it upTom' returned Martin'on such a strong
foundationthat it should last your life--ayeand your children's
lives tooand their children's after them. I'd be your patron
Tom. I'd take you under my protection. Let me see the man who
should give the cold shoulder to anybody I chose to protect and
patroniseif I were at the top of the treeTom!'

'NowI don't think' said Mr Pinch'upon my wordthat I was ever
more gratified than by this. I really don't.'

'Oh! I mean what I say' retorted Martinwith a manner as free and
easy in its condescension tonot to say in its compassion forthe
otheras if he were already First Architect in ordinary to all the
Crowned Heads in Europe. 'I'd do it. I'd provide for you.'

'I am afraid' said Tomshaking his head'that I should be a
mighty awkward person to provide for.'

'Poohpooh!' rejoined Martin. 'Never mind that. If I took it in
my head to sayPinch is a clever fellow; I approve of Pinch;I
should like to know the man who would venture to put himself in
opposition to me. Besidesconfound itTomyou could be useful to
me in a hundred ways.'

'If I were not useful in one or twoit shouldn't be for want of
trying' said Tom.

'For instance' pursued Martinafter a short reflection'you'd be
a capital fellownowto see that my ideas were properly carried
out; and to overlook the works in their progress before they were
sufficiently advanced to be very interesting to ME; and to take all
that sort of plain sailing. Then you'd be a splendid fellow to show
people over my studioand to talk about Art to 'emwhen I couldn't
be bored myselfand all that kind of thing. For it would be
devilish creditableTom (I'm quite in earnestI give you my word)
to have a man of your information about oneinstead of some
ordinary blockhead. OhI'd take care of you. You'd be useful
rely upon it!'

To say that Tom had no idea of playing first fiddle in any social
orchestrabut was always quite satisfied to be set down for the
hundred and fiftieth violin in the bandor thereaboutsis to
express his modesty in very inadequate terms. He was much


delightedthereforeby these observations.

'I should be married to her thenTomof course' said Martin.

What was that which checked Tom Pinch so suddenlyin the high flow
of his gladness; bringing the blood into his honest cheeksand a
remorseful feeling to his honest heartas if he were unworthy of
his friend's regard?

'I should be married to her then' said Martinlooking with a smile
towards the light; 'and we should haveI hopechildren about us.
They'd be very fond of youTom.'

But not a word said Mr Pinch. The words he would have uttered died
upon his lipsand found a life more spiritual in self-denying
thoughts.

'All the children hereabouts are fond of youTomand mine would
beof course' pursued Martin. 'Perhaps I might name one of 'em
after you. Tomeh? WellI don't know. Tom's not a bad name.
Thomas Pinch Chuzzlewit. T. P. C. on his pinafores--no objection
to thatI should say?'

Tom cleared his throatand smiled.

'SHE would like youTomI know' said Martin.

'Aye!' cried Tom Pinchfaintly.

'I can tell exactly what she would think of you' said Martin
leaning his chin upon his handand looking through the window-glass
as if he read there what he said; 'I know her so well. She would
smileTomoften at first when you spoke to heror when she looked
at you--merrily too--but you wouldn't mind that. A brighter smile
you never saw.'

'Nono' said Tom. 'I wouldn't mind that.'

'She would be as tender with youTom' said Martin'as if you were
a child yourself. So you are almostin some thingsan't you
Tom?'

Mr Pinch nodded his entire assent.

'She would always be kind and good-humouredand glad to see you'
said Martin; 'and when she found out exactly what sort of fellow you
were (which she'd do very soon)she would pretend to give you
little commissions to executeand to ask little services of you
which she knew you were burning to render; so that when she really
pleased you mostshe would try to make you think you most pleased
her. She would take to you uncommonlyTom; and would understand
you far more delicately than I ever shall; and would often sayI
knowthat you were a harmlessgentlewell-intentionedgood
fellow.'

How silent Tom Pinch was!

'In honour of old time' said Martin'and of her having heard you
play the organ in this damp little church down here--for nothing
too--we will have one in the house. I shall build an architectural
music-room on a plan of my ownand it'll look rather knowing in a
recess at one end. There you shall play awayTomtill you tire
yourself; andas you like to do so in the darkit shall BE dark;
and many's the summer evening she and I will sit and listen to you


Tom; be sure of that!'

It may have required a stronger effort on Tom Pinch's part to leave
the seat on which he satand shake his friend by both handswith
nothing but serenity and grateful feeling painted on his face; it
may have required a stronger effort to perform this simple act with
a pure heartthan to achieve many and many a deed to which the
doubtful trumpet blown by Fame has lustily resounded. Doubtful
because from its long hovering over scenes of violencethe smoke
and steam of death have clogged the keys of that brave instrument;
and it is not always that its notes are either true or tuneful.

'It's a proof of the kindness of human nature' said Tom
characteristically putting himself quite out of sight in the matter
'that everybody who comes hereas you have doneis more
considerate and affectionate to me than I should have any right to
hopeif I were the most sanguine creature in the world; or should
have any power to expressif I were the most eloquent. It really
overpowers me. But trust me' said Tom'that I am not ungrateful-that
I never forget--and that if I can ever prove the truth of my
words to youI will.'

'That's all right' observed Martinleaning back in his chair with
a hand in each pocketand yawning drearily. 'Very fine talking
Tom; but I'm at Pecksniff'sI rememberand perhaps a mile or so
out of the high-road to fortune just at this minute. So you've
heard again this morning from what's his nameeh?'

'Who may that be?' asked Tomseeming to enter a mild protest on
behalf of the dignity of an absent person.

'YOU know. What is it? Northkey.'

'Westlock' rejoined Tomin rather a louder tone than usual.

'Ah! to be sure' said Martin'Westlock. I knew it was something
connected with a point of the compass and a door. Well! and what
says Westlock?'

'Oh! he has come into his property' answered Tomnodding his head
and smiling.

'He's a lucky dog' said Martin. 'I wish it were mine instead. Is
that all the mystery you were to tell me?'

'No' said Tom; 'not all.'

'What's the rest?' asked Martin.

'For the matter of that' said Tom'it's no mysteryand you won't
think much of it; but it's very pleasant to me. John always used to
say when he was hereMark my words, Pinch. When my father's
executors cash up--he used strange expressions now and thenbut
that was his way.'

'Cash-up's a very good expression' observed Martin'when other
people don't apply it to you. Well!--What a slow fellow you are
Pinch!'

'YesI am I know' said Tom; 'but you'll make me nervous if you
tell me so. I'm afraid you have put me out a little nowfor I
forget what I was going to say.'

'When John's father's executors cashed up' said Martin impatiently.


'Oh yesto be sure' cried Tom; 'yes. "Then says John, I'll
give you a dinnerPinchand come down to Salisbury on purpose."
Nowwhen John wrote the other day--the morning Pecksniff leftyou
know--he said his business was on the point of being immediately
settledand as he was to receive his money directlywhen could I
meet him at Salisbury? I wrote and saidany day this week; and I
told him besidesthat there was a new pupil hereand what a fine
fellow you wereand what friends we had become. Upon which John
writes back this letter'--Tom produced it--'fixes to-morrow; sends
his compliments to you; and begs that we three may have the pleasure
of dining together; not at the house where you and I wereeither;
but at the very first hotel in the town. Read what he says.'

'Very well' said Martinglancing over it with his customary
coolness; 'much obliged to him. I'm agreeable.'

Tom could have wished him to be a little more astonisheda little
more pleasedor in some form or other a little more interested in
such a great event. But he was perfectly self-possessed; and falling
into his favourite solace of whistlingtook another turn at the
grammar-schoolas if nothing at all had happened.

Mr Pecksniff's horse being regarded in the light of a sacred animal
only to be driven by himthe chief priest of that templeor by
some person distinctly nominated for the time being to that high
office by himselfthe two young men agreed to walk to Salisbury;
and sowhen the time camethey set off on foot; which wasafter
alla better mode of travelling than in the gigas the weather was
very cold and very dry.

Better! A rare strongheartyhealthy walk--four statute miles an
hour--preferable to that rumblingtumblingjoltingshaking
scrapingcreakingvillanous old gig? Whythe two things will not
admit of comparison. It is an insult to the walkto set them side
by side. Where is an instance of a gig having ever circulated a
man's bloodunless whenputting him in danger of his neckit
awakened in his veins and in his earsand all along his spinea
tingling heatmuch more peculiar than agreeable? When did a gig
ever sharpen anybody's wits and energiesunless it was when the
horse boltedandcrashing madly down a steep hill with a stone
wall at the bottomhis desperate circumstances suggested to the
only gentleman left insidesome novel and unheard-of mode of
dropping out behind? Better than the gig!

The air was coldTom; so it wasthere was no denying it; but would
it have been more genial in the gig? The blacksmith's fire burned
very brightand leaped up highas though it wanted men to warm;
but would it have been less temptinglooked at from the clammy
cushions of a gig? The wind blew keenlynipping the features of
the hardy wight who fought his way along; blinding him with his own
hair if he had enough to itand wintry dust if he hadn't; stopping
his breath as though he had been soused in a cold bath; tearing
aside his wrappings-upand whistling in the very marrow of his
bones; but it would have done all this a hundred times more fiercely
to a man in a gigwouldn't it? A fig for gigs!

Better than the gig! When were travellers by wheels and hoofs seen
with such red-hot cheeks as those? when were they so goodhumouredly
and merrily bloused? when did their laughter ring upon
the airas they turned them roundwhat time the stronger gusts
came sweeping up; andfacing round again as they passed bydashed
onin such a glow of ruddy health as nothing could keep pace with
but the high spirits it engendered? Better than the gig! Whyhere


is a man in a gig coming the same way now. Look at him as he passes
his whip into his left handchafes his numbed right fingers on his
granite legand beats those marble toes of his upon the foot-board.
Hahaha! Who would exchange this rapid hurry of the blood for
yonder stagnant miserythough its pace were twenty miles for one?

Better than the gig! No man in a gig could have such interest in the
milestones. No man in a gig could seeor feelor thinklike
merry users of their legs. Howas the wind sweeps onupon these
breezy downsit tracks its flight in darkening ripples on the
grassand smoothest shadows on the hills! Look round and round upon
this bare bleak plainand see even hereupon a winter's dayhow
beautiful the shadows are! Alas! it is the nature of their kind to
be so. The loveliest things in lifeTomare but shadows; and they
come and goand change and fade awayas rapidly as these!

Another mileand then begins a fall of snowmaking the crowwho
skims away so close above the ground to shirk the winda blot of
ink upon the landscape. But though it drives and drifts against
them as they walkstiffening on their skirtsand freezing in the
lashes of their eyesthey wouldn't have it fall more sparinglyno
not so much as by a single flakealthough they had to go a score of
miles. Andlo! the towers of the Old Cathedral rise before them
even now! and by-and-bye they come into the sheltered streetsmade
strangely silent by their white carpet; and so to the Inn for which
they are bound; where they present such flushed and burning faces to
the cold waiterand are so brimful of vigourthat he almost feels
assaulted by their presence; andhaving nothing to oppose to the
attack (being freshor rather stalefrom the blazing fire in the
coffee-room)is quite put out of his pale countenance.

A famous Inn! the hall a very grove of dead gameand dangling
joints of mutton; and in one corner an illustrious larderwith
glass doorsdeveloping cold fowls and noble jointsand tarts
wherein the raspberry jam coyly withdrew itselfas such a precious
creature shouldbehind a lattice work of pastry. And beholdon
the first floorat the court-end of the housein a room with all
the window-curtains drawna fire piled half-way up the chimney
plates warming before itwax candles gleaming everywhereand a
table spread for threewith silver and glass enough for thirty--
John Westlock; not the old John of Pecksniff'sbut a proper
gentleman; looking another and a grander personwith the
consciousness of being his own master and having money in the bank;
and yet in some respects the old John toofor he seized Tom Pinch
by both his hands the instant he appearedand fairly hugged himin
his cordial welcome.

'And this' said John'is Mr Chuzzlewit. I am very glad to see
him!'--John had an off-hand manner of his own; so they shook hands
warmlyand were friends in no time.

'Stand off a momentTom' cried the old pupillaying one hand on
each of Mr Pinch's shouldersand holding him out at arm's length.
'Let me look at you! Just the same! Not a bit changed!'

'Whyit's not so very long agoyou know' said Tom Pinch'after
all.'

'It seems an age to me' cried John. 'and so it ought to seem to
youyou dog.' And then he pushed Tom down into the easiest chair
and clapped him on the back so heartilyand so like his old self in
their old bedroom at old Pecksniff's that it was a toss-up with Tom
Pinch whether he should laugh or cry. Laughter won it; and they all
three laughed together.


'I have ordered everything for dinnerthat we used to say we'd
haveTom' observed John Westlock.

'No!' said Tom Pinch. 'Have you?'

'Everything. Don't laughif you can help itbefore the waiters.
I couldn't when I was ordering it. It's like a dream.'

John was wrong therebecause nobody ever dreamed such soup as was
put upon the table directly afterwards; or such fish; or such
side-dishes; or such a top and bottom; or such a course of birds and
sweets; or in short anything approaching the reality of that
entertainment at ten-and-sixpence a headexclusive of wines. As to
THEMthe man who can dream such iced champagnesuch claretport
or sherryhad better go to bed and stop there.

But perhaps the finest feature of the banquet wasthat nobody was
half so much amazed by everything as John himselfwho in his high
delight was constantly bursting into fits of laughterand then
endeavouring to appear preternaturally solemnlest the waiters
should conceive he wasn't used to it. Some of the things they
brought him to carvewere such outrageous practical jokesthough
that it was impossible to stand it; and when Tom Pinch insistedin
spite of the deferential advice of an attendantnot only on
breaking down the outer wall of a raised pie with a tablespoonbut
on trying to eat it afterwardsJohn lost all dignityand sat
behind the gorgeous dish-cover at the head of the tableroaring to
that extent that he was audible in the kitchen. Nor had he the
least objection to laugh at himselfas he demonstrated when they
had all three gathered round the fire and the dessert was on the
table; at which period the head waiter inquired with respectful
solicitude whether that portbeing a light and tawny winewas
suited to his tasteor whether he would wish to try a fruity port
with greater body. To this John gravely answered that he was well
satisfied with what he hadwhich he esteemedas one might saya
pretty tidy vintage; for which the waiter thanked him and withdrew.
And then John told his friendswith a broad grinthat he supposed
it was all rightbut he didn't know; and went off into a perfect
shout.

They were very merry and full of enjoyment the whole timebut not
the least pleasant part of the festival was when they all three sat
about the firecracking nutsdrinking wine and talking cheerfully.
It happened that Tom Pinch had a word to say to his friend the
organist's assistantand so deserted his warm corner for a few
minutes at this seasonlest it should grow too late; leaving the
other two young men together.

They drank his health in his absenceof course; and John Westlock
took that opportunity of sayingthat he had never had even a
peevish word with Tom during the whole term of their residence in Mr
Pecksniff's house. This naturally led him to dwell upon Tom's
characterand to hint that Mr Pecksniff understood it pretty well.
He only hinted thisand very distantly; knowing that it pained Tom
Pinch to have that gentleman disparagedand thinking it would be as
well to leave the new pupil to his own discoveries.

'Yes' said Martin. 'It's impossible to like Pinch better than I
door to do greater justice to his good qualities. He is the most
willing fellow I ever saw.'

'He's rather too willing' observed Johnwho was quick in
observation. 'It's quite a fault in him.'


'So it is' said Martin. 'Very true. There was a fellow only a
week or so ago--a Mr Tigg--who borrowed all the money he hadon a
promise to repay it in a few days. It was but half a sovereignto
be sure; but it's well it was no morefor he'll never see it
again.'

'Poor fellow!' said Johnwho had been very attentive to these few
words. 'Perhaps you have not had an opportunity of observing that
in his own pecuniary transactionsTom's proud.'

'You don't say so! NoI haven't. What do you mean? Won't he
borrow?'

John Westlock shook his head.

'That's very odd' said Martinsetting down his empty glass. 'He's
a strange compoundto be sure.'

'As to receiving money as a gift' resumed John Westlock; 'I think
he'd die first.'

'He's made up of simplicity' said Martin. 'Help yourself.'

'Youhowever' pursued Johnfilling his own glassand looking at
his companion with some curiosity'who are older than the majority
of Mr Pecksniff's assistantsand have evidently had much more
experienceunderstand himI have no doubtand see how liable he
is to be imposed upon.'

'Certainly' said Martinstretching out his legsand holding his
wine between his eye and the light. 'Mr Pecksniff knows that too.
So do his daughters. Eh?'

John Westlock smiledbut made no answer.

'By the bye' said Martin'that reminds me. What's your opinion of
Pecksniff? How did he use you? What do you think of him now?--
Coollyyou knowwhen it's all over?'

'Ask Pinch' returned the old pupil. 'He knows what my sentiments
used to be upon the subject. They are not changedI assure you.'

'Nono' said Martin'I'd rather have them from you.'

'But Pinch says they are unjust' urged John with a smile.

'Oh! well! Then I know what course they take beforehand' said
Martin; 'andthereforeyou can have no delicacy in speaking
plainly. Don't mind meI beg. I don't like him I tell you
frankly. I am with him because it happens from particular
circumstances to suit my convenience. I have some abilityI
believein that way; and the obligationif anywill most likely
be on his side and not mine. At the lowest markthe balance will
be evenand there'll be no obligation at all. So you may talk to
meas if I had no connection with him.'

'If you press me to give my opinion--' returned John Westlock.

'YesI do' said Martin. 'You'll oblige me.'

'--I should say' resumed the other'that he is the most consummate
scoundrel on the face of the earth.'


'Oh!' said Martinas coolly as ever. 'That's rather strong.'

'Not stronger than he deserves' said John; 'and if he called upon
me to express my opinion of him to his faceI would do so in the
very same termswithout the least qualification. His treatment of
Pinch is in itself enough to justify them; but when I look back upon
the five years I passed in that houseand remember the hyprocrisy
the knaverythe meannessesthe false pretencesthe lip service of
that fellowand his trading in saintly semblances for the very
worst realities; when I remember how often I was the witness of all
this and how often I was made a kind of party to itby the fact of
being therewith him for my teacher; I swear to you that I almost
despise myself.'

Martin drained his glassand looked at the fire.

'I don't mean to say that is a right feeling' pursued John Westlock
'because it was no fault of mine; and I can quite understand--you
for instancefully appreciating himand yet being forced by
circumstances to remain there. I tell you simply what my feeling
is; and even nowwhenas you sayit's all over; and when I have
the satisfaction of knowing that he always hated meand we always
quarrelledand I always told him my mind; even nowI feel sorry
that I didn't yield to an impulse I often hadas a boyof running
away from him and going abroad.'

'Why abroad?' asked Martinturning his eyes upon the speaker.

'In search' replied John Westlockshrugging his shoulders'of the
livelihood I couldn't have earned at home. There would have been
something spirited in that. Butcome! Fill your glassand let us
forget him.'

'As soon as you please' said Martin. 'In reference to myself and
my connection with himI have only to repeat what I said before. I
have taken my own way with him so farand shall continue to do so
even more than ever; for the fact isto tell you the truththat I
believe he looks to me to supply his defectsand couldn't afford to
lose me. I had a notion of that in first going there. Your
health!'

'Thank you' returned young Westlock. 'Yours. And may the new
pupil turn out as well as you can desire!'

'What new pupil?'

'The fortunate youthborn under an auspicious star' returned John
Westlocklaughing; 'whose parentsor guardiansare destined to be
hooked by the advertisement. What! Don't you know that he has
advertised again?'

'No.'

'Ohyes. I read it just before dinner in the old newspaper. I
know it to be his; having some reason to remember the style. Hush!
Here's Pinch. Strangeis it notthat the more he likes Pecksniff
(if he can like him better than he does)the greater reason one has
to like HIM? Not a word moreor we shall spoil his whole
enjoyment.'

Tom entered as the words were spokenwith a radiant smile upon his
face; and rubbing his handsmore from a sense of delight than
because he was cold (for he had been running fast)sat down in his
warm corner againand was as happy as only Tom Pinch could be.


There is no other simile that will express his state of mind.

'And so' he saidwhen he had gazed at his friend for some time in
silent pleasure'so you really are a gentleman at lastJohn.
Wellto be sure!'

'Trying to beTom; trying to be' he rejoined good-humouredly.
'There is no saying what I may turn outin time.'

'I suppose you wouldn't carry your own box to the mail now?' said
Tom Pinchsmiling; 'although you lost it altogether by not taking
it.'

'Wouldn't I?' retorted John. 'That's all you know about itPinch.
It must be a very heavy box that I wouldn't carry to get away from
Pecksniff'sTom.'

'There!' cried Pinchturning to Martin'I told you so. The great
fault in his character is his injustice to Pecksniff. You mustn't
mind a word he says on that subject. His prejudice is most
extraordinary.'

'The absence of anything like prejudice on Tom's partyou know'
said John Westlocklaughing heartilyas he laid his hand on Mr
Pinch's shoulder'is perfectly wonderful. If one man ever had a
profound knowledge of anotherand saw him in a true lightand in
his own proper coloursTom has that knowledge of Mr Pecksniff.'

'Whyof course I have' cried Tom. 'That's exactly what I have so
often said to you. If you knew him as well as I do--JohnI'd give
almost any money to bring that about--you'd admirerespectand
reverence him. You couldn't help it. Ohhow you wounded his
feelings when you went away!'

'If I had known whereabout his feelings lay' retorted young
Westlock'I'd have done my bestTomwith that end in viewyou
may depend upon it. But as I couldn't wound him in what he has not
and in what he knows nothing ofexcept in his ability to probe them
to the quick in other peopleI am afraid I can lay no claim to your
compliment.'

Mr Pinchbeing unwilling to protract a discussion which might
possibly corrupt Martinforbore to say anything in reply to this
speech; but John Westlockwhom nothing short of an iron gag would
have silenced when Mr Pecksniff's merits were once in question
continued notwithstanding.

'HIS feelings! Ohhe's a tender-hearted man. HIS feelings! Oh
he's a considerateconscientiousself-examiningmoral vagabond
he is! HIS feelings! Oh!--what's the matterTom?'

Mr Pinch was by this time erect upon the hearth-rugbuttoning his
coat with great energy.

'I can't bear it' said Tomshaking his head. 'No. I really
cannot. You must excuse meJohn. I have a great esteem and
friendship for you; I love you very much; and have been perfectly
charmed and overjoyed to-dayto find you just the same as ever; but
I cannot listen to this.'

'Whyit's my old wayTom; and you say yourself that you are glad
to find me unchanged.'

'Not in this respect' said Tom Pinch. 'You must excuse meJohn.


I cannotreally; I will not. It's very wrong; you should be more
guarded in your expressions. It was bad enough when you and I used
to be alone togetherbut under existing circumstancesI can't
endure itreally. No. I cannotindeed.'

'You are quite right!' exclaimed the otherexchanging looks with
Martin. 'and I am quite wrongTom. I don't know how the deuce we
fell on this unlucky theme. I beg your pardon with all my heart.'

'You have a free and manly temperI know' said Pinch; 'and
thereforeyour being so ungenerous in this one solitary instance
only grieves me the more. It's not my pardon you have to askJohn.
You have done ME nothing but kindnesses.'

'Well! Pecksniff's pardon then' said young Westlock. 'Anything
Tomor anybody. Pecksniff's pardon--will that do? Here! let us
drink Pecksniff's health!'

'Thank you' cried Tomshaking hands with him eagerlyand filling
a bumper. 'Thank you; I'll drink it with all my heartJohn. Mr
Pecksniff's healthand prosperity to him!'

John Westlock echoed the sentimentor nearly so; for he drank Mr
Pecksniff's healthand Something to him--but whatwas not quite
audible. The general unanimity being then completely restoredthey
drew their chairs closer round the fireand conversed in perfect
harmony and enjoyment until bed-time.

No slight circumstanceperhapscould have better illustrated the
difference of character between John Westlock and Martin Chuzzlewit
than the manner in which each of the young men contemplated Tom
Pinchafter the little rupture just described. There was a certain
amount of jocularity in the looks of bothno doubtbut there all
resemblance ceased. The old pupil could not do enough to show Tom
how cordially he felt towards himand his friendly regard seemed of
a graver and more thoughtful kind than before. The new oneon the
other handhad no impulse but to laugh at the recollection of Tom's
extreme absurdity; and mingled with his amusement there was
something slighting and contemptuousindicativeas it appearedof
his opinion that Mr Pinch was much too far gone in simplicity to be
admitted as the friendon serious and equal termsof any rational
man.

John Westlockwho did nothing by halvesif he could help ithad
provided beds for his two guests in the hotel; and after a very
happy eveningthey retired. Mr Pinch was sitting on the side of
his bed with his cravat and shoes offruminating on the manifold
good qualities of his old friendwhen he was interrupted by a knock
at his chamber doorand the voice of John himself.

'You're not asleep yetare youTom?'

'Bless youno! not I. I was thinking of you' replied Tomopening
the door. 'Come in.'

'I am not going to detail you' said John; 'but I have forgotten all
the evening a little commission I took upon myself; and I am afraid
I may forget it againif I fail to discharge it at once. You know
a Mr TiggTomI believe?'

'Tigg!' cried Tom. 'Tigg! The gentleman who borrowed some money of
me?'

'Exactly' said John Westlock. 'He begged me to present his


complimentsand to return it with many thanks. Here it is. I
suppose it's a good onebut he is rather a doubtful kind of
customerTom.'

Mr Pinch received the little piece of gold with a face whose
brightness might have shamed the metal; and said he had no fear
about that. He was gladhe addedto find Mr Tigg so prompt and
honourable in his dealings; very glad.

'Whyto tell you the truthTom' replied his friend'he is not
always so. If you'll take my adviceyou'll avoid him as much as
you canin the event of your encountering him again. And by no
meansTom--pray bear this in mindfor I am very serious--by no
means lend him money any more.'

'Ayeaye!' said Tomwith his eyes wide open.

'He is very far from being a reputable acquaintance' returned young
Westlock; 'and the more you let him know you think sothe better
for youTom.'

'I sayJohn' quoth Mr Pinchas his countenance felland he shook
his head in a dejected manner. 'I hope you are not getting into bad
company.'

'Nono' he replied laughing. 'Don't be uneasy on that score.'

'Ohbut I AM uneasy' said Tom Pinch; 'I can't help itwhen I hear
you talking in that way. If Mr Tigg is what you describe him to be
you have no business to know himJohn. You may laughbut I don't
consider it by any means a laughing matterI assure you.'

'Nono' returned his friendcomposing his features. 'Quite
right. It is notcertainly.'

'You knowJohn' said Mr Pinch'your very good nature and kindness
of heart make you thoughtlessand you can't be too careful on such
a point as this. Upon my wordif I thought you were falling among
bad companionsI should be quite wretchedfor I know how difficult
you would find it to shake them off. I would much rather have lost
this moneyJohnthan I would have had it back again on such
terms.'

'I tell youmy dear good old fellow' cried his friendshaking him
to and fro with both handsand smiling at him with a cheerfulopen
countenancethat would have carried conviction to a mind much more
suspicious than Tom's; 'I tell you there is no danger.'

'Well!' cried Tom'I am glad to hear it; I am overjoyed to hear it.
I am sure there is notwhen you say so in that manner. You won't
take it illJohnthat I said what I did just now!'

'Ill!' said the othergiving his hand a hearty squeeze; 'why what
do you think I am made of? Mr Tigg and I are not on such an
intimate footing that you need be at all uneasyI give you my
solemn assurance of thatTom. You are quite comfortable now?'

'Quite' said Tom.

'Then once moregood night!'

'Good night!' cried Tom; 'and such pleasant dreams to you as should
attend the sleep of the best fellow in the world!'


'--Except Pecksniff' said his friendstopping at the door for a
momentand looking gayly back.

'Except Pecksniff' answered Tomwith great gravity; 'of course.'

And thus they parted for the night; John Westlock full of lightheartedness
and good humourand poor Tom Pinch quite satisfied;
though stillas he turned over on his side in bedhe muttered to
himself'I really do wishfor all thatthoughthat he wasn't
acquainted with Mr Tigg.'

They breakfasted together very early next morningfor the two young
men desired to get back again in good season; and John Westlock was
to return to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to
sparehe bore them company for three or four miles on their walk
and only parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The parting
was an unusually hearty onenot only as between him and Tom Pinch
but on the side of Martin alsowho had found in the old pupil a
very different sort of person from the milksop he had prepared
himself to expect.

Young Westlock stopped upon a rising groundwhen he had gone a
little distanceand looked back. They were walking at a brisk
paceand Tom appeared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken
off his greatcoatthe wind being now behind themand carried it
upon his arm. As he lookedhe saw Tom relieve him of itafter a
faint resistanceandthrowing it upon his ownencumber himself
with the weight of both. This trivial incident impressed the old
pupil mightilyfor he stood theregazing after themuntil they
were hidden from his view; when he shook his headas if he were
troubled by some uneasy reflectionand thoughtfully retraced his
steps to Salisbury.

In the meantimeMartin and Tom pursued their wayuntil they
haltedsafe and soundat Mr Pecksniff's housewhere a brief
epistle from that good gentleman to Mr Pinch announced the family's
return by that night's coach. As it would pass the corner of the
lane at about six o'clock in the morningMr Pecksniff requested
that the gig might be in waiting at the finger-post about that time
together with a cart for the luggage. And to the end that he might
be received with the greater honourthe young men agreed to rise
earlyand be upon the spot themselves.

It was the least cheerful day they had yet passed together. Martin
was out of spirits and out of humourand took every opportunity of
comparing his condition and prospects with those of young Westlock;
much to his own disadvantage always. This mood of his depressed
Tom; and neither that morning's partingnor yesterday's dinner
helped to mend the matter. So the hours dragged on heavily enough;
and they were glad to go to bed early.

They were not quite so glad to get up again at half-past four
o'clockin all the shivering discomfort of a dark winter's morning;
but they turned out punctuallyand were at the finger-post full
half-an-hour before the appointed time. It was not by any means a
lively morningfor the sky was black and cloudyand it rained
hard; but Martin said there was some satisfaction in seeing that
brute of a horse (by thishe meant Mr Pecksniff's Arab steed)
getting very wet; and that he rejoicedon his accountthat it
rained so fast. From this it may be inferred that Martin's spirits
had not improvedas indeed they had not; for while he and Mr Pinch
stood waiting under a hedgelooking at the rainthe gigthe cart
and its reeking driverhe did nothing but grumble; andbut that it
is indispensable to any dispute that there should be two parties to


ithe would certainly have picked a quarrel with Tom.

At length the noise of wheels was faintly audible in the distance
and presently the coach came splashing through the mud and mire with
one miserable outside passenger crouching down among wet straw
under a saturated umbrella; and the coachmanguardand horsesin
a fellowship of dripping wretchedness. Immediately on its stopping
Mr Pecksniff let down the window-glass and hailed Tom Pinch.

'Dear meMr Pinch! Is it possible that you are out upon this very
inclement morning?'

'Yessir' cried Tomadvancing eagerly'Mr Chuzzlewit and I
sir.'

'Oh!' said Mr Pecksnifflooking not so much at Martin as at the
spot on which he stood. 'Oh! Indeed. Do me the favour to see to
the trunksif you pleaseMr Pinch.'

Then Mr Pecksniff descendedand helped his daughters to alight; but
neighter he nor the young ladies took the slightest notice of Martin
who had advanced to offer his assistancebut was repulsed by Mr
Pecksniff's standing immediately before his personwith his back
towards him. In the same mannerand in profound silenceMr
Pecksniff handed his daughters into the gig; and following himself
and taking the reinsdrove off home.

Lost in astonishmentMartin stood staring at the coachand when
the coach had driven awayat Mr Pinchand the luggageuntil the
cart moved off too; when he said to Tom:

'Now will you have the goodness to tell me what THIS portends?'

'What?' asked Tom.

'This fellow's behaviour. Mr Pecksniff'sI mean. You saw it?'

'No. Indeed I did not' cried Tom. 'I was busy with the trunks.'

'It is no matter' said Martin. 'Come! Let us make haste back!'
And without another word started off at such a pacethat Tom
had some difficulty in keeping up with him.

He had no care where he wentbut walked through little heaps of mud
and little pools of water with the utmost indifference; looking
straight before himand sometimes laughing in a strange manner
within himself. Tom felt that anything he could say would only
render him the more obstinateand therefore trusted to Mr
Pecksniff's manner when they reached the houseto remove the
mistaken impression under which he felt convinced so great a
favourite as the new pupil must unquestionably be labouring. But he
was not a little amazed himselfwhen they did reach itand entered
the parlour where Mr Pecksniff was sitting alone before the fire
drinking some hot teato find that instead of taking favourable
notice of his relative and keeping himMr Pinchin the background
he did exactly the reverseand was so lavish in his attentions to
Tomthat Tom was thoroughly confounded.

'Take some teaMr Pinch--take some tea' said Pecksniffstirring
the fire. 'You must be very cold and damp. Pray take some teaand
come into a warm placeMr Pinch.'

Tom saw that Martin looked at Mr Pecksniff as though he could have
easily found it in his heart to give HIM an invitation to a very


warm place; but he was quite silentand standing opposite that
gentleman at the tableregarded him attentively.

'Take a chairPinch' said Pecksniff. 'Take a chairif you
please. How have things gone on in our absenceMr Pinch?'

'You--you will be very much pleased with the grammar-schoolsir'
said Tom. 'It's nearly finished.'

'If you will have the goodnessMr Pinch' said Pecksniffwaving
his hand and smiling'we will not discuss anything connected with
that question at present. What have YOU been doingThomashumph?'

Mr Pinch looked from master to pupiland from pupil to masterand
was so perplexed and dismayed that he wanted presence of mind to
answer the question. In this awkward intervalMr Pecksniff (who
was perfectly conscious of Martin's gazethough he had never once
glanced towards him) poked the fire very muchand when he couldn't
do that any moredrank tea assiduously.

'NowMr Pecksniff' said Martin at lastin a very quiet voice'if
you have sufficiently refreshed and recovered yourselfI shall be
glad to hear what you mean by this treatment of me.'

'And what' said Mr Pecksniffturning his eyes on Tom Pincheven
more placidly and gently than before'what have YOU been doing
Thomashumph?'

When he had repeated this inquiryhe looked round the walls of the
room as if he were curious to see whether any nails had been left
there by accident in former times.

Tom was almost at his wit's end what to say between the twoand had
already made a gesture as if he would call Mr Pecksniff's attention
to the gentleman who had last addressed himwhen Martin saved him
further troubleby doing so himself.

'Mr Pecksniff' he saidsoftly rapping the table twice or thrice
and moving a step or two nearerso that he could have touched him
with his hand; 'you heard what I said just now. Do me the favour to
replyif you please. I ask you'--he raised his voice a little
here--'what you mean by this?'

'I will talk to yousir' said Mr Pecksniff in a severe voiceas
he looked at him for the first time'presently.'

'You are very obliging' returned Martin; 'presently will not do. I
must trouble you to talk to me at once.'

Mr Pecksniff made a feint of being deeply interested in his
pocketbookbut it shook in his hands; he trembled so.

'Now' retorted Martinrapping the table again. 'Now. Presently
will not do. Now!'

'Do you threaten mesir?' cried Mr Pecksniff.

Martin looked at himand made no answer; but a curious observer
might have detected an ominous twitching at his mouthand perhaps
an involuntary attraction of his right hand in the direction of Mr
Pecksniff's cravat.

'I lament to be obliged to saysir' resumed Mr Pecksniff'that it
would be quite in keeping with your character if you did threaten


me. You have deceived me. You have imposed upon a nature which you
knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. You have obtained admission
sir' said Mr Pecksniffrising'to this houseon perverted
statements and on false pretences.'

'Go on' said Martinwith a scornful smile. 'I understand you now.
What more?'

'Thus much moresir' cried Mr Pecksnifftrembling from head to
footand trying to rub his handsas though he were only cold.
'Thus much moreif you force me to publish your shame before a
third partywhich I was unwilling and indisposed to do. This lowly
roofsirmust not be contaminated by the presence of one who has
deceivedand cruelly deceivedan honourablebelovedvenerated
and venerable gentleman; and who wisely suppressed that deceit from
me when he sought my protection and favourknowing thathumble as
I amI am an honest manseeking to do my duty in this carnal
universeand setting my face against all vice and treachery. I
weep for your depravitysir' said Mr Pecksniff; 'I mourn over your
corruptionI pity your voluntary withdrawal of yourself from the
flowery paths of purity and peace;' here he struck himself upon his
breastor moral garden; 'but I cannot have a leper and a serpent
for an inmate. Go forth' said Mr Pecksniffstretching out his
hand: 'go forthyoung man! Like all who know youI renounce you!'

With what intention Martin made a stride forward at these wordsit
is impossible to say. It is enough to know that Tom Pinch caught
him in his armsand thatat the same momentMr Pecksniff stepped
back so hastilythat he missed his footingtumbled over a chair
and fell in a sitting posture on the ground; where he remained
without an effort to get up againwith his head in a corner
perhaps considering it the safest place.

'Let me goPinch!' cried Martinshaking him away. 'Why do you
hold me? Do you think a blow could make him a more abject creature
than he is? Do you think that if I spat upon himI could degrade
him to a lower level than his own? Look at him. Look at him
Pinch!'

Mr Pinch involuntarily did so. Mr Pecksniff sittingas has been
already mentionedon the carpetwith his head in an acute angle of
the wainscotand all the damage and detriment of an uncomfortable
journey about himwas not exactly a model of all that is
prepossessing and dignified in mancertainly. Still he WAS
Pecksniff; it was impossible to deprive him of that unique and
paramount appeal to Tom. And he returned Tom's glanceas if he
would have said'AyeMr Pinchlook at me! Here I am! You know
what the Poet says about an honest man; and an honest man is one of
the few great works that can be seen for nothing! Look at me!'

'I tell you' said Martin'that as he lies theredisgraced
boughtused; a cloth for dirty handsa mat for dirty feeta
lyingfawningservile houndhe is the very last and worst among
the vermin of the world. And mark mePinch! The day will come--he
knows it; see it written on his facewhile I speak!--when even you
will find him outand will know him as I doand as he knows I do.
HE renounce ME! Cast your eyes on the RenouncerPinchand be the
wiser for the recollection!'

He pointed at him as he spokewith unutterable contemptand
flinging his hat upon his headwalked from the room and from the
house. He went so rapidly that he was already clear of the village
when he heard Tom Pinch calling breathlessly after him in the
distance.


'Well! what now?' he saidwhen Tom came up.

'Deardear!' cried Tom'are you going?'

'Going!' he echoed. 'Going!'

'I didn't so much mean thatas were you going now at once--in this
bad weather--on foot--without your clothes--with no money?' cried
Tom.

'Yes' he answered sternly'I am.'

'And where?' cried Tom. 'Oh where will you go?'

'I don't know' he said. 'YesI do. I'll go to America!'

'Nono' cried Tomin a kind of agony. 'Don't go there. Pray
don't. Think better of it. Don't be so dreadfully regardless of
yourself. Don't go to America!'

'My mind is made up' he said. 'Your friend was right. I'll go to
America. God bless youPinch!'

'Take this!' cried Tompressing a book upon him in great agitation.
'I must make haste backand can't say anything I would. Heaven be
with you. Look at the leaf I have turned down. Good-byegood-bye!'

The simple fellow wrung him by the handwith tears stealing down
his cheeks; and they parted hurriedly upon their separate ways.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SHOWING WHAT BECAME OF MARTIN AND HIS DESPARATE RESOLVEAFTER HE
LEFT MR PECKSNIFF'S HOUSE; WHAT PERSONS HE ENCOUNTERED; WHAT
ANXIETIES HE SUFFERED; AND WHAT NEWS HE HEARD

Carrying Tom Pinch's book quite unconsciously under his armand not
even buttoning his coat as a protection against the heavy rain
Martin went doggedly forward at the same quick paceuntil he had
passed the finger-postand was on the high road to London. He
slackened very little in his speed even thenbut he began to think
and look about himand to disengage his senses from the coil of
angry passions which hitherto had held them prisoner.

It must be confessed thatat that momenthe had no very agreeable
employment either for his moral or his physical perceptions. The
day was dawning from a patch of watery light in the eastand sullen
clouds came driving up before itfrom which the rain descended in a
thickwet mist. It streamed from every twig and bramble in the
hedge; made little gullies in the path; ran down a hundred channels
in the road; and punched innumerable holes into the face of every
pond and gutter. It fell with an oozyslushy sound among the
grass; and made a muddy kennel of every furrow in the ploughed
fields. No living creature was anywhere to be seen. The prospect
could hardly have been more desolate if animated nature had been
dissolved in waterand poured down upon the earth again in that
form.

The range of view within the solitary traveller was quite as
cheerless as the scene without. Friendless and penniless; incensed


to the last degree; deeply wounded in his pride and self-love; full
of independent schemesand perfectly destitute of any means of
realizing them; his most vindictive enemy might have been satisfied
with the extent of his troubles. To add to his other miserieshe
was by this time sensible of being wet to the skinand cold at his
very heart.

In this deplorable condition he remembered Mr Pinch's book; more
because it was rather troublesome to carrythan from any hope of
being comforted by that parting gift. He looked at the dingy
lettering on the backand finding it to be an odd volume of the
'Bachelor of Salamanca' in the French tonguecursed Tom Pinch's
folly twenty times. He was on the point of throwing it awayin his
ill-humour and vexationwhen he bethought himself that Tom had
referred him to a leafturned down; and opening it at that place
that he might have additional cause of complaint against him for
supposing that any cold scrap of the Bachelor's wisdom could cheer
him in such circumstancesfound!--

Wellwell! not muchbut Tom's all. The half-sovereign. He had
wrapped it hastily in a piece of paperand pinned it to the leaf.
These words were scrawled in pencil on the inside: 'I don't want it
indeed. I should not know what to do with it if I had it.'

There are some falsehoodsTomon which men mountas on bright
wingstowards Heaven. There are some truthscold bitter taunting
truthswherein your worldly scholars are very apt and punctual
which bind men down to earth with leaden chains. Who would not
rather have to fan himin his dying hourthe lightest feather of a
falsehood such as thinethan all the quills that have been plucked
from the sharp porcupinereproachful truthsince time began!

Martin felt keenly for himselfand he felt this good deed of Tom's
keenly. After a few minutes it had the effect of raising his
spiritsand reminding him that he was not altogether destituteas
he had left a fair stock of clothes behind himand wore a gold
hunting-watch in his pocket. He found a curious gratificationtoo
in thinking what a winning fellow he must be to have made such an
impression on Tom; and in reflecting how superior he was to Tom; and
how much more likely to make his way in the world. Animated by
these thoughtsand strengthened in his design of endeavouring to
push his fortune in another countryhe resolved to get to London as
a rallying-pointin the best way he could; and to lose no time
about it.

He was ten good miles from the village made illustrious by being the
abiding-place of Mr Pecksniffwhen he stopped to breakfast at a
little roadside alehouse; and resting upon a high-backed settle
before the firepulled off his coatand hung it before the
cheerful blaze to dry. It was a very different place from the last
tavern in which he had regaled; boasting no greater extent of
accommodation than the brick-floored kitchen yielded; but the mind
so soon accommodates itself to the necessities of the bodythat
this poor waggoner's house-of-callwhich he would have despised
yesterdaybecame now quite a choice hotel; while his dish of eggs
and baconand his mug of beerwere not by any means the coarse
fare he had supposedbut fully bore out the inscription on the
window-shutterwhich proclaimed those viands to be 'Good
entertainment for Travellers.'

He pushed away his empty plate; and with a second mug upon the
hearth before himlooked thoughtfully at the fire until his eyes
ached. Then he looked at the highly-coloured scripture pieces on
the wallsin little black frames like common shaving-glassesand


saw how the Wise Men (with a strong family likeness among them)
worshipped in a pink manger; and how the Prodigal Son came home in
red rags to a purple fatherand already feasted his imagination on
a sea-green calf. Then he glanced through the window at the falling
raincoming down aslant upon the sign-post over against the house
and overflowing the horse-trough; and then he looked at the fire
againand seemed to descry a double distant Londonretreating
among the fragments of the burning wood.

He had repeated this process in just the same ordermany timesas
if it were a matter of necessitywhen the sound of wheels called
his attention to the window out of its regular turn; and there he
beheld a kind of light van drawn by four horsesand ladenas well
as he could see (for it was covered in)with corn and straw. The
driverwho was alonestopped at the door to water his teamand
presently came stamping and shaking the wet off his hat and coat
into the room where Martin sat.

He was a red-faced burly young fellow; smart in his wayand with a
good-humoured countenance. As he advanced towards the fire he
touched his shining forehead with the forefinger of his stiff
leather gloveby way of salutation; and said (rather unnecessarily)
that it was an uncommon wet day.

'Very wet' said Martin.

'I don't know as ever I see a wetter.'

'I never felt one' said Martin.

The driver glanced at Martin's soiled dressand his damp shirtsleeves
and his coat hung up to dry; and saidafter a pauseas he
warmed his hands:

'You have been caught in itsir?'

'Yes' was the short reply.

'Out ridingmaybe?' said the driver

'I should have beenif I owned a horse; but I don't' returned
Martin.

'That's bad' said the driver.

'And may be worse' said Martin.

Now the driver said 'That's bad' not so much because Martin didn't
own a horseas because he said he didn't with all the reckless
desperation of his mood and circumstancesand so left a great deal
to be inferred. Martin put his hands in his pockets and whistled
when he had retorted on the driver; thus giving him to understand
that he didn't care a pin for Fortune; that he was above pretending
to be her favourite when he was not; and that he snapped his fingers
at herthe driverand everybody else.

The driver looked at him stealthily for a minute or so; and in the
pauses of his warming whistled too. At length he askedas he
pointed his thumb towards the road.

'Up or down?'

'Which IS up?' said Martin.


'Londonof course' said the driver.

'Up then' said Martin. He tossed his head in a careless manner
afterwardsas if he would have added'Now you know all about it.'
put his hands deeper into his pockets; changed his tuneand
whistled a little louder.

'I'm going up' observed the driver; 'Hounslowten miles this side
London.'

'Are you?' cried Martinstopping short and looking at him.

The driver sprinkled the fire with his wet hat until it hissed again
and answered'Ayeto be sure he was.'

'Whythen' said Martin'I'll be plain with you. You may suppose
from my dress that I have money to spare. I have not. All I can
afford for coach-hire is a crownfor I have but two. If you can
take me for thatand my waistcoator this silk handkerchiefdo.
If you can'tleave it alone.'

'Short and sweet' remarked the driver.

'You want more?' said Martin. 'Then I haven't got moreand I can't
get itso there's an end of that.' Whereupon he began to whistle
again.

'I didn't say I wanted moredid I?' asked the driverwith
something like indignation.

'You didn't say my offer was enough' rejoined Martin.

'Whyhow could Iwhen you wouldn't let me? In regard to the
waistcoatI wouldn't have a man's waistcoatmuch less a
gentleman's waistcoaton my mindfor no consideration; but the
silk handkerchief's another thing; and if you was satisfied when we
got to HounslowI shouldn't object to that as a gift.'

'Is it a bargainthen?' said Martin.

'Yesit is' returned the other.

'Then finish this beer' said Martinhanding him the mugand
pulling on his coat with great alacrity; 'and let us be off as soon
as you like.'

In two minutes more he had paid his billwhich amounted to a
shilling; was lying at full length on a truss of strawhigh and dry
at the top of the vanwith the tilt a little open in front for the
convenience of talking to his new friend; and was moving along in
the right direction with a most satisfactory and encouraging
briskness.

The driver's nameas he soon informed Martinwas William Simmons
better known as Bill; and his spruce appearance was sufficiently
explained by his connection with a large stage-coaching establishment
at Hounslowwhither he was conveying his load from a farm belonging
to the concern in Wiltshire. He was frequently up and down the road
on such errandshe saidand to look after the sick and rest
horsesof which animals he had much to relate that occupied a long
time in the telling. He aspired to the dignity of the regular box
and expected an appointment on the first vacancy. He was musical
besidesand had a little key-bugle in his pocketon which
whenever the conversation flaggedhe played the first part of a


great many tunesand regularly broke down in the second.

'Ah!' said Billwith a sighas he drew the back of his hand across
his lipsand put this instrument in his pocketafter screwing off
the mouth-piece to drain it; 'Lummy Ned of the Light SalisburyHE
was the one for musical talents. He WAS a guard. What you may call
a Guard'an Angelwas Ned.'

'Is he dead?' asked Martin.

'Dead!' replied the otherwith a contemptuous emphasis. 'Not he.
You won't catch Ned a-dying easy. Nono. He knows better than
that.'

'You spoke of him in the past tense' observed Martin'so I
supposed he was no more.

'He's no more in England' said Bill'if that's what you mean. He
went to the U-nited States.'

'Did he?' asked Martinwith sudden interest. 'When?'

'Five year agoor then about' said Bill. 'He had set up in the
public line hereand couldn't meet his engagementsso he cut off
to Liverpool one daywithout saying anything about itand went and
shipped himself for the U-nited States.'

'Well?' said Martin.

'Well! as he landed there without a penny to bless himself withof
course they wos very glad to see him in the U-nited States.'

'What do you mean?' asked Martinwith some scorn.

'What do I mean?' said Bill. 'WhyTHAT. All men are alike in the
U-nited Statesan't they? It makes no odds whether a man has a
thousand poundor nothingthere. Particular in New YorkI'm
toldwhere Ned landed.'

'New Yorkwas it?' asked Martinthoughtfully.

'Yes' said Bill. 'New York. I know thatbecause he sent word
home that it brought Old York to his mindquite vividin
consequence of being so exactly unlike it in every respect. I don't
understand what particular business Ned turned his mind towhen he
got there; but he wrote home that him and his friends was always asinging
Ale Columbiaand blowing up the Presidentso I suppose it
was something in the public line; or free-and-easy way again.
Anyhowhe made his fortune.'

'No!' cried Martin.

'Yeshe did' said Bill. 'I know thatbecause he lost it all the
day afterin six-and-twenty banks as broke. He settled a lot of
the notes on his fatherwhen it was ascertained that they was
really stopped and sent 'em over with a dutiful letter. I know
thatbecause they was shown down our yard for the old gentleman's
benefitthat he might treat himself with tobacco in the workus.'

'He was a foolish fellow not to take care of his money when he had
it' said Martinindignantly.

'There you're right' said Bill'especially as it was all in paper
and he might have took care of it so very easyby folding it up in a


small parcel.'

Martin said nothing in replybut soon afterwards fell asleepand
remained so for an hour or more. When he awokefinding it had
ceased to rainhe took his seat beside the driverand asked him
several questions; as how long had the fortunate guard of the Light
Salisbury been in crossing the Atlantic; at what time of the year
had he sailed; what was the name of the ship in which he made the
voyage; how much had he paid for passage-money; did he suffer
greatly from sea-sickness? and so forth. But on these points of
detail his friend was possessed of little or no information; either
answering obviously at random or acknowledging that he had never
heardor had forgotten; noralthough he returned to the charge
very oftencould he obtain any useful intelligence on these
essential particulars.

They jogged on all dayand stopped so often--now to refreshnow to
change their team of horsesnow to exchange or bring away a set of
harnessnow on one point of businessand now upon another
connected with the coaching on that line of road--that it was
midnight when they reached Hounslow. A little short of the stables
for which the van was boundMartin got downpaid his crownand
forced his silk handkerchief upon his honest friendnotwithstanding
the many protestations that he didn't wish to deprive him of it
with which he tried to give the lie to his longing looks. That
donethey parted company; and when the van had driven into its own
yard and the gates were closedMartin stood in the dark street
with a pretty strong sense of being shut outaloneupon the dreary
worldwithout the key of it.

But in this moment of despondencyand often afterwardsthe
recollection of Mr Pecksniff operated as a cordial to him; awakening
in his breast an indignation that was very wholesome in nerving him
to obstinate endurance. Under the influence of this fiery dram he
started off for London without more ado. Arriving there in the
middle of the nightand not knowing where to find a tavern openhe
was fain to stroll about the streets and market-places until
morning.

He found himselfabout an hour before dawnin the humbler regions
of the Adelphi; and addressing himself to a man in a fur-capwho was
taking down the shutters of an obscure public-houseinformed him
that he was a strangerand inquired if he could have a bed there.
It happened by good luck that he could. Though none of the
gaudiestit was tolerably cleanand Martin felt very glad and
grateful when he crept into itfor warmthrestand forgetfulness.

It was quite late in the afternoon when he awoke; and by the time he
had washed and dressedand broken his fastit was growing dusk
again. This was all the betterfor it was now a matter of absolute
necessity that he should part with his watch to some obliging pawnbroker.
He would have waited until after dark for this purpose
though it had been the longest day in the yearand he had begun it
without a breakfast.

He passed more Golden Balls than all the jugglers in Europe have
juggled within the course of their united performancesbefore he
could determine in favour of any particular shop where those symbols
were displayed. In the end he came back to one of the first he had
seenand entering by a side-door in a courtwhere the three balls
with the legend 'Money Lent' were repeated in a ghastly
transparencypassed into one of a series of little closetsor
private boxeserected for the accommodation of the more bashful and
uninitiated customers. He bolted himself in; pulled out his watch;


and laid it on the counter.

'Upon my life and soul!' said a low voice in the next box to the
shopman who was in treaty with him'you must make it more; you must
make it a trifle moreyou must indeed! You must dispense with one
half-quarter of an ounce in weighing out your pound of fleshmy
best of friendsand make it two-and-six.'

Martin drew back involuntarilyfor he knew the voice at once.

'You're always full of your chaff' said the shopmanrolling up the
article (which looked like a shirt) quite as a matter of courseand
nibbing his pen upon the counter.

'I shall never be full of my wheat' said Mr Tigg'as long as I
come here. Haha! Not bad! Make it two-and-sixmy dear friend
positively for this occasion only. Half-a-crown is a delightful
coin. Two-and-six. Going at two-and-six! For the last time at
two-and-six!'

'It'll never be the last time till it's quite worn out' rejoined
the shopman. 'It's grown yellow in the service as it is.'

'Its master has grown yellow in the serviceif you mean thatmy
friend' said Mr Tigg; 'in the patriotic service of an ungrateful
country. You are making it two-and-sixI think?'

'I'm making it' returned the shopman'what it always has been--two
shillings. Same name as usualI suppose?'

'Still the same name' said Mr Tigg; 'my claim to the dormant
peerage not being yet established by the House of Lords.'

'The old address?'

'Not at all' said Mr Tigg; 'I have removed my town establishment
from thirty-eightMayfairto number fifteen-hundred-and-forty-two
Park Lane.'

'ComeI'm not going to put down thatyou know' said the shopman
with a grin.

'You may put down what you pleasemy friend' quoth Mr Tigg. 'The
fact is still the same. The apartments for the under-butler and the
fifth footman being of a most confounded low and vulgar kind at
thirty-eightMayfairI have been compelledin my regard for the
feelings which do them so much honourto take on lease for seven
fourteenor twenty-one yearsrenewable at the option of the
tenantthe elegant and commodious family mansionnumber fifteenhundred-
and-forty-two Park Lane. Make it two-and-sixand come and
see me!'

The shopman was so highly entertained by this piece of humour that
Mr Tigg himself could not repress some little show of exultation.
It vented itselfin partin a desire to see how the occupant of
the next box received his pleasantry; to ascertain which he glanced
round the partitionand immediatelyby the gaslightrecognized
Martin.

'I wish I may die' said Mr Tiggstretching out his body so far
that his head was as much in Martin's little cell as Martin's own
head was'but this is one of the most tremendous meetings in
Ancient or Modern History! How are you? What is the news from the
agricultural districts? How are our friends the P.'s? Haha!


Davidpay particular attention to this gentleman immediatelyas a
friend of mineI beg.'

'Here! Please to give me the most you can for this' said Martin
handing the watch to the shopman. 'I want money sorely.'

'He wants moneysorely!' cried Mr Tigg with excessive sympathy.
'Davidwill you have the goodness to do your very utmost for my
friendwho wants money sorely. You will deal with my friend as if
he were myself. A gold hunting-watchDavidengine-turnedcapped
and jewelled in four holesescape movementhorizontal leverand
warranted to perform correctlyupon my personal reputationwho
have observed it narrowly for many yearsunder the most trying
circumstances'--here he winked at Martinthat he might understand
this recommendation would have an immense effect upon the shopman;
'what do you sayDavidto my friend? Be very particular to
deserve my custom and recommendationDavid.'

'I can lend you three pounds on thisif you like' said the shopman
to Martinconfidentially. 'It is very old-fashioned. I couldn't
say more.'

'And devilish handsometoo' cried Mr Tigg. 'Two-twelve-six for
the watchand seven-and-six for personal regard. I am gratified;
it may be weaknessbut I am. Three pounds will do. We take it.
The name of my friend is Smivey: Chicken Smiveyof Holborntwentysix-
and-a-half B: lodger.' Here he winked at Martin againto
apprise him that all the forms and ceremonies prescribed by law were
now complied withand nothing remained but the receipt for the
money.

In point of factthis proved to be the casefor Martinwho had no
resource but to take what was offered himsignified his
acquiescence by a nod of his headand presently came out with the
cash in his pocket. He was joined in the entry by Mr Tiggwho
warmly congratulated himas he took his arm and accompanied him
into the streeton the successful issue of the negotiation.

'As for my part in the same' said Mr Tigg'don't mention it.
Don't compliment mefor I can't bear it!'

'I have no such intentionI assure you' retorted Martinreleasing
his arm and stopping.

'You oblige me very much' said Mr Tigg. 'Thank you.'

'Nowsir' observed Martinbiting his lip'this is a large town
and we can easily find different ways in it. If you will show me
which is your wayI will take another.'

Mr Tigg was about to speakbut Martin interposed:

'I need scarcely tell youafter what you have just seenthat I
have nothing to bestow upon your friend Mr Slyme. And it is quite
as unnecessary for me to tell you that I don't desire the honour of
your company.'

'Stop' cried Mr Tiggholding out his hand. 'Hold! There is a most
remarkably long-headedflowing-beardedand patriarchal proverb
which observes that it is the duty of a man to be just before he is
generous. Be just nowand you can be generous presently. Do not
confuse me with the man Slyme. Do not distinguish the man Slyme as
a friend of minefor he is no such thing. I have been compelled
sirto abandon the party whom you call Slyme. I have no knowledge


of the party whom you call Slyme. I amsir' said Mr Tigg
striking himself upon the breast'a premium tulipof a very
different growth and cultivation from the cabbage Slymesir.'

'It matters very little to me' said Martin coolly'whether you
have set up as a vagabond on your own accountor are still trading
on behalf of Mr Slyme. I wish to hold no correspondence with you.
In the devil's nameman' said Martinscarcely abledespite his
vexationto repress a smile as Mr Tigg stood leaning his back
against the shutters of a shop windowadjusting his hair with great
composure'will you go one way or other?'

'You will allow me to remind yousir' said Mr Tiggwith sudden
dignity'that you--not I--that you--I say emphaticallyYOU--have
reduced the proceedings of this evening to a cold and distant matter
of businesswhen I was disposed to place them on a friendly
footing. It being made a matter of businesssirI beg to say that
I expect a trifle (which I shall bestow in charity) as commission
upon the pecuniary advancein which I have rendered you my humble
services. After the terms in which you have addressed mesir'
concluded Mr Tigg'you will not insult meif you pleaseby
offering more than half-a-crown.'

Martin drew that piece of money from his pocketand tossed it
towards him. Mr Tigg caught itlooked at it to assure himself of
its goodnessspun it in the air after the manner of a piemanand
buttoned it up. Finallyhe raised his hat an inch or two from his
head with a military airandafter pausing a moment with deep
gravityas to decide in which direction he should goand to what
Earl or Marquis among his friends he should give the preference in
his next callstuck his hands in his skirt-pockets and swaggered
round the corner. Martin took the directly opposite course; and so
to his great contentthey parted company.

It was with a bitter sense of humiliation that he cursedagain and
againthe mischance of having encountered this man in the pawnbroker's
shop. The only comfort he had in the recollection wasMr
Tigg's voluntary avowal of a separation between himself and Slyme
that would at least prevent his circumstances (so Martin argued)
from being known to any member of his familythe bare possibility
of which filled him with shame and wounded pride. Abstractedly
there was greater reasonperhapsfor supposing any declaration of
Mr Tigg's to be falsethan for attaching the least credence to it;
but remembering the terms on which the intimacy between that
gentleman and his bosom friend had subsistedand the strong
probability of Mr Tigg's having established an independent business
of his own on Mr Slyme's connectionit had a reasonable appearance
of probability; at all eventsMartin hoped so; and that went a long
way.

His first stepnow that he had a supply of ready money for his
present necessitieswasto retain his bed at the public-house
until further noticeand to write a formal note to Tom Pinch (for
he knew Pecksniff would see it) requesting to have his clothes
forwarded to London by coachwith a direction to be left at the
office until called for. These measures takenhe passed the
interval before the box arrived--three days--in making inquiries
relative to American vesselsat the offices of various shippingagents
in the city; and in lingering about the docks and wharves
with the faint hope of stumbling upon some engagement for the
voyageas clerk or supercargoor custodian of something or
somebodywhich would enable him to procure a free passage. But
findingsoonthat no such means of employment were likely to
present themselvesand dreading the consequences of delayhe drew


up a short advertisementstating what he wantedand inserted it in
the leading newspapers. Pending the receipt of the twenty or thirty
answers which he vaguely expectedhe reduced his wardrobe to the
narrowest limits consistent with decent respectabilityand carried
the overplus at different times to the pawnbroker's shopfor
conversion into money.

And it was strangevery strangeeven to himselfto find howby
quick though almost imperceptible degreeshe lost his delicacy and
self-respectand gradually came to do that as a matter of course
without the least compunctionwhich but a few short days before had
galled him to the quick. The first time he visited the
pawnbroker'she felt on his way there as if every person whom he
passed suspected whither he was going; and on his way back againas
if the whole human tide he stemmedknew well where he had come
from. When did he care to think of their discernment now! In his
first wanderings up and down the weary streetshe counterfeited the
walk of one who had an object in his view; but soon there came upon
him the saunteringslipshod gait of listless idlenessand the
lounging at street-cornersand plucking and biting of stray bits of
strawand strolling up and down the same placeand looking into
the same shop-windowswith a miserable indifferencefifty times a
day. At firsthe came out from his lodging with an uneasy sense of
being observed--even by those chance passers-byon whom he had
never looked beforeand hundreds to one would never see again-issuing
in the morning from a public-house; but nowin his comingsout
and goings-in he did not mind to lounge about the dooror to
stand sunning himself in careless thought beside the wooden stem
studded from head to heel with pegson which the beer-pots dangled
like so many boughs upon a pewter-tree. And yet it took but five
weeks to reach the lowest round of this tall ladder!

Ohmoralistswho treat of happiness and self-respectinnate in
every sphere of lifeand shedding light on every grain of dust in
God's highwayso smooth below your carriage-wheelsso rough
beneath the tread of naked feetbethink yourselves in looking on
the swift descent of men who HAVE lived in their own esteemthat
there are scores of thousands breathing nowand breathing thick
with painful toilwho in that high respect have never lived at all
nor had a chance of life! Go yewho rest so placidly upon the
sacred Bard who had been youngand when he strung his harp was old
and had never seen the righteous forsakenor his seed begging their
bread; goTeachers of content and honest prideinto the minethe
millthe forgethe squalid depths of deepest ignoranceand
uttermost abyss of man's neglectand say can any hopeful plant
spring up in air so foul that it extinguishes the soul's bright
torch as fast as it is kindled! Andoh! ye Pharisees of the
nineteen hundredth year of Christian Knowledgewho soundingly
appeal to human naturesee that it be human first. Take heed it
has not been transformedduring your slumber and the sleep of
generationsinto the nature of the Beasts!

Five weeks! Of all the twenty or thirty answersnot one had come.
His money--even the additional stock he had raised from the disposal
of his spare clothes (and that was not muchfor clothesthough
dear to buyare cheap to pawn)--was fast diminishing. Yet what
could he do? At times an agony came over him in which he darted
forth againthough he was but newly homeandreturning to some
place where he had been already twenty timesmade some new attempt
to gain his endbut always unsuccessfully. He was years and years
too old for a cabin-boyand years upon years too inexperienced to
be accepted as a common seaman. His dress and mannertoo
militated fatally against any such proposal as the latter; and yet
he was reduced to making it; for even if he could have contemplated


the being set down in America totally without moneyhe had not
enough left now for a steerage passage and the poorest provisions
upon the voyage.

It is an illustration of a very common tendency in the mind of man
that all this time he never once doubtedone may almost say the
certainty of doing great things in the New Worldif he could only
get there. In proportion as he became more and more dejected by his
present circumstancesand the means of gaining America receded from
his graspthe more he fretted himself with the conviction that that
was the only place in which he could hope to achieve any high end
and worried his brain with the thought that men going there in the
meanwhile might anticipate him in the attainment of those objects
which were dearest to his heart. He often thought of John Westlock
and besides looking out for him on all occasionsactually walked
about London for three days together for the express purpose of
meeting with him. But although he failed in this; and although he
would not have scrupled to borrow money of him; and although he
believed that John would have lent it; yet still he could not bring
his mind to write to Pinch and inquire where he was to be found.
For althoughas we have seenhe was fond of Tom after his own
fashionhe could not endure the thought (feeling so superior to
Tom) of making him the stepping-stone to his fortuneor being
anything to him but a patron; and his pride so revolted from the
idea that it restrained him even now.

It might have yieldedhowever; and no doubt must have yielded soon
but for a very strange and unlooked-for occurrence.

The five weeks had quite run outand he was in a truly desperate
plightwhen one eveninghaving just returned to his lodgingand
being in the act of lighting his candle at the gas jet in the bar
before stalking moodily upstairs to his own roomhis landlord
called him by his name. Now as he had never told it to the manbut
had scrupulously kept it to himselfhe was not a little startled by
this; and so plainly showed his agitation that the landlordto
reassure himsaid 'it was only a letter.'

'A letter!' cried Martin.

'For Mr Martin Chuzzlewit' said the landlordreading the
superscription of one he held in his hand. 'Noon. Chief office.
Paid.'

Martin took it from himthanked himand walked upstairs. It was
not sealedbut pasted close; the handwriting was quite unknown to
him. He opened it and found enclosedwithout any nameaddressor
other inscription or explanation of any kind whatevera Bank of
England note for Twenty Pounds.

To say that he was perfectly stunned with astonishment and delight;
that he looked again and again at the note and the wrapper; that he
hurried below stairs to make quite certain that the note was a good
note; and then hurried up again to satisfy himself for the fiftieth
time that he had not overlooked some scrap of writing on the
wrapper; that he exhausted and bewildered himself with conjectures;
and could make nothing of it but that there the note wasand he was
suddenly enriched; would be only to relate so many matters of course
to no purpose. The final upshot of the business at that time was
that he resolved to treat himself to a comfortable but frugal meal
in his own chamber; and having ordered a fire to be kindledwent
out to purchase it forthwith.

He bought some cold beefand hamand French breadand butterand


came back with his pockets pretty heavily laden. It was somewhat of
a damping circumstance to find the room full of smokewhich was
attributable to two causes; firstlyto the flue being naturally
vicious and a smoker; and secondlyto their having forgottenin
lighting the firean odd sack or two and some trifleswhich had
been put up the chimney to keep the rain out. They had already
remedied this oversighthowever; and propped up the window-sash
with a bundle of firewood to keep it open; so that except in being
rather inflammatory to the eyes and choking to the lungsthe
apartment was quite comfortable.

Martin was in no vein to quarrel with itif it had been in less
tolerable orderespecially when a gleaming pint of porter was set
upon the tableand the servant-girl withdrewbearing with her
particular instructions relative to the production of something hot
when he should ring the bell. The cold meat being wrapped in a
playbillMartin laid the cloth by spreading that document on the
little round table with the print downwardsand arranging the
collation upon it. The foot of the bedwhich was very close to the
fireanswered for a sideboard; and when he had completed these
preparationshe squeezed an old arm-chair into the warmest corner
and sat down to enjoy himself.

He had begun to eat with great appetiteglancing round the room
meanwhile with a triumphant anticipation of quitting it for ever on
the morrowwhen his attention was arrested by a stealthy footstep
on the stairsand presently by a knock at his chamber doorwhich
although it was a gentle knock enoughcommunicated such a start to
the bundle of firewoodthat it instantly leaped out of windowand
plunged into the street.

'More coalsI suppose' said Martin. 'Come in!'

'It an't a libertysirthough it seems so' rejoined a man's
voice. 'Your servantsir. Hope you're pretty wellsir.'

Martin stared at the face that was bowing in the doorwayperfectly
remembering the features and expressionbut quite forgetting to
whom they belonged.

'Tapleysir' said his visitor. 'Him as formerly lived at the
Dragonsirand was forced to leave in consequence of a want of
jollitysir.'

'To be sure!' cried Martin. 'Whyhow did you come here?'

'Right through the passageand up the stairssir' said Mark.

'How did you find me outI mean?' asked Martin.

'Whysir' said Mark'I've passed you once or twice in the street
if I'm not mistaken; and when I was a-looking in at the beef-and-ham
shop just nowalong with a hungry sweepas was very much
calculated to make a man jollysir--I see you a-buying that.'

Martin reddened as he pointed to the tableand saidsomewhat
hastily:

'Well! What then?'

'Whythensir' said Mark'I made bold to foller; and as I told
'em downstairs that you expected meI was let up.'

'Are you charged with any messagethat you told them you were


expected?' inquired Martin.

'NosirI an't' said Mark. 'That was what you may call a pious
fraudsirthat was.'

Martin cast an angry look at him; but there was something in the
fellow's merry faceand in his manner--which with all its
cheerfulness was far from being obtrusive or familiar--that quite
disarmed him. He had lived a solitary life toofor many weeksand
the voice was pleasant in his ear.

'Tapley' he said'I'll deal openly with you. From all I can judge
and from all I have heard of you through Pinchyou are not a likely
kind of fellow to have been brought here by impertinent curiosity or
any other offensive motive. Sit down. I'm glad to see you.'

'Thankeesir' said Mark. 'I'd as lieve stand.'

If you don't sit down,' retorted Martin, 'I'll not talk to you.'

'Very good, sir,' observed Mark. 'Your will's a law, sir. Down it
is;' and he sat down accordingly upon the bedstead.

'Help yourself,' said Martin, handing him the only knife.

'Thankee, sir,' rejoined Mark. 'After you've done.'

'If you don't take it now, you'll not have any,' said Martin.

'Very good, sir,' rejoined Mark. 'That being your desire--now it
is.' With which reply he gravely helped himself and went on eating.
Martin having done the like for a short time in silence, said
abruptly:

'What are you doing in London?'

'Nothing at all, sir,' rejoined Mark.

'How's that?' asked Martin.

'I want a place,' said Mark.

'I'm sorry for you,' said Martin.

'--To attend upon a single gentleman,' resumed Mark. 'If from the
country the more desirable. Makeshifts would be preferred. Wages
no object.'

He said this so pointedly, that Martin stopped in his eating, and
said:

'If you mean me--'

'Yes, I do, sir,' interposed Mark.

'Then you may judge from my style of living here, of my means of
keeping a man-servant. Besides, I am going to America immediately.'

'Well, sir,' returned Mark, quite unmoved by this intelligence 'from
all that ever I heard about it, I should say America is a very
likely sort of place for me to be jolly in!'

Again Martin looked at him angrily; and again his anger melted away
in spite of himself.


'Lord bless you, sir,' said Mark, 'what is the use of us a-going
round and round, and hiding behind the corner, and dodging up and
down, when we can come straight to the point in six words? I've had
my eye upon you any time this fortnight. I see well enough there's
a screw loose in your affairs. I know'd well enough the first time
I see you down at the Dragon that it must be so, sooner or later.
Now, sir here am I, without a sitiwation; without any want of wages
for a year to come; for I saved up (I didn't mean to do it, but I
couldn't help it) at the Dragon--here am I with a liking for what's
wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out strong
under circumstances as would keep other men down; and will you take
me, or will you leave me?'

'How can I take you?' cried Martin.

'When I say take,' rejoined Mark, 'I mean will you let me go? and
when I say will you let me go, I mean will you let me go along with
you? for go I will, somehow or another. Now that you've said
America, I see clear at once, that that's the place for me to be
jolly in. Therefore, if I don't pay my own passage in the ship you
go in, sir, I'll pay my own passage in another. And mark my words,
if I go alone it shall be, to carry out the principle, in the
rottenest, craziest, leakingest tub of a wessel that a place can be
got in for love or money. So if I'm lost upon the way, sir,
there'll be a drowned man at your door--and always a-knocking double
knocks at it, too, or never trust me!'

'This is mere folly,' said Martin.

'Very good, sir,' returned Mark. 'I'm glad to hear it, because if
you don't mean to let me go, you'll be more comfortable, perhaps, on
account of thinking so. Therefore I contradict no gentleman. But
all I say is, that if I don't emigrate to America in that case, in
the beastliest old cockle-shell as goes out of port, I'm--'

'You don't mean what you say, I'm sure,' said Martin.

'Yes I do,' cried Mark.

'I tell you I know better,' rejoined Martin.

'Very good, sir,' said Mark, with the same air of perfect
satisfaction. 'Let it stand that way at present, sir, and wait and
see how it turns out. Why, love my heart alive! the only doubt I
have is, whether there's any credit in going with a gentleman like
you, that's as certain to make his way there as a gimlet is to go
through soft deal.'

This was touching Martin on his weak point, and having him at a
great advantage. He could not help thinking, either, what a brisk
fellow this Mark was, and how great a change he had wrought in the
atmosphere of the dismal little room already.

'Why, certainly, Mark,' he said, 'I have hopes of doing well there,
or I shouldn't go. I may have the qualifications for doing well,
perhaps.'

'Of course you have, sir,' returned Mark Tapley. 'Everybody knows
that.'

'You see,' said Martin, leaning his chin upon his hand, and looking
at the fire, 'ornamental architecture applied to domestic purposes,
can hardly fail to be in great request in that country; for men are


constantly changing their residences there, and moving further off;
and it's clear they must have houses to live in.'

'I should say, sir,' observed Mark, 'that that's a state of things
as opens one of the jolliest look-outs for domestic architecture
that ever I heerd tell on.'

Martin glanced at him hastily, not feeling quite free from a
suspicion that this remark implied a doubt of the successful issue
of his plans. But Mr Tapley was eating the boiled beef and bread
with such entire good faith and singleness of purpose expressed in
his visage that he could not but be satisfied. Another doubt arose
in his mind however, as this one disappeared. He produced the blank
cover in which the note had been enclosed, and fixing his eyes on
Mark as he put it in his hands, said:

'Now tell me the truth. Do you know anything about that?'

Mark turned it over and over; held it near his eyes; held it away
from him at arm's length; held it with the superscription upwards
and with the superscription downwards; and shook his head with such
a genuine expression of astonishment at being asked the question,
that Martin said, as he took it from him again:

'No, I see you don't. How should you! Though, indeed, your knowing
about it would not be more extraordinary than its being here. Come,
Tapley,' he added, after a moment's thought, 'I'll trust you with my
history, such as it is, and then you'll see more clearly what sort
of fortunes you would link yourself to, if you followed me.'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Mark; 'but afore you enter upon it
will you take me if I choose to go? Will you turn off me--Mark
Tapley--formerly of the Blue Dragon, as can be well recommended by Mr
Pinch, and as wants a gentleman of your strength of mind to look up
to; or will you, in climbing the ladder as you're certain to get to
the top of, take me along with you at a respectful dutance? Now,
sir,' said Mark, 'it's of very little importance to you, I know.
there's the difficulty; but it's of very great importance to me, and
will you be so good as to consider of it?'

If this were meant as a second appeal to Martin's weak side, founded
on his observation of the effect of the first, Mr Tapley was a
skillful and shrewd observer. Whether an intentional or an
accidental shot, it hit the mark fully for Martin, relenting more
and more, said with a condescension which was inexpressibly
delicious to him, after his recent humiliation:

'We'll see about it, Tapley. You shall tell me in what disposition
you find yourself to-morrow.'

'Then, sir,' said Mark, rubbing his hands, 'the job's done. Go on,
sir, if you please. I'm all attention.'

Throwing himself back in his arm-chair, and looking at the fire, with
now and then a glance at Mark, who at such times nodded his head
sagely, to express his profound interest and attention. Martin ran
over the chief points in his history, to the same effect as he had
related them, weeks before, to Mr Pinch. But he adapted them,
according to the best of his judgment, to Mr Tapley's comprehension;
and with that view made as light of his love affair as he could, and
referred to it in very few words. But here he reckoned without his
host; for Mark's interest was keenest in this part of the business,
and prompted him to ask sundry questions in relation to it; for
which he apologised as one in some measure privileged to do so, from


having seen (as Martin explained to him) the young lady at the Blue
Dragon.

'And a young lady as any gentleman ought to feel more proud of being
in love with,' said Mark, energetically, 'don't draw breath.'

'Aye! You saw her when she was not happy,' said Martin, gazing at
the fire again. 'If you had seen her in the old times, indeed--'

'Why, she certainly was a little down-hearted, sir, and something
paler in her colour than I could have wished,' said Mark, 'but none
the worse in her looks for that. I think she seemed better, sir,
after she come to London.'

Martin withdrew his eyes from the fire; stared at Mark as if he
thought he had suddenly gone mad; and asked him what he meant.

'No offence intended, sir,' urged Mark. 'I don't mean to say she
was any the happier without you; but I thought she was a-looking
better, sir.'

'Do you mean to tell me she has been in London?' asked Martin,
rising hurriedly, and pushing back his chair.

'Of course I do,' said Mark, rising too, in great amazement from the
bedstead.

'Do you mean to tell me she is in London now?'

'Most likely, sir. I mean to say she was a week ago.'

'And you know where?'

'Yes!' cried Mark. 'What! Don't you?'

'My good fellow!' exclaimed Martin, clutching him by both arms, 'I
have never seen her since I left my grandfather's house.'

'Why, then!' cried Mark, giving the little table such a blow with
his clenched fist that the slices of beef and ham danced upon it,
while all his features seemed, with delight, to be going up into his
forehead, and never coming back again any more, 'if I an't your
nat'ral born servant, hired by Fate, there an't such a thing in
natur' as a Blue Dragon. What! when I was a-rambling up and down a
old churchyard in the City, getting myself into a jolly state,
didn't I see your grandfather a-toddling to and fro for pretty nigh
a mortal hour! Didn't I watch him into Todgers's commercial
boarding-house, and watch him out, and watch him home to his hotel,
and go and tell him as his was the service for my money, and I had
said so, afore I left the Dragon! Wasn't the young lady a-sitting
with him then, and didn't she fall a-laughing in a manner as was
beautiful to see! Didn't your grandfather say, Come back again next
week and didn't I go next week; and didn't he say that he
couldn't make up his mind to trust nobody no more; and therefore
wouldn't engage me, but at the same time stood something to drink as
was handsome! Why,' cried Mr Tapley, with a comical mixture of
delight and chagrin, 'where's the credit of a man's being jolly
under such circumstances! Who could help it, when things come about
like this!'

For some moments Martin stood gazing at him, as if he really doubted
the evidence of his senses, and could not believe that Mark stood
there, in the body, before him. At length he asked him whether, if
the young lady were still in London, he thought he could contrive to


deliver a letter to her secretly.

'Do I think I can?' cried Mark. 'THINK I can? Here, sit down, sir.
Write it out, sir!'

With that he cleared the table by the summary process of tilting
everything upon it into the fireplace; snatched some writing
materials from the mantel-shelf; set Martin's chair before them;
forced him down into it; dipped a pen into the ink; and put it in
his hand.

'Cut away, sir!' cried Mark. 'Make it strong, sir. Let it be wery
pinted, sir. Do I think so? I should think so. Go to work, sir!'

Martin required no further adjuration, but went to work at a great
rate; while Mr Tapley, installing himself without any more
formalities into the functions of his valet and general attendant,
divested himself of his coat, and went on to clear the fireplace
and arrange the room; talking to himself in a low voice the whole
time.

'Jolly sort of lodgings,' said Mark, rubbing his nose with the knob
at the end of the fire-shovel, and looking round the poor chamber;
'that's a comfort. The rain's come through the roof too. That an't
bad. A lively old bedstead, I'll be bound; popilated by lots of
wampires, no doubt. Come! my spirits is a-getting up again. An
uncommon ragged nightcap this. A very good sign. We shall do yet!
Here, Jane, my dear,' calling down the stairs, 'bring up that there
hot tumbler for my master as was a-mixing when I come in. That's
right, sir,' to Martin. 'Go at it as if you meant it, sir. Be very
tender, sir, if you please. You can't make it too strong, sir!'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WHICH MARTIN BIDS ADIEU TO THE LADY OF HIS LOVE; AND HONOURS AN
OBSCURE INDIVIDUAL WHOSE FORTUNE HE INTENDS TO MAKE BY COMMENDING
HER TO HIS PROTECTION

The letter being duly signed, sealed, and delivered, was handed to
Mark Tapley, for immediate conveyance if possible. And he succeeded
so well in his embassy as to be enabled to return that same night,
just as the house was closing, with the welcome intelligence that he
had sent it upstairs to the young lady, enclosed in a small
manuscript of his own, purporting to contain his further petition to
be engaged in Mr Chuzzlewit's service; and that she had herself come
down and told him, in great haste and agitation, that she would meet
the gentleman at eight o'clock to-morrow morning in St. James's
Park. It was then agreed between the new master and the new man,
that Mark should be in waiting near the hotel in good time, to
escort the young lady to the place of appointment; and when they had
parted for the night with this understanding, Martin took up his pen
again; and before he went to bed wrote another letter, whereof more
will be seen presently.

He was up before daybreak, and came upon the Park with the morning,
which was clad in the least engaging of the three hundred and sixtyfive
dresses in the wardrobe of the year. It was raw, damp, dark,
and dismal; the clouds were as muddy as the ground; and the short
perspective of every street and avenue was closed up by the mist as
by a filthy curtain.


'Fine weather indeed,' Martin bitterly soliloquised, 'to be
wandering up and down here in, like a thief! Fine weather indeed,
for a meeting of lovers in the open air, and in a public walk! I
need be departing, with all speed, for another country; for I have
come to a pretty pass in this!'

He might perhaps have gone on to reflect that of all mornings in the
year, it was not the best calculated for a young lady's coming forth
on such an errand, either. But he was stopped on the road to this
reflection, if his thoughts tended that way, by her appearance at a
short distance, on which he hurried forward to meet her. Her
squire, Mr Tapley, at the same time fell discreetly back, and
surveyed the fog above him with an appearance of attentive interest.

'My dear Martin,' said Mary.

'My dear Mary,' said Martin; and lovers are such a singular kind of
people that this is all they did say just then, though Martin took
her arm, and her hand too, and they paced up and down a short walk
that was least exposed to observation, half-a-dozen times.

'If you have changed at all, my love, since we parted,' said Martin
at length, as he looked upon her with a proud delight, 'it is only
to be more beautiful than ever!'

Had she been of the common metal of love-worn young ladies, she
would have denied this in her most interesting manner; and would
have told him that she knew she had become a perfect fright; or that
she had wasted away with weeping and anxiety; or that she was
dwindling gently into an early grave; or that her mental sufferings
were unspeakable; or would, either by tears or words, or a mixture
of both, have furnished him with some other information to that
effect, and made him as miserable as possible. But she had been
reared up in a sterner school than the minds of most young girls are
formed in; she had had her nature strengthened by the hands of hard
endurance and necessity; had come out from her young trials
constant, self-denying, earnest, and devoted; had acquired in her
maidenhood--whether happily in the end, for herself or him, is
foreign to our present purpose to inquire--something of that nobler
quality of gentle hearts which is developed often by the sorrows and
struggles of matronly years, but often by their lessons only.
Unspoiled, unpampered in her joys or griefs; with frank and full,
and deep affection for the object of her early love; she saw in him
one who for her sake was an outcast from his home and fortune, and
she had no more idea of bestowing that love upon him in other than
cheerful and sustaining words, full of high hope and grateful
trustfulness, than she had of being unworthy of it, in her lightest
thought or deed, for any base temptation that the world could offer.

'What change is there in YOU, Martin,' she replied; 'for that
concerns me nearest? You look more anxious and more thoughtful than
you used.'

'Why, as to that, my love,' said Martin as he drew her waist within
his arm, first looking round to see that there were no observers
near, and beholding Mr Tapley more intent than ever on the fog; 'it
would be strange if I did not; for my life--especially of late--has
been a hard one.'

'I know it must have been,' she answered. 'When have I forgotten to
think of it and you?'

'Not often, I hope,' said Martin. 'Not often, I am sure. Not
often, I have some right to expect, Mary; for I have undergone a


great deal of vexation and privation, and I naturally look for that
return, you know.'

'A very, very poor return,' she answered with a fainter smile. 'But
you have it, and will have it always. You have paid a dear price
for a poor heart, Martin; but it is at least your own, and a true
one.'

'Of course I feel quite certain of that,' said Martin, 'or I
shouldn't have put myself in my present position. And don't say a
poor heart, Mary, for I say a rich one. Now, I am about to break a
design to you, dearest, which will startle you at first, but which is
undertaken for your sake. I am going,' he added slowly, looking far
into the deep wonder of her bright dark eyes, 'abroad.'

'Abroad, Martin!'

'Only to America. See now. How you droop directly!'

'If I do, or, I hope I may say, if I did,' she answered, raising her
head after a short silence, and looking once more into his face, 'it
was for grief to think of what you are resolved to undergo for me.
I would not venture to dissuade you, Martin; but it is a long, long
distance; there is a wide ocean to be crossed; illness and want are
sad calamities in any place, but in a foreign country dreadful to
endure. Have you thought of all this?'

'Thought of it!' cried Martin, abating, in his fondness--and he WAS
very fond of her--hardly an iota of his usual impetuosity. 'What am
I to do? It's very well to say, Have I thought of it?" my love; but
you should ask me in the same breathhave I thought of starving at
home; have I thought of doing porter's work for a living; have I
thought of holding horses in the streets to earn my roll of bread
from day to day? Comecome' he addedin a gentler tone'do not
hang down your headmy dearfor I need the encouragement that your
sweet face alone can give me. Whythat's well! Now you are brave
again.'

'I am endeavouring to be' she answeredsmiling through her tears.

'Endeavouring to be anything that's goodand being itiswith
youall one. Don't I know that of old?' cried Martingayly.
'So! That's famous! Now I can tell you all my plans as cheerfully
as if you were my little wife alreadyMary.'

She hung more closely on his armand looking upwards in his face
bade him speak on.

'You see' said Martinplaying with the little hand upon his wrist
'that my attempts to advance myself at home have been baffled and
rendered abortive. I will not say by whomMaryfor that would
give pain to us both. But so it is. Have you heard him speak of
late of any relative of mine or hiscalled Pecksniff? Only tell me
what I ask youno more.'

'I have heardto my surprisethat he is a better man than was
supposed.'

'I thought so' interrupted Martin.

'And that it is likely we may come to know himif not to visit and
reside with him and--I think--his daughters. He HAS daughtershas
helove?'


'A pair of them' Martin answered. 'A precious pair! Gems of the
first water!'

'Ah! You are jesting!'

'There is a sort of jesting which is very much in earnestand
includes some pretty serious disgust' said Martin. 'I jest in
reference to Mr Pecksniff (at whose house I have been living as his
assistantand at whose hands I have received insult and injury)in
that vein. Whatever betidesor however closely you may be brought
into communication with this familynever forget thatMary; and
never for an instantwhatever appearances may seem to contradict
melose sight of this assurance--Pecksniff is a scoundrel.'

'Indeed!'

'In thoughtand in deedand in everything else. A scoundrel from
the topmost hair of his headto the nethermost atom of his heel.
Of his daughters I will only say thatto the best of my knowledge
and beliefthey are dutiful young ladiesand take after their
father closely. This is a digression from the main pointand yet
it brings me to what I was going to say.'

He stopped to look into her eyes againand seeingin a hasty
glance over his shoulderthat there was no one nearand that Mark
was still intent upon the fognot only looked at her lipstoobut
kissed them into the bargain.

'Now I am going to Americawith great prospects of doing welland
of returning home myself very soon; it may be to take you there for
a few yearsbutat all eventsto claim you for my wife; which
after such trialsI should do with no fear of your still thinking
it a duty to cleave to him who will not suffer me to live (for this
is true)if he can help itin my own land. How long I may be
absent isof courseuncertain; but it shall not be very long.
Trust me for that.'

'In the meantimedear Martin--'

'That's the very thing I am coming to. In the meantime you shall
hearconstantlyof all my goings-on. Thus.'

He paused to take from his pocket the letter he had written
overnightand then resumed:

'In this fellow's employmentand living in this fellow's house (by
fellowI mean Mr Pecksniffof course)there is a certain person
of the name of Pinch. Don't forget; a poorstrangesimple oddity
Mary; but thoroughly honest and sincere; full of zeal; and with a
cordial regard for me. Which I mean to return one of these daysby
setting him up in life in some way or other.'

'Your old kind natureMartin!'

'Oh!' said Martin'that's not worth speaking ofmy love. He's
very grateful and desirous to serve me; and I am more than repaid.
Now one night I told this Pinch my historyand all about myself and
you; in which he was not a little interestedI can tell youfor he
knows you! Ayeyou may look surprised--and the longer the better for
it becomes you--but you have heard him play the organ in the church
of that village before now; and he has seen you listening to his
music; and has caught his inspiration from youtoo!'

'Was HE the organist?' cried Mary. 'I thank him from my heart!'


'Yeshe was' said Martin'and isand gets nothing for it either.
There never was such a simple fellow! Quite an infant! But a very
good sort of creatureI assure you.'

'I am sure of that' she said with great earnestness. 'He must be!'

'Ohyesno doubt at all about it' rejoined Martinin his usual
careless way. 'He is. Well! It has occurred to me--but stay. If I
read you what I have written and intend sending to him by post to-
night it will explain itself. "My dear Tom Pinch." That's rather
familiar perhaps' said Martinsuddenly remembering that he was
proud when they had last met'but I call him my dear Tom Pinch
because he likes itand it pleases him.'

'Very rightand very kind' said Mary.

'Exactly so!' cried Martin. 'It's as well to be kind whenever one
can; andas I said beforehe really is an excellent fellow. "My
dear Tom Pinch--I address this under cover to Mrs Lupinat the
Blue Dragonand have begged her in a short note to deliver it to
you without saying anything about it elsewhere; and to do the same
with all future letters she may receive from me. My reason for so
doing will be at once apparent to you"--I don't know that it will
beby the bye' said Martinbreaking off'for he's slow of
comprehensionpoor fellow; but he'll find it out in time. My
reason simply isthat I don't want my letters to be read by other
people; and particularly by the scoundrel whom he thinks an angel.'

'Mr Pecksniff again?' asked Mary.

'The same' said Martin '--will be at once apparent to you. I have
completed my arrangements for going to America; and you will be
surprised to hear that I am to be accompanied by Mark Tapleyupon
whom I have stumbled strangely in Londonand who insists on putting
himself under my protection'--meaningmy love' said Martin
breaking off again'our friend in the rearof course.'

She was delighted to hear thisand bestowed a kind glance upon
Markwhich he brought his eyes down from the fog to encounter and
received with immense satisfaction. She said in his hearingtoo
that he was a good soul and a merry creatureand would be faithful
she was certain; commendations which Mr Tapley inwardly resolved to
deservefrom such lipsif he died for it.

'"Nowmy dear Pinch' resumed Martin, proceeding with his letter;
'I am going to repose great trust in youknowing that I may do so
with perfect reliance on your honour and secrecyand having nobody
else just now to trust in."'

'I don't think I would say thatMartin.'

'Wouldn't you? Well! I'll take that out. It's perfectly true
though.'

'But it might seem ungraciousperhaps.'

'OhI don't mind Pinch' said Martin. 'There's no occasion to
stand on any ceremony with HIM. HoweverI'll take it outas you
wish itand make the full stop at "secrecy." Very well! "I shall
not only"--this is the letter againyou know.'

'I understand.'


'"I shall not only enclose my letters to the young lady of whom I
have told youto your chargeto be forwarded as she may request;
but I most earnestly commit herthe young lady herselfto your
care and regardin the event of your meeting in my absence. I have
reason to think that the probabilities of your encountering each
other--perhaps very frequently--are now neither remote nor few; and
although in our position you can do very little to lessen the
uneasiness of hersI trust to you implicitly to do that muchand
so deserve the confidence I have reposed in you." You seemy dear
Mary' said Martin'it will be a great consolation to you to have
anybodyno matter how simplewith whom you can speak about ME; and
the very first time you talk to Pinchyou'll feel at once that
there is no more occasion for any embarrassment or hesitation in
talking to himthan if he were an old woman.'

'However that may be' she returnedsmiling'he is your friend
and that is enough.'

'Ohyeshe's my friend' said Martin'certainly. In factI have
told him in so many words that we'll always take notice of himand
protect him; and it's a good trait in his character that he's
grateful--very grateful indeed. You'll like him of all thingsmy
loveI know. You'll observe very much that's comical and oldfashioned
about Pinchbut you needn't mind laughing at him; for
he'll not care about it. He'll rather like it indeed!'

'I don't think I shall put that to the testMartin.'

'You won't if you can help itof course' he said'but I think
you'll find him a little too much for your gravity. Howeverthat's
neither here nor thereand it certainly is not the letter; which
ends thus: "Knowing that I need not impress the nature and extent of
that confidence upon you at any greater lengthas it is already
sufficiently established in your mindI will only sayin bidding
you farewell and looking forward to our next meetingthat I shall
charge myself from this timethrough all changes for the better
with your advancement and happinessas if they were my own. You
may rely upon that. And always believe memy dear Tom Pinch
faithfully your friendMartin Chuzzlewit. P.S.--I enclose the
amount which you so kindly"--Oh' said Martinchecking himselfand
folding up the letter'that's nothing!'

At this crisis Mark Tapley interposedwith an apology for remarking
that the clock at the Horse Guards was striking.

'Which I shouldn't have said nothing aboutsir' added Mark'if
the young lady hadn't begged me to be particular in mentioning it.'

'I did' said Mary. 'Thank you. You are quite right. In another
minute I shall be ready to return. We have time for a very few
words moredear Martinand although I had much to sayit must
remain unsaid until the happy time of our next meeting. Heaven send
it may come speedily and prosperously! But I have no fear of that.'

'Fear!' cried Martin. 'Whywho has? What are a few months? What
is a whole year? When I come gayly backwith a road through life
hewn out before methen indeedlooking back upon this partingit
may seem a dismal one. But now! I swear I wouldn't have it happen
under more favourable auspicesif I could; for then I should be
less inclined to goand less impressed with the necessity.'

'Yesyes. I feel that too. When do you go?'

'To-night. We leave for Liverpool to-night. A vessel sails from


that portas I hearin three days. In a monthor lesswe shall
be there. Whywhat's a month! How many months have flown bysince
our last parting!'

'Long to look back upon' said Maryechoing his cheerful tone'but
nothing in their course!'

'Nothing at all!' cried Martin. 'I shall have change of scene and
change of place; change of peoplechange of mannerschange of
cares and hopes! Time will wear wings indeed! I can bear anything
so that I have swift actionMary.'

Was he thinking solely of her care for himwhen he took so little
heed of her share in the separation; of her quiet monotonous
enduranceand her slow anxiety from day to day? Was there nothing
jarring and discordant even in his tone of couragewith this one
note 'self' for ever audiblehowever high the strain? Not in her
ears. It had been better otherwiseperhapsbut so it was. She
heard the same bold spirit which had flung away as dross all gain
and profit for her sakemaking light of peril and privation that
she might be calm and happy; and she heard no more. That heart
where self has found no place and raised no throneis slow to
recognize its ugly presence when it looks upon it. As one possessed
of an evil spirit was held in old time to be alone conscious of the
lurking demon in the breasts of other menso kindred vices know
each other in their hiding-places every daywhen Virtue is
incredulous and blind.

'The quarter's gone!' cried Mr Tapleyin a voice of admonition.

'I shall be ready to return immediately' she said. 'One thing
dear MartinI am bound to tell you. You entreated me a few minutes
since only to answer what you asked me in reference to one theme
but you should and must know (otherwise I could not be at ease) that
since that separation of which I was the unhappy occasionhe has
never once uttered your name; has never coupled itor any faint
allusion to itwith passion or reproach; and has never abated in
his kindness to me.'

'I thank him for that last act' said Martin'and for nothing else.
Though on consideration I may thank him for his other forbearance
alsoinasmuch as I neither expect nor desire that he will mention
my name again. He may onceperhaps--to couple it with reproach--in
his will. Let himif he please! By the time it reaches mehe will
be in his grave; a satire on his own angerGod help him!'

'Martin! If you would but sometimesin some quiet hour; beside the
winter fire; in the summer air; when you hear gentle musicor think
of Deathor Homeor Childhood; if you would at such a season
resolve to thinkbut once a monthor even once a yearof himor
any one who ever wronged youyou would forgive him in your heartI
know!'

'If I believed that to be trueMary' he replied'I would resolve
at no such time to bear him in my mind; wishing to spare myself the
shame of such a weakness. I was not born to be the toy and puppet
of any manfar less his; to whose pleasure and capricein return
for any good he did memy whole youth was sacrificed. It became
between us two a fair exchange--a barter--and no more; and there is
no such balance against me that I need throw in a mawkish
forgiveness to poise the scale. He has forbidden all mention of me
to youI know' he added hastily. 'Come! Has he not?'

'That was long ago' she returned; 'immediately after your parting;


before you had left the house. He has never done so since.'

'He has never done so since because he has seen no occasion' said
Martin; 'but that is of little consequenceone way or other. Let
all allusion to him between you and me be interdicted from this time
forth. And thereforelove'--he drew her quickly to himfor the
time of parting had now come--'in the first letter that you write to
me through the Post Officeaddressed to New York; and in all the
others that you send through Pinch; remember he has no existence
but has become to us as one who is dead. NowGod bless you! This
is a strange place for such a meeting and such a parting; but our
next meeting shall be in a betterand our next and last parting in
a worse.'

'One other questionMartinI must ask. Have you provided money
for this journey?'

'Have I?' cried Martin; it might have been in his pride; it might
have been in his desire to set her mind at ease: 'Have I provided
money? Whythere's a question for an emigrant's wife! How could I
move on land or sea without itlove?'

'I meanenough.'

'Enough! More than enough. Twenty times more than enough. A
pocket-full. Mark and Ifor all essential endsare quite as rich
as if we had the purse of Fortunatus in our baggage.'

'The half-hour's a-going!' cried Mr Tapley.

'Good-bye a hundred times!' cried Maryin a trembling voice.

But how cold the comfort in Good-bye! Mark Tapley knew it perfectly.
Perhaps he knew it from his readingperhaps from his experience
perhaps from intuition. It is impossible to say; but however he
knew ithis knowledge instinctively suggested to him the wisest
course of proceeding that any man could have adopted under the
circumstances. He was taken with a violent fit of sneezingand was
obliged to turn his head another way. In doing whichhein a
manner fenced and screened the lovers into a corner by themselves.

There was a short pausebut Mark had an undefined sensation that it
was a satisfactory one in its way. Then Marywith her veil
loweredpassed him with a quick stepand beckoned him to follow.
She stopped once more before they lost that corner; looked back; and
waved her hand to Martin. He made a start towards them at the
moment as if he had some other farewell words to say; but she only
hurried off the fasterand Mr Tapley followed as in duty bound.

When he rejoined Martin again in his own chamberhe found that
gentleman seated moodily before the dusty gratewith his two feet
on the fenderhis two elbows on his kneesand his chin supported
in a not very ornamental manneron the palms of his hands.

'WellMark!'

'Wellsir' said Marktaking a long breath'I see the young lady
safe homeand I feel pretty comfortable after it. She sent a lot
of kind wordssirand this' handing him a ring'for a parting
keepsake.'

'Diamonds!' said Martinkissing it--let us do him justiceit was
for her sake; not for theirs--and putting it on his little finger.
'Splendid diamonds! My grandfather is a singular characterMark.


He must have given her this now.'

Mark Tapley knew as well that she had bought itto the end that
that unconscious speaker might carry some article of sterling value
with him in his necessity; as he knew that it was dayand not
night. Though he had no more acquaintance of his own knowledge with
the history of the glittering trinket on Martin's outspread finger
than Martin himself hadhe was as certain that in its purchase she
had expended her whole stock of hoarded moneyas if he had seen it
paid down coin by coin. Her lover's strange obtuseness in relation
to this little incidentpromptly suggested to Mark's mind its real
cause and root; and from that moment he had a clear and perfect
insight into the one absorbing principle of Martin's character.

'She is worthy of the sacrifices I have made' said Martinfolding
his armsand looking at the ashes in the stoveas if in resumption
of some former thoughts. 'Well worthy of them. No riches'--here he
stroked his chin and mused--'could have compensated for the loss of
such a nature. Not to mention that in gaining her affection I have
followed the bent of my own wishesand baulked the selfish schemes
of others who had no right to form them. She is quite worthy--more
than worthy--of the sacrifices I have made. Yesshe is. No doubt
of it.'

These ruminations might or might not have reached Mark Tapley; for
though they were by no means addressed to himyet they were softly
uttered. In any casehe stood therewatching Martin with an
indescribable and most involved expression on his visageuntil that
young man roused himself and looked towards him; when he turned
awayas being suddenly intent upon certain preparations for the
journeyandwithout giving vent to any articulate soundsmiled
with surpassing ghastlinessand seemed by a twist of his features
and a motion of his lipsto release himself of this word:

'Jolly!'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE BURDEN WHEREOFIS HAIL COLUMBIA!

A dark and dreary night; people nestling in their beds or circling
late about the fire; Wantcolder than Charityshivering at the
street corners; church-towers humming with the faint vibration of
their own tonguesbut newly resting from the ghostly preachment
'One!' The earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of
yesterday; the clumps of dark treesits giant plumes of funeral
featherswaving sadly to and fro: all hushedall noiselessand in
deep reposesave the swift clouds that skim across the moonand
the cautious windascreeping after them upon the groundit stops
to listenand goes rustling onand stops againand followslike
a savage on the trail.

Whither go the clouds and wind so eagerly? Iflike guilty spirits
they repair to some dread conference with powers like themselvesin
what wild regions do the elements hold councilor where unbend in
terrible disport?

Here! Free from that cramped prison called the earthand out upon
the waste of waters. Hereroaringragingshriekinghowlingall
night long. Hither come the sounding voices from the caverns on the
coast of that small islandsleepinga thousand miles awayso


quietly in the midst of angry waves; and hitherto meet themrush
the blasts from unknown desert places of the world. Herein the
fury of their unchecked libertythey storm and buffet with each
otheruntil the sealashed into passion like their ownleaps up
in ravings mightier than theirsand the whole scene is madness.

Onononover the countless miles of angry space roll the long
heaving billows. Mountains and caves are hereand yet are not; for
what is now the oneis now the other; then all is but a boiling
heap of rushing water. Pursuitand flightand mad return of wave
on waveand savage struggleending in a spouting-up of foam that
whitens the black night; incessant change of placeand formand
hue; constancy in nothingbut eternal strife; onononthey
rolland darker grows the nightand louder howls the windand
more clamorous and fierce become the million voices in the seawhen
the wild cry goes forth upon the storm 'A ship!'

Onward she comesin gallant combat with the elementsher tall
masts tremblingand her timbers starting on the strain; onward she
comesnow high upon the curling billowsnow low down in the
hollows of the seaas hiding for the moment from its fury; and
every storm-voice in the air and water cries more loudly yet'A
ship!'

Still she comes striving on; and at her boldness and the spreading
crythe angry waves rise up above each other's hoary heads to look;
and round about the vesselfar as the mariners on the decks can
pierce into the gloomthey press upon herforcing each other down
and starting upand rushing forward from afarin dreadful
curiosity. High over her they break; and round her surge and roar;
and giving place to othersmoaningly departand dash themselves to
fragments in their baffled anger. Still she comes onward bravely.
And though the eager multitude crowd thick and fast upon her all the
nightand dawn of day discovers the untiring train yet bearing down
upon the ship in an eternity of troubled wateronward she comes
with dim lights burning in her hulland people thereasleep; as if
no deadly element were peering in at every seam and chinkand no
drowned seaman's gravewith but a plank to cover itwere yawning
in the unfathomable depths below.

Among these sleeping voyagers were Martin and Mark Tapleywho
rocked into a heavy drowsiness by the unaccustomed motionwere
as insensible to the foul air in which they layas to the uproar
without. It was broad day when the latter awoke with a dim idea
that he was dreaming of having gone to sleep in a four-post bedstead
which had turned bottom upwards in the course of the night. There
was more reason in this toothan in the roasting of eggs; for the
first objects Mr Tapley recognized when he opened his eyes were his
own heels--looking down to himas he afterwards observedfrom
a nearly perpendicular elevation.

'Well!' said Markgetting himself into a sitting postureafter
various ineffectual struggles with the rolling of the ship. 'This
is the first time as ever I stood on my head all night.'

'You shouldn't go to sleep upon the ground with your head to leeward
then' growled a man in one of the berths.

'With my head to WHERE?' asked Mark.

The man repeated his previous sentiment.

'NoI won't another time' said Mark'when I know whereabouts on
the map that country is. In the meanwhile I can give you a better


piece of advice. Don't you nor any other friend of mine never go to
sleep with his head in a ship any more.'

The man gave a grunt of discontented acquiescenceturned over in
his berthand drew his blanket over his head.

'--For' said Mr Tapleypursuing the theme by way of soliloquy in
a low tone of voice; 'the sea is as nonsensical a thing as any
going. It never knows what to do with itself. It hasn't got no
employment for its mindand is always in a state of vacancy. Like
them Polar bears in the wild-beast shows as is constantly a-nodding
their heads from side to sideit never CAN be quiet. Which is
entirely owing to its uncommon stupidity.'

'Is that youMark?' asked a faint voice from another berth.

'It's as much of me as is leftsirafter a fortnight of this
work' Mr Tapley replied'What with leading the life of a flyever
since I've been aboard--for I've been perpetually holding-on to
something or other in a upside-down position--what with thatsir
and putting a very little into myselfand taking a good deal out of
myselfthere an't too much of me to swear by. How do you find
yourself this morningsir?'

'Very miserable' said Martinwith a peevish groan. 'Ugh. This is
wretchedindeed!'

'Creditable' muttered Markpressing one hand upon his aching head
and looking round him with a rueful grin. 'That's the great
comfort. It IS creditable to keep up one's spirits here. Virtue's
its own reward. So's jollity.'

Mark was so far right that unquestionably any man who retained his
cheerfulness among the steerage accommodations of that noble and
fast-sailing line-of-packet ship'THE SCREW' was solely indebted
to his own resourcesand shipped his good humourlike his
provisionswithout any contribution or assistance from the owners.
A darklowstifling cabinsurrounded by berths all filled to
overflowing with menwomenand childrenin various stages of
sickness and miseryis not the liveliest place of assembly at any
time; but when it is so crowded (as the steerage cabin of the
Screw wasevery passage out)that mattresses and beds are heaped
upon the floorto the extinction of everything like comfort
cleanlinessand decencyit is liable to operate not only as a
pretty strong banner against amiability of temperbut as a positive
encourager of selfish and rough humours. Mark felt thisas he sat
looking about him; and his spirits rose proportionately.

There were English peopleIrish peopleWelsh peopleand Scotch
people there; all with their little store of coarse food and shabby
clothes; and nearly all with their families of children. There were
children of all ages; from the baby at the breastto the slatterngirl
who was as much a grown woman as her mother. Every kind of
domestic suffering that is bred in povertyillnessbanishment
sorrowand long travel in bad weatherwas crammed into the little
space; and yet was there infinitely less of complaint and
querulousnessand infinitely more of mutual assistance and general
kindness to be found in that unwholesome arkthan in many brilliant
ballrooms.

Mark looked about him wistfullyand his face brightened as he
looked. Here an old grandmother was crooning over a sick childand
rocking it to and froin arms hardly more wasted than its own young
limbs; here a poor woman with an infant in her lapmended another


little creature's clothesand quieted another who was creeping up
about her from their scanty bed upon the floor. Here were old men
awkwardly engaged in little household officeswherein they would
have been ridiculous but for their good-will and kind purpose; and
here were swarthy fellows--giants in their way--doing such little
acts of tenderness for those about themas might have belonged to
gentlest-hearted dwarfs. The very idiot in the corner who sat
mowing thereall dayhad his faculty of imitation roused by what
he saw about him; and snapped his fingers to amuse a crying child.

'Nowthen' said Marknodding to a woman who was dressing her
three children at no great distance from him--and the grin upon his
face had by this time spread from ear to ear--'Hand over one of them
young 'uns according to custom.'

'I wish you'd get breakfastMarkinstead of worrying with people
who don't belong to you' observed Martinpetulantly.

'All right' said Mark. 'SHE'll do that. It's a fair division of
laboursir. I wash her boysand she makes our tea. I never COULD
make teabut any one can wash a boy.'

The womanwho was delicate and illfelt and understood his
kindnessas well she mightfor she had been covered every night
with his greatcoatwhile he had for his own bed the bare boards
and a rug. But Martinwho seldom got up or looked about himwas
quite incensed by the folly of this speechand expressed his
dissatisfaction by an impatient groan.

'So it iscertainly' said Markbrushing the child's hair as
coolly as if he had been born and bred a barber.

'What are you talking aboutnow?' asked Martin.

'What you said' replied Mark; 'or what you meantwhen you gave
that there dismal vent to your feelings. I quite go along with it
sir. It IS very hard upon her.'

'What is?'

'Making the voyage by herself along with these young impediments
hereand going such a way at such a time of the year to join her
husband. If you don't want to be driven mad with yellow soap in
your eyeyoung man' said Mr Tapley to the second urchinwho was
by this time under his hands at the basin'you'd better shut it.'

'Where does she join her husband?' asked Martinyawning.

'WhyI'm very much afraid' said Mr Tapleyin a low voice'that
she don't know. I hope she mayn't miss him. But she sent her last
letter by handand it don't seem to have been very clearly
understood between 'em without itand if she don't see him a-waving
his pocket-handkerchief on the shorelike a pictur out of a songbook
my opinion isshe'll break her heart.'

'Whyhowin Folly's namedoes the woman come to be on board ship
on such a wild-goose venture!' cried Martin.

Mr Tapley glanced at him for a moment as he lay prostrate in his
berthand then saidvery quietly:

'Ah! How indeed! I can't think! He's been away from her for two
year; she's been very poor and lonely in her own country; and has
always been a-looking forward to meeting him. It's very strange she


should be here. Quite amazing! A little mad perhaps! There can't
be no other way of accounting for it.'

Martin was too far gone in the lassitude of sea-sickness to make any
reply to these wordsor even to attend to them as they were spoken.
And the subject of their discourse returning at this crisis with
some hot teaeffectually put a stop to any resumption of the theme
by Mr Tapley; whowhen the meal was over and he had adjusted
Martin's bedwent up on deck to wash the breakfast servicewhich
consisted of two half-pint tin mugsand a shaving-pot of the same
metal.

It is due to Mark Tapley to state that he suffered at least as much
from sea-sickness as any manwomanor childon board; and that he
had a peculiar faculty of knocking himself about on the smallest
provocationand losing his legs at every lurch of the ship. But
resolvedin his usual phraseto 'come out strong' under
disadvantageous circumstanceshe was the life and soul of the
steerageand made no more of stopping in the middle of a facetious
conversation to go away and be excessively ill by himselfand
afterwards come back in the very best and gayest of tempers to
resume itthan if such a course of proceeding had been the
commonest in the world.

It cannot be said that as his illness wore offhis cheerfulness and
good nature increasedbecause they would hardly admit of
augmentation; but his usefulness among the weaker members of the
party was much enlarged; and at all times and seasons there he was
exerting it. If a gleam of sun shone out of the dark skydown Mark
tumbled into the cabinand presently up he came again with a woman
in his armsor half-a-dozen childrenor a manor a bedor a
saucepanor a basketor something animate or inanimatethat he
thought would be the better for the air. If an hour or two of fine
weather in the middle of the day tempted those who seldom or never
came on deck at other times to crawl into the long-boator lie down
upon the spare sparsand try to eattherein the centre of the
groupwas Mr Tapleyhanding about salt beef and biscuitor
dispensing tastes of grogor cutting up the children's provisions
with his pocketknifefor their greater ease and comfortor reading
aloud from a venerable newspaperor singing some roaring old song
to a select partyor writing the beginnings of letters to their
friends at home for people who couldn't writeor cracking jokes
with the crewor nearly getting blown over the sideor emerging
half-drownedfrom a shower of sprayor lending a hand somewhere or
other; but always doing something for the general entertainment. At
nightwhen the cooking-fire was lighted on the deckand the
driving sparks that flew among the riggingand the clouds of sails
seemed to menace the ship with certain annihilation by firein case
the elements of air and water failed to compass her destruction;
thereagainwas Mr Tapleywith his coat off and his shirt-sleeves
turned up to his elbowsdoing all kinds of culinary offices;
compounding the strangest dishes; recognized by every one as an
established authority; and helping all parties to achieve something
whichleft to themselvesthey never could have doneand never
would have dreamed of. In shortthere never was a more popular
character than Mark Tapley becameon board that noble and fastsailing
line-of-packet shipthe Screw; and he attained at last to
such a pitch of universal admirationthat he began to have grave
doubts within himself whether a man might reasonably claim any
credit for being jolly under such exciting circumstances.

'If this was going to last' said Tapley'there'd be no great
difference as I can perceivebetween the Screw and the Dragon.
never am to get creditI think. I begin to be afraid that the


Fates is determined to make the world easy to me.'

'WellMark' said Martinnear whose berth he had ruminated to this
effect. 'When will this be over?'

'Another weekthey saysir' returned Mark'will most likely
bring us into port. The ship's a-going along at presentas
sensible as a ship cansir; though I don't mean to say as that's
any very high praise.'

'I don't think it isindeed' groaned Martin.

'You'd feel all the better for itsirif you was to turn out'
observed Mark.

'And be seen by the ladies and gentlemen on the after-deck'
returned Martinwith a scronful emphasis upon the words'mingling
with the beggarly crowd that are stowed away in this vile hole. I
should be greatly the better for thatno doubt.'

'I'm thankful that I can't say from my own experience what the
feelings of a gentleman may be' said Mark'but I should have
thoughtsiras a gentleman would feel a deal more uncomfortable
down here than up in the fresh airespecially when the ladies and
gentlemen in the after-cabin know just as much about him as he does
about themand are likely to trouble their heads about him in the
same proportion. I should have thought thatcertainly.'

'I tell youthen' rejoined Martin'you would have thought wrong
and do think wrong.'

'Very likelysir' said Markwith imperturbable good temper. 'I
often do.'

'As to lying here' cried Martinraising himself on his elbowand
looking angrily at his follower. 'Do you suppose it's a pleasure to
lie here?'

'All the madhouses in the world' said Mr Tapley'couldn't produce
such a maniac as the man must be who could think that.'

'Then why are you forever goading and urging me to get up?' asked
Martin'I lie here because I don't wish to be recognizedin the
better days to which I aspireby any purse-proud citizenas the
man who came over with him among the steerage passengers. I lie
here because I wish to conceal my circumstances and myselfand not
to arrive in a new world badged and ticketed as an utterly povertystricken
man. If I could have afforded a passage in the after-cabin
I should have held up my head with the rest. As I couldn't I hide
it. Do you understand that?'

'I am very sorrysir' said Mark. 'I didn't know you took it so
much to heart as this comes to.'

'Of course you didn't know' returned his master. 'How should you
knowunless I told you? It's no trial to youMarkto make
yourself comfortable and to bustle about. It's as natural for you
to do so under the circumstances as it is for me not to do so. Why
you don't suppose there is a living creature in this ship who can by
possibility have half so much to undergo on board of her as I have?
Do you?' he askedsitting upright in his berth and looking at Mark
with an expression of great earnestness not unmixed with wonder.

Mark twisted his face into a tight knotand with his head very much


on one sidepondered upon this question as if he felt it an
extremely difficult one to answer. He was relieved from his
embarrassment by Martin himselfwho saidas he stretched himself
upon his back again and resumed the book he had been reading:

'But what is the use of my putting such a case to youwhen the very
essence of what I have been saying isthat you cannot by
possibility understand it! Make me a little brandy-and-water--cold
and very weak--and give me a biscuitand tell your friendwho is a
nearer neighbour of ours than I could wishto try and keep her
children a little quieter to-night than she did last night; that's a
good fellow.'

Mr Tapley set himself to obey these orders with great alacrityand
pending their executionit may be presumed his flagging spirits
revived; inasmuch as he several times observedbelow his breath
that in respect of its power of imparting a credit to jollitythe
Screw unquestionably had some decided advantages over the Dragon.
He also remarked that it was a high gratification to him to reflect
that he would carry its main excellence ashore with himand have it
constantly beside him wherever he went; but what he meant by these
consolatory thoughts he did not explain.

And now a general excitement began to prevail on board; and various
predictions relative to the precise dayand even the precise hour
at which they would reach New Yorkwere freely broached. There was
infinitely more crowding on deck and looking over the ship's side
than there had been before; and an epidemic broke out for packing up
things every morningwhich required unpacking again every night.
Those who had any letters to deliveror any friends to meetor any
settled plans of going anywhere or doing anythingdiscussed their
prospects a hundred times a day; and as this class of passengers was
very smalland the number of those who had no prospects whatever
was very largethere were plenty of listeners and few talkers.
Those who had been ill all alonggot well nowand those who had
been wellgot better. An American gentleman in the after-cabin
who had been wrapped up in fur and oilskin the whole passage
unexpectedly appeared in a very shinytallblack hatand
constantly overhauled a very little valise of pale leatherwhich
contained his clotheslinenbrushesshaving apparatusbooks
trinketsand other baggage. He likewise stuck his hands deep into
his pocketsand walked the deck with his nostrils dilatedas
already inhaling the air of Freedom which carries death to all
tyrantsand can never (under any circumstances worth mentioning) be
breathed by slaves. An English gentleman who was strongly suspected
of having run away from a bankwith something in his possession
belonging to its strong box besides the keygrew eloquent upon the
subject of the rights of manand hummed the Marseillaise Hymn
constantly. In a wordone great sensation pervaded the whole ship
and the soil of America lay close before them; so close at last
thatupon a certain starlight night they took a pilot on boardand
within a few hours afterwards lay to until the morningawaiting the
arrival of a steamboat in which the passengers were to be conveyed
ashore.

Off she camesoon after it was light next morningand lying
alongside an hour or more--during which period her very firemen were
objects of hardly less interest and curiosity than if they had been
so many angelsgood or bad--took all her living freight aboard.
Among them Markwho still had his friend and her three children
under his close protection; and Martinwho had once more dressed
himself in his usual attirebut wore a soiledold cloak above his
ordinary clothesuntil such time as he should separate for ever
from his late companions.


The steamer--whichwith its machinery on decklookedas it worked
its long slim legslike some enormously magnified insect or
antediluvian monster--dashed at great speed up a beautiful bay; and
presently they saw some heightsand islandsand a longflat
straggling city.

'And this' said Mr Tapleylooking far ahead'is the Land of
Libertyis it? Very well. I'm agreeable. Any land will do for
meafter so much water!'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MARTIN DISEMBARKS FROM THAT NOBLE AND FAST-SAILING LINE-OF-PACKET
SHIP'THE SCREW'AT THE PORT OF NEW YORKIN THE UNITED STATES OF
AMERICA. HE MAKES SOME ACQUAINTANCESAND DINES AT A BOARDINGHOUSE.
THE PARTICULARS OF THOSE TRANSACTIONS

Some trifling excitement prevailed upon the very brink and margin of
the land of liberty; for an alderman had been elected the day
before; and Party Feeling naturally running rather high on such an
exciting occasionthe friends of the disappointed candidate had
found it necessary to assert the great principles of Purity of
Election and Freedom of opinion by breaking a few legs and armsand
furthermore pursuing one obnoxious gentleman through the streets
with the design of hitting his nose. These good-humoured little
outbursts of the popular fancy were not in themselves sufficiently
remarkable to create any great stirafter the lapse of a whole
night; but they found fresh life and notoriety in the breath of the
newsboyswho not only proclaimed them with shrill yells in all the
highways and byways of the townupon the wharves and among the
shippingbut on the deck and down in the cabins of the steamboat;
whichbefore she touched the shorewas boarded and overrun by a
legion of those young citizens.

'Here's this morning's New York Sewer!' cried one. 'Here's this
morning's New York Stabber! Here's the New York Family Spy! Here's
the New York Private Listener! Here's the New York Peeper! Here's
the New York Plunderer! Here's the New York Keyhole Reporter! Here's
the New York Rowdy Journal! Here's all the New York papers! Here's
full particulars of the patriotic locofoco movement yesterdayin
which the whigs was so chawed up; and the last Alabama gouging case;
and the interesting Arkansas dooel with Bowie knives; and all the
PoliticalCommercialand Fashionable News. Here they are! Here
they are! Here's the papershere's the papers!'

'Here's the Sewer!' cried another. 'Here's the New York Sewer!
Here's some of the twelfth thousand of to-day's Sewerwith the best
accounts of the marketsand all the shipping newsand four whole
columns of country correspondenceand a full account of the Ball at
Mrs White's last nightwhere all the beauty and fashion of New York
was assembled; with the Sewer's own particulars of the private lives
of all the ladies that was there! Here's the Sewer! Here's some of
the twelfth thousand of the New York Sewer! Here's the Sewer's
exposure of the Wall Street Gangand the Sewer's exposure of the
Washington Gangand the Sewer's exclusive account of a flagrant act
of dishonesty committed by the Secretary of State when he was eight
years old; now communicatedat a great expenseby his own nurse.
Here's the Sewer! Here's the New York Sewerin its twelfth
thousandwith a whole column of New Yorkers to be shown upand all
their names printed! Here's the Sewer's article upon the Judge that


tried himday afore yesterdayfor libeland the Sewer's tribute
to the independent Jury that didn't convict himand the Sewer's
account of what they might have expected if they had! Here's the
Sewerhere's the Sewer! Here's the wide-awake Sewer; always on the
lookout; the leading Journal of the United Statesnow in its
twelfth thousandand still a-printing off:--Here's the New York
Sewer!'

'It is in such enlightened means' said a voice almost in Martin's
ear'that the bubbling passions of my country find a vent.'

Martin turned involuntarilyand sawstanding close at his sidea
sallow gentlemanwith sunken cheeksblack hairsmall twinkling
eyesand a singular expression hovering about that region of his
facewhich was not a frownnor a leerand yet might have been
mistaken at the first glance for either. Indeed it would have been
difficulton a much closer acquaintanceto describe it in any more
satisfactory terms than as a mixed expression of vulgar cunning and
conceit. This gentleman wore a rather broad-brimmed hat for the
greater wisdom of his appearance; and had his arms folded for the
greater impressiveness of his attitude. He was somewhat shabbily
dressed in a blue surtout reaching nearly to his anklesshort loose
trousers of the same colourand a faded buff waistcoatthrough
which a discoloured shirt-frill struggled to force itself into
noticeas asserting an equality of civil rights with the other
portions of his dressand maintaining a declaration of Independence
on its own account. His feetwhich were of unusually large
proportionswere leisurely crossed before him as he half leaned
againsthalf sat uponthe steamboat's bulwark; and his thick cane
shod with a mighty ferule at one end and armed with a great metal
knob at the otherdepended from a line-and-tassel on his wrist.
Thus attiredand thus composed into an aspect of great profundity
the gentleman twitched up the right-hand corner of his mouth and his
right eye simultaneouslyand saidonce more:

'It is in such enlightened means that the bubbling passions of my
country find a vent.'

As he looked at Martinand nobody else was byMartin inclined his
headand said:

'You allude to--?'

'To the Palladium of rational Liberty at homesirand the dread of
Foreign oppression abroad' returned the gentlemanas he pointed
with his cane to an uncommonly dirty newsboy with one eye. 'To the
Envy of the worldsirand the leaders of Human Civilization. Let
me ask you sir' he addedbringing the ferule of his stick heavily
upon the deck with the air of a man who must not be equivocated
with'how do you like my Country?'

'I am hardly prepared to answer that question yet' said Martin
'seeing that I have not been ashore.'

'WellI should expect you were not preparedsir' said the
gentleman'to behold such signs of National Prosperity as those?'

He pointed to the vessels lying at the wharves; and then gave a
vague flourish with his stickas if he would include the air and
watergenerallyin this remark.

'Really' said Martin'I don't know. Yes. I think I was.'

The gentleman glanced at him with a knowing lookand said he liked


his policy. It was naturalhe saidand it pleased him as a
philosopher to observe the prejudices of human nature.

'You have broughtI seesir' he saidturning round towards
Martinand resting his chin on the top of his stick'the usual
amount of misery and poverty and ignorance and crimeto be located
in the bosom of the great Republic. Wellsir! let 'em come on in
shiploads from the old country. When vessels are about to founder
the rats are said to leave 'em. There is considerable of truthI
findin that remark.'

'The old ship will keep afloat a year or two longer yetperhaps'
said Martin with a smilepartly occasioned by what the gentleman
saidand partly by his manner of saying itwhich was odd enough
for he emphasised all the small words and syllables in his
discourseand left the others to take care of themselves; as if he
thought the larger parts of speech could be trusted alonebut the
little ones required to be constantly looked after.

'Hope is said by the poetsir' observed the gentleman'to be the
nurse of young Desire.'

Martin signified that he had heard of the cardinal virtue in
question serving occasionally in that domestic capacity.

'She will not rear her infant in the present instancesiryou'll
find' observed the gentleman.

'Time will show' said Martin.

The gentleman nodded his head gravely; and said'What is your name
sir?'

Martin told him.

'How old are yousir?'

Martin told him.

'What is your professionsir?'

Martin told him that also.

'What is your destinationsir?' inquired the gentleman.

'Really' said Martin laughing'I can't satisfy you in that
particularfor I don't know it myself.'

'Yes?' said the gentleman.

'No' said Martin.

The gentleman adjusted his cane under his left armand took a more
deliberate and complete survey of Martin than he had yet had leisure
to make. When he had completed his inspectionhe put out his right
handshook Martin's handand said:

'My name is Colonel Diversir. I am the Editor of the New York
Rowdy Journal.'

Martin received the communication with that degree of respect which
an announcement so distinguished appeared to demand.

'The New York Rowdy Journalsir' resumed the colonel'isas I


expect you knowthe organ of our aristocracy in this city.'

'Oh! there IS an aristocracy herethen?' said Martin. 'Of what is
it composed?'

'Of intelligencesir' replied the colonel; 'of intelligence and
virtue. And of their necessary consequence in this republic-dollars
sir.'

Martin was very glad to hear thisfeeling well assured that if
intelligence and virtue ledas a matter of courseto the
acquisition of dollarshe would speedily become a great capitalist.
He was about to express the gratification such news afforded him
when he was interrupted by the captain of the shipwho came up at
the moment to shake hands with the colonel; and whoseeing a
well-dressed stranger on the deck (for Martin had thrown aside his
cloak)shook hands with him also. This was an unspeakable relief
to Martinwhoin spite of the acknowledged supremacy of
Intelligence and virtue in that happy countrywould have been
deeply mortified to appear before Colonel Diver in the poor
character of a steerage passenger.

'Well cap'en!' said the colonel.

'Well colonel' cried the captain. 'You're looking most uncommon
brightsir. I can hardly realise its being youand that's a
fact.'

'A good passagecap'en?' inquired the coloneltaking him aside

'Well now! It was a pretty spanking runsir' saidor rather sung
the captainwho was a genuine New Englander; 'con-siderin' the
weather.'

'Yes?' said the colonel.

'Well! It wassir' said the captain. 'I've just now sent a boy up
to your office with the passenger-listcolonel.'

'You haven't got another boy to sparep'rapscap'en?' said the
colonelin a tone almost amounting to severity.

'I guess there air a dozen if you want 'emcolonel' said the
captain.

'One moderate big 'un could convey a dozen champagneperhaps'
observed the colonelmusing'to my office. You said a spanking
runI think?'

'Wellso I did' was the reply.

'It's very nighyou know' observed the colonel. 'I'm glad it was
a spanking runcap'en. Don't mind about quarts if you're short of
'em. The boy can as well bring four-and-twenty pintsand travel
twice as once.--A first-rate spankercap'enwas it? Yes?'

'A most e--tarnal spanker' said the skipper.

'I admire at your good fortuncap'en. You might loan me a
corkscrew at the same timeand half-a-dozen glasses if you liked.
However bad the elements combine against my country's noble
packet-shipthe Screwsir' said the colonelturning to Martin
and drawing a flourish on the surface of the deck with his cane
'her passage either way is almost certain to eventuate a spanker!'


The captainwho had the Sewer below at that momentlunching
expensively in one cabinwhile the amiable Stabber was drinking
himself into a state of blind madness in anothertook a cordial
leave of his friend the coloneland hurried away to dispatch the
champagne; well knowing (as it afterwards appeared) that if he
failed to conciliate the editor of the Rowdy Journalthat potentate
would denounce him and his ship in large capitals before he was a
day older; and would probably assault the memory of his mother also
who had not been dead more than twenty years. The colonel being
again left alone with Martinchecked him as he was moving awayand
offered in consideration of his being an Englishmanto show him the
town and to introduce himif such were his desireto a genteel
boarding-house. But before they entered on these proceedings (he
said)he would beseech the honour of his company at the office of
the Rowdy Journalto partake of a bottle of champagne of his own
importation.

All this was so extremely kind and hospitablethat Martinthough
it was quite early in the morningreadily acquiesced. So
instructing Markwho was deeply engaged with his friend and her
three childrenthat when he had done assisting themand had cleared
the baggagehe was to wait for further orders at the Rowdy Journal
OfficeMartin accompanied his new friend on shore.

They made their way as they best could through the melancholy crowd
of emigrants upon the wharfwhogrouped about their beds and
boxeswith the bare ground below them and the bare sky abovemight
have fallen from another planetfor anything they knew of the
country; and walked for some short distance along a busy street
bounded on one side by the quays and shipping; and on the other by a
long row of staring red-brick storehouses and officesornamented
with more black boards and white lettersand more white boards and
black lettersthan Martin had ever seen beforein fifty times the
space. Presently they turned up a narrow streetand presently into
other narrow streetsuntil at last they stopped before a house
whereon was painted in great characters'ROWDY JOURNAL.'

The colonelwho had walked the whole way with one hand in his
breasthis head occasionally wagging from side to sideand his hat
thrown back upon his earslike a man who was oppressed to
inconvenience by a sense of his own greatnessled the way up a dark
and dirty flight of stairs into a room of similar characterall
littered and bestrewn with odds and ends of newspapers and other
crumpled fragmentsboth in proof and manuscript. Behind a mangy
old writing-table in this apartment sat a figure with a stump of a
pen in its mouth and a great pair of scissors in its right hand
clipping and slicing at a file of Rowdy Journals; and it was such a
laughable figure that Martin had some difficulty in preserving his
gravitythough conscious of the close observation of Colonel Diver.

The individual who sat clipping and slicing as aforesaid at the
Rowdy Journalswas a small young gentleman of very juvenile
appearanceand unwholesomely pale in the face; partlyperhaps
from intense thoughtbut partlythere is no doubtfrom the
excessive use of tobaccowhich he was at that moment chewing
vigorously. He wore his shirt-collar turned down over a black
ribbon; and his lank haira fragile cropwas not only smoothed and
parted back from his browthat none of the Poetry of his aspect
might be lostbut hadhere and therebeen grubbed up by the
roots; which accounted for his loftiest developments being somewhat
pimply. He had that order of nose on which the envy of mankind has
bestowed the appellation 'snub' and it was very much turned up at
the endas with a lofty scorn. Upon the upper lip of this young


gentleman were tokens of a sandy down; so veryvery smooth and
scantthatthough encouraged to the utmostit looked more like a
recent trace of gingerbread than the fair promise of a moustache;
and this conjecturehis apparently tender age went far to
strengthen. He was intent upon his work. Every time he snapped the
great pair of scissorshe made a corresponding motion with his
jawswhich gave him a very terrible appearance.

Martin was not long in determining within himself that this must be
Colonel Diver's son; the hope of the familyand future mainspring
of the Rowdy Journal. Indeed he had begun to say that he presumed
this was the colonel's little boyand that it was very pleasant to
see him playing at Editor in all the guilelessness of childhood
when the colonel proudly interposed and said:

'My War Correspondentsir--Mr Jefferson Brick!'

Martin could not help starting at this unexpected announcementand
the consciousness of the irretrievable mistake he had nearly made.

Mr Brick seemed pleased with the sensation he produced upon the
strangerand shook hands with himwith an air of patronage
designed to reassure himand to let him blow that there was no
occasion to be frightenedfor he (Brick) wouldn't hurt him.

'You have heard of Jefferson BrickI seesir' quoth the colonel
with a smile. 'England has heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe has
heard of Jefferson Brick. Let me see. When did you leave England
sir?'

'Five weeks ago' said Martin.

'Five weeks ago' repeated the colonelthoughtfully; as he took his
seat upon the tableand swung his legs. 'Now let me ask yousir
which of Mr Brick's articles had become at that time the most
obnoxious to the British Parliament and the Court of Saint James's?'

'Upon my word' said Martin'I--'

'I have reason to knowsir' interrupted the colonel'that the
aristocratic circles of your country quail before the name of
Jefferson Brick. I should like to be informedsirfrom your lips
which of his sentiments has struck the deadliest blow--'

'At the hundred heads of the Hydra of Corruption now grovelling in
the dust beneath the lance of Reasonand spouting up to the
universal arch above usits sanguinary gore' said Mr Brick
putting on a little blue cloth cap with a glazed frontand quoting
his last article.

'The libation of freedomBrick'--hinted the colonel.

'--Must sometimes be quaffed in bloodcolonel' cried Brick. And
when he said 'blood' he gave the great pair of scissors a sharp
snapas if THEY said blood tooand were quite of his opinion.

This donethey both looked at Martinpausing for a reply.

'Upon my life' said Martinwho had by this time quite recovered
his usual coolness'I can't give you any satisfactory information
about it; for the truth is that I--'

'Stop!' cried the colonelglancing sternly at his war correspondent
and giving his head one shake after every sentence. 'That you never


heard of Jefferson Bricksir. That you never read Jefferson Brick
sir. That you never saw the Rowdy Journalsir. That you never
knewsirof its mighty influence upon the cabinets of Europe.
Yes?'

'That's what I was about to observecertainly' said Martin.

'Keep coolJefferson' said the colonel gravely. 'Don't bust! oh
you Europeans! After thatlet's have a glass of wine!' So saying
he got down from the tableand producedfrom a basket outside the
doora bottle of champagneand three glasses.

'Mr Jefferson Bricksir' said the colonelfilling Martin's glass
and his ownand pushing the bottle to that gentleman'will give us
a sentiment.'

'Wellsir!' cried the war correspondent'Since you have concluded
to call upon meI will respond. I will give yousirThe Rowdy
Journal and its brethren; the well of Truthwhose waters are black
from being composed of printers' inkbut are quite clear enough for
my country to behold the shadow of her Destiny reflected in.'

'Hearhear!' cried the colonelwith great complacency. 'There are
flowery componentssirin the language of my friend?'

'Very much soindeed' said Martin.

'There is to-day's Rowdysir' observed the colonelhanding him a
paper. 'You'll find Jefferson Brick at his usual post in the van of
human civilization and moral purity.'

The colonel was by this time seated on the table again. Mr Brick
also took up a position on that same piece of furniture; and they
fell to drinking pretty hard. They often looked at Martin as he
read the paperand then at each other. When he laid it downwhich
was not until they had finished a second bottlethe colonel asked
him what he thought of it.

'Whyit's horribly personal' said Martin.

The colonel seemed much flattered by this remark; and said he hoped
it was.

'We are independent heresir' said Mr Jefferson Brick. 'We do as
we like.'

'If I may judge from this specimen' returned Martin'there must be
a few thousands hererather the reverse of independentwho do as
they don't like.'

'Well! They yield to the popular mind of the Popular Instructor
sir' said the colonel. 'They rile upsometimes; but in general we
have a hold upon our citizensboth in public and in private life
which is as much one of the ennobling institutions of our happy
country as--'

'As nigger slavery itself' suggested Mr Brick.

'En--tirely so' remarked the colonel.

'Pray' said Martinafter some hesitation'may I venture to ask
with reference to a case I observe in this paper of yourswhether
the Popular Instructor often deals in--I am at a loss to express it
without giving you offence--in forgery? In forged lettersfor


instance' he pursuedfor the colonel was perfectly calm and quite
at his ease'solemnly purporting to have been written at recent
periods by living men?'

'Wellsir!' replied the colonel. 'It doesnow and then.'

'And the popular instructed--what do they do?' asked Martin.

'Buy 'em:' said the colonel.

Mr Jefferson Brick expectorated and laughed; the former copiously
the latter approvingly.

'Buy 'em by hundreds of thousands' resumed the colonel. 'We are a
smart people hereand can appreciate smartness.'

'Is smartness American for forgery?' asked Martin.

'Well!' said the colonel'I expect it's American for a good many
things that you call by other names. But you can't help yourself in
Europe. We can.'

'And dosometimes' thought Martin. 'You help yourselves with very
little ceremonytoo!'

'At all eventswhatever name we choose to employ' said the
colonelstooping down to roll the third empty bottle into a corner
after the other two'I suppose the art of forgery was not invented
here sir?'

'I suppose not' replied Martin.

'Nor any other kind of smartness I reckon?'

'Invented! NoI presume not.'

'Well!' said the colonel; 'then we got it all from the old country
and the old country's to blame for itand not the new 'un. There's
an end of THAT. Nowif Mr Jefferson Brick and you will be so good
as to clearI'll come out lastand lock the door.'

Rightly interpreting this as the signal for their departureMartin
walked downstairs after the war correspondentwho preceded him
with great majesty. The colonel followingthey left the Rowdy
Journal Office and walked forth into the streets; Martin feeling
doubtful whether he ought to kick the colonel for having presumed to
speak to himor whether it came within the bounds of possibility
that he and his establishment could be among the boasted usages of
that regenerated land.

It was clear that Colonel Diverin the security of his strong
positionand in his perfect understanding of the public sentiment
cared very little what Martin or anybody else thought about him.
His high-spiced wares were made to selland they sold; and his
thousands of readers could as rationally charge their delight in
filth upon himas a glutton can shift upon his cook the
responsibility of his beastly excess. Nothing would have delighted
the colonel more than to be told that no such man as he could walk
in high success the streets of any other country in the world; for
that would only have been a logical assurance to him of the correct
adaptation of his labours to the prevailing tasteand of his being
strictly and peculiarly a national feature of America.

They walked a mile or more along a handsome street which the colonel


said was called Broadwayand which Mr Jefferson Brick said 'whipped
the universe.' Turningat lengthinto one of the numerous streets
which branched from this main thoroughfarethey stopped before a
rather mean-looking house with jalousie blinds to every window; a
flight of steps before the green street-door; a shining white
ornament on the rails on either side like a petrified pineapple
polished; a little oblong plate of the same material over the
knocker whereon the name of 'Pawkins' was engraved; and four
accidental pigs looking down the area.

The colonel knocked at this house with the air of a man who lived
there; and an Irish girl popped her head out of one of the top
windows to see who it was. Pending her journey downstairsthe
pigs were joined by two or three friends from the next streetin
company with whom they lay down sociably in the gutter.

'Is the major indoors?' inquired the colonelas he entered.

'Is it the mastersir?' returned the girlwith a hesitation which
seemed to imply that they were rather flush of majors in that
establishment.

'The master!' said Colonel Diverstopping short and looking round
at his war correspondent.

'Oh! The depressing institutions of that British empirecolonel!'
said Jefferson Brick. 'Master!'

'What's the matter with the word?' asked Martin.

'I should hope it was never heard in our countrysir; that's all'
said Jefferson Brick; 'except when it is used by some degraded Help
as new to the blessings of our form of governmentas this Help is.
There are no masters here.'

'All "owners are they?' said Martin.

Mr Jefferson Brick followed in the Rowdy Journal's footsteps without
returning any answer. Martin took the same course, thinking as he
went, that perhaps the free and independent citizens, who in their
moral elevation, owned the colonel for their master, might render
better homage to the goddess, Liberty, in nightly dreams upon the
oven of a Russian Serf.

The colonel led the way into a room at the back of the house upon
the ground-floor, light, and of fair dimensions, but exquisitely
uncomfortable; having nothing in it but the four cold white walls
and ceiling, a mean carpet, a dreary waste of dining-table reaching
from end to end, and a bewildering collection of cane-bottomed
chairs. In the further region of this banqueting-hall was a stove,
garnished on either side with a great brass spittoon, and shaped in
itself like three little iron barrels set up on end in a fender, and
joined together on the principle of the Siamese Twins. Before it,
swinging himself in a rocking-chair, lounged a large gentleman with
his hat on, who amused himself by spitting alternately into the
spittoon on the right hand of the stove, and the spittoon on the
left, and then working his way back again in the same order. A
negro lad in a soiled white jacket was busily engaged in placing on
the table two long rows of knives and forks, relieved at intervals
by jugs of water; and as he travelled down one side of this festive
board, he straightened with his dirty hands the dirtier cloth, which
was all askew, and had not been removed since breakfast. The
atmosphere of this room was rendered intensely hot and stifling by
the stove; but being further flavoured by a sickly gush of soup from


the kitchen, and by such remote suggestions of tobacco as lingered
within the brazen receptacles already mentioned, it became, to a
stranger's senses, almost insupportable.

The gentleman in the rocking-chair having his back towards them, and
being much engaged in his intellectual pastime, was not aware of
their approach until the colonel, walking up to the stove,
contributed his mite towards the support of the left-hand spittoon,
just as the major--for it was the major--bore down upon it. Major
Pawkins then reserved his fire, and looking upward, said, with a
peculiar air of quiet weariness, like a man who had been up all
night--an air which Martin had already observed both in the colonel
and Mr Jefferson Brick-


'Well, colonel!'

'Here is a gentleman from England, major,' the colonel replied, 'who
has concluded to locate himself here if the amount of compensation
suits him.'

'I am glad to see you, sir,' observed the major, shaking hands with
Martin, and not moving a muscle of his face. 'You are pretty
bright, I hope?'

'Never better,' said Martin.

'You are never likely to be,' returned the major. 'You will see the
sun shine HERE.'

'I think I remember to have seen it shine at home sometimes,' said
Martin, smiling.

'I think not,' replied the major. He said so with a stoical
indifference certainly, but still in a tone of firmness which
admitted of no further dispute on that point. When he had thus
settled the question, he put his hat a little on one side for the
greater convenience of scratching his head, and saluted Mr Jefferson
Brick with a lazy nod.

Major Pawkins (a gentleman of Pennsylvanian origin) was
distinguished by a very large skull, and a great mass of yellow
forehead; in deference to which commodities it was currently held in
bar-rooms and other such places of resort that the major was a man
of huge sagacity. He was further to be known by a heavy eye and a
dull slow manner; and for being a man of that kind who--mentally
speaking--requires a deal of room to turn himself in. But, in
trading on his stock of wisdom, he invariably proceeded on the
principle of putting all the goods he had (and more) into his
window; and that went a great way with his constituency of admirers.
It went a great way, perhaps, with Mr Jefferson Brick, who took
occasion to whisper in Martin's ear:

'One of the most remarkable men in our country, sir!'

It must not be supposed, however, that the perpetual exhibition in
the market-place of all his stock-in-trade for sale or hire, was the
major's sole claim to a very large share of sympathy and support.
He was a great politician; and the one article of his creed, in
reference to all public obligations involving the good faith and
integrity of his country, was, 'run a moist pen slick through
everything, and start fresh.' This made him a patriot. In
commercial affairs he was a bold speculator. In plainer words he
had a most distinguished genius for swindling, and could start a
bank, or negotiate a loan, or form a land-jobbing company (entailing


ruin, pestilence, and death, on hundreds of families), with any
gifted creature in the Union. This made him an admirable man of
business. He could hang about a bar-room, discussing the affairs of
the nation, for twelve hours together; and in that time could hold
forth with more intolerable dulness, chew more tobacco, smoke more
tobacco, drink more rum-toddy, mint-julep, gin-sling, and cocktail,
than any private gentleman of his acquaintance. This made him an
orator and a man of the people. In a word, the major was a rising
character, and a popular character, and was in a fair way to be sent
by the popular party to the State House of New York, if not in the
end to Washington itself. But as a man's private prosperity does
not always keep pace with his patriotic devotion to public affairs;
and as fraudulent transactions have their downs as well as ups, the
major was occasionally under a cloud. Hence, just now Mrs Pawkins
kept a boarding-house, and Major Pawkins rather 'loafed' his time
away than otherwise.

'You have come to visit our country, sir, at a season of great
commercial depression,' said the major.

'At an alarming crisis,' said the colonel.

'At a period of unprecedented stagnation,' said Mr Jefferson Brick.

'I am sorry to hear that,' returned Martin. 'It's not likely to
last, I hope?'

Martin knew nothing about America, or he would have known perfectly
well that if its individual citizens, to a man, are to be believed,
it always IS depressed, and always IS stagnated, and always IS at an
alarming crisis, and never was otherwise; though as a body they are
ready to make oath upon the Evangelists at any hour of the day or
night, that it is the most thriving and prosperous of all countries
on the habitable globe.

'It's not likely to last, I hope?' said Martin.

'Well!' returned the major, 'I expect we shall get along somehow,
and come right in the end.'

'We are an elastic country,' said the Rowdy Journal.

'We are a young lion,' said Mr Jefferson Brick.

'We have revivifying and vigorous principles within ourselves,'
observed the major. 'Shall we drink a bitter afore dinner,
colonel?'

The colonel assenting to this proposal with great alacrity, Major
Pawkins proposed an adjournment to a neighbouring bar-room, which,
as he observed, was 'only in the next block.' He then referred
Martin to Mrs Pawkins for all particulars connected with the rate of
board and lodging, and informed him that he would have the pleasure
of seeing that lady at dinner, which would soon be ready, as the
dinner hour was two o'clock, and it only wanted a quarter now. This
reminded him that if the bitter were to be taken at all, there was
no time to lose; so he walked off without more ado, and left them to
follow if they thought proper.

When the major rose from his rocking-chair before the stove, and so
disturbed the hot air and balmy whiff of soup which fanned their
brows, the odour of stale tobacco became so decidedly prevalent as
to leave no doubt of its proceeding mainly from that gentleman's
attire. Indeed, as Martin walked behind him to the bar-room, he


could not help thinking that the great square major, in his
listlessness and langour, looked very much like a stale weed himself;
such as might be hoed out of the public garden, with great advantage
to the decent growth of that preserve, and tossed on some congenial
dunghill.

They encountered more weeds in the bar-room, some of whom (being
thirsty souls as well as dirty) were pretty stale in one sense, and
pretty fresh in another. Among them was a gentleman who, as Martin
gathered from the conversation that took place over the bitter,
started that afternoon for the Far West on a six months' business
tour, and who, as his outfit and equipment for this journey, had
just such another shiny hat and just such another little pale valise
as had composed the luggage of the gentleman who came from England
in the Screw.

They were walking back very leisurely; Martin arm-in-arm with Mr
Jefferson Brick, and the major and the colonel side-by-side before
them; when, as they came within a house or two of the major's
residence, they heard a bell ringing violently. The instant this
sound struck upon their ears, the colonel and the major darted off,
dashed up the steps and in at the street-door (which stood ajar)
like lunatics; while Mr Jefferson Brick, detaching his arm from
Martin's, made a precipitate dive in the same direction, and
vanished also.

'Good Heaven!' thought Martin. 'The premises are on fire! It was an
alarm bell!'

But there was no smoke to be seen, nor any flame, nor was there any
smell of fire. As Martin faltered on the pavement, three more
gentlemen, with horror and agitation depicted in their faces, came
plunging wildly round the street corner; jostled each other on the
steps; struggled for an instant; and rushed into the house, a
confused heap of arms and legs. Unable to bear it any longer,
Martin followed. Even in his rapid progress he was run down, thrust
aside, and passed, by two more gentlemen, stark mad, as it appeared,
with fierce excitement.

'Where is it?' cried Martin, breathlessly, to a negro whom he
encountered in the passage.

'In a eatin room, sa. Kernell, sa, him kep a seat 'side himself,
sa.'

'A seat!' cried Martin.

'For a dinnar, sa.'

Martin started at him for a moment, and burst into a hearty laugh;
to which the negro, out of his natural good humour and desire to
please, so heartily responded, that his teeth shone like a gleam of
light. 'You're the pleasantest fellow I have seen yet,' said Martin
clapping him on the back, 'and give me a better appetite than
bitters.'

With this sentiment he walked into the dining-room and slipped into
a chair next the colonel, which that gentleman (by this time nearly
through his dinner) had turned down in reserve for him, with its
back against the table.

It was a numerous company--eighteen or twenty perhaps. Of these
some five or six were ladies, who sat wedged together in a little
phalanx by themselves. All the knives and forks were working away


at a rate that was quite alarming; very few words were spoken; and
everybody seemed to eat his utmost in self-defence, as if a famine
were expected to set in before breakfast time to-morrow morning, and
it had become high time to assert the first law of nature. The
poultry, which may perhaps be considered to have formed the staple
of the entertainment--for there was a turkey at the top, a pair of
ducks at the bottom, and two fowls in the middle--disappeared as
rapidly as if every bird had had the use of its wings, and had flown
in desperation down a human throat. The oysters, stewed and
pickled, leaped from their capacious reservoirs, and slid by scores
into the mouths of the assembly. The sharpest pickles vanished,
whole cucumbers at once, like sugar-plums, and no man winked his
eye. Great heaps of indigestible matter melted away as ice before
the sun. It was a solemn and an awful thing to see. Dyspeptic
individuals bolted their food in wedges; feeding, not themselves,
but broods of nightmares, who were continually standing at livery
within them. Spare men, with lank and rigid cheeks, came out
unsatisfied from the destruction of heavy dishes, and glared with
watchful eyes upon the pastry. What Mrs Pawkins felt each day at
dinner-time is hidden from all human knowledge. But she had one
comfort. It was very soon over.

When the colonel had finished his dinner, which event took place
while Martin, who had sent his plate for some turkey, was waiting to
begin, he asked him what he thought of the boarders, who were from
all parts of the Union, and whether he would like to know any
particulars concerning them.

'Pray,' said Martin, 'who is that sickly little girl opposite, with
the tight round eyes? I don't see anybody here, who looks like her
mother, or who seems to have charge of her.'

'Do you mean the matron in blue, sir?' asked the colonel, with
emphasis. 'That is Mrs Jefferson Brick, sir.'

'No, no,' said Martin, 'I mean the little girl, like a doll;
directly opposite.'

'Well, sir!' cried the colonel. 'THAT is Mrs Jefferson Brick.'

Martin glanced at the colonel's face, but he was quite serious.

'Bless my soul! I suppose there will be a young Brick then, one of
these days?' said Martin.

'There are two young Bricks already, sir,' returned the colonel.

The matron looked so uncommonly like a child herself, that Martin
could not help saying as much. 'Yes, sir,' returned the colonel,
'but some institutions develop human natur; others re--tard it.'

'Jefferson Brick,' he observed after a short silence, in
commendation of his correspondent, 'is one of the most remarkable
men in our country, sir!'

This had passed almost in a whisper, for the distinguished gentleman
alluded to sat on Martin's other hand.

'Pray, Mr Brick,' said Martin, turning to him, and asking a question
more for conversation's sake than from any feeling of interest in
its subject, 'who is that;' he was going to say 'young' but thought
it prudent to eschew the word--'that very short gentleman yonder,
with the red nose?'


'That is Pro--fessor Mullit, sir,' replied Jefferson.

'May I ask what he is professor of?' asked Martin.

'Of education, sir,' said Jefferson Brick.

'A sort of schoolmaster, possibly?' Martin ventured to observe.

'He is a man of fine moral elements, sir, and not commonly endowed,'
said the war correspondent. 'He felt it necessary, at the last
election for President, to repudiate and denounce his father, who
voted on the wrong interest. He has since written some powerful
pamphlets, under the signature of Suturb or Brutus reversed. He
is one of the most remarkable men in our country, sir.'

'There seem to be plenty of 'em,' thought Martin, 'at any rate.'

Pursuing his inquiries Martin found that there were no fewer than
four majors present, two colonels, one general, and a captain, so
that he could not help thinking how strongly officered the American
militia must be; and wondering very much whether the officers
commanded each other; or if they did not, where on earth the
privates came from. There seemed to be no man there without a
title; for those who had not attained to military honours were
either doctors, professors, or reverends. Three very hard and
disagreeable gentlemen were on missions from neighbouring States;
one on monetary affairs, one on political, one on sectarian. Among
the ladies, there were Mrs Pawkins, who was very straight, bony, and
silent; and a wiry-faced old damsel, who held strong sentiments
touching the rights of women, and had diffused the same in lectures;
but the rest were strangely devoid of individual traits of
character, insomuch that any one of them might have changed minds
with the other, and nobody would have found it out. These, by the
way, were the only members of the party who did not appear to be
among the most remarkable people in the country.

Several of the gentlemen got up, one by one, and walked off as they
swallowed their last morsel; pausing generally by the stove for a
minute or so to refresh themselves at the brass spittoons. A few
sedentary characters, however, remained at table full a quarter of
an hour, and did not rise until the ladies rose, when all stood up.

'Where are they going?' asked Martin, in the ear of Mr Jefferson
Brick.

'To their bedrooms, sir.'

'Is there no dessert, or other interval of conversation?' asked
Martin, who was disposed to enjoy himself after his long voyage.

'We are a busy people here, sir, and have no time for that,' was the
reply.

So the ladies passed out in single file; Mr Jefferson Brick and such
other married gentlemen as were left, acknowledging the departure of
their other halves by a nod; and there was an end of THEM. Martin
thought this an uncomfortable custom, but he kept his opinion to
himself for the present, being anxious to hear, and inform himself
by, the conversation of the busy gentlemen, who now lounged about the
stove as if a great weight had been taken off their minds by the
withdrawal of the other sex; and who made a plentiful use of the
spittoons and their toothpicks.

It was rather barren of interest, to say the truth; and the greater


part of it may be summed up in one word. Dollars. All their cares,
hopes, joys, affections, virtues, and associations, seemed to be
melted down into dollars. Whatever the chance contributions that
fell into the slow cauldron of their talk, they made the gruel thick
and slab with dollars. Men were weighed by their dollars, measures
gauged by their dollars; life was auctioneered, appraised, put up,
and knocked down for its dollars. The next respectable thing to
dollars was any venture having their attainment for its end. The
more of that worthless ballast, honour and fair-dealing, which any
man cast overboard from the ship of his Good Name and Good Intent,
the more ample stowage-room he had for dollars. Make commerce one
huge lie and mighty theft. Deface the banner of the nation for an
idle rag; pollute it star by star; and cut out stripe by stripe as
from the arm of a degraded soldier. Do anything for dollars! What
is a flag to THEM!

One who rides at all hazards of limb and life in the chase of a fox,
will prefer to ride recklessly at most times. So it was with these
gentlemen. He was the greatest patriot, in their eyes, who brawled
the loudest, and who cared the least for decency. He was their
champion who, in the brutal fury of his own pursuit, could cast no
stigma upon them for the hot knavery of theirs. Thus, Martin learned
in the five minutes' straggling talk about the stove, that to carry
pistols into legislative assemblies, and swords in sticks, and other
such peaceful toys; to seize opponents by the throat, as dogs or
rats might do; to bluster, bully, and overbear by personal
assailment; were glowing deeds. Not thrusts and stabs at Freedom,
striking far deeper into her House of Life than any sultan's
scimitar could reach; but rare incense on her altars, having a
grateful scent in patriotic nostrils, and curling upward to the
seventh heaven of Fame.

Once or twice, when there was a pause, Martin asked such questions
as naturally occurred to him, being a stranger, about the national
poets, the theatre, literature, and the arts. But the information
which these gentlemen were in a condition to give him on such
topics, did not extend beyond the effusions of such master-spirits
of the time as Colonel Diver, Mr Jefferson Brick, and others;
renowned, as it appeared, for excellence in the achievement of a
peculiar style of broadside essay called 'a screamer.'

'We are a busy people, sir,' said one of the captains, who was from
the West, 'and have no time for reading mere notions. We don't mind
'em if they come to us in newspapers along with almighty strong
stuff of another sort, but darn your books.'

Here the general, who appeared to grow quite faint at the bare
thought of reading anything which was neither mercantile nor
political, and was not in a newspaper, inquired 'if any gentleman
would drink some?' Most of the company, considering this a very
choice and seasonable idea, lounged out, one by one, to the bar-room
in the next block. Thence they probably went to their stores and
counting-houses; thence to the bar-room again, to talk once more of
dollars, and enlarge their minds with the perusal and discussion of
screamers; and thence each man to snore in the bosom of his own
family.

'Which would seem,' said Martin, pursuing the current of his own
thoughts, 'to be the principal recreation they enjoy in common.'
With that, he fell a-musing again on dollars, demagogues, and barrooms;
debating within himself whether busy people of this class
were really as busy as they claimed to be, or only had an inaptitude
for social and domestic pleasure.


It was a difficult question to solve; and the mere fact of its being
strongly presented to his mind by all that he had seen and heard,
was not encouraging. He sat down at the deserted board, and
becoming more and more despondent, as he thought of all the
uncertainties and difficulties of his precarious situation, sighed
heavily.

Now, there had been at the dinner-table a middle-aged man with a
dark eye and a sunburnt face, who had attracted Martin's attention
by having something very engaging and honest in the expression of
his features; but of whom he could learn nothing from either of his
neighbours, who seemed to consider him quite beneath their notice.
He had taken no part in the conversation round the stove, nor had he
gone forth with the rest; and now, when he heard Martin sigh for the
third or fourth time, he interposed with some casual remark, as if
he desired, without obtruding himself upon a stranger's notice, to
engage him in cheerful conversation if he could. His motive was so
obvious, and yet so delicately expressed, that Martin felt really
grateful to him, and showed him so in the manner of his reply.

'I will not ask you,' said this gentleman with a smile, as he rose
and moved towards him, 'how you like my country, for I can quite
anticipate your feeling on that point. But, as I am an American,
and consequently bound to begin with a question, I'll ask you how
you like the colonel?'

'You are so very frank,' returned Martin, 'that I have no hesitation
in saying I don't like him at all. Though I must add that I am
beholden to him for his civility in bringing me here--and arranging
for my stay, on pretty reasonable terms, by the way,' he added,
remembering that the colonel had whispered him to that effect,
before going out.

'Not much beholden,' said the stranger drily. 'The colonel
occasionally boards packet-ships, I have heard, to glean the latest
information for his journal; and he occasionally brings strangers to
board here, I believe, with a view to the little percentage which
attaches to those good offices; and which the hostess deducts from
his weekly bill. I don't offend you, I hope?' he added, seeing that
Martin reddened.

'My dear sir,' returned Martin, as they shook hands, 'how is that
possible! to tell you the truth, I--am--'

'Yes?' said the gentleman, sitting down beside him.

'I am rather at a loss, since I must speak plainly,' said Martin,
getting the better of his hesitation, 'to know how this colonel
escapes being beaten.'

'Well! He has been beaten once or twice,' remarked the gentleman
quietly. 'He is one of a class of men, in whom our own Franklin, so
long ago as ten years before the close of the last century, foresaw
our danger and disgrace. Perhaps you don't know that Franklin, in
very severe terms, published his opinion that those who were
slandered by such fellows as this colonel, having no sufficient
remedy in the administration of this country's laws or in the decent
and right-minded feeling of its people, were justified in retorting
on such public nuisances by means of a stout cudgel?'

'I was not aware of that,' said Martin, 'but I am very glad to know
it, and I think it worthy of his memory; especially'--here he
hesitated again.


'Go on,' said the other, smiling as if he knew what stuck in
Martin's throat.

'Especially,' pursued Martin, 'as I can already understand that it
may have required great courage, even in his time, to write freely
on any question which was not a party one in this very free
country.'

'Some courage, no doubt,' returned his new friend. 'Do you think it
would require any to do so, now?'

'Indeed I think it would; and not a little,' said Martin.

'You are right. So very right, that I believe no satirist could
breathe this air. If another Juvenal or Swift could rise up among
us to-morrow, he would be hunted down. If you have any knowledge of
our literature, and can give me the name of any man, American born
and bred, who has anatomized our follies as a people, and not as
this or that party; and who has escaped the foulest and most brutal
slander, the most inveterate hatred and intolerant pursuit; it will
be a strange name in my ears, believe me. In some cases I could
name to you, where a native writer has ventured on the most harmless
and good-humoured illustrations of our vices or defects, it has been
found necessary to announce, that in a second edition the passage
has been expunged, or altered, or explained away, or patched into
praise.'

'And how has this been brought about?' asked Martin, in dismay.

'Think of what you have seen and heard to-day, beginning with the
colonel,' said his friend, 'and ask yourself. How THEY came about,
is another question. Heaven forbid that they should be samples of
the intelligence and virtue of America, but they come uppermost, and
in great numbers, and too often represent it. Will you walk?'

There was a cordial candour in his manner, and an engaging
confidence that it would not be abused; a manly bearing on his own
part, and a simple reliance on the manly faith of a stranger; which
Martin had never seen before. He linked his arm readily in that of
the American gentleman, and they walked out together.

It was perhaps to men like this, his new companion, that a traveller
of honoured name, who trod those shores now nearly forty years ago,
and woke upon that soil, as many have done since, to blots and
stains upon its high pretensions, which in the brightness of his
distant dreams were lost to view, appealed in these words-


'Oh, but for such, Columbia's days were done;
Rank without ripeness, quickened without sun,
Crude at the surface, rotten at the core,
Her fruits would fall before her spring were o'er!'


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MARTIN ENLARGES HIS CIRCLE OF AQUAINTANCE; INCREASES HIS STOCK OF
WISDOM; AND HAS AN EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY OF COMPARING HIS OWN
EXPERIENCES WITH THOSE OF LUMMY NED OF THE LIGHT SALISBURY, AS
RELATED BY HIS FRIEND MR WILLIAM SIMMONS

It was characteristic of Martin, that all this while he had either


forgotten Mark Tapley as completely as if there had been no such
person in existence, or, if for a moment the figure of that
gentleman rose before his mental vision, had dismissed it as
something by no means of a pressing nature, which might be attended
to by-and-bye, and could wait his perfect leisure. But, being now
in the streets again, it occurred to him as just coming within the
bare limits of possibility that Mr Tapley might, in course of time,
grow tired of waiting on the threshold of the Rowdy Journal Office,
so he intimated to his new friend, that if they could conveniently
walk in that direction, he would be glad to get this piece of
business off his mind.

'And speaking of business,' said Martin, 'may I ask, in order that I
may not be behind-hand with questions either, whether your
occupation holds you to this city, or like myself, you are a visitor
here?'

'A visitor,' replied his friend. 'I was raised" in the State of
Massachusettsand reside there still. My home is in a quiet
country town. I am not often in these busy places; and my
inclination to visit them does not increase with our better
acquaintanceI assure you.'

'You have been abroad?' asked Martin

'Oh yes.'

'Andlike most people who travelhave become more than ever
attached to your home and native country' said Martineyeing him
curiously.

'To my home--yes' rejoined his friend. 'To my native country AS my
home--yesalso.'

'You imply some reservation' said Martin.

'Well' returned his new friend'if you ask me whether I came back
here with a greater relish for my country's faults; with a greater
fondness for those who claim (at the rate of so many dollars a day)
to be her friends; with a cooler indifference to the growth of
principles among us in respect of public matters and of private
dealings between man and manthe advocacy of whichbeyond the foul
atmosphere of a criminal trialwould disgrace your own old Bailey
lawyers; whythen I answer plainlyNo.'

'Oh!' said Martin; in so exactly the same key as his friend's No
that it sounded like an echo.

'If you ask me' his companion pursued'whether I came back here
better satisfied with a state of things which broadly divides
society into two classes--whereof onethe great massasserts a
spurious independencemost miserably dependent for its mean
existence on the disregard of humanizing conventionalities of manner
and social customso that the coarser a man isthe more distinctly
it shall appeal to his taste; while the otherdisgusted with the
low standard thus set up and made adaptable to everythingtakes
refuge among the graces and refinements it can bring to bear on
private lifeand leaves the public weal to such fortune as may
betide it in the press and uproar of a general scramble--then again
I answerNo.'

And again Martin said 'Oh!' in the same odd way as beforebeing
anxious and disconcerted; not so muchto say the truthon public
groundsas with reference to the fading prospects of domestic


architecture.

'In a word' resumed the other'I do not find and cannot believe
and therefore will not allowthat we are a model of wisdomand an
example to the worldand the perfection of human reasonand a
great deal more to the same purposewhich you may hear any hour in
the day; simply because we began our political life with two
inestimable advantages.'

'What were they?' asked Martin.

'Onethat our history commenced at so late a period as to escape
the ages of bloodshed and cruelty through which other nations have
passed; and so had all the light of their probationand none of its
darkness. The otherthat we have a vast territoryand not--as
yet--too many people on it. These facts consideredwe have done
little enoughI think.'

'Education?' suggested Martinfaintly.

'Pretty well on that head' said the othershrugging his shoulders
'still no mighty matter to boast of; for old countriesand despotic
countries toohave done as muchif not moreand made less noise
about it. We shine out brightly in comparison with England
certainly; but hers is a very extreme case. You complimented me on
my franknessyou know' he addedlaughing.

'Oh! I am not at all astonished at your speaking thus openly when my
country is in question' returned Martin. 'It is your plainspeaking
in reference to your own that surprises me.'

'You will not find it a scarce quality hereI assure yousaving
among the Colonel Diversand Jefferson Bricksand Major Pawkinses;
though the best of us are something like the man in Goldsmith's
comedywho wouldn't suffer anybody but himself to abuse his master.
Come!' he added. 'Let us talk of something else. You have come
here on some design of improving your fortuneI dare say; and I
should grieve to put you out of heart. I am some years older than
youbesides; and mayon a few trivial pointsadvise youperhaps.'

There was not the least curiosity or impertinence in the manner of
this offerwhich was open-heartedunaffectedand good-natured.
As it was next to impossible that he should not have his confidence
awakened by a deportment so prepossessing and kindMartin plainly
stated what had brought him into those partsand even made the very
difficult avowal that he was poor. He did not say how poorit must
be admittedrather throwing off the declaration with an air which
might have implied that he had money enough for six monthsinstead
of as many weeks; but poor he said he wasand grateful he said he
would befor any counsel that his friend would give him.

It would not have been very difficult for any one to see; but it was
particularly easy for Martinwhose perceptions were sharpened by
his circumstancesto discern; that the stranger's face grew
infinitely longer as the domestic-architecture project was
developed. Noralthough he made a great effort to be as
encouraging as possiblecould he prevent his head from shaking once
involuntarilyas if it said in the vulgar tongueupon its own
account'No go!' But he spoke in a cheerful toneand saidthat
although there was no such opening as Martin wishedin that city
he would make it matter of immediate consideration and inquiry where
one was most likely to exist; and then he made Martin acquainted
with his namewhich was Bevan; and with his professionwhich was
physicthough he seldom or never practiced; and with other


circumstances connected with himself and familywhich fully
occupied the timeuntil they reached the Rowdy Journal Office.

Mr Tapley appeared to be taking his ease on the landing of the first
floor; for sounds as of some gentleman established in that region
whistling 'Rule Britannia' with all his might and maingreeted
their ears before they reached the house. On ascending to the spot
from whence this music proceededthey found him recumbent in the
midst of a fortification of luggageapparently performing his
national anthem for the gratification of a grey-haired black man
who sat on one of the outworks (a portmanteau)staring intently at
Markwhile Markwith his head reclining on his handreturned the
compliment in a thoughtful mannerand whistled all the time. He
seemed to have recently dinedfor his knifea casebottleand
certain broken meats in a handkerchieflay near at hand. He had
employed a portion of his leisure in the decoration of the Rowdy
Journal doorwhereon his own initials now appeared in letters
nearly half a foot longtogether with the day of the month in
smaller type; the whole surrounded by an ornamental borderand
looking very fresh and bold.

'I was a'most afraid you was lostsir!' cried Markrisingand
stopping the tune at that point where Britons generally are supposed
to declare (when it is whistled) that they nevernevernever-


'Nothing gone wrongI hopesir?'

'NoMark. Where's your friend?'

'The mad womansir?' said Mr Tapley. 'Oh! she's all rightsir.'

'Did she find her husband?'

'Yessir. Leastways she's found his remains' said Mark
correcting himself.

'The man's not deadI hope?'

'Not altogether deadsir' returned Mark; 'but he's had more fevers
and agues than is quite reconcilable with being alive. When she
didn't see him a-waiting for herI thought she'd have died herself
I did!'

'Was he not herethen?'

'HE wasn't here. There was a feeble old shadow come a-creeping down
at lastas much like his substance when she know'd himas your
shadow when it's drawn out to its very finest and longest by the
sunis like you. But it was his remainsthere's no doubt about
that. She took on with joypoor thingas much as if it had been
all of him!'

'Had he bought land?' asked Mr Bevan.

'Ah! He'd bought land' said Markshaking his head'and paid for
it too. Every sort of nateral advantage was connected with itthe
agents said; and there certainly was ONEquite unlimited. No end
to the water!'

'It's a thing he couldn't have done withoutI suppose' observed
Martinpeevishly.

'Certainly notsir. There it wasany way; always turned onand
no water-rate. Independent of three or four slimy old rivers close


byit varied on the farm from four to six foot deep in the dry
season. He couldn't say how deep it was in the rainy timefor he
never had anything long enough to sound it with.'

'Is this true?' asked Martin of his companion.

'Extremely probable' he answered. 'Some Mississippi or Missouri
lotI dare say.'

'However' pursued Mark'he came from I-don't-know-where-and-all
down to New York hereto meet his wife and children; and they
started off again in a steamboat this blessed afternoonas happy
to be along with each other as if they were going to Heaven. I
should think they waspretty straightif I may judge from the poor
man's looks.'

'And may I ask' said Martinglancingbut not with any
displeasurefrom Mark to the negro'who this gentleman is?
Another friend of yours?'

'Why sir' returned Marktaking him asideand speaking
confidentially in his ear'he's a man of coloursir!'

'Do you take me for a blind man' asked Martinsomewhat
impatiently'that you think it necessary to tell me thatwhen his
face is the blackest that ever was seen?'

'Nono; when I say a man of colour' returned Mark'I mean that
he's been one of them as there's picters of in the shops. A man and
a brotheryou knowsir' said Mr Tapleyfavouring his master with
a significant indication of the figure so often represented in
tracts and cheap prints.

'A slave!' cried Martinin a whisper.

'Ah!' said Mark in the same tone. 'Nothing else. A slave. Why
when that there man was young--don't look at him while I'm a-telling
it--he was shot in the leg; gashed in the arm; scored in his live
limbslike crimped fish; beaten out of shape; had his neck galled
with an iron collarand wore iron rings upon his wrists and ankles.
The marks are on him to this day. When I was having my dinner just
nowhe stripped off his coatand took away my appetite.'

'Is THIS true?' asked Martin of his friendwho stood beside them.

'I have no reason to doubt it' he answeredshaking his head 'It
very often is.'

'Bless you' said Mark'I know it isfrom hearing his whole story.
That master died; so did his second master from having his head cut
open with a hatchet by another slavewhowhen he'd done itwent
and drowned himself; then he got a better one; in years and years
he saved up a little moneyand bought his freedomwhich he got
pretty cheap at laston account of his strength being nearly gone
and he being ill. Then he come here. And now he's a-saving up to
treat himselfafore he diesto one small purchase--it's nothing to
speak of. Only his own daughter; that's all!' cried Mr Tapley
becoming excited. 'Liberty for ever! Hurrah! HailColumbia!'

'Hush!' cried Martinclapping his hand upon his mouth; 'and don't
be an idiot. What is he doing here?'

'Waiting to take our luggage off upon a truck' said Mark. 'He'd
have come for it by-and-byebut I engaged him for a very reasonable


charge (out of my own pocket) to sit along with me and make me
jolly; and I am jolly; and if I was rich enough to contract with him
to wait upon me once a dayto be looked atI'd never be anything
else.'

The fact may cause a solemn impeachment of Mark's veracitybut it
must be admitted neverthelessthat there was that in his face and
manner at the momentwhich militated strongly against this emphatic
declaration of his state of mind.

'Lord love yousir' he added'they're so fond of Liberty in this
part of the globethat they buy her and sell her and carry her to
market with 'em. They've such a passion for Libertythat they
can't help taking liberties with her. That's what it's owing to.'

'Very well' said Martinwishing to change the theme. 'Having come
to that conclusionMarkperhaps you'll attend to me. The place to
which the luggage is to go is printed on this card. Mrs Pawkins's
Boarding House.'

'Mrs Pawkins's boarding-house' repeated Mark. 'NowCicero.'

'Is that his name?' asked Martin

'That's his namesir' rejoined Mark. And the negro grinning
assent from under a leathern portmanteauthan which his own face
was many shades deeperhobbled downstairs with his portion of
their worldly goods; Mark Tapley having already gone before with his
share.

Martin and his friend followed them to the door belowand were
about to pursue their walkwhen the latter stoppedand askedwith
some hesitationwhether that young man was to be trusted?

'Mark! oh certainly! with anything.'

'You don't understand me--I think he had better go with us. He is
an honest fellowand speaks his mind so very plainly.'

'Whythe fact is' said Martinsmiling'that being unaccustomed
to a free republiche is used to do so.'

'I think he had better go with us' returned the other. 'He may get
into some trouble otherwise. This is not a slave State; but I am
ashamed to say that a spirit of Tolerance is not so common anywhere
in these latitudes as the form. We are not remarkable for behaving
very temperately to each other when we differ; but to strangers!
noI really think he had better go with us.'

Martin called to him immediately to be of their party; so Cicero and
the truck went one wayand they three went another.

They walked about the city for two or three hours; seeing it from
the best points of viewand pausing in the principal streetsand
before such public buildings as Mr Bevan pointed out. Night then
coming on apaceMartin proposed that they should adjourn to Mrs
Pawkins's establishment for coffee; but in this he was overruled by
his new acquaintancewho seemed to have set his heart on carrying
himthough it were only for an hourto the house of a friend of
his who lived hard by. Feeling (however disinclined he wasbeing
weary) that it would be in bad tasteand not very graciousto
object that he was unintroducedwhen this open-hearted gentleman
was so ready to be his sponsorMartin--for once in his lifeat all
events--sacrificed his own will and pleasure to the wishes of


anotherand consented with a fair grace. So travelling had done
him that much goodalready.

Mr Bevan knocked at the door of a very neat house of moderate size
from the parlour windows of whichlights were shining brightly into
the now dark street. It was quickly opened by a man with such a
thoroughly Irish facethat it seemed as if he oughtas a matter of
right and principleto be in ragsand could have no sort of
business to be looking cheerfully at anybody out of a whole suit of
clothes.

Commending Mark to the care of this phenomenon--for such he may be
said to have been in Martin's eyes--Mr Bevan led the way into the
room which had shed its cheerfulness upon the streetto whose
occupants he introduced Mr Chuzzlewit as a gentleman from England
whose acquaintance he had recently had the pleasure to make. They
gave him welcome in all courtesy and politeness; and in less than
five minutes' time he found himself sitting very much at his ease by
the firesideand becoming vastly well acquainted with the whole
family.

There were two young ladies--one eighteen; the other twenty--both
very slenderbut very pretty; their motherwho lookedas Martin
thought much older and more faded than she ought to have looked; and
their grandmothera little sharp-eyedquick old womanwho seemed
to have got past that stageand to have come all right again.
Besides thesethere were the young ladies' fatherand the young
ladies' brother; the first engaged in mercantile affairs; the
seconda student at college; bothin a certain cordiality of
mannerlike his own friendand not unlike him in face. Which was
no great wonderfor it soon appeared that he was their near
relation. Martin could not help tracing the family pedigree from
the two young ladiesbecause they were foremost in his thoughts;
not only from beingas aforesaidvery prettybut by reason of
their wearing miraculously small shoesand the thinnest possible
silk stockings; the which their rocking-chairs developed to a
distracting extent.

There is no doubt that it was a monstrous comfortable circumstance
to be sitting in a snugwell-furnished roomwarmed by a cheerful
fireand full of various pleasant decorationsincluding four small
shoesand the like amount of silk stockingsand--yeswhy not?--the
feet and legs therein enshrined. And there is no doubt that Martin
was monstrous well-disposed to regard his position in that light
after his recent experience of the Screwand of Mrs Pawkins's
boarding-house. The consequence was that he made himself very
agreeable indeed; and by the time the tea and coffee arrived (with
sweet preservesand cunning tea-cakes in its train)was in a
highly genial stateand much esteemed by the whole family.

Another delightful circumstance turned up before the first cup of
tea was drunk. The whole family had been in England. There was a
pleasant thing! But Martin was not quite so glad of thiswhen he
found that they knew all the great dukeslordsviscounts
marquessesduchessesknightsand baronetsquite affectionately
and were beyond everything interested in the least particular
concerning them. Howeverwhen they askedafter the wearer of this
or that coronetand said'Was he quite well?' Martin answered
'Yesoh yes. Never better;' and when they said'his lordship's
motherthe duchesswas she much changed?' Martin said'Oh dear
nothey would know her anywhereif they saw her to-morrow;' and
so got on pretty well. In like manner when the young ladies
questioned him touching the Gold Fish in that Grecian fountain in
such and such a nobleman's conservatoryand whether there were as


many as there used to behe gravely reportedafter mature
considerationthat there must be at least twice as many; and as to
the exotics'Oh! well! it was of no use talking about THEM; they
must be seen to be believed;' which improved state of circumstances
reminded the family of the splendour of that brilliant festival
(comprehending the whole British Peerage and Court Calendar) to
which they were specially invitedand which indeed had been partly
given in their honour; and recollections of what Mr Norris the
father had said to the marquessand of what Mrs Norris the mother
had said to the marchionessand of what the marquess and
marchioness had both saidwhen they said that upon their words and
honours they wished Mr Norris the father and Mrs Norris the mother
and the Misses Norris the daughtersand Mr Norris Juniorthe son
would only take up their permanent residence in Englandand give
them the pleasure of their everlasting friendshipoccupied a very
considerable time.

Martin thought it rather stangeand in some sort inconsistentthat
during the whole of these narrationsand in the very meridian of
their enjoyment thereofboth Mr Norris the fatherand Mr Norris
Juniorthe son (who correspondedevery postwith four members of
the English Peerage)enlarged upon the inestimable advantage of
having no such arbitrary distinctions in that enlightened land
where there were no noblemen but nature's noblemenand where all
society was based on one broad level of brotherly love and natural
equality. IndeedMr Norris the father gradually expanding into an
oration on this swelling themewas becoming tediouswhen Mr Bevan
diverted his thoughts by happening to make some causal inquiry
relative to the occupier of the next house; in reply to whichthis
same Mr Norris the father observedthat 'that person entertained
religious opinions of which he couldn't approve; and therefore he
hadn't the honour of knowing the gentleman.' Mrs Norris the mother
added another reason of her ownthe same in effectbut varying in
words; to witthat she believed the people were well enough in
their waybut they were not genteel.

Another little trait came outwhich impressed itself on Martin
forcibly. Mr Bevan told them about Mark and the negroand then it
appeared that all the Norrises were abolitionists. It was a great
relief to hear thisand Martin was so much encouraged on finding
himself in such companythat he expressed his sympathy with the
oppressed and wretched blacks. Nowone of the young ladies--the
prettiest and most delicate--was mightily amused at the earnestness
with which he spoke; and on his craving leave to ask her whywas
quite unable for a time to speak for laughing. As soon however as
she couldshe told him that the negroes were such a funny people
so excessively ludicrous in their manners and appearancethat it
was wholly impossible for those who knew them wellto associate any
serious ideas with such a very absurd part of the creation. Mr
Norris the fatherand Mrs Norris the motherand Miss Norris the
sisterand Mr Norris Junior the brotherand even Mrs Norris Senior
the grandmotherwere all of this opinionand laid it down as an
absolute matter of fact--as if there were nothing in suffering and
slaverygrim enough to cast a solemn air on any human animal;
though it were as ridiculousphysicallyas the most grotesque of
apesor morallyas the mildest Nimrod among tuft-hunting
republicans!

'In short' said Mr Norris the fathersettling the question
comfortably'there is a natural antipathy between the races.'

'Extending' said Martin's friendin a low voice'to the cruellest
of torturesand the bargain and sale of unborn generations.'


Mr Norris the son said nothingbut he made a wry faceand dusted
his fingers as Hamlet might after getting rid of Yorick's skull;
just as though he had that moment touched a negroand some of the
black had come off upon his hands.

In order that their talk might fall again into its former pleasant
channelMartin dropped the subjectwith a shrewd suspicion that it
would be a dangerous theme to revive under the best of
circumstances; and again addressed himself to the young ladieswho
were very gorgeously attired in very beautiful coloursand had
every article of dress on the same extensive scale as the little
shoes and the thin silk stockings. This suggested to him that they
were great proficients in the French fashionswhich soon turned out
to be the casefor though their information appeared to be none of
the newestit was very extensive; and the eldest sister in
particularwho was distinguished by a talent for metaphysicsthe
laws of hydraulic pressureand the rights of human kindhad a
novel way of combining these acquirements and bringing them to bear
on any subject from Millinery to the Millenniumboth inclusive
which was at once improving and remarkable; so much soin short
that it was usually observed to reduce foreigners to a state of
temporary insanity in five minutes.

Martin felt his reason going; and as a means of saving himself
besought the other sister (seeing a piano in the room) to sing.
With this request she willingly complied; and a bravura concert
solely sustained by the Misses Norisspresently began. They sang
in all languages--except their own. GermanFrenchItalian
SpanishPortugueseSwiss; but nothing native; nothing so low as
native. Forin this respectlanguages are like many other
travellers--ordinary and commonplace enough at homebut 'specially
genteel abroad.

There is little doubt that in course of time the Misses Norris would
have come to Hebrewif they had not been interrupted by an
announcement from the Irishmanwhoflinging open the doorcried in
a loud voice-


'Jiniral Fladdock!'

'My!' cried the sistersdesisting suddenly. 'The general come
back!'

As they made the exclamationthe generalattired in full uniform
for a ballcame darting in with such precipitancy thathitching
his boot in the carpetand getting his sword between his legshe
came down headlongand presented a curious little bald place on the
crown of his head to the eyes of the astonished company. Nor was
this the worst of it; for being rather corpulent and very tightthe
general being downcould not get up againbut lay there writing
and doing such things with his bootsas there is no other instance
of in military history.

Of course there was an immediate rush to his assistance; and the
general was promptly raised. But his uniform was so fearfully and
wonderfully madethat he came up stiff and without a bend in him
like a dead Clownand had no command whatever of himself until he
was put quite flat upon the soles of his feetwhen he became
animated as by a miracleand moving edgewise that he might go in a
narrower compass and be in less danger of fraying the gold lace on
his epaulettes by brushing them against anythingadvanced with a
smiling visage to salute the lady of the house.

To be sureit would have been impossible for the family to testify


purer delight and joy than at this unlooked-for appearance of
General Fladdock! The general was as warmly received as if New York
had been in a state of siege and no other general was to be got for
love or money. He shook hands with the Norrises three times all
roundand then reviewed them from a little distance as a brave
commander mightwith his ample cloak drawn forward over the right
shoulder and thrown back upon the left side to reveal his manly
breast.

'And do I then' cried the general'once again behold the choicest
spirits of my country!'

'Yes' said Mr Norris the father. 'Here we aregeneral.'

Then all the Norrises pressed round the generalinquiring how and
where he had been since the date of his letterand how he had
enjoyed himself in foreign partsand particularly and above allto
what extent he had become acquainted with the great dukeslords
viscountsmarquessesduchessesknightsand baronetsin whom the
people of those benighted countries had delight.

'Wellthendon't ask me' said the generalholding up his hand.
'I was among 'em all the timeand have got public journals in my
trunk with my name printed'--he lowered his voice and was very
impressive here--'among the fashionable news. Butohthe
conventionalities of that a-mazing Europe!'

'Ah!' cried Mr Norris the fathergiving his head a melancholy
shakeand looking towards Martin as though he would say'I can't
deny itsir. I would if I could.'

'The limited diffusion of a moral sense in that country!' exclaimed
the general. 'The absence of a moral dignity in man!'

'Ah!' sighed all the Norrisesquite overwhelmed with despondency.

'I couldn't have realised it' pursued the general'without being
located on the spot. Norrisyour imagination is the imagination of
a strong manbut YOU couldn't have realised itwithout being
located on the spot!'

'Never' said Mr Norris.

'The ex-clusivenessthe pridethe formthe ceremony' exclaimed
the generalemphasizing the article more vigorously at every
repetition. 'The artificial barriers set up between man and man;
the division of the human race into court cards and plain cardsof
every denomination--into clubsdiamondsspades--anything but
heart!'

'Ah!' cried the whole family. 'Too truegeneral!'

'But stay!' cried Mr Norris the fathertaking him by the arm.
'Surely you crossed in the Screwgeneral?'

'Well! so I did' was the reply.

'Possible!' cried the young ladies. 'Only think!'

The general seemed at a loss to understand why his having come home
in the Screw should occasion such a sensationnor did he seem at
all clearer on the subject when Mr Norrisintroducing him to
Martinsaid:


'A fellow-passenger of yoursI think?'

'Of mine?' exclaimed the general; 'No!'

He had never seen Martinbut Martin had seen himand recognized
himnow that they stood face to faceas the gentleman who had
stuck his hands in his pockets towards the end of the voyageand
walked the deck with his nostrils dilated.

Everybody looked at Martin. There was no help for it. The truth
must out.

'I came over in the same ship as the general' said Martin'but not
in the same cabin. It being necessary for me to observe strict
economyI took my passage in the steerage.'

If the general had been carried up bodily to a loaded cannonand
required to let it off that momenthe could not have been in a
state of greater consternation than when he heard these words. He
Fladdock--Fladdock in full militia uniformFladdock the General
Fladdockthe caressed of foreign noblemen--expected to know a
fellow who had come over in the steerage of line-of-packet shipat
the cost of four pound ten! And meeting that fellow in the very
sanctuary of New York fashionand nestling in the bosom of the New
York aristocracy! He almost laid his hand upon his sword.

A death-like stillness fell upon the Norisses. If this story should
get windtheir country relation hadby his imprudencefor ever
disgraced them. They were the bright particular stars of an exalted
New York sphere. There were other fashionable spheres above them
and other fashionable spheres belowand none of the stars in any
one of these spheres had anything to say to the stars in any other
of these spheres. Butthrough all the spheres it would go forth
that the Norrisesdeceived by gentlemanly manners and appearances
hadfalling from their high estate'received' a dollarless and
unknown man. O guardian eagle of the pure Republichad they lived
for this!

'You will allow me' said Martinafter a terrible silence'to take
my leave. I feel that I am the cause of at least as much
embarrassment hereas I have brought upon myself. But I am bound
before I goto exonerate this gentlemanwhoin introducing me to
such societywas quite ignorant of my unworthinessI assure you.'

With that he made his bow to the Norrisesand walked out like a man
of snow; very cool externallybut pretty hot within.

'Comecome' said Mr Norris the fatherlooking with a pale face on
the assembled circle as Martin closed the door'the young man has
this night beheld a refinement of social mannerand an easy
magnificence of social decorationto which he is a stranger in his
own country. Let us hope it may awake a moral sense within him.'

If that peculiarly transatlantic articlea moral sense--forif
native statesmenoratorsand pamphleteersare to be believed
America quite monopolises the commodity--if that peculiarly
transatlantic article be supposed to include a benevolent love of
all mankindcertainly Martin's would have bornejust thena deal
of waking. As he strode along the streetwith Mark at his heels
his immoral sense was in active operation; prompting him to the
utterance of some rather sanguinary remarkswhich it was well for
his own credit that nobody overheard. He had so far cooled down
howeverthat he had begun to laugh at the recollection of these
incidentswhen he heard another step behind himand turning round


encountered his friend Bevanquite out of breath.

He drew his arm through Martin'sand entreating him to walk slowly
was silent for some minutes. At length he said:

'I hope you exonerate me in another sense?'

'How do you mean?' asked Martin.

'I hope you acquit me of intending or foreseeing the termination of
our visit. But I scarcely need ask you that.'

'Scarcely indeed' said Martin. 'I am the more beholden to you for
your kindnesswhen I find what kind of stuff the good citizens here
are made of.'

'I reckon' his friend returned'that they are made of pretty much
the same stuff as other folksif they would but own itand not set
up on false pretences.'

'In good faiththat's true' said Martin.

'I dare say' resumed his friend'you might have such a scene as
that in an English comedyand not detect any gross improbability or
anomaly in the matter of it?'

'Yesindeed!'

'Doubtless it is more ridiculous here than anywhere else' said his
companion; 'but our professions are to blame for that. So far as I
myself am concernedI may add that I was perfectly aware from the
first that you came over in the steeragefor I had seen the list of
passengersand knew it did not comprise your name.'

'I feel more obliged to you than before' said Martin.

'Norris is a very good fellow in his way' observed Mr Bevan.

'Is he?' said Martin drily.

'Oh yes! there are a hundred good points about him. If you or
anybody else addressed him as another order of beingand sued to
him IN FORMA PAUPERIShe would be all kindness and consideration.'

'I needn't have travelled three thousand miles from home to find
such a character as THAT' said Martin. Neither he nor his friend
said anything more on the way back; each appearing to find
sufficient occupation in his own thoughts.

The teaor the supperor whatever else they called the evening
mealwas over when they reached the Major's; but the cloth
ornamented with a few additional smears and stainswas still upon
the table. At one end of the board Mrs Jefferson Brick and two
other ladies were drinking tea; out of the ordinary course
evidentlyfor they were bonneted and shawledand seemed to have
just come home. By the light of three flaring candles of different
lengthsin as many candlesticks of different patternsthe room
showed to almost as little advantage as in broad day.

These ladies were all three talking together in a very loud tone
when Martin and his friend entered; but seeing those gentlementhey
stopped directlyand became excessively genteelnot to say frosty.
As they went on to exchange some few remarks in whispersthe very
water in the teapot might have fallen twenty degrees in temperature


beneath their chilling coldness.

'Have you been to meetingMrs Brick?' asked Martin's friendwith
something of a roguish twinkle in his eye.

'To lecturesir.'

'I beg your pardon. I forgot. You don't go to meetingI think?'

Here the lady on the right of Mrs Brick gave a pious cough as much
as to say 'I do!'--asindeedshe did nearly every night in the
week.

'A good discoursema'am?' asked Mr Bevanaddressing this lady.

The lady raised her eyes in a pious mannerand answered 'Yes.' She
had been much comforted by some goodstrongpeppery doctrine
which satisfactorily disposed of all her friends and acquaintances
and quite settled their business. Her bonnettoohad far outshone
every bonnet in the congregation; so she was tranquil on all
accounts.

'What course of lectures are you attending nowma'am?' said
Martin's friendturning again to Mrs Brick.

'The Philosophy of the Soulon Wednesdays.'

'On Mondays?'

'The Philosophy of Crime.'

'On Fridays?'

'The Philosophy of Vegetables.'

'You have forgotten Thursdays; the Philosophy of Governmentmy
dear' observed the third lady.

'No' said Mrs Brick. 'That's Tuesdays.'

'So it is!' cried the lady. 'The Philosophy of Matter on Thursdays
of course.'

'You seeMr Chuzzlewitour ladies are fully employed' said Bevan.

'Indeed you have reason to say so' answered Martin. 'Between these
very grave pursuits abroadand family duties at hometheir time
must be pretty well engrossed.'

Martin stopped herefor he saw that the ladies regarded him with no
very great favourthough what he had done to deserve the disdainful
expression which appeared in their faces he was at a loss to divine.
But on their going upstairs to their bedrooms--which they very
soon did--Mr Bevan informed him that domestic drudgery was far
beneath the exalted range of these Philosophersand that the
chances were a hundred to one that not one of the three could
perform the easiest woman's work for herselfor make the simplest
article of dress for any of her children.

'Though whether they might not be better employed with such blunt
instruments as knitting-needles than with these edge-tools' he
said'is another question; but I can answer for one thing--they
don't often cut themselves. Devotions and lectures are our balls
and concerts. They go to these places of resortas an escape from


monotony; look at each other's clothes; and come home again.'

'When you say "home do you mean a house like this?'

'Very often. But I see you are tired to death, and will wish you
good night. We will discuss your projects in the morning. You
cannot but feel already that it is useless staying here, with any
hope of advancing them. You will have to go further.'

'And to fare worse?' said Martin, pursuing the old adage.

'Well, I hope not. But sufficient for the day, you know--good
night'

They shook hands heartily and separated. As soon as Martin was left
alone, the excitement of novelty and change which had sustained him
through all the fatigues of the day, departed; and he felt so
thoroughly dejected and worn out, that he even lacked the energy to
crawl upstairs to bed.

In twelve or fifteen hours, how great a change had fallen on his
hopes and sanguine plans! New and strange as he was to the ground
on which he stood, and to the air he breathed, he could not-recalling
all that he had crowded into that one day--but entertain a
strong misgiving that his enterprise was doomed. Rash and illconsidered
as it had often looked on shipboard, but had never seemed
on shore, it wore a dismal aspect, now, that frightened him.
Whatever thoughts he called up to his aid, they came upon him in
depressing and discouraging shapes, and gave him no relief. Even
the diamonds on his finger sparkled with the brightness of tears,
and had no ray of hope in all their brilliant lustre.

He continued to sit in gloomy rumination by the stove, unmindful of
the boarders who dropped in one by one from their stores and
counting-houses, or the neighbouring bar-rooms, and, after taking
long pulls from a great white waterjug upon the sideboard, and
lingering with a kind of hideous fascination near the brass
spittoons, lounged heavily to bed; until at length Mark Tapley came
and shook him by the arm, supposing him asleep.

'Mark!' he cried, starting.

'All right, sir,' said that cheerful follower, snuffing with his
fingers the candle he bore. 'It ain't a very large bed, your'n,
sir; and a man as wasn't thirsty might drink, afore breakfast, all
the water you've got to wash in, and afterwards eat the towel. But
you'll sleep without rocking to-night, sir.'

'I feel as if the house were on the sea' said Martin, staggering
when he rose; 'and am utterly wretched.'

'I'm as jolly as a sandboy, myself, sir,' said Mark. 'But, Lord, I
have reason to be! I ought to have been born here; that's my
opinion. Take care how you go'--for they were now ascending the
stairs. 'You recollect the gentleman aboard the Screw as had the
very small trunk, sir?'

'The valise? Yes.'

'Well, sir, there's been a delivery of clean clothes from the wash
to-night, and they're put outside the bedroom doors here. If you
take notice as we go up, what a very few shirts there are, and what
a many fronts, you'll penetrate the mystery of his packing.'


But Martin was too weary and despondent to take heed of anything, so
had no interest in this discovery. Mr Tapley, nothing dashed by his
indifference, conducted him to the top of the house, and into the
bed-chamber prepared for his reception; which was a very little
narrow room, with half a window in it; a bedstead like a chest
without a lid; two chairs; a piece of carpet, such as shoes are
commonly tried upon at a ready-made establishment in England; a
little looking-glass nailed against the wall; and a washing-table,
with a jug and ewer, that might have been mistaken for a milk-pot and
slop-basin.

'I suppose they polish themselves with a dry cloth in this country,'
said Mark. 'They've certainly got a touch of the 'phoby, sir.'

'I wish you would pull off my boots for me,' said Martin, dropping
into one of the chairs 'I am quite knocked up--dead beat, Mark.'

'You won't say that to-morrow morning, sir,' returned Mr Tapley;
'nor even to-night, sir, when you've made a trial of this.' With
which he produced a very large tumbler, piled up to the brim with
little blocks of clear transparent ice, through which one or two
thin slices of lemon, and a golden liquid of delicious appearance,
appealed from the still depths below, to the loving eye of the
spectator.

'What do you call this?' said Martin.

But Mr Tapley made no answer; merely plunging a reed into the
mixture--which caused a pleasant commotion among the pieces of ice-and
signifying by an expressive gesture that it was to be pumped up
through that agency by the enraptured drinker.

Martin took the glass with an astonished look; applied his lips to
the reed; and cast up his eyes once in ecstasy. He paused no more
until the goblet was drained to the last drop.

'There, sir!' said Mark, taking it from him with a triumphant face;
'if ever you should happen to be dead beat again, when I ain't in
the way, all you've got to do is to ask the nearest man to go and
fetch a cobbler.'

'To go and fetch a cobbler?' repeated Martin.

'This wonderful invention, sir,' said Mark, tenderly patting the
empty glass, 'is called a cobbler. Sherry cobbler when you name it
long; cobbler, when you name it short. Now you're equal to having
your boots took off, and are, in every particular worth mentioning,
another man.'

Having delivered himself of this solemn preface, he brought the
bootjack.

'Mind! I am not going to relapse, Mark,' said Martin; 'but, good
Heaven, if we should be left in some wild part of this country
without goods or money!'

'Well, sir!' replied the imperturbable Tapley; 'from what we've seen
already, I don't know whether, under those circumstances, we
shouldn't do better in the wild parts than in the tame ones.'

'Oh, Tom Pinch, Tom Pinch!' said Martin, in a thoughtful tone; 'what
would I give to be again beside you, and able to hear your voice,
though it were even in the old bedroom at Pecksniff's!'


'Oh, Dragon, Dragon!' echoed Mark, cheerfully, 'if there warn't any
water between you and me, and nothing faint-hearted-like in going
back, I don't know that I mightn't say the same. But here am I,
Dragon, in New York, America; and there are you in Wiltshire,
Europe; and there's a fortune to make, Dragon, and a beautiful young
lady to make it for; and whenever you go to see the Monument,
Dragon, you mustn't give in on the doorsteps, or you'll never get
up to the top!'

'Wisely said, Mark,' cried Martin. 'We must look forward.'

'In all the story-books as ever I read, sir, the people as looked
backward was turned into stones,' replied Mark; 'and my opinion
always was, that they brought it on themselves, and it served 'em
right. I wish you good night, sir, and pleasant dreams!'

'They must be of home, then,' said Martin, as he lay down in bed.

'So I say, too,' whispered Mark Tapley, when he was out of hearing
and in his own room; 'for if there don't come a time afore we're
well out of this, when there'll be a little more credit in keeping
up one's jollity, I'm a United Statesman!'

Leaving them to blend and mingle in their sleep the shadows of
objects afar off, as they take fantastic shapes upon the wall in the
dim light of thought without control, be it the part of this slight
chronicle--a dream within a dream--as rapidly to change the scene,
and cross the ocean to the English shore.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DOES BUSINESS WITH THE HOUSE OF ANTHONY CHUZZLEWIT AND SON, FROM
WHICH ONE OF THE PARTNERS RETIRES UNEXPECTEDLY

Change begets change. Nothing propagates so fast. If a man
habituated to a narrow circle of cares and pleasures, out of which
he seldom travels, step beyond it, though for never so brief a
space, his departure from the monotonous scene on which he has been
an actor of importance, would seem to be the signal for instant
confusion. As if, in the gap he had left, the wedge of change were
driven to the head, rending what was a solid mass to fragments,
things cemented and held together by the usages of years, burst
asunder in as many weeks. The mine which Time has slowly dug
beneath familiar objects is sprung in an instant; and what was rock
before, becomes but sand and dust.

Most men, at one time or other, have proved this in some degree. The
extent to which the natural laws of change asserted their supremacy
in that limited sphere of action which Martin had deserted, shall be
faithfully set down in these pages.

'What a cold spring it is!' whimpered old Anthony, drawing near the
evening fire, 'It was a warmer season, sure, when I was young!'

'You needn't go scorching your clothes into holes, whether it was or
not,' observed the amiable Jonas, raising his eyes from yesterday's
newspaper, 'Broadcloth ain't so cheap as that comes to.'

'A good lad!' cried the father, breathing on his cold hands, and
feebly chafing them against each other. 'A prudent lad! He never
delivered himself up to the vanities of dress. No, no!'


'I don't know but I would, though, mind you, if I could do it for
nothing,' said his son, as he resumed the paper.

'Ah!' chuckled the old man. 'IF, indeed!--But it's very cold.'

'Let the fire be!' cried Mr Jonas, stopping his honoured parent's
hand in the use of the poker. 'Do you mean to come to want in your
old age, that you take to wasting now?'

'There's not time for that, Jonas,' said the old man.

'Not time for what?' bawled his heir.

'For me to come to want. I wish there was!'

'You always were as selfish an old blade as need be,' said Jonas in
a voice too low for him to hear, and looking at him with an angry
frown. 'You act up to your character. You wouldn't mind coming to
want, wouldn't you! I dare say you wouldn't. And your own flesh and
blood might come to want too, might they, for anything you cared?
Oh you precious old flint!'

After this dutiful address he took his tea-cup in his hand--for that
meal was in progress, and the father and son and Chuffey were
partakers of it. Then, looking steadfastly at his father, and
stopping now and then to carry a spoonful of tea to his lips, he
proceeded in the same tone, thus:

'Want, indeed! You're a nice old man to be talking of want at this
time of day. Beginning to talk of want, are you? Well, I declare!
There isn't time? No, I should hope not. But you'd live to be a
couple of hundred if you could; and after all be discontented. I
know you!'

The old man sighed, and still sat cowering before the fire. Mr
Jonas shook his Britannia-metal teaspoon at him, and taking a
loftier position, went on to argue the point on high moral grounds.

'If you're in such a state of mind as that,' he grumbled, but in the
same subdued key, 'why don't you make over your property? Buy an
annuity cheap, and make your life interesting to yourself and
everybody else that watches the speculation. But no, that wouldn't
suit YOU. That would be natural conduct to your own son, and you
like to be unnatural, and to keep him out of his rights. Why, I
should be ashamed of myself if I was you, and glad to hide my head
in the what you may call it.'

Possibly this general phrase supplied the place of grave, or tomb,
or sepulchre, or cemetery, or mausoleum, or other such word which
the filial tenderness of Mr Jonas made him delicate of pronouncing.
He pursued the theme no further; for Chuffey, somehow discovering,
from his old corner by the fireside, that Anthony was in the
attitude of a listener, and that Jonas appeared to be speaking,
suddenly cried out, like one inspired:

'He is your own son, Mr Chuzzlewit. Your own son, sir!'

Old Chuffey little suspected what depth of application these words
had, or that, in the bitter satire which they bore, they might have
sunk into the old man's very soul, could he have known what words
here hanging on his own son's lips, or what was passing in his
thoughts. But the voice diverted the current of Anthony's
reflections, and roused him.


'Yes, yes, Chuffey, Jonas is a chip of the old block. It is a very
old block, now, Chuffey,' said the old man, with a strange look of
discomposure.

'Precious old,' assented Jonas

'No, no, no,' said Chuffey. 'No, Mr Chuzzlewit. Not old at all,
sir.'

'Oh! He's worse than ever, you know!' cried Jonas, quite disgusted.
'Upon my soul, father, he's getting too bad. Hold your tongue, will
you?'

'He says you're wrong!' cried Anthony to the old clerk.

'Tut, tut!' was Chuffey's answer. 'I know better. I say HE'S
wrong. I say HE'S wrong. He's a boy. That's what he is. So are
you, Mr Chuzzlewit--a kind of boy. Ha! ha! ha! You're quite a boy
to many I have known; you're a boy to me; you're a boy to hundreds
of us. Don't mind him!'

With which extraordinary speech--for in the case of Chuffey this was
a burst of eloquence without a parallel--the poor old shadow drew
through his palsied arm his master's hand, and held it there, with
his own folded upon it, as if he would defend him.

'I grow deafer every day, Chuff,' said Anthony, with as much
softness of manner, or, to describe it more correctly, with as
little hardness as he was capable of expressing.

'No, no,' cried Chuffey. 'No, you don't. What if you did? I've
been deaf this twenty year.'

'I grow blinder, too,' said the old man, shaking his head.

'That's a good sign!' cried Chuffey. 'Ha! ha! The best sign in the
world! You saw too well before.'

He patted Anthony upon the hand as one might comfort a child, and
drawing the old man's arm still further through his own, shook his
trembling fingers towards the spot where Jonas sat, as though he
would wave him off. But, Anthony remaining quite still and silent,
he relaxed his hold by slow degrees and lapsed into his usual niche
in the corner; merely putting forth his hand at intervals and
touching his old employer gently on the coat, as with the design of
assuring himself that he was yet beside him.

Mr Jonas was so very much amazed by these proceedings that he could
do nothing but stare at the two old men, until Chuffey had fallen
into his usual state, and Anthony had sunk into a doze; when he gave
some vent to his emotions by going close up to the former personage,
and making as though he would, in vulgar parlance, 'punch his head.'

'They've been carrying on this game,' thought Jonas in a brown
study, 'for the last two or three weeks. I never saw my father take
so much notice of him as he has in that time. What! You're legacy
hunting, are you, Mister Chuff? Eh?'

But Chuffey was as little conscious of the thought as of the bodily
advance of Mr Jonas's clenched fist, which hovered fondly about his
ear. When he had scowled at him to his heart's content, Jonas took
the candle from the table, and walking into the glass office,
produced a bunch of keys from his pocket. With one of these he


opened a secret drawer in the desk; peeping stealthily out, as he
did so, to be certain that the two old men were still before the
fire.

'All as right as ever,' said Jonas, propping the lid of the desk
open with his forehead, and unfolding a paper. 'Here's the will,
Mister Chuff. Thirty pound a year for your maintenance, old boy,
and all the rest to his only son, Jonas. You needn't trouble
yourself to be too affectionate. You won't get anything by it.
What's that?'

It WAS startling, certainly. A face on the other side of the glass
partition looking curiously in; and not at him but at the paper in
his hand. For the eyes were attentively cast down upon the writing,
and were swiftly raised when he cried out. Then they met his own,
and were as the eyes of Mr Pecksniff.

Suffering the lid of the desk to fall with a loud noise, but not
forgetting even then to lock it, Jonas, pale and breathless, gazed
upon this phantom. It moved, opened the door, and walked in.

'What's the matter?' cried Jonas, falling back. 'Who is it? Where
do you come from? What do you want?'

'Matter!' cried the voice of Mr Pecksniff, as Pecksniff in the flesh
smiled amiably upon him. 'The matter, Mr Jonas!'

'What are you prying and peering about here for?' said Jonas,
angrily. 'What do you mean by coming up to town in this way, and
taking one unawares? It's precious odd a man can't read the--the
newspaper--in his own office without being startled out of his wits
by people coming in without notice. Why didn't you knock at the
door?'

'So I did, Mr Jonas,' answered Pecksniff, 'but no one heard me. I
was curious,' he added in his gentle way as he laid his hand upon
the young man's shoulder, 'to find out what part of the newspaper
interested you so much; but the glass was too dim and dirty.'

Jonas glanced in haste at the partition. Well. It wasn't very
clean. So far he spoke the truth.

'Was it poetry now?' said Mr Pecksniff, shaking the forefinger of
his right hand with an air of cheerful banter. 'Or was it politics?
Or was it the price of stock? The main chance, Mr Jonas, the main
chance, I suspect.'

'You ain't far from the truth,' answered Jonas, recovering himself
and snuffing the candle; 'but how the deuce do you come to be in
London again? Ecod! it's enough to make a man stare, to see a
fellow looking at him all of a sudden, who he thought was sixty or
seventy mile away.'

'So it is,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'No doubt of it, my dear Mr Jonas.
For while the human mind is constituted as it is--'

'Oh, bother the human mind,' interrupted Jonas with impatience 'what
have you come up for?'

'A little matter of business,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'which has arisen
quite unexpectedly.'

'Oh!' cried Jonas, 'is that all? Well. Here's father in the next
room. Hallo father, here's Pecksniff! He gets more addle-pated


every day he lives, I do believe,' muttered Jonas, shaking his
honoured parent roundly. 'Don't I tell you Pecksniff's here,
stupid-head?'

The combined effects of the shaking and this loving remonstrance
soon awoke the old man, who gave Mr Pecksniff a chuckling welcome
which was attributable in part to his being glad to see that
gentleman, and in part to his unfading delight in the recollection
of having called him a hypocrite. As Mr Pecksniff had not yet taken
tea (indeed he had, but an hour before, arrived in London) the
remains of the late collation, with a rasher of bacon, were served
up for his entertainment; and as Mr Jonas had a business appointment
in the next street, he stepped out to keep it; promising to return
before Mr Pecksniff could finish his repast.

'And now, my good sir,' said Mr Pecksniff to Anthony; 'now that we
are alone, pray tell me what I can do for you. I say alone, because
I believe that our dear friend Mr Chuffey is, metaphysically
speaking, a--shall I say a dummy?' asked Mr Pecksniff with his
sweetest smile, and his head very much on one side.

'He neither hears us,' replied Anthony, 'nor sees us.'

'Why, then,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'I will be bold to say, with the
utmost sympathy for his afflictions, and the greatest admiration of
those excellent qualities which do equal honour to his head and to
his heart, that he is what is playfully termed a dummy. You were
going to observe, my dear sir--?'

'I was not going to make any observation that I know of,' replied
the old man.

'I was,' said Mr Pecksniff, mildly.

'Oh! YOU were? What was it?'

'That I never,' said Mr Pecksniff, previously rising to see that the
door was shut, and arranging his chair when he came back, so that it
could not be opened in the least without his immediately becoming
aware of the circumstance; 'that I never in my life was so
astonished as by the receipt of your letter yesterday. That you
should do me the honour to wish to take counsel with me on any
matter, amazed me; but that you should desire to do so, to the
exclusion even of Mr Jonas, showed an amount of confidence in one to
whom you had done a verbal injury--merely a verbal injury, you were
anxious to repair--which gratified, which moved, which overcame me.'

He was always a glib speaker, but he delivered this short address
very glibly; having been at some pains to compose it outside the
coach.

Although he paused for a reply, and truly said that he was there at
Anthony's request, the old man sat gazing at him in profound silence
and with a perfectly blank face. Nor did he seem to have the least
desire or impulse to pursue the conversation, though Mr Pecksniff
looked towards the door, and pulled out his watch, and gave him many
other hints that their time was short, and Jonas, if he kept his
word, would soon return. But the strangest incident in all this
strange behaviour was, that of a sudden, in a moment, so swiftly
that it was impossible to trace how, or to observe any process of
change, his features fell into their old expression, and he cried,
striking his hand passionately upon the table as if no interval at
all had taken place:


'Will you hold your tongue, sir, and let me speak?'

Mr Pecksniff deferred to him with a submissive bow; and said within
himself, 'I knew his hand was changed, and that his writing
staggered. I said so yesterday. Ahem! Dear me!'

'Jonas is sweet upon your daughter, Pecksniff,' said the old man, in
his usual tone.

'We spoke of that, if you remember, sir, at Mrs Todgers's,' replied
the courteous architect.

'You needn't speak so loud,' retorted Anthony. 'I'm not so deaf as
that.'

Mr Pecksniff had certainly raised his voice pretty high; not so much
because he thought Anthony was deaf, as because he felt convinced
that his perceptive faculties were waxing dim; but this quick
resentment of his considerate behaviour greatly disconcerted him,
and, not knowing what tack to shape his course upon, he made another
inclination of the head, yet more submissive that the last.

'I have said,' repeated the old man, 'that Jonas is sweet upon your
daughter.'

'A charming girl, sir,' murmured Mr Pecksniff, seeing that he waited
for an answer. 'A dear girl, Mr Chuzzlewit, though I say it, who
should not.'

'You know better,' cried the old man, advancing his weazen face at
least a yard, and starting forward in his chair to do it. 'You
lie! What, you WILL be a hypocrite, will you?'

'My good sir,' Mr Pecksniff began.

'Don't call me a good sir,' retorted Anthony, 'and don't claim to be
one yourself. If your daughter was what you would have me believe,
she wouldn't do for Jonas. Being what she is, I think she will. He
might be deceived in a wife. She might run riot, contract debts,
and waste his substance. Now when I am dead--'

His face altered so horribly as he said the word, that Mr Pecksniff
really was fain to look another way.

'--It will be worse for me to know of such doings, than if I was
alive; for to be tormented for getting that together, which even
while I suffer for its acquisition, is flung into the very kennels of
the streets, would be insupportable torture. No,' said the old man,
hoarsely, 'let that be saved at least; let there be something
gained, and kept fast hold of, when so much is lost.'

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit,' said Pecksniff, 'these are unwholesome
fancies; quite unnecessary, sir, quite uncalled for, I am sure. The
truth is, my dear sir, that you are not well!'

'Not dying though!' cried Anthony, with something like the snarl of
a wild animal. 'Not yet! There are years of life in me. Why, look
at him,' pointing to his feeble clerk. 'Death has no right to leave
him standing, and to mow me down!'

Mr Pecksniff was so much afraid of the old man, and so completely
taken aback by the state in which he found him, that he had not even
presence of mind enough to call up a scrap of morality from the
great storehouse within his own breast. Therefore he stammered out


that no doubt it was, in fairness and decency, Mr Chuffey's turn to
expire; and that from all he had heard of Mr Chuffey, and the little
he had the pleasure of knowing of that gentleman, personally, he
felt convinced in his own mind that he would see the propriety of
expiring with as little delay as possible.

'Come here!' said the old man, beckoning him to draw nearer. 'Jonas
will be my heir, Jonas will be rich, and a great catch for you. You
know that. Jonas is sweet upon your daughter.'

'I know that too,' thought Mr Pecksniff, 'for you have said it often
enough.'

'He might get more money than with her,' said the old man, 'but she
will help him to take care of what they have. She is not too young
or heedless, and comes of a good hard griping stock. But don't you
play too fine a game. She only holds him by a thread; and if you
draw it too tight (I know his temper) it'll snap. Bind him when
he's in the mood, Pecksniff; bind him. You're too deep. In your
way of leading him on, you'll leave him miles behind. Bah, you man
of oil, have I no eyes to see how you have angled with him from the
first?'

'Now I wonder,' thought Mr Pecksniff, looking at him with a wistful
face, 'whether this is all he has to say?'

Old Anthony rubbed his hands and muttered to himself; complained
again that he was cold; drew his chair before the fire; and, sitting
with his back to Mr Pecksniff, and his chin sunk down upon his
breast, was, in another minute, quite regardless or forgetful of his
presence.

Uncouth and unsatisfactory as this short interview had been, it had
furnished Mr Pecksniff with a hint which, supposing nothing further
were imparted to him, repaid the journey up and home again. For the
good gentleman had never (for want of an opportunity) dived into the
depths of Mr Jonas's nature; and any recipe for catching such a sonin-
law (much more one written on a leaf out of his own father's
book) was worth the having. In order that he might lose no chance
of improving so fair an opportunity by allowing Anthony to fall
asleep before he had finished all he had to say, Mr Pecksniff, in
the disposal of the refreshments on the table, a work to which he
now applied himself in earnest, resorted to many ingenious
contrivances for attracting his attention; such as coughing,
sneezing, clattering the teacups, sharpening the knives, dropping
the loaf, and so forth. But all in vain, for Mr Jonas returned, and
Anthony had said no more.

'What! My father asleep again?' he cried, as he hung up his hat, and
cast a look at him. 'Ah! and snoring. Only hear!'

'He snores very deep,' said Mr Pecksniff.

'Snores deep?' repeated Jonas. 'Yes; let him alone for that. He'll
snore for six, at any time.'

'Do you know, Mr Jonas,' said Pecksniff, 'that I think your father
is--don't let me alarm you--breaking?'

'Oh, is he though?' replied Jonas, with a shake of the head which
expressed the closeness of his dutiful observation. 'Ecod, you
don't know how tough he is. He ain't upon the move yet.'

'It struck me that he was changed, both in his appearance and


manner,' said Mr Pecksniff.

'That's all you know about it,' returned Jonas, seating himself with
a melancholy air. 'He never was better than he is now. How are
they all at home? How's Charity?'

'Blooming, Mr Jonas, blooming.'

'And the other one; how's she?'

'Volatile trifler!' said Mr Pecksniff, fondly musing. 'She is well,
she is well. Roving from parlour to bedroom, Mr Jonas, like a bee,
skimming from post to pillar, like the butterfly; dipping her young
beak into our currant wine, like the humming-bird! Ah! were she a
little less giddy than she is; and had she but the sterling
qualities of Cherry, my young friend!'

'Is she so very giddy, then?' asked Jonas.

'Well, well!' said Mr Pecksniff, with great feeling; 'let me not be
hard upon my child. Beside her sister Cherry she appears so. A
strange noise that, Mr Jonas!'

'Something wrong in the clock, I suppose,' said Jonas, glancing
towards it. 'So the other one ain't your favourite, ain't she?'

The fond father was about to reply, and had already summoned into
his face a look of most intense sensibility, when the sound he had
already noticed was repeated.

'Upon my word, Mr Jonas, that is a very extraordinary clock,' said
Pecksniff.

It would have been, if it had made the noise which startled them;
but another kind of time-piece was fast running down, and from that
the sound proceeded. A scream from Chuffey, rendered a hundred
times more loud and formidable by his silent habits, made the house
ring from roof to cellar; and, looking round, they saw Anthony
Chuzzlewit extended on the floor, with the old clerk upon his knees
beside him.

He had fallen from his chair in a fit, and lay there, battling for
each gasp of breath, with every shrivelled vein and sinew starting
in its place, as if it were bent on bearing witness to his age, and
sternly pleading with Nature against his recovery. It was frightful
to see how the principle of life, shut up within his withered frame,
fought like a strong devil, mad to be released, and rent its ancient
prison-house. A young man in the fullness of his vigour, struggling
with so much strength of desperation, would have been a dismal
sight; but an old, old, shrunken body, endowed with preternatural
might, and giving the lie in every motion of its every limb and
joint to its enfeebled aspect, was a hideous spectacle indeed.

They raised him up, and fetched a surgeon with all haste, who bled
the patient and applied some remedies; but the fits held him so long
that it was past midnight when they got him--quiet now, but quite
unconscious and exhausted--into bed.

'Don't go,' said Jonas, putting his ashy lips to Mr Pecksniff's ear
and whispered across the bed. 'It was a mercy you were present when
he was taken ill. Some one might have said it was my doing.'

'YOUR doing!' cried Mr Pecksniff.


'I don't know but they might,' he replied, wiping the moisture from
his white face. 'People say such things. How does he look now?'

Mr Pecksniff shook his head.

'I used to joke, you know,' said. Jonas: 'but I--I never wished him
dead. Do you think he's very bad?'

'The doctor said he was. You heard,' was Mr Pecksniff's answer.

'Ah! but he might say that to charge us more, in case of his getting
well' said Jonas. 'You mustn't go away, Pecksniff. Now it's come
to this, I wouldn't be without a witness for a thousand pound.'

Chuffey said not a word, and heard not a word. He had sat himself
down in a chair at the bedside, and there he remained, motionless;
except that he sometimes bent his head over the pillow, and seemed
to listen. He never changed in this. Though once in the dreary
night Mr Pecksniff, having dozed, awoke with a confused impression
that he had heard him praying, and strangely mingling figures--not
of speech, but arithmetic--with his broken prayers.

Jonas sat there, too, all night; not where his father could have
seen him, had his consciousness returned, but hiding, as it were,
behind him, and only reading how he looked, in Mr Pecksniff's eyes.
HE, the coarse upstart, who had ruled the house so long--that
craven cur, who was afraid to move, and shook so, that his very
shadow fluttered on the wall!

It was broad, bright, stirring day when, leaving the old clerk to
watch him, they went down to breakfast. People hurried up and down
the street; windows and doors were opened; thieves and beggars took
their usual posts; workmen bestirred themselves; tradesmen set forth
their shops; bailiffs and constables were on the watch; all kinds of
human creatures strove, in their several ways, as hard to live, as
the one sick old man who combated for every grain of sand in his
fast-emptying glass, as eagerly as if it were an empire.

'If anything happens Pecksniff,' said Jonas, 'you must promise me to
stop here till it's all over. You shall see that I do what's
right.'

'I know that you will do what's right, Mr Jonas,' said Pecksniff.

'Yes, yes, but I won't be doubted. No one shall have it in his
power to say a syllable against me,' he returned. 'I know how
people will talk. Just as if he wasn't old, or I had the secret of
keeping him alive!'

Mr Pecksniff promised that he would remain, if circumstances should
render it, in his esteemed friend's opinion, desirable; they were
finishing their meal in silence, when suddenly an apparition stood
before them, so ghastly to the view that Jonas shrieked aloud, and
both recoiled in horror.

Old Anthony, dressed in his usual clothes, was in the room--beside
the table. He leaned upon the shoulder of his solitary friend; and
on his livid face, and on his horny hands, and in his glassy eyes,
and traced by an eternal finger in the very drops of sweat upon his
brow, was one word--Death.

He spoke to them--in something of his own voice too, but sharpened
and made hollow, like a dead man's face. What he would have said,
God knows. He seemed to utter words, but they were such as man had


never heard. And this was the most fearful circumstance of all, to
see him standing there, gabbling in an unearthly tongue.

'He's better now,' said Chuffey. 'Better now. Let him sit in his
old chair, and he'll be well again. I told him not to mind. I said
so, yesterday.'

They put him in his easy-chair, and wheeled it near the window;
then, swinging open the door, exposed him to the free current of
morning air. But not all the air that is, nor all the winds that
ever blew 'twixt Heaven and Earth, could have brought new life to
him.

Plunge him to the throat in golden pieces now, and his heavy fingers
shall not close on one!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE READER IS BROUGHT INTO COMMUNICATION WITH SOME PROFESSIONAL
PERSONS, AND SHEDS A TEAR OVER THE FILAIL PIETY OF GOOD MR JONAS

Mr Pecksniff was in a hackney cabriolet, for Jonas Chuzzlewit had
said 'Spare no expense.' Mankind is evil in its thoughts and in its
base constructions, and Jonas was resolved it should not have an
inch to stretch into an ell against him. It never should be charged
upon his father's son that he had grudged the money for his father's
funeral. Hence, until the obsequies should be concluded, Jonas had
taken for his motto 'Spend, and spare not!'

Mr Pecksniff had been to the undertaker, and was now upon his way to
another officer in the train of mourning--a female functionary, a
nurse, and watcher, and performer of nameless offices about the
persons of the dead--whom he had recommended. Her name, as Mr
Pecksniff gathered from a scrap of writing in his hand, was Gamp;
her residence in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn. So Mr Pecksniff,
in a hackney cab, was rattling over Holborn stones, in quest of Mrs
Gamp.

This lady lodged at a bird-fancier's, next door but one to the
celebrated mutton-pie shop, and directly opposite to the original
cat's-meat warehouse; the renown of which establishments was duly
heralded on their respective fronts. It was a little house, and
this was the more convenient; for Mrs Gamp being, in her highest
walk of art, a monthly nurse, or, as her sign-board boldly had it,
'Midwife,' and lodging in the first-floor front, was easily
assailable at night by pebbles, walking-sticks, and fragments of
tobacco-pipe; all much more efficacious than the street-door
knocker, which was so constructed as to wake the street with ease,
and even spread alarms of fire in Holborn, without making the
smallest impression on the premises to which it was addressed.

It chanced on this particular occasion, that Mrs Gamp had been up
all the previous night, in attendance upon a ceremony to which the
usage of gossips has given that name which expresses, in two
syllables, the curse pronounced on Adam. It chanced that Mrs Gamp
had not been regularly engaged, but had been called in at a crisis,
in consequence of her great repute, to assist another professional
lady with her advice; and thus it happened that, all points of
interest in the case being over, Mrs Gamp had come home again to the
bird-fancier's and gone to bed. So when Mr Pecksniff drove up in
the hackney cab, Mrs Gamp's curtains were drawn close, and Mrs Gamp


was fast asleep behind them.

If the bird-fancier had been at home, as he ought to have been,
there would have been no great harm in this; but he was out, and his
shop was closed. The shutters were down certainly; and in every
pane of glass there was at least one tiny bird in a tiny bird-cage,
twittering and hopping his little ballet of despair, and knocking
his head against the roof; while one unhappy goldfinch who lived
outside a red villa with his name on the door, drew the water for
his own drinking, and mutely appealed to some good man to drop a
farthing's-worth of poison in it. Still, the door was shut. Mr
Pecksniff tried the latch, and shook it, causing a cracked bell
inside to ring most mournfully; but no one came. The bird-fancier
was an easy shaver also, and a fashionable hair-dresser also, and
perhaps he had been sent for, express, from the court end of the
town, to trim a lord, or cut and curl a lady; but however that might
be, there, upon his own ground, he was not; nor was there any more
distinct trace of him to assist the imagination of an inquirer, than
a professional print or emblem of his calling (much favoured in the
trade), representing a hair-dresser of easy manners curling a lady
of distinguished fashion, in the presence of a patent upright grand
pianoforte.

Noting these circumstances, Mr Pecksniff, in the innocence of his
heart, applied himself to the knocker; but at the first double knock
every window in the street became alive with female heads; and
before he could repeat the performance whole troops of married
ladies (some about to trouble Mrs Gamp themselves very shortly) came
flocking round the steps, all crying out with one accord, and with
uncommon interest, 'Knock at the winder, sir, knock at the winder.
Lord bless you, don't lose no more time than you can help--knock at
the winder!'

Acting upon this suggestion, and borrowing the driver's whip for the
purpose, Mr Pecksniff soon made a commotion among the first floor
flower-pots, and roused Mrs Gamp, whose voice--to the great
satisfaction of the matrons--was heard to say, 'I'm coming.'

'He's as pale as a muffin,' said one lady, in allusion to Mr
Pecksniff.

'So he ought to be, if he's the feelings of a man,' observed
another.

A third lady (with her arms folded) said she wished he had chosen
any other time for fetching Mrs Gamp, but it always happened so with
HER.

It gave Mr Pecksniff much uneasiness to find, from these remarks,
that he was supposed to have come to Mrs Gamp upon an errand
touching--not the close of life, but the other end. Mrs Gamp
herself was under the same impression, for, throwing open the
window, she cried behind the curtains, as she hastily attired
herself-


'Is it Mrs Perkins?'

'No!' returned Mr Pecksniff, sharply. 'Nothing of the sort.'

'What, Mr Whilks!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'Don't say it's you, Mr Whilks,
and that poor creetur Mrs Whilks with not even a pincushion ready.
Don't say it's you, Mr Whilks!'

'It isn't Mr Whilks,' said Pecksniff. 'I don't know the man.


Nothing of the kind. A gentleman is dead; and some person being
wanted in the house, you have been recommended by Mr Mould the
undertaker.'


As she was by this time in a condition to appear, Mrs Gamp, who had
a face for all occasions, looked out of the window with her mourning
countenance, and said she would be down directly. But the matrons
took it very ill that Mr Pecksniff's mission was of so unimportant a
kind; and the lady with her arms folded rated him in good round
terms, signifying that she would be glad to know what he meant by
terrifying delicate females 'with his corpses;' and giving it as her
opinion that he was quite ugly enough to know better. The other
ladies were not at all behind-hand in expressing similar sentiments;
and the children, of whom some scores had now collected, hooted
and defied Mr Pecksniff quite savagely. So when Mrs Gamp appeared,
the unoffending gentleman was glad to hustle her with very little
ceremony into the cabriolet, and drive off, overwhelmed with
popular execration.


Mrs Gamp had a large bundle with her, a pair of pattens, and a
species of gig umbrella; the latter article in colour like a faded
leaf, except where a circular patch of a lively blue had been
dexterously let in at the top. She was much flurried by the haste
she had made, and laboured under the most erroneous views of
cabriolets, which she appeared to confound with mail-coaches or
stage-wagons, inasmuch as she was constantly endeavouring for the
first half mile to force her luggage through the little front
window, and clamouring to the driver to 'put it in the boot.' When
she was disabused of this idea, her whole being resolved itself into
an absorbing anxiety about her pattens, with which she played
innumerable games at quoits on Mr Pecksniff's legs. It was not
until they were close upon the house of mourning that she had enough
composure to observe--


'And so the gentleman's dead, sir! Ah! The more's the pity.'
She didn't even know his name. 'But it's what we must all come to.
It's as certain as being born, except that we can't make our
calculations as exact. Ah! Poor dear!'


She was a fat old woman, this Mrs Gamp, with a husky voice and a
moist eye, which she had a remarkable power of turning up, and only
showing the white of it. Having very little neck, it cost her some
trouble to look over herself, if one may say so, at those to whom
she talked. She wore a very rusty black gown, rather the worse for
snuff, and a shawl and bonnet to correspond. In these dilapidated
articles of dress she had, on principle, arrayed herself, time out
of mind, on such occasions as the present; for this at once
expressed a decent amount of veneration for the deceased, and
invited the next of kin to present her with a fresher suit of weeds;
an appeal so frequently successful, that the very fetch and ghost of
Mrs Gamp, bonnet and all, might be seen hanging up, any hour in the
day, in at least a dozen of the second-hand clothes shops about
Holborn. The face of Mrs Gamp--the nose in particular--was somewhat
red and swollen, and it was difficult to enjoy her society without
becoming conscious of a smell of spirits. Like most persons who
have attained to great eminence in their profession, she took to
hers very kindly; insomuch that, setting aside her natural
predilections as a woman, she went to a lying-in or a laying-out
with equal zest and relish.


'Ah!' repeated Mrs Gamp; for it was always a safe sentiment in cases
of mourning. 'Ah dear! When Gamp was summoned to his long home, and
I see him a-lying in Guy's Hospital with a penny-piece on each eye,
and his wooden leg under his left arm, I thought I should have



fainted away. But I bore up.'

If certain whispers current in the Kingsgate Street circles had any
truth in them, she had indeed borne up surprisingly; and had exerted
such uncommon fortitude as to dispose of Mr Gamp's remains for the
benefit of science. But it should be added, in fairness, that this
had happened twenty years before; and that Mr and Mrs Gamp had long
been separated on the ground of incompatibility of temper in their
drink.

'You have become indifferent since then, I suppose?' said Mr
Pecksniff. 'Use is second nature, Mrs Gamp.'

'You may well say second nater, sir,' returned that lady. 'One's
first ways is to find sich things a trial to the feelings, and so is
one's lasting custom. If it wasn't for the nerve a little sip of
liquor gives me (I never was able to do more than taste it), I never
could go through with what I sometimes has to do. Mrs Harris I
says, at the very last case as ever I acted in, which it was but a
young person, Mrs Harris I says, leave the bottle on the
chimley-pieceand don't ask me to take nonebut let me put my lips
to it when I am so dispogedand then I will do what I'm engaged to
doaccording to the best of my ability." "Mrs Gamp she says, in
answer, if ever there was a sober creetur to be got at eighteen
pence a day for working peopleand three and six for gentlefolks-night
watching' said Mrs Gamp with emphasis, 'being a extra
charge--you are that inwallable person." "Mrs Harris I says to
her, don't name the chargefor if I could afford to lay all my
feller creeturs out for nothinkI would gladly do itsich is the
love I bears 'em. But what I always says to them as has the
management of mattersMrs Harris"'--here she kept her eye on Mr
Pecksniff--'"be they gents or be they ladiesisdon't ask me
whether I won't take noneor whether I willbut leave the bottle
on the chimley-pieceand let me put my lips to it when I am so
dispoged."'

The conclusion of this affecting narrative brought them to the
house. In the passage they encountered Mr Mould the undertaker; a
little elderly gentlemanbaldand in a suit of black; with a
notebook in his handa massive gold watch-chain dangling from his
foband a face in which a queer attempt at melancholy was at odds
with a smirk of satisfaction; so that he looked as a man mightwho
in the very act of smacking his lips over choice old winetried to
make believe it was physic.

'WellMrs Gampand how are YOUMrs Gamp?' said this gentlemanin
a voice as soft as his step.

'Pretty wellI thank yousir' dropping a curtsey.

'You'll be very particular hereMrs Gamp. This is not a common
caseMrs Gamp. Let everything be very nice and comfortableMrs
Gampif you please' said the undertakershaking his head with a
solemn air.

'It shall besir' she repliedcurtseying again. 'You knows me of
oldsirI hope.'

'I hope sotooMrs Gamp' said the undertaker. 'and I think so
also.' Mrs Gamp curtseyed again. 'This is one of the most
impressive casessir' he continuedaddressing Mr Pecksniff'that
I have seen in the whole course of my professional experience.'

'IndeedMr Mould!' cried that gentleman.


'Such affectionate regretsirI never saw. There is no
limitationthere is positively NO limitation'--opening his eyes
wideand standing on tiptoe--'in point of expense! I have orders
sirto put on my whole establishment of mutes; and mutes come very
dearMr Pecksniff; not to mention their drink. To provide silverplated
handles of the very best descriptionornamented with angels'
heads from the most expensive dies. To be perfectly profuse in
feathers. In shortsirto turn out something absolutely gorgeous.'

'My friend Mr Jonas is an excellent man' said Mr Pecksniff.

'I have seen a good deal of what is filial in my timesir'
retorted Mould'and what is unfilial too. It is our lot. We come
into the knowledge of those secrets. But anything so filial as
this; anything so honourable to human nature; so calculated to
reconcile all of us to the world we live in; never yet came under my
observation. It only provessirwhat was so forcibly observed by
the lamented theatrical poet--buried at Stratford--that there is
good in everything.'

'It is very pleasant to hear you say soMr Mould' observed
Pecksniff.

'You are very kindsir. And what a man Mr Chuzzlewit wassir! Ah!
what a man he was. You may talk of your lord mayors' said Mould
waving his hand at the public in general'your sheriffsyour
common councilmenyour trumpery; but show me a man in this city who
is worthy to walk in the shoes of the departed Mr Chuzzlewit. No
no' cried Mouldwith bitter sarcasm. 'Hang 'em uphang 'em up;
sole 'em and heel 'emand have 'em ready for his son against he's
old enough to wear 'em; but don't try 'em on yourselvesfor they
won't fit you. We knew him' said Mouldin the same biting vein
as he pocketed his note-book; 'we knew himand are not to be
caught with chaff. Mr Pecksniffsirgood morning.'

Mr Pecksniff returned the compliment; and Mouldsensible of having
distinguished himselfwas going away with a brisk smilewhen he
fortunately remembered the occasion. Quickly becoming depressed
againhe sighed; looked into the crown of his hatas if for
comfort; put it on without finding any; and slowly departed.

Mrs Gamp and Mr Pecksniff then ascended the staircase; and the
formerhaving been shown to the chamber in which all that remained
of Anthony Chuzzlewit lay covered upwith but one loving heartand
that a halting oneto mourn itleft the latter free to enter the
darkened room belowand rejoin Mr Jonasfrom whom he had now been
absent nearly two hours.

He found that example to bereaved sonsand pattern in the eyes of
all performers of funeralsmusing over a fragment of writing-paper
on the deskand scratching figures on it with a pen. The old man's
chairand hatand walking-stickwere removed from their
accustomed placesand put out of sight; the window-blinds as yellow
as November fogswere drawn down close; Jonas himself was so
subduedthat he could scarcely be heard to speakand only seen to
walk across the room.

'Pecksniff' he saidin a whisper'you shall have the regulation
of it allmind! You shall be able to tell anybody who talks about
it that everything was correctly and nicely done. There isn't any
one you'd like to ask to the funeralis there?'

'NoMr JonasI think not.'


'Because if there isyou know' said Jonas'ask him. We don't
want to make a secret of it.'

'No' repeated Mr Pecksniffafter a little reflection. 'I am not
the less obliged to you on that accountMr Jonasfor your liberal
hospitality; but there really is no one.'

'Very well' said Jonas; 'then youand Iand Chuffeyand the
doctorwill be just a coachful. We'll have the doctorPecksniff
because he knows what was the matter with himand that it couldn't
be helped.'

'Where is our dear friendMr Chuffey?' asked Pecksnifflooking
round the chamberand winking both his eyes at once--for he was
overcome by his feelings.

But here he was interrupted by Mrs Gampwhodivested of her bonnet
and shawlcame sidling and bridling into the room; and with some
sharpness demanded a conference outside the door with Mr Pecksniff.

'You may say whatever you wish to say hereMrs Gamp' said that
gentlemanshaking his head with a melancholy expression.

'It is not much as I have to say when people is a-mourning for the
dead and gone' said Mrs Gamp; 'but what I have to say is TO the
pint and purposeand no offence intendedmust be so considered. I
have been at a many places in my timegentlemenand I hope I knows
what my duties isand how the same should be performed; in course
if I did notit would be very strangeand very wrong in sich a
gentleman as Mr Mouldwhich has undertook the highest families in
this landand given every satisfactionso to recommend me as he
does. I have seen a deal of trouble my own self' said Mrs Gamp
laying greater and greater stress upon her words'and I can feel
for them as has their feelings triedbut I am not a Rooshan or a
Prooshanand consequently cannot suffer Spies to be set over me.'

Before it was possible that an answer could be returnedMrs Gamp
growing redder in the facewent on to say:

'It is not a easy mattergentlemento live when you are left a
widder woman; particular when your feelings works upon you to that
extent that you often find yourself a-going out on terms which is a
certain lossand never can repay. But in whatever way you earns
your breadyou may have rules and regulations of your own which
cannot be broke through. Some people' said Mrs Gampagain
entrenching herself behind her strong pointas if it were not
assailable by human ingenuity'may be Rooshansand others may be
Prooshans; they are born soand will please themselves. Them which
is of other naturs thinks different.'

'If I understand this good lady' said Mr Pecksniffturning to
Jonas'Mr Chuffey is troublesome to her. Shall I fetch him down?'

'Do' said Jonas. 'I was going to tell you he was up therewhen
she came in. I'd go myself and bring him downonly--only I'd
rather you wentif you don't mind.'

Mr Pecksniff promptly departedfollowed by Mrs Gampwhoseeing
that he took a bottle and glass from the cupboardand carried it in
his handwas much softened.

'I am sure' she said'that if it wasn't for his own happinessI
should no more mind him being therepoor dearthan if he was a


fly. But them as isn't used to these thingsthinks so much of 'em
afterwardsthat it's a kindness to 'em not to let 'em have their
wish. And even' said Mrs Gampprobably in reference to some
flowers of speech she had already strewn on Mr Chuffey'even if one
calls 'em namesit's only done to rouse 'em.'

Whatever epithets she had bestowed on the old clerkthey had not
roused HIM. He sat beside the bedin the chair he had occupied all
the previous nightwith his hands folded before himand his head
bowed down; and neither looked upon their entrancenor gave any
sign of consciousnessuntil Mr Pecksniff took him by the armwhen
he meekly rose.

'Three score and ten' said Chuffey'ought and carry seven. Some
men are so strong that they live to four score--four times ought's
an oughtfour times two's an eight--eighty. Oh! why--why--why
didn't he live to four times ought's an oughtand four times two's
an eighteighty?'

'Ah! what a wale of grief!' cried Mrs Gamppossessing herself of
the bottle and glass.

'Why did he die before his poor old crazy servant?' said Chuffey
clasping his hands and looking up in anguish. 'Take him from me
and what remains?'

'Mr Jonas' returned Pecksniff'Mr Jonasmy good friend.'

'I loved him' cried the old manweeping. 'He was good to me. We
learnt Tare and Tret together at school. I took him down oncesix
boys in the arithmetic class. God forgive me! Had I the heart to
take him down!'

'ComeMr Chuffey' said Pecksniff. 'Come with me. Summon up your
fortitudeMr Chuffey.'

'YesI will' returned the old clerk. 'Yes. I'll sum up my forty
--How many times forty--OhChuzzlewit and Son--Your own son Mr
Chuzzlewit; your own sonsir!'

He yielded to the hand that guided himas he lapsed into this
familiar expressionand submitted to be led away. Mrs Gampwith
the bottle on one kneeand the glass on the othersat upon a
stoolshaking her head for a long timeuntilin a moment of
abstractionshe poured out a dram of spiritsand raised it to her
lips. It was succeeded by a secondand by a thirdand then her
eyes--either in the sadness of her reflections upon life and death
or in her admiration of the liquor--were so turned upas to be
quite invisible. But she shook her head still.

Poor Chuffey was conducted to his accustomed cornerand there he
remainedsilent and quietsave at long intervalswhen he would
riseand walk about the roomand wring his handsor raise some
strange and sudden cry. For a whole week they all three sat about
the hearth and never stirred abroad. Mr Pecksniff would have walked
out in the evening timebut Mr Jonas was so averse to his being
absent for a minutethat he abandoned the ideaand sofrom
morning until nightthey brooded together in the dark roomwithout
relief or occupation.

The weight of that which was stretched outstiff and starkin the
awful chamber above-stairsso crushed and bore down Jonasthat he
bent beneath the load. During the whole long seven days and nights
he was always oppressed and haunted by a dreadful sense of its


presence in the house. Did the door movehe looked towards it with
a livid face and starting eyeas if he fully believed that ghostly
fingers clutched the handle. Did the fire fiicker in a draught of
airhe glanced over his shoulderas almost dreading to behold some
shrouded figure fanning and flapping at it with its fearful dress.
The lightest noise disturbed him; and oncein the nightat the
sound of a footstep overheadhe cried out that the dead man was
walking--tramptramptramp--about his coffin.

He lay at night upon a mattress on the floor of the sitting-room;
his own chamber having been assigned to Mrs Gamp; and Mr Pecksniff
was similarly accommodated. The howling of a dog before the house
filled him with a terror he could not disguise. He avoided the
reflection in the opposite windows of the light that burned above
as though it had been an angry eye. He oftenin every nightrose
up from his fitful sleepand looked and longed for dawn; all
directions and arrangementseven to the ordering of their daily
mealshe abandoned to Mr Pecksniff. That excellent gentleman
deeming that the mourner wanted comfortand that high feeding was
likely to do him infinite serviceavailed himself of these
opportunities to such good purposethat they kept quite a dainty
table during this melancholy season; with sweetbreadsstewed
kidneysoystersand other such light viands for supper every
night; over whichand sundry jorums of hot punchMr Pecksniff
delivered such moral reflections and spiritual consolation as might
have converted a Heathen--especially if he had had but an imperfect
acquaintance with the English tongue.

Nor did Mr Pecksniff alone indulge in the creature comforts during
this sad time. Mrs Gamp proved to be very choice in her eatingand
repudiated hashed mutton with scorn. In her drinking tooshe was
very punctual and particularrequiring a pint of mild porter at
luncha pint at dinnerhalf-a-pint as a species of stay or
holdfast between dinner and teaand a pint of the celebrated
staggering aleor Real Old Brighton Tipperat supper; besides the
bottle on the chimney-pieceand such casual invitations to refresh
herself with wine as the good breeding of her employers might prompt
them to offer. In like mannerMr Mould's men found it necessary to
drown their grieflike a young kitten in the morning of its
existencefor which reason they generally fuddled themselves before
they began to do anythinglest it should make head and get the
better of them. In shortthe whole of that strange week was a
round of dismal joviality and grim enjoyment; and every oneexcept
poor Chuffeywho came within the shadow of Anthony Chuzzlewit's
gravefeasted like a Ghoul.

At length the day of the funeralpious and truthful ceremony that
it wasarrived. Mr Mouldwith a glass of generous port between
his eye and the lightleaned against the desk in the little glass
office with his gold watch in his unoccupied handand conversed
with Mrs Gamp; two mutes were at the house-doorlooking as mournful
as could be reasonably expected of men with such a thriving job in
hand; the whole of Mr Mould's establishment were on duty within the
house or without; feathers wavedhorses snortedsilk and velvets
fluttered; in a wordas Mr Mould emphatically said'Everything
that money could do was done.'

'And what can do moreMrs Gamp?' exclaimed the undertaker as he
emptied his glass and smacked his lips.

'Nothing in the worldsir.'

'Nothing in the world' repeated Mr Mould. 'You are right
Mrs.Gamp. Why do people spend more money'--here he filled his glass


again--'upon a deathMrs Gampthan upon a birth? Comethat's in
your way; you ought to know. How do you account for that now?'

'Perhaps it is because an undertaker's charges comes dearer than a
nurse's chargessir' said Mrs Gamptitteringand smoothing down
her new black dress with her hands.

'Haha!' laughed Mr Mould. 'You have been breakfasting at
somebody's expense this morningMrs Gamp.' But seeingby the aid
of a little shaving-glass which hung oppositethat he looked merry
he composed his features and became sorrowful.

'Many's the time that I've not breakfasted at my own expense along
of your recommendingsir; and many's the time I hope to do the
same in time to come' said Mrs Gampwith an apologetic curtsey.

'So be it' replied Mr Mould'please Providence. NoMrs Gamp;
I'll tell you why it is. It's because the laying out of money with
a well-conducted establishmentwhere the thing is performed upon the
very best scalebinds the broken heartand sheds balm upon the
wounded spirit. Hearts want bindingand spirits want balming when
people die; not when people are born. Look at this gentleman today;
look at him.'

'An open-handed gentleman?' cried Mrs Gampwith enthusiasm.

'Nono' said the undertaker; 'not an open-handed gentleman in
generalby any means. There you mistake him; but an afflicted
gentlemanan affectionate gentlemanwho knows what it is in the
power of money to doin giving him reliefand in testifying his
love and veneration for the departed. It can give him' said Mr
Mouldwaving his watch-chain slowly round and roundso that he
described one circle after every item; 'it can give him four horses
to each vehicle; it can give him velvet trappings; it can give him
drivers in cloth cloaks and top-boots; it can give him the plumage
of the ostrichdyed black; it can give him any number of walking
attendantsdressed in the first style of funeral fashionand
carrying batons tipped with brass; it can give him a handsome tomb;
it can give him a place in Westminster Abbey itselfif he choose to
invest it in such a purchase. Oh! do not let us say that gold is
drosswhen it can buy such things as theseMrs Gamp.'

'But what a blessingsir' said Mrs Gamp'that there are such as
youto sell or let 'em out on hire!'

'AyeMrs Gampyou are right' rejoined the undertaker. 'We should
be an honoured calling. We do good by stealthand blush to have it
mentioned in our little bills. How much consolation may I--even I'
cried Mr Mould'have diffused among my fellow-creatures by means of
my four long-tailed prancersnever harnessed under ten pund ten!'

Mrs Gamp had begun to make a suitable replywhen she was
interrupted by the appearance of one of Mr Mould's assistants--his
chief mourner in fact--an obese personwith his waistcoat in closer
connection with his legs than is quite reconcilable with the
established ideas of grace; with that cast of feature which is
figuratively called a bottle nose; and with a face covered all over
with pimples. He had been a tender plant once upon a timebut from
constant blowing in the fat atmosphere of funeralshad run to seed.

'WellTacker' said Mr Mould'is all ready below?'

'A beautiful showsir' rejoined Tacker. 'The horses are prouder
and fresher than ever I see 'em; and toss their headsthey doas


if they knowed how much their plumes cost. Onetwothreefour'
said Mr Tackerheaping that number of black cloaks upon his left
arm.

'Is Tom therewith the cake and wine?' asked Mr Mould.

'Ready to come in at a moment's noticesir' said Tacker.

'Then' rejoined Mr Mouldputting up his watchand glancing at
himself in the little shaving-glassthat he might be sure his face
had the right expression on it; 'then I think we may proceed to
business. Give me the paper of glovesTacker. Ahwhat a man he
was! AhTackerTackerwhat a man he was!'

Mr Tackerwho from his great experience in the performance of
funeralswould have made an excellent pantomime actorwinked at
Mrs Gamp without at all disturbing the gravity of his countenance
and followed his master into the next room.

It was a great point with Mr Mouldand a part of his professional
tactnot to seem to know the doctor; though in reality they were
near neighboursand very oftenas in the present instanceworked
together. So he advanced to fit on his black kid gloves as if he
had never seen him in all his life; while the doctoron his part
looked as distant and unconscious as if he had heard and read of
undertakersand had passed their shopsbut had never before been
brought into communication with one.

'Gloveseh?' said the doctor. 'Mr Pecksniff after you.'

'I couldn't think of it' returned Mr Pecksniff.

'You are very good' said the doctortaking a pair. 'Wellsiras
I was saying--I was called up to attend that case at about half-past
one o'clock. Cake and wineeh? Which is port? Thank you.'

Mr Pecksniff took some also.

'At about half-past one o'clock in the morningsir' resumed the
doctor'I was called up to attend that case. At the first pull of
the night-bell I turned outthrew up the windowand put out my
head. Cloakeh? Don't tie it too tight. That'll do.'

Mr Pecksniff having been likewise inducted into a similar garment
the doctor resumed.

'And put out my head--hateh? My good friendthat is not mine.
Mr PecksniffI beg your pardonbut I think we have unintentionally
made an exchange. Thank you. WellsirI was going to tell you--'

'We are quite ready' interrupted Mould in a low voice.

'Readyeh?' said the doctor. 'Very goodMr PecksniffI'll take
an opportunity of relating the rest in the coach. It's rather
curious. Readyeh? No rainI hope?'

'Quite fairsir' returned Mould.

'I was afraid the ground would have been wet' said the doctor'for
my glass fell yesterday. We may congratulate ourselves upon our
good fortune.' But seeing by this time that Mr Jonas and Chuffey
were going out at the doorhe put a white pocket-handkerchief to
his face as if a violent burst of grief had suddenly come upon him
and walked down side by side with Mr Pecksniff.


Mr Mould and his men had not exaggerated the grandeur of the
arrangements. They were splendid. The four hearse-horses
especiallyreared and prancedand showed their highest actionas
if they knew a man was deadand triumphed in it. 'They break us
drive usride us; ill-treatabuseand maim us for their
pleasure--But they die; Hurrahthey die!'

So through the narrow streets and winding city wayswent Anthony
Chuzzlewit's funeral; Mr Jonas glancing stealthily out of the coachwindow
now and thento observe its effect upon the crowd; Mr Mould
as he walked alonglistening with a sober pride to the exclamations
of the bystanders; the doctor whispering his story to Mr Pecksniff
without appearing to come any nearer the end of it; and poor old
Chuffey sobbing unregarded in a corner. But he had greatly
scandalized Mr Mould at an early stage of the ceremony by carrying
his handkerchief in his hat in a perfectly informal mannerand
wiping his eyes with his knuckles. And as Mr Mould himself had said
alreadyhis behaviour was indecentand quite unworthy of such an
occasion; and he never ought to have been there.

There he washowever; and in the churchyard there he wasalso
conducting himself in a no less unbecoming mannerand leaning for
support on Tackerwho plainly told him that he was fit for nothing
better than a walking funeral. But ChuffeyHeaven help him! heard
no sound but the echoeslingering in his own heartof a voice for
ever silent.

'I loved him' cried the old mansinking down upon the grave when
all was done. 'He was very good to me. Ohmy dear old friend and
master!'

'ComecomeMr Chuffey' said the doctor'this won't do; it's a
clayey soilMr Chuffey. You mustn'treally.'

'If it had been the commonest thing we doand Mr Chuffey had been a
Bearergentlemen' said Mouldcasting an imploring glance upon
themas he helped to raise him'he couldn't have gone on worse
than this.'

'Be a manMr Chuffey' said Pecksniff.

'Be a gentlemanMr Chuffey' said Mould.

'Upon my wordmy good friend' murmured the doctorin a tone of
stately reproofas he stepped up to the old man's side'this is
worse than weakness. This is badselfishvery wrongMr Chuffey.
You should take example from othersmy good sir. You forget that
you were not connected by ties of blood with our deceased friend;
and that he had a very near and very dear relationMr Chuffey.'

'Ayehis own son!' cried the old manclasping his hands with
remarkable passion. 'His ownownonly son!'

'He's not right in his headyou know' said Jonasturning pale.
'You're not to mind anything he says. I shouldn't wonder if he was
to talk some precious nonsense. But don't you mind himany of you.
I don't. My father left him to my charge; and whatever he says or
doesthat's enough. I'll take care of him.'

A hum of admiration rose from the mourners (including Mr Mould and
his merry men) at this new instance of magnanimity and kind feeling
on the part of Jonas. But Chuffey put it to the test no farther.
He said not a word moreand being left to himself for a little


whilecrept back again to the coach.

It has been said that Mr Jonas turned pale when the behaviour of the
old clerk attracted general attention; his discomposurehowever
was but momentaryand he soon recovered. But these were not the
only changes he had exhibited that day. The curious eyes of Mr
Pecksniff had observed that as soon as they left the house upon
their mournful errandhe began to mend; that as the ceremonies
proceeded he graduallyby little and littlerecovered his old
conditionhis old lookshis old bearinghis old agreeable
characteristics of speech and mannerand becamein all respects
his old pleasant self. And now that they were seated in the coach
on their return home; and more when they got thereand found the
windows openthe light and air admittedand all traces of the late
event removed; he felt so well convinced that Jonas was again the
Jonas he had known a week agoand not the Jonas of the intervening
timethat he voluntarily gave up his recently-acquired power
without one faint attempt to exercise itand at once fell back into
his former position of mild and deferential guest.

Mrs Gamp went home to the bird-fancier'sand was knocked up again
that very night for a birth of twins; Mr Mould dined gayly in the
bosom of his familyand passed the evening facetiously at his club;
the hearseafter standing for a long time at the door of a
roistering public-houserepaired to its stables with the feathers
inside and twelve red-nosed undertakers on the roofeach holding on
by a dingy pegto whichin times of statea waving plume was
fitted; the various trappings of sorrow were carefully laid by in
presses for the next hirer; the fiery steeds were quenched and quiet
in their stalls; the doctor got merry with wine at a wedding-dinner
and forgot the middle of the story which had no end to it; the
pageant of a few short hours ago was written nowhere half so legibly
as in the undertaker's books.

Not in the churchyard? Not even there. The gates were closed; the
night was dark and wet; the rain fell silentlyamong the stagnant
weeds and nettles. One new mound was there which had not been there
last night. Timeburrowing like a mole below the groundhad
marked his track by throwing up another heap of earth. And that was
all.

CHAPTER TWENTY

IS A CHAPTER OF LOVE

'Pecksniff' said Jonastaking off his hatto see that the black
crape band was all right; and finding that it wasputting it on
againcomplacently; 'what do you mean to give your daughters when
they marry?'

'My dear Mr Jonas' cried the affectionate parentwith an ingenuous
smile'what a very singular inquiry!'

'Nowdon't you mind whether it's a singular inquiry or a plural
one' retorted Jonaseyeing Mr Pecksniff with no great favour'but
answer itor let it alone. One or the other.'

'Hum! The questionmy dear friend' said Mr Pecksnifflaying his
hand tenderly upon his kinsman's knee'is involved with many
considerations. What would I give them? Eh?'


'Ah! what would you give 'em?' repeated Jonas.

'Whythat'said Mr Pecksniff'would naturally depend in a great
measure upon the kind of husbands they might choosemy dear young
friend.'

Mr Jonas was evidently disconcertedand at a loss how to proceed.
It was a good answer. It seemed a deep onebut such is the wisdom
of simplicity!'

'My standard for the merits I would require in a son-in-law' said
Mr Pecksniffafter a short silence'is a high one. Forgive memy
dear Mr Jonas' he addedgreatly moved'if I say that you have
spoiled meand made it a fanciful one; an imaginative one; a
prismatically tinged oneif I may be permitted to call it so.'

'What do you mean by that?' growled Jonaslooking at him with
increased disfavour.

'Indeedmy dear friend' said Mr Pecksniff'you may well inquire.
The heart is not always a royal mintwith patent machinery to work
its metal into current coin. Sometimes it throws it out in strange
formsnot easily recognized as coin at all. But it is sterling
gold. It has at least that merit. It is sterling gold.'

'Is it?' grumbled Jonaswith a doubtful shake of the head.

'Aye!' said Mr Pecksniffwarming with his subject 'it is. To be
plain with youMr Jonasif I could find two such sons-in-law as
you will one day make to some deserving mancapable of appreciating
a nature such as yoursI would--forgetful of myself--bestow upon my
daughters portions reaching to the very utmost limit of my means.'

This was strong languageand it was earnestly delivered. But who
can wonder that such a man as Mr Pecksniffafter all he had seen
and heard of Mr Jonasshould be strong and earnest upon such a
theme; a theme that touched even the worldly lips of undertakers
with the honey of eloquence!

Mr Jonas was silentand looked thoughtfully at the landscape. For
they were seated on the outside of the coachat the backand were
travelling down into the country. He accompanied Mr Pecksniff home
for a few days' change of air and scene after his recent trials.

'Well' he saidat lastwith captivating bluntness'suppose you
got one such son-in-law as mewhat then?'

Mr Pecksniff regarded him at first with inexpressible surprise; then
gradually breaking into a sort of dejected vivacitysaid:

'Then well I know whose husband he would be!'

'Whose?' asked Jonasdrily.

'My eldest girl'sMr Jonas' replied Pecksniffwith moistening
eyes. 'My dear Cherry's; my staffmy scripmy treasureMr Jonas.
A hard strugglebut it is in the nature of things! I must one day
part with her to a husband. I know itmy dear friend. I am
prepared for it.'

'Ecod! you've been prepared for that a pretty long timeI should
think' said Jonas.

'Many have sought to bear her from me' said Mr Pecksniff. 'All


have failed. "I never will give my handpapa"--those were her
words--"unless my heart is won." She has not been quite so happy as
she used to beof late. I don't know why.'

Again Mr Jonas looked at the landscape; then at the coachman; then
at the luggage on the roof; finally at Mr Pecksniff.

'I suppose you'll have to part with the other onesome of these
days?' he observedas he caught that gentleman's eye.

'Probably' said the parent. 'Years will tame down the wildness of
my foolish birdand then it will be caged. But CherryMr Jonas
Cherry--'

'Ohah!' interrupted Jonas. 'Years have made her all right enough.
Nobody doubts that. But you haven't answered what I asked you. Of
courseyou're not obliged to do ityou knowif you don't like.
You're the best judge.'

There was a warning sulkiness in the manner of this speechwhich
admonished Mr Pecksniff that his dear friend was not to be trifled
with or fenced offand that he must either return a straightforward
reply to his questionor plainly give him to understand
that he declined to enlighten him upon the subject to which it
referred. Mindful in this dilemma of the caution old Anthony had
given him almost with his latest breathhe resolved to speak to the
pointand so told Mr Jonas (enlarging upon the communication as a
proof of his great attachment and confidence)that in the case he
had put; to witin the event of such a man as he proposing for his
daughter's handhe would endow her with a fortune of four thousand
pounds.

'I should sadly pinch and cramp myself to do so' was his fatherly
remark; 'but that would be my dutyand my conscience would reward
me. For myselfmy conscience is my bank. I have a trifle invested
there--a mere trifleMr Jonas--but I prize it as a store of value
I assure you.'

The good man's enemies would have divided upon this question into
two parties. One would have asserted without scruple that if Mr
Pecksniff's conscience were his bankand he kept a running account
therehe must have overdrawn it beyond all mortal means of
computation. The other would have contended that it was a mere
fictitious form; a perfectly blank book; or one in which entries
were only made with a peculiar kind of invisible ink to become
legible at some indefinite time; and that he never troubled it at
all.

'It would sadly pinch and cramp memy dear friend' repeated Mr
Pecksniff'but Providence--perhaps I may be permitted to say a
special Providence--has blessed my endeavoursand I could guarantee
to make the sacrifice.'

A question of philosophy arises herewhether Mr Pecksniff had or
had not good reason to say that he was specially patronized and
encouraged in his undertakings. All his life long he had been
walking up and down the narrow ways and by-placeswith a hook in
one hand and a crook in the otherscraping all sorts of valuable
odds and ends into his pouch. Nowthere being a special Providence
in the fall of a sparrowit follows (so Mr Pecksniffand only
such admirable menwould have reasoned)that there must also
be a special Providence in the alighting of the stone or stick
or other substance which is aimed at the sparrow. And Mr
Pecksniff's hookor crookhaving invariably knocked the sparrow


on the head and brought him downthat gentleman may have been
led to consider himself as specially licensed to bag sparrows
and as being specially seized and possessed of all the birds he
had got together. That many undertakingsnational as well as
individual--but especially the former--are held to be specially
brought to a glorious and successful issuewhich never could be
so regarded on any other process of reasoningmust be clear to
all men. Therefore the precedents would seem to show that Mr
Pecksniff had (as things go) good argument for what he said and
might be permitted to say itand did not say it presumptuously
vainlyor arrogantlybut in a spirit of high faith and great
wisdom.

Mr Jonasnot being much accustomed to perplex his mind with
theories of this natureexpressed no opinion on the subject. Nor
did he receive his companion's announcement with one solitary
syllablegoodbador indifferent. He preserved this taciturnity
for a quarter of an hour at leastand during the whole of that time
appeared to be steadily engaged in subjecting some given amount to
the operation of every known rule in figures; adding to ittaking
from itmultiplying itreducing it by long and short division;
working it by the rule-of-three direct and inversed; exchange or
barter; practice; simple interest; compound interest; and other
means of arithmetical calculation. The result of these labours
appeared to be satisfactoryfor when he did break silenceit
was as one who had arrived at some specific resultand freed
himself from a state of distressing uncertainty.

'Comeold Pecksniff!'--Such was his jocose addressas he slapped
that gentleman on the backat the end of the stage--'let's have
something!'

'With all my heart' said Mr Pecksniff.

'Let's treat the driver' cried Jonas.

'If you think it won't hurt the manor render him discontented with
his station--certainly' faltered Mr Pecksniff.

Jonas only laughed at thisand getting down from the coach-top with
great alacritycut a cumbersome kind of caper in the road. After
whichhe went into the public-houseand there ordered spirituous
drink to such an extentthat Mr Pecksniff had some doubts of his
perfect sanityuntil Jonas set them quite at rest by sayingwhen
the coach could wait no longer:

'I've been standing treat for a whole week and moreand letting you
have all the delicacies of the season. YOU shall pay for this
Pecksniff.' It was not a joke eitheras Mr Pecksniff at first
supposed; for he went off to the coach without further ceremonyand
left his respected victim to settle the bill.

But Mr Pecksniff was a man of meek enduranceand Mr Jonas was his
friend. Moreoverhis regard for that gentleman was foundedas we
knowon pure esteemand a knowledge of the excellence of his
character. He came out from the tavern with a smiling faceand
even went so far as to repeat the performanceon a less expensive
scaleat the next ale-house. There was a certain wildness in the
spirits of Mr Jonas (not usually a part of his character) which was
far from being subdued by these meansandfor the rest of the
journeyhe was so very buoyant--it may be saidboisterous--that Mr
Pecksniff had some difficulty in keeping pace with him.

They were not expected--oh dearno! Mr Pecksniff had proposed in


London to give the girls a surpriseand had said he wouldn't write
a word to prepare them on any accountin order that he and Mr Jonas
might take them unawaresand just see what they were doingwhen
they thought their dear papa was miles and miles away. As a
consequence of this playful devicethere was nobody to meet them at
the finger-postbut that was of small consequencefor they had
come down by the day coachand Mr Pecksniff had only a carpetbag
while Mr Jonas had only a portmanteau. They took the portmanteau
between themput the bag upon itand walked off up the lane
without delay; Mr Pecksniff already going on tiptoe as ifwithout
this precautionhis fond childrenbeing then at a distance of a
couple of miles or sowould have some filial sense of his approach.

It was a lovely evening in the spring-time of the year; and in the
soft stillness of the twilightall nature was very calm and
beautiful. The day had been fine and warm; but at the coming on of
nightthe air grew cooland in the mellowing distance smoke was
rising gently from the cottage chimneys. There were a thousand
pleasant scents diffused aroundfrom young leaves and fresh buds;
the cuckoo had been singing all day longand was but just now
hushed; the smell of earth newly-upturnedfirst breath of hope to
the first labourer after his garden witheredwas fragrant in the
evening breeze. It was a time when most men cherish good resolves
and sorrow for the wasted past; when most menlooking on the
shadows as they gatherthink of that evening which must close on
alland that to-morrow which has none beyond.

'Precious dull' said Mr Jonaslooking about. 'It's enough to make
a man go melancholy mad.'

'We shall have lights and a fire soon' observed Mr Pecksniff.

'We shall need 'em by the time we get there' said Jonas. 'Why the
devil don't you talk? What are you thinking of?'

'To tell you the truthMr Jonas' said Pecksniff with great
solemnity'my mind was running at that moment on our late dear
friendyour departed father.'

Mr Jonas immediately let his burden falland saidthreatening him
with his hand:

'Drop thatPecksniff!'

Mr Pecksniff not exactly knowing whether allusion was made to the
subject or the portmanteaustared at his friend in unaffected
surprise.

'Drop itI say!' cried Jonasfiercely. 'Do you hear? Drop it
now and for ever. You had betterI give you notice!'

'It was quite a mistake' urged Mr Pecksniffvery much dismayed;
'though I admit it was foolish. I might have known it was a tender
string.'

'Don't talk to me about tender strings' said Jonaswiping his
forehead with the cuff of his coat. 'I'm not going to be crowed
over by youbecause I don't like dead company.'

Mr Pecksniff had got out the words 'Crowed overMr Jonas!' when
that young manwith a dark expression in his countenancecut him
short once more:

'Mind!' he said. 'I won't have it. I advise you not to revive the


subjectneither to me nor anybody else. You can take a hintif
you choose as well as another man. There's enough said about it.
Come along!'

Taking up his part of the load againwhen he had said these words
he hurried on so fast that Mr Pecksniffat the other end of the
portmanteaufound himself dragged forwardin a very inconvenient
and ungraceful mannerto the great detriment of what is called by
fancy gentlemen 'the bark' upon his shinswhich were most
unmercifully bumped against the hard leather and the iron buckles.
In the course of a few minuteshoweverMr Jonas relaxed his speed
and suffered his companion to come up with himand to bring the
portmanteau into a tolerably straight position.

It was pretty clear that he regretted his late outbreakand that he
mistrusted its effect on Mr Pecksniff; for as often as that
gentleman glanced towards Mr Jonashe found Mr Jonas glancing at
himwhich was a new source of embarrassment. It was but a shortlived
onethoughfor Mr Jonas soon began to whistlewhereupon Mr
Pecksnifftaking his cue from his friendbegan to hum a tune
melodiously.

'Pretty nearly thereain't we?' said Jonaswhen this had lasted
some time.

'Closemy dear friend' said Mr Pecksniff.

'What'll they be doingdo you suppose?' asked Jonas.

'Impossible to say' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Giddy truants! They may
be away from homeperhaps. I was going to--he! he! he!--I was
going to propose' said Mr Pecksniff'that we should enter by the
back wayand come upon them like a clap of thunderMr Jonas.'

It might not have been easy to decide in respect of which of their
manifold propertiesJonasMr Pecksniffthe carpet-bagand the
portmanteaucould be likened to a clap of thunder. But Mr Jonas
giving his assent to this proposalthey stole round into the back
yardand softly advanced towards the kitchen windowthrough which
the mingled light of fire and candle shone upon the darkening night.

Truly Mr Pecksniff is blessed in his children--in one of themat
any rate. The prudent Cherry--staff and scripand treasure of her
doting father--there she sitsat a little table white as driven
snowbefore the kitchen firemaking up accounts! See the neat
maidenas with pen in handand calculating look addressed towards
the ceiling and bunch of keys within a little basket at her side
she checks the housekeeping expenditure! From flat-irondish-cover
and warming-pan; from pot and kettleface of brass footmanand
black-leaded stove; bright glances of approbation wink and glow upon
her. The very onions dangling from the beammantle and shine like
cherubs' cheeks. Something of the influence of those vegetables
sinks into Mr Pecksniff's nature. He weeps.

It is but for a momentand he hides it from the observation of his
friend--very carefully--by a somewhat elaborate use of his pockethandkerchief
in fact; for he would not have his weakness known.

'Pleasant' he murmured'pleasant to a father's feelings! My dear
girl! Shall we let her know we are hereMr Jonas?'

'WhyI suppose you don't mean to spend the evening in the stable
or the coach-house' he returned.


'Thatindeedis not such hospitality as I would show to YOUmy
friend' cried Mr Pecksniffpressing his hand. And then he took a
long breathand tapping at the windowshouted with stentorian
blandness:

'Boh!'

Cherry dropped her pen and screamed. But innocence is ever boldor
should be. As they opened the doorthe valiant girl exclaimed in a
firm voiceand with a presence of mind which even in that trying
moment did not desert her'Who are you? What do you want? Speak!
or I will call my Pa.'

Mr Pecksniff held out his arms. She knew him instantlyand rushed
into his fond embrace.

'It was thoughtless of usMr Jonasit was very thoughtless' said
Pecksniffsmoothing his daugther's hair. 'My darlingdo you see
that I am not alone!'

Not she. She had seen nothing but her father until now. She saw Mr
Jonas nowthough; and blushedand hung her head downas she gave
him welcome.

But where was Merry? Mr Pecksniff didn't ask the question in
reproachbut in a vein of mildness touched with a gentle sorrow.
She was upstairsreading on the parlour couch. Ah! Domestic
details had no charms for HER. 'But call her down' said Mr
Pecksniffwith a placid resignation. 'Call her downmy love.'

She was called and cameall flushed and tumbled from reposing on
the sofa; but none the worse for that. Nonot at all. Rather the
betterif anything.

'Oh my goodness me!' cried the arch girlturning to her cousin when
she had kissed her father on both cheeksand in her frolicsome
nature had bestowed a supernumerary salute upon the tip of his nose
'YOU herefright! WellI'm very thankful that you won't trouble ME
much!'

'What! you're as lively as everare you?' said Jonas. 'Oh! You're
a wicked one!'

'Therego along!' retorted Merrypushing him away. 'I'm sure I
don't know what I shall ever doif I have to see much of you. Go
alongfor gracious' sake!'

Mr Pecksniff striking in herewith a request that Mr Jonas would
immediately walk upstairshe so far complied with the young lady's
adjuration as to go at once. But though he had the fair Cherry on
his armhe could not help looking back at her sisterand
exchanging some further dialogue of the same bantering description
as they all four ascended to the parlour; where--for the young
ladies happenedby good fortuneto be a little later than usual
that night--the tea-board was at that moment being set out.

Mr Pinch was not at homeso they had it all to themselvesand were
very snug and talkativeJonas sitting between the two sistersand
displaying his gallantry in that engaging manner which was peculiar
to him. It was a hard thingMr Pecksniff saidwhen tea was done
and cleared awayto leave so pleasant a little partybut having
some important papers to examine in his own apartmenthe must beg
them to excuse him for half an hour. With this apology he withdrew
singing a careless strain as he went. He had not been gone five


minuteswhen Merrywho had been sitting in the windowapart from
Jonas and her sisterburst into a half-smothered laughand skipped
towards the door.

'Hallo!' cried Jonas. 'Don't go.'

'OhI dare say!' rejoined Merrylooking back. 'You're very
anxious I should stayfrightain't you?'

'YesI am' said Jonas. 'Upon my word I am. I want to speak to
you.' But as she left the room notwithstandinghe ran out after
herand brought her backafter a short struggle in the passage
which scandalized Miss Cherry very much.

'Upon my wordMerry' urged that young lady'I wonder at you!
There are bounds even to absurditymy dear.'

'Thank youmy sweet' said Merrypursing up her rosy Lips. 'Much
obliged to it for its advice. Oh! do leave me aloneyou monster
do!' This entreaty was wrung from her by a new proceeding on the
part of Mr Jonaswho pulled her downall breathless as she was
into a seat beside him on the sofahaving at the same time Miss
Cherry upon the other side.

'Now' said Jonasclasping the waist of each; 'I have got both arms
fullhaven't I?'

'One of them will be black and blue to-morrowif you don't let me
go' cried the playful Merry.

'Ah! I don't mind YOUR pinching' grinned Jonas'a bit.'

'Pinch him for meCherrypray' said Mercy. 'I never did hate
anybody so much as I hate this creatureI declare!'

'Nonodon't say that' urged Jonas'and don't pinch either
because I want to be serious. I say--Cousin Charity--'

'Well! what?' she answered sharply.

'I want to have some sober talk' said Jonas; 'I want to prevent any
mistakesyou knowand to put everything upon a pleasant
understanding. That's desirable and properain't it?'

Neither of the sisters spoke a word. Mr Jonas paused and cleared
his throatwhich was very dry.

'She'll not believe what I am going to saywill shecousin?' said
Jonastimidly squeezing Miss Charity.

'ReallyMr JonasI don't knowuntil I hear what it is. It's
quite impossible!'

'Whyyou see' said Jonas'her way always being to make game of
peopleI know she'll laughor pretend to--I know thatbeforehand.
But you can tell her I'm in earnestcousin; can't you? You'll
confess you knowwon't you? You'll be honourableI'm sure'
he added persuasively.

No answer. His throat seemed to grow hotter and hotterand to be
more and more difficult of control.

'You seeCousin Charity' said Jonas'nobody but you can tell her
what pains I took to get into her company when you were both at the


boarding-house in the citybecause nobody's so well aware of ityou
know. Nobody else can tell her how hard I tried to get to know you
betterin order that I might get to know her without seeming to
wish it; can they? I always asked you about herand said where
had she goneand when would she comeand how lively she wasand
all that; didn't Icousin? I know you'll tell her soif you
haven't told her so alreadyand--and--I dare say you havebecause
I'm sure you're honourableain't you?'

Still not a word. The right arm of Mr Jonas--the elder sister sat
upon his right--may have been sensible of some tumultuous throbbing
which was not within itself; but nothing else apprised him that his
words had had the least effect.

'Even if you kept it to yourselfand haven't told her' resumed
Jonas'it don't much matterbecause you'll bear honest witness
now; won't you? We've been very good friends from the first;
haven't we? and of course we shall be quite friends in futureand
so I don't mind speaking before you a bit. Cousin Mercyyou've
heard what I've been saying. She'll confirm itevery word; she
must. Will you have me for your husband? Eh?'

As he released his hold of Charityto put this question with better
effectshe started up and hurried away to her own roommarking her
progress as she went by such a train of passionate and incoherent
soundas nothing but a slighted woman in her anger could produce.

'Let me go away. Let me go after her' said Merrypushing him off
and giving him--to tell the truth--more than one sounding slap upon
his outstretched face.

'Not till you say yes. You haven't told me. Will you have me for
your husband?'

'NoI won't. I can't bear the sight of you. I have told you so a
hundred times. You are a fright. BesidesI always thought you
liked my sister best. We all thought so.'

'But that wasn't my fault' said Jonas.

'Yes it was; you know it was.'

'Any trick is fair in love' said Jonas. 'She may have thought I
liked her bestbut you didn't.'

'I did!'

'Noyou didn't. You never could have thought I liked her best
when you were by.'

'There's no accounting for tastes' said Merry; 'at least I didn't
mean to say that. I don't know what I mean. Let me go to her.'

'Say "Yes and then I will.'

'If I ever brought myself to say so, it should only be that I might
hate and tease you all my life.'

'That's as good,' cried Jonas, 'as saying it right out. It's a
bargain, cousin. We're a pair, if ever there was one.'

This gallant speech was succeeded by a confused noise of kissing and
slapping; and then the fair but much dishevelled Merry broke away,
and followed in the footsteps of her sister.


Now whether Mr Pecksniff had been listening--which in one of his
character appears impossible; or divined almost by inspiration what
the matter was--which, in a man of his sagacity is far more
probable; or happened by sheer good fortune to find himself in
exactly the right place, at precisely the right time--which, under
the special guardianship in which he lived might very reasonably
happen; it is quite certain that at the moment when the sisters came
together in their own room, he appeared at the chamber door. And a
marvellous contrast it was--they so heated, noisy, and vehement; he
so calm, so self-possessed, so cool and full of peace, that not a
hair upon his head was stirred.

'Children!' said Mr Pecksniff, spreading out his hands in wonder,
but not before he had shut the door, and set his back against it.
'Girls! Daughters! What is this?'

'The wretch; the apostate; the false, mean, odious villain; has
before my very face proposed to Mercy!' was his eldest daughter's
answer.

'Who has proposed to Mercy!' asked Mr Pecksniff.

'HE has. That thing, Jonas, downstairs.'

'Jonas proposed to Mercy?' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Aye, aye! Indeed!'

'Have you nothing else to say?' cried Charity. 'Am I to be driven
mad, papa? He has proposed to Mercy, not to me.'

'Oh, fie! For shame!' said Mr Pecksniff, gravely. 'Oh, for shame!
Can the triumph of a sister move you to this terrible display, my
child? Oh, really this is very sad! I am sorry; I am surprised and
hurt to see you so. Mercy, my girl, bless you! See to her. Ah,
envy, envy, what a passion you are!'

Uttering this apostrophe in a tone full of grief and lamentation, Mr
Pecksniff left the room (taking care to shut the door behind him),
and walked downstairs into the parlour. There he found his
intended son-in-law, whom he seized by both hands.

'Jonas!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Jonas! the dearest wish of my heart
is now fulfilled!'

'Very well; I'm glad to hear it,' said Jonas. 'That'll do. I say!
As it ain't the one you're so fond of, you must come down with
another thousand, Pecksniff. You must make it up five. It's worth
that, to keep your treasure to yourself, you know. You get off very
cheap that way, and haven't a sacrifice to make.'

The grin with which he accompanied this, set off his other
attractions to such unspeakable advantage, that even Mr Pecksniff
lost his presence of mind for a moment, and looked at the young man
as if he were quite stupefied with wonder and admiration. But he
quickly regained his composure, and was in the very act of changing
the subject, when a hasty step was heard without, and Tom Pinch, in
a state of great excitement, came darting into the room.

On seeing a stranger there, apparently engaged with Mr Pecksniff in
private conversation, Tom was very much abashed, though he still
looked as if he had something of great importance to communicate,
which would be a sufficient apology for his intrusion.

'Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff, 'this is hardly decent. You will excuse


my saying that I think your conduct scarcely decent, Mr Pinch.'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' replied Tom, 'for not knocking at the
door.'

'Rather beg this gentleman's pardon, Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff. 'I
know you; he does not.--My young man, Mr Jonas.'

The son-in-law that was to be gave him a slight nod--not actively
disdainful or contemptuous, only passively; for he was in a good
humour.

'Could I speak a word with you, sir, if you please?' said Tom.
'It's rather pressing.'

'It should be very pressing to justify this strange behaviour, Mr
Pinch,' returned his master. 'Excuse me for one moment, my dear
friend. Now, sir, what is the reason of this rough intrusion?'

'I am very sorry, sir, I am sure,' said Tom, standing, cap in hand,
before his patron in the passage; 'and I know it must have a very
rude appearance--'

'It HAS a very rude appearance, Mr Pinch.'

'Yes, I feel that, sir; but the truth is, I was so surprised to see
them, and knew you would be too, that I ran home very fast indeed,
and really hadn't enough command over myself to know what I was
doing very well. I was in the church just now, sir, touching the
organ for my own amusement, when I happened to look round, and saw a
gentleman and lady standing in the aisle listening. They seemed to
be strangers, sir, as well as I could make out in the dusk; and I
thought I didn't know them; so presently I left off, and said, would
they walk up into the organ-loft, or take a seat? No, they said,
they wouldn't do that; but they thanked me for the music they had
heard. In fact,' observed Tom, blushing, 'they said, Delicious
music!" at leastSHE did; and I am sure that was a greater pleasure
and honour to me than any compliment I could have had. I--I--beg
your pardon sir;' he was all in a trembleand dropped his hat for
the second time 'but I--I'm rather flurriedand I fear I've
wandered from the point.'

'If you will come back to itThomas' said Mr Pecksniffwith an
icy look'I shall feel obliged.'

'Yessir' returned Tom'certainly. They had a posting carriage
at the porchsirand had stopped to hear the organthey said.
And then they said--SHE saidI meanI believe you live with Mr
Pecksniff, sir?I said I had that honourand I took the liberty
sir' added Tomraising his eyes to his benefactor's face'of
sayingas I always will and mustwith your permissionthat I was
under great obligations to youand never could express my sense of
them sufficiently.'

'That' said Mr Pecksniff'was veryvery wrong. Take your time
Mr Pinch.'

'Thank yousir' cried Tom. 'On that they asked me--she askedI
mean--"Wasn't there a bridle road to Mr Pecksniff's house?"'

Mr Pecksniff suddenly became full of interest.

'"Without going by the Dragon?" When I said there wasand said how
happy I should be to show it 'emthey sent the carriage on by the


roadand came with me across the meadows. I left 'em at the
turnstile to run forward and tell you they were comingand they'll
be heresirin--in less than a minute's timeI should say' added
Tomfetching his breath with difficulty.

'Nowwho' said Mr Pecksniffpondering'who may these people be?'

'Bless my soulsir!' cried Tom'I meant to mention that at first
I thought I had. I knew them--herI mean--directly. The gentleman
who was ill at the Dragonsirlast winter; and the young lady who
attended him.'

Tom's teeth chattered in his headand he positively staggered with
amazementat witnessing the extraordinary effect produced on Mr
Pecksniff by these simple words. The dread of losing the old man's
favour almost as soon as they were reconciledthrough the mere fact
of having Jonas in the house; the impossibility of dismissing Jonas
or shutting him upor tying him hand and foot and putting him in
the coal-cellarwithout offending him beyond recall; the horrible
discordance prevailing in the establishmentand the impossibility
of reducing it to decent harmony with Charity in loud hysterics
Mercy in the utmost disorderJonas in the parlourand Martin
Chuzzlewit and his young charge upon the very doorsteps; the total
hopelessness of being able to disguise or feasibly explain this
state of rampant confusion; the sudden accumulation over his devoted
head of every complicated perplexity and entanglement for his
extrication from which he had trusted to timegood fortunechance
and his own plottingso filled the entrapped architect with dismay
that if Tom could have been a Gorgon staring at Mr Pecksniffand Mr
Pecksniff could have been a Gorgon staring at Tomthey could not
have horrified each other half so much as in their own bewildered
persons.

'Deardear!' cried Tom'what have I done? I hoped it would be a
pleasant surprisesir. I thought you would like to know.'

But at that moment a loud knocking was heard at the hall door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MORE AMERICAN EXPERIENCESMARTIN TAKES A PARTNERAND MAKES A
PURCHASE. SOME ACCOUNT OF EDENAS IT APPEARED ON PAPER. ALSO OF
THE BRITISH LION. ALSO OF THE KIND OF SYMPATHY PROFESSED AND
ENTERTAINED BY THE WATERTOAST ASSOCIATION OF UNITED SYMPATHISERS

The knocking at Mr Pecksniff's doorthough loud enoughbore no
resemblance whatever to the noise of an American railway train at
full speed. It may be well to begin the present chapter with this
frank admissionlest the reader should imagine that the sounds now
deafening this history's ears have any connection with the knocker on
Mr Pecksniff's dooror with the great amount of agitation pretty
equally divided between that worthy man and Mr Pinchof which its
strong performance was the cause.

Mr Pecksniff's house is more than a thousand leagues away; and again
this happy chronicle has Liberty and Moral Sensibility for its high
companions. Again it breathes the blessed air of Independence;
again it contemplates with pious awe that moral sense which renders
unto Ceasar nothing that is his; again inhales that sacred
atmosphere which was the life of him--oh noble patriotwith many
followers!--who dreamed of Freedom in a slave's embraceand waking


sold her offspring and his own in public markets.

How the wheels clank and rattleand the tram-road shakesas the
train rushes on! And now the engine yellsas it were lashed and
tortured like a living labourerand writhed in agony. A poor
fancy; for steel and iron are of infinitely greater accountin this
commonwealththan flesh and blood. If the cunning work of man be
urged beyond its power of enduranceit has within it the elements
of its own revenge; whereas the wretched mechanism of the Divine
Hand is dangerous with no such propertybut may be tampered with
and crushedand brokenat the driver's pleasure. Look at that
engine! It shall cost a man more dollars in the way of penalty and
fineand satisfaction of the outraged lawto deface in wantonness
that senseless mass of metalthan to take the lives of twenty human
creatures! Thus the stars wink upon the bloody stripes; and Liberty
pulls down her cap upon her eyesand owns Oppression in its vilest
aspectfor her sister.

The engine-driver of the train whose noise awoke us to the present
chapter was certainly troubled with no such reflections as these;
nor is it very probable that his mind was disturbed by any
reflections at all. He leaned with folded arms and crossed legs
against the side of the carriagesmoking; andexcept when he
expressedby a grunt as short as his pipehis approval of some
particularly dexterous aim on the part of his colleaguethe
firemanwho beguiled his leisure by throwing logs of wood from the
tender at the numerous stray cattle on the linehe preserved a
composure so immovableand an indifference so completethat if the
locomotive had been a sucking-pighe could not have been more
perfectly indifferent to its doings. Notwithstanding the tranquil
state of this officerand his unbroken peace of mindthe train was
proceeding with tolerable rapidity; and the rails being but poorly
laidthe jolts and bumps it met with in its progress were neither
slight nor few.

There were three great caravans or cars attached. The ladies' car
the gentlemen's carand the car for negroes; the latter painted
blackas an appropriate compliment to its company. Martin and Mark
Tapley were in the firstas it was the most comfortable; andbeing
far from fullreceived other gentlemen wholike themwere
unblessed by the society of ladies of their own. They were seated
side by sideand were engaged in earnest conversation.

'And soMark' said Martinlooking at him with an anxious
expression'and so you are glad we have left New York far behind
usare you?'

'Yessir' said Mark. 'I am. Precious glad.'

'Were you not "jolly" there?' asked Martin.

'On the contrairysir' returned Mark. 'The jolliest week as ever
I spent in my lifewas that there week at Pawkins's.'

'What do you think of our prospects?' inquired Martinwith an air
that plainly said he had avoided the question for some time.

'Uncommon brightsir' returned Mark. 'Impossible for a place to
have a better namesirthan the Walley of Eden. No man couldn't
think of settling in a better place than the Walley of Eden. And
I'm told' added Markafter a pause'as there's lots of serpents
thereso we shall come outquite complete and reg'lar.'

So far from dwelling upon this agreeable piece of information with


the least dismayMark's face grew radiant as he called it to mind;
so very radiantthat a stranger might have supposed he had all his
life been yearning for the society of serpentsand now hailed with
delight the approaching consummation of his fondest wishes.

'Who told you that?' asked Martinsternly.

'A military officer' said Mark.

'Confound you for a ridiculous fellow!' cried Martinlaughing
heartily in spite of himself. 'What military officer? You know
they spring up in every field.'

'As thick as scarecrows in Englandsir' interposed Mark'which is
a sort of milita themselvesbeing entirely coat and wescoatwith a
stick inside. Haha!--Don't mind mesir; it's my way sometimes. I
can't help being jolly. Why it was one of them inwading conquerors
at Pawkins'sas told me. "Am I rightly informed he says--not
exactly through his nose, but as if he'd got a stoppage in it, very
high up--that you're a-going to the Walley of Eden?" "I heard some
talk on it I told him. Oh!" says heif you should ever happen
to go to bed there--you MAY, you know,he saysin course of time
as civilisation progresses--don't forget to take a axe with you.I
looks at him tolerable hard. "Fleas?" says I. "And more says he.
Wampires?" says I. "And more says he. Musquitoesperhaps?"
says I. "And more says he. What more?" says I. "Snakes more
says he; rattle-snakes. You're right to a certain extent
stranger. There air some catawampous chawers in the small way too
as graze upon a human pretty strong; but don't mind THEM--they're
company. It's snakes he says, as you'll object to; and whenever
you wake and see one in a upright poster on your bed he says,
like a corkscrew with the handle off a-sittin' on its bottom ring
cut him downfor he means wenom."'

'Why didn't you tell me this before!' cried Martinwith an
expression of face which set off the cheerfulness of Mark's visage
to great advantage.

'I never thought on itsir' said Mark. 'It come in at one ear
and went out at the other. But Lord love ushe was one of another
CompanyI dare sayand only made up the story that we might go to
his Edenand not the opposition one'

'There's some probability in that' observed Martin. 'I can
honestly say that I hope sowith all my heart.'

'I've not a doubt about itsir' returned Markwhofull of the
inspiriting influence of the anecodote upon himselfhad for the
moment forgotten its probable effect upon his master; 'anyhowwe
must liveyou knowsir.'

'Live!' cried Martin. 'Yesit's easy to say live; but if we should
happen not to wake when rattlesnakes are making corkscrews of
themselves upon our bedsit may be not so easy to do it.'

'And that's a fact' said a voice so close in his ear that it
tickled him. 'That's dreadful true.'

Martin looked roundand found that a gentlemanon the seat behind
had thrust his head between himself and Markand sat with his chin
resting on the back rail of their little benchentertaining himself
with their conversation. He was as languid and listless in his
looks as most of the gentlemen they had seen; his cheeks were so
hollow that he seemed to be always sucking them in; and the sun had


burnt himnot a wholesome red or brownbut dirty yellow. He had
bright dark eyeswhich he kept half closed; only peeping out of the
cornersand even then with a glance that seemed to say'Now you
won't overreach me; you want tobut you won't.' His arms rested
carelessly on his knees as he leant forward; in the palm of his left
handas English rustics have their slice of cheesehe had a cake
of tobacco; in his right a penknife. He struck into the dialogue
with as little reserve as if he had been specially called indays
beforeto hear the arguments on both sidesand favour them with
his opinion; and he no more contemplated or cared for the
possibility of their not desiring the honour of his acquaintance or
interference in their private affairs than if he had been a bear or
a buffalo.

'That' he repeatednodding condescendingly to Martinas to an
outer barbarian and foreigner'is dreadful true. Darn all manner
of vermin.'

Martin could not help frowning for a momentas if he were disposed
to insinuate that the gentleman had unconsciously 'darned' himself.
But remembering the wisdom of doing at Rome as Romans dohe smiled
with the pleasantest expression he could assume upon so short a
notice.

Their new friend said no more just thenbeing busily employed in
cutting a quid or plug from his cake of tobaccoand whistling
softly to himself the while. When he had shaped it to his liking
he took out his old plugand deposited the same on the back of the
seat between Mark and Martinwhile he thrust the new one into the
hollow of his cheekwhere it looked like a large walnutor
tolerable pippin. Finding it quite satisfactoryhe stuck the point
of his knife into the old plugand holding it out for their
inspectionremarked with the air of a man who had not lived in
vainthat it was 'used up considerable.' Then he tossed it away;
put his knife into one pocket and his tobacco into another; rested
his chin upon the rail as before; and approving of the pattern on
Martin's waistcoatreached out his hand to feel the texture of that
garment.

'What do you call this now?' he asked.

'Upon my word' said Martin'I don't know what it's called.'

'It'll cost a dollar or more a yardI reckon?'

'I really don't know.'

'In my country' said the gentleman'we know the cost of our own
pro-duce.'

Martin not discussing the questionthere was a pause.

'Well!' resumed their new friendafter staring at them intently
during the whole interval of silence; 'how's the unnat'ral old
parent by this time?'

Mr Tapley regarding this inquiry as only another version of the
impertinent English question'How's your mother?' would have
resented it instantlybut for Martin's prompt interposition.

'You mean the old country?' he said.

'Ah!' was the reply. 'How's she? Progressing back'ardsI expect
as usual? Well! How's Queen Victoria?'


'In good healthI believe' said Martin.

'Queen Victoria won't shake in her royal shoes at allwhen she
hears to-morrow named' observed the stranger'No.'

'Not that I am aware of. Why should she?'

'She won't be taken with a cold chillwhen she realises what is
being done in these diggings' said the stranger. 'No.'

'No' said Martin. 'I think I could take my oath of that.'

The strange gentleman looked at him as if in pity for his ignorance
or prejudiceand said:

'WellsirI tell you this--there ain't a engine with its biler
bustin God A'mighty's free U-nited Statesso fixedand nipped
and frizzled to a most e-tarnal smashas that young critterin her
luxurious location in the Tower of London will bewhen she reads
the next double-extra Watertoast Gazette.'

Several other gentlemen had left their seats and gathered round
during the foregoing dialogue. They were highly delighted with this
speech. One very lank gentlemanin a loose limp white cravatlong
white waistcoatand a black great-coatwho seemed to be in
authority among themfelt called upon to acknowledge it.

'Hem! Mr La Fayette Kettle' he saidtaking off his hat.

There was a grave murmur of 'Hush!'

'Mr La Fayette Kettle! Sir!'

Mr Kettle bowed.

'In the name of this companysirand in the name of our common
countryand in the name of that righteous cause of holy sympathy in
which we are engagedI thank you. I thank yousirin the name of
the Watertoast Sympathisers; and I thank yousirin the name of
the Watertoast Gazette; and I thank yousirin the name of the
star-spangled banner of the Great United Statesfor your eloquent
and categorical exposition. And ifsir' said the speakerpoking
Martin with the handle of his umbrella to bespeak his attentionfor
he was listening to a whisper from Mark; 'ifsirin such a place
and at such a timeI might venture to con-clude with a sentiment
glancing--however slantin'dicularly--at the subject in handI
would saysirmay the British Lion have his talons eradicated by
the noble bill of the American Eagleand be taught to play upon the
Irish Harp and the Scotch Fiddle that music which is breathed in
every empty shell that lies upon the shores of green Co-lumbia!'

Here the lank gentleman sat down againamidst a great sensation;
and every one looked very grave.

'General Choke' said Mr La Fayette Kettle'you warm my heart; sir
you warm my heart. But the British Lion is not unrepresented here
sir; and I should be glad to hear his answer to those remarks.'

'Upon my word' cried Martinlaughing'since you do me the honour
to consider me his representativeI have only to say that I never
heard of Queen Victoria reading the What's-his-name Gazette and that
I should scarcely think it probable.'


General Choke smiled upon the restand saidin patient and
benignant explanation:

'It is sent to hersir. It is sent to her. Her mail.'

'But if it is addressed to the Tower of Londonit would hardly come
to handI fear' returned Martin; 'for she don't live there.'

'The Queen of Englandgentlemen' observed Mr Tapleyaffecting the
greatest politenessand regarding them with an immovable face
'usually lives in the Mint to take care of the money. She HAS
lodgingsin virtue of her officewith the Lord Mayor at the
Mansion House; but don't often occupy themin consequence of the
parlour chimney smoking.'

'Mark' said Martin'I shall be very much obliged to you if you'll
have the goodness not to interfere with preposterous statements
however jocose they may appear to you. I was merely remarking
gentlemen--though it's a point of very little import--that the
Queen of England does not happen to live in the Tower of London.'

'General!' cried Mr La Fayette Kettle. 'You hear?'

'General!' echoed several others. 'General!'

'Hush! Praysilence!' said General Chokeholding up his handand
speaking with a patient and complacent benevolence that was quite
touching. 'I have always remarked it as a very extraordinary
circumstancewhich I impute to the natur' of British Institutions
and their tendency to suppress that popular inquiry and information
which air so widely diffused even in the trackless forests of this
vast Continent of the Western Ocean; that the knowledge of
Britishers themselves on such points is not to be compared with that
possessed by our intelligent and locomotive citizens. This is
interestingand confirms my observation. When you saysir' he
continuedaddressing Martin'that your Queen does not reside in
the Tower of Londonyou fall into an errornot uncommon to your
countrymeneven when their abilities and moral elements air such as
to command respect. Butsiryou air wrong. She DOES live there--'

'When she is at the Court of Saint James's' interposed Kettle.

'When she is at the Court of Saint James'sof course' returned the
Generalin the same benignant way; 'for if her location was in
Windsor Pavilion it couldn't be in London at the same time. Your
Tower of Londonsir' pursued the Generalsmiling with a mild
consciousness of his knowledge'is nat'rally your royal residence.
Being located in the immediate neighbourhood of your Parksyour
Drivesyour Triumphant Archesyour Operaand your Royal Almacks
it nat'rally suggests itself as the place for holding a luxurious
and thoughtless court. Andconsequently' said the General
'consequentlythe court is held there.'

'Have you been in England?' asked Martin.

'In print I havesir' said the General'not otherwise. We air a
reading people heresir. You will meet with much information among
us that will surprise yousir.'

'I have not the least doubt of it' returned Martin. But here he
was interrupted by Mr La Fayette Kettlewho whispered in his ear:

'You know General Choke?'


'No' returned Martinin the same tone.

'You know what he is considered?'

'One of the most remarkable men in the country?' said Martinat a
venture.

'That's a fact' rejoined Kettle. 'I was sure you must have heard
of him!'

'I think' said Martinaddressing himself to the General again
'that I have the pleasure of being the bearer of a letter of
introduction to yousir. From Mr Bevanof Massachusetts' he
addedgiving it to him.

The General took it and read it attentively; now and then stopping
to glance at the two strangers. When he had finished the notehe
came over to Martinsat down by himand shook hands.

'Well!' he said'and you think of settling in Eden?'

'Subject to your opinionand the agent's advice' replied Martin.
'I am told there is nothing to be done in the old towns.'

'I can introduce you to the agentsir' said the General. 'I know
him. In factI am a member of the Eden Land Corporation myself.'

This was serious news to Martinfor his friend had laid great
stress upon the General's having no connectionas he thoughtwith
any land companyand therefore being likely to give him
disinterested advice. The General explained that he had joined the
Corporation only a few weeks agoand that no communication had
passed between himself and Mr Bevan since.

'We have very little to venture' said Martin anxiously--'only a few
pounds--but it is our all. Nowdo you think that for one of my
professionthis would be a speculation with any hope or chance in
it?'

'Well' observed the Generalgravely'if there wasn't any hope or
chance in the speculationit wouldn't have engaged my dollarsI
opinionate.'

'I don't mean for the sellers' said Martin. 'For the buyers--for
the buyers!'

'For the buyerssir?' observed the Generalin a most impressive
manner. 'Well! you come from an old country; from a countrysir
that has piled up golden calves as high as Babeland worshipped 'em
for ages. We are a new countrysir; man is in a more primeval
state heresir; we have not the excuse of having lapsed in the
slow course of time into degenerate practices; we have no false
gods; mansirhereis man in all his dignity. We fought for that
or nothing. Here am Isir' said the Generalsetting up his
umbrella to represent himselfand a villanous-looking umbrella it
was; a very bad counter to stand for the sterling coin of his
benevolence'here am I with grey hairs sirand a moral sense.
Would Iwith my principlesinvest capital in this speculation if I
didn't think it full of hopes and chances for my brother man?'

Martin tried to look convincedbut he thought of New Yorkand
found it difficult.

'What are the Great United States forsir' pursued the General 'if


not for the regeneration of man? But it is nat'ral in you to make
such an enquerryfor you come from Englandand you do not know my
country.'

'Then you think' said Martin'that allowing for the hardships we
are prepared to undergothere is a reasonable--Heaven knows we
don't expect much--a reasonable opening in this place?'

'A reasonable opening in Edensir! But see the agentsee the
agent; see the maps and planssir; and conclude to go or stay
according to the natur' of the settlement. Eden hadn't need to go
a-begging yetsir' remarked the General.

'It is an awful lovely placesure-ly. And frightful wholesome
likewise!' said Mr Kettlewho had made himself a party to this
conversation as a matter of course.

Martin felt that to dispute such testimonyfor no better reason
than because he had his secret misgivings on the subjectwould be
ungentlemanly and indecent. So he thanked the General for his
promise to put him in personal communication with the agent; and
'concluded' to see that officer next morning. He then begged the
General to inform him who the Watertoast Sympathisers wereof whom
he had spoken in addressing Mr La Fayette Kettleand on what
grievances they bestowed their Sympathy. To which the General
looking very seriousmade answerthat he might fully enlighten
himself on those points to-morrow by attending a Great Meeting of
the Bodywhich would then be held at the town to which they were
travelling; 'over whichsir' said the General'my fellow-citizens
have called on me to preside.'

They came to their journey's end late in the evening. Close to the
railway was an immense white edificelike an ugly hospitalon
which was painted 'NATIONAL HOTEL.' There was a wooden gallery or
verandah in frontin which it was rather startlingwhen the train
stoppedto behold a great many pairs of boots and shoesand the
smoke of a great many cigarsbut no other evidences of human
habitation. By slow degreeshoweversome heads and shoulders
appearedand connecting themselves with the boots and shoesled to
the discovery that certain gentlemen boarderswho had a fancy for
putting their heels where the gentlemen boarders in other countries
usually put their headswere enjoying themselves after their own
manner in the cool of the evening.

There was a great bar-room in this hoteland a great public room in
which the general table was being set out for supper. There were
interminable whitewashed staircaseslong whitewashed galleries
upstairs and downstairsscores of little whitewashed bedroomsand
a four-sided verandah to every story in the housewhich formed a
large brick square with an uncomfortable courtyard in the centre
where some clothes were drying. Here and theresome yawning
gentlemen lounged up and down with their hands in their pockets; but
within the house and withoutwherever half a dozen people were
collected togethertherein their looksdressmoralsmanners
habitsintellectand conversationwere Mr Jefferson Brick
Colonel DiverMajor PawkinsGeneral Chokeand Mr La Fayette
Kettleoverand overand over again. They did the same things;
said the same things; judged all subjects byand reduced all
subjects tothe same standard. Observing how they livedand how
they were always in the enchanting company of each otherMartin
even began to comprehend their being the socialcheerfulwinning
airy men they were.

At the sounding of a dismal gongthis pleasant company went


trooping down from all parts of the house to the public room; while
from the neighbouring stores other guests came flocking inin
shoals; for half the townmarried folks as well as singleresided
at the National Hotel. Teacoffeedried meatstongueham
picklescaketoastpreservesand bread and butterwere
swallowed with the usual ravaging speed; and thenas beforethe
company dropped off by degreesand lounged away to the deskthe
counteror the bar-room. The ladies had a smaller ordinary of
their ownto which their husbands and brothers were admitted if
they chose; and in all other respects they enjoyed themselves as at
Pawkins's.

'NowMarkmy good fellowsaid Martinclosing the door of his
little chamber'we must hold a solemn councilfor our fate is
decided to-morrow morning. You are determined to invest these
savings of yours in the common stockare you?'

'If I hadn't been determined to make that wentursir' answered Mr
Tapley'I shouldn't have come.'

'How much is there heredid you say' asked Martinholding up a
little bag.

'Thirty-seven pound ten and sixpence. The Savings' Bank said so at
least. I never counted it. But THEY knowbless you!' said Mark
with a shake of the head expressive of his unbounded confidence in
the wisdom and arithmetic of those Institutions.

'The money we brought with us' said Martin'is reduced to a few
shillings less than eight pounds.'

Mr Tapley smiledand looked all manner of waysthat he might not
be supposed to attach any importance to this fact.

'Upon the ring--HER ringMark' said Martinlooking ruefully at
his empty finger-


'Ah!' sighed Mr Tapley. 'Beg your pardonsir.'

'--We raisedin English moneyfourteen pounds. Soeven with
thatyour share of the stock is still very much the larger of the
two you see. NowMark' said Martinin his old wayjust as he
might have spoken to Tom Pinch'I have thought of a means of making
this up to you--more than making it up to youI hope--and very
materially elevating your prospects in life.'

'Oh! don't talk of thatyou knowsir' returned Mark. 'I don't
want no elevatingsir. I'm all right enoughsirI am.'

'Nobut hear me' said Martin'because this is very important to
youand a great satisfaction to me. Markyou shall be a partner
in the business; an equal partner with myself. I will put inas my
additional capitalmy professional knowledge and ability; and half
the annual profitsas long as it is carried onshall be yours.'

Poor Martin! For ever building castles in the air. For everin his
very selfishnessforgetful of all but his own teeming hopes and
sanguine plans. Swellingat that instantwith the consciousness
of patronizing and most munificently rewarding Mark!

'I don't knowsir' Mark rejoinedmuch more sadly than his custom
wasthough from a very different cause than Martin supposed'what
I can say to thisin the way of thanking you. I'll stand by you
sirto the best of my abilityand to the last. That's all.'


'We quite understand each othermy good fellow' said Martin rising
in self-approval and condescension. 'We are no longer master and
servantbut friends and partners; and are mutually gratified. If
we determine on Edenthe business shall be commenced as soon as we
get there. Under the name' said Martinwho never hammered upon an
idea that wasn't red hot'under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley.'

'Lord love yousir' cried Mark'don't have my name in it. I
ain't acquainted with the businesssir. I must be Co.I must.
I've often thought' he addedin a low voice'as I should like to
know a Co.; but I little thought as ever I should live to be one.'

'You shall have your own wayMark.'

'Thank'eesir. If any country gentleman thereaboutsin the public
wayor otherwisewanted such a thing as a skittle-ground madeI
could take that part of the bis'nesssir.'

'Against any architect in the States' said Martin. 'Get a couple
of sherry-cobblersMarkand we'll drink success to the firm.'

Either he forgot already (and often afterwards)that they were no
longer master and servantor considered this kind of duty to be
among the legitimate functions of the Co. But Mark obeyed with his
usual alacrity; and before they parted for the nightit was agreed
between them that they should go together to the agent's in the
morningbut that Martin should decide the Eden questionon his own
sound judgment. And Mark made no meriteven to himself in his
jollityof this concession; perfectly well knowing that the matter
would come to that in the endany way.

The General was one of the party at the public table next dayand
after breakfast suggested that they should wait upon the agent
without loss of time. Theydesiring nothing moreagreed; so off
they all four started for the office of the Eden Settlementwhich
was almost within rifle-shot of the National Hotel.

It was a small place--something like a turnpike. But a great deal
of land may be got into a dice-boxand why may not a whole
territory be bargained for in a shed? It was but a temporary office
too; for the Edeners were 'going' to build a superb establishment
for the transaction of their businessand had already got so far as
to mark out the site. Which is a great way in America. The officedoor
was wide openand in the doorway was the agent; no doubt a
tremendous fellow to get through his workfor he seemed to have no
arrearsbut was swinging backwards and forwards in a rocking-chair
with one of his legs planted high up against the door-postand the
other doubled up under himas if he were hatching his foot.

He was a gaunt man in a huge straw hatand a coat of green stuff.
The weather being hothe had no cravatand wore his shirt collar
wide open; so that every time he spoke something was seen to twitch
and jerk up in his throatlike the little hammers in a harpsichord
when the notes are struck. Perhaps it was the Truth feebly
endeavouring to leap to his lips. If soit never reached them.

Two grey eyes lurked deep within this agent's headbut one of them
had no sight in itand stood stock still. With that side of his
face he seemed to listen to what the other side was doing. Thus
each profile had a distinct expression; and when the movable side
was most in actionthe rigid one was in its coldest state of
watchfulness. It was like turning the man inside outto pass to
that view of his features in his liveliest moodand see how


calculating and intent they were.

Each long black hair upon his head hung down as straight as any
plummet line; but rumpled tufts were on the arches of his eyesas
if the crow whose foot was deeply printed in the corners had pecked
and torn them in a savage recognition of his kindred nature as a
bird of prey.

Such was the man whom they now approachedand whom the General
saluted by the name of Scadder.

'WellGen'ral' he returned'and how are you?'

'Ac-tive and sprysirin my country's service and the sympathetic
cause. Two gentlemen on businessMr Scadder.'

He shook hands with each of them--nothing is done in America without
shaking hands--then went on rocking.

'I think I know what bis'ness you have brought these strangers here
uponthenGen'ral?'

'Wellsir. I expect you may.'

'You air a tongue-y personGen'ral. For you talk too muchand
that's fact' said Scadder. 'You speak a-larming well in public
but you didn't ought to go ahead so fast in private. Now!'

'If I can realise your meaningride me on a rail!' returned the
Generalafter pausing for consideration.

'You know we didn't wish to sell the lots off right away to any
loafer as might bid' said Scadder; 'but had con-cluded to reserve
'em for Aristocrats of Natur'. Yes!'

'And they are heresir!' cried the General with warmth. 'They
are heresir!'

'If they air here' returned the agentin reproachful accents
'that's enough. But you didn't ought to have your dander ris with
MEGen'ral.'

The General whispered Martin that Scadder was the honestest fellow
in the worldand that he wouldn't have given him offence
designedlyfor ten thousand dollars.

'I do my duty; and I raise the dander of my feller crittersas I
wish to serve' said Scadder in a low voicelooking down the road
and rocking still. 'They rile up roughalong of my objecting to
their selling Eden off too cheap. That's human natur'! Well!'

'Mr Scadder' said the Generalassuming his oratorical deportment.
'Sir! Here is my handand here my heart. I esteem yousirand
ask your pardon. These gentlemen air friends of mineor I would
not have brought 'em heresirbeing well awaresirthat the lots
at present go entirely too cheap. But these air friendssir; these
air partick'ler friends.'

Mr Scadder was so satisfied by this explanationthat he shook the
General warmly by the handand got out of the rocking-chair to do
it. He then invited the General's particular friends to accompany
him into the office. As to the Generalhe observedwith his usual
benevolencethat being one of the companyhe wouldn't interfere in
the transaction on any account; so he appropriated the rocking-chair


to himselfand looked at the prospectlike a good Samaritan
waiting for a traveller.

'Heyday!' cried Martinas his eye rested on a great plan which
occupied one whole side of the office. Indeedthe office had
little else in itbut some geological and botanical specimensone
or two rusty ledgersa homely deskand a stool. 'Heyday! what's
that?'

'That's Eden' said Scadderpicking his teeth with a sort of young
bayonet that flew out of his knife when he touched a spring.

'WhyI had no idea it was a city.'

'Hadn't you? Ohit's a city.'

A flourishing citytoo! An architectural city! There were banks
churchescathedralsmarket-placesfactorieshotelsstores
mansionswharves; an exchangea theatre; public buildings of all
kindsdown to the office of the Eden Stingera daily journal; all
faithfully depicted in the view before them.

'Dear me! It's really a most important place!' cried Martin turning
round.

'Oh! it's very important' observed the agent.

'ButI am afraid' said Martinglancing again at the Public
Buildings'that there's nothing left for me to do.'

'Well! it ain't all built' replied the agent. 'Not quite.'

This was a great relief.

'The market-placenow' said Martin. 'Is that built?'

'That?' said the agentsticking his toothpick into the weathercock
on the top. 'Let me see. No; that ain't built.'

'Rather a good job to begin with--ehMark?' whispered Martin
nudging him with his elbow.

Markwhowith a very stolid countenance had been eyeing the plan
and the agent by turnsmerely rejoined 'Uncommon!'

A dead silence ensuedMr Scadder in some short recesses or
vacations of his toothpickwhistled a few bars of Yankee Doodle
and blew the dust off the roof of the Theatre.

'I suppose' said Martinfeigning to look more narrowly at the
planbut showing by his tremulous voice how much dependedin his
mindupon the answer; 'I suppose there are--several architects
there?'

'There ain't a single one' said Scadder.

'Mark' whispered Martinpulling him by the sleeve'do you hear
that? But whose work is all this before usthen?' he asked aloud.

'The soil being very fruitfulpublic buildings grows spontaneous
perhaps' said Mark.

He was on the agent's dark side as he said it; but Scadder instantly
changed his placeand brought his active eye to bear upon him.


'Feel of my handsyoung man' he said.

'What for?' asked Markdeclining.

'Air they dirtyor air they cleansir?' said Scadderholding them
out.

In a physical point of view they were decidedly dirty. But it being
obvious that Mr Scadder offered them for examination in a figurative
senseas emblems of his moral characterMartin hastened to
pronounce them pure as the driven snow.

'I entreatMark' he saidwith some irritation'that you will not
obtrude remarks of that naturewhichhowever harmless and
well-intentionedare quite out of placeand cannot be expected to
be very agreeable to strangers. I am quite surprised.'

'The Co.'s a-putting his foot in it already' thought Mark. 'He
must be a sleeping partner--fast asleep and snoring--Co. must; I
see.'

Mr Scadder said nothingbut he set his back against the planand
thrust his toothpick into the desk some twenty times; looking at
Mark all the while as if he were stabbing him in effigy.

'You haven't said whose work it is' Martin ventured to observe at
lengthin a tone of mild propitiation.

'Wellnever mind whose work it isor isn't' said the agent
sulkily. 'No matter how it did eventuate. P'raps he cleared off
handsomewith a heap of dollars; p'raps he wasn't worth a cent.
P'raps he was a loafin' rowdy; p'raps a ring-tailed roarer. Now!'

'All your doingMark!' said Martin.

'P'raps' pursued the agent'them ain't plants of Eden's raising.
No! P'raps that desk and stool ain't made from Eden lumber. No!
P'raps no end of squatters ain't gone out there. No! P'raps there
ain't no such location in the territoary of the Great U-nited
States. Ohno!'

'I hope you're satisfied with the success of your jokeMark' said
Martin.

But hereat a most opportune and happy timethe General
interposedand called out to Scadder from the doorway to give his
friends the particulars of that little lot of fifty acres with the
house upon it; whichhaving belonged to the company formerlyhad
lately lapsed again into their hands.

'You air a deal too open-handedGen'ral' was the answer. 'It is a
lot as should be rose in price. It is.'

He grumblingly opened his books notwithstandingand always keeping
his bright side towards Markno matter at what amount of
inconvenience to himselfdisplayed a certain leaf for their
perusal. Martin read it greedilyand then inquired:

'Now where upon the plan may this place be?'

'Upon the plan?' said Scadder.

'Yes.'


He turned towards itand reflected for a short timeas ifhaving
been put upon his mettlehe was resolved to be particular to the
very minutest hair's breadth of a shade. At lengthafter wheeling
his toothpick slowly round and round in the airas if it were a
carrier pigeon just thrown uphe suddenly made a dart at the
drawingand pierced the very centre of the main wharfthrough and
through.

'There!' he saidleaving his knife quivering in the wall; 'that's
where it is!'

Martin glanced with sparkling eyes upon his Co.and his Co. saw
that the thing was done.

The bargain was not concluded as easily as might have been expected
thoughfor Scadder was caustic and ill-humouredand cast much
unnecessary opposition in the way; at one time requesting them to
think of itand call again in a week or a fortnight; at another
predicting that they wouldn't like it; at anotheroffering to
retract and let them offand muttering strong imprecations upon the
folly of the General. But the whole of the astoundingly small sum
total of purchase-money--it was only one hundred and fifty dollars
or something more than thirty pounds of the capital brought by Co.
into the architectural concern--was ultimately paid down; and
Martin's head was two inches nearer the roof of the little wooden
officewith the consciousness of being a landed proprietor in the
thriving city of Eden.

'If it shouldn't happen to fit' said Scadderas he gave Martin the
necessary credentials on recepit of his money'don't blame me.'

'Nono' he replied merrily. 'We'll not blame you. Generalare
you going?'

'I am at your servicesir; and I wish you' said the General
giving him his hand with grave cordiality'joy of your po-ssession.
You air nowsira denizen of the most powerful and highlycivilised
dominion that has ever graced the world; a do-minionsir
where man is bound to man in one vast bond of equal love and truth.
May yousirbe worthy of your a-dopted country!'

Martin thanked himand took leave of Mr Scadder; who had resumed
his post in the rocking-chairimmediately on the General's rising
from itand was once more swinging away as if he had never been
disturbed. Mark looked back several times as they went down the
road towards the National Hotelbut now his blighted profile was
towards themand nothing but attentive thoughtfulness was written
on it. Strangely different to the other side! He was not a man much
given to laughingand never laughed outright; but every line in the
print of the crow's footand every little wiry vein in that
division of his headwas wrinkled up into a grin! The compound
figure of Death and the Lady at the top of the old ballad was not
divided with a greater nicetyand hadn't halves more monstrously
unlike each otherthan the two profiles of Zephaniah Scadder.

The General posted along at a great ratefor the clock was on the
stroke of twelve; and at that hour preciselythe Great Meeting of
the Watertoast Sympathisers was to be holden in the public room of
the National Hotel. Being very curious to witness the
demonstrationand know what it was all aboutMartin kept close to
the General; andkeeping closer than ever when they entered the
Hallgot by that means upon a little platform of tables at the
upper end; where an armchair was set for the Generaland Mr La


Fayette Kettleas secretarywas making a great display of some
foolscap documents. Screamersno doubt.

'Wellsir!' he saidas he shook hands with Martin'here is a
spectacle calc'lated to make the British Lion put his tail between
his legsand howl with anguishI expect!'

Martin certainly thought it possible that the British Lion might
have been rather out of his element in that Ark; but he kept the
idea to himself. The General was then voted to the chairon the
motion of a pallid lad of the Jefferson Brick school; who forthwith
set in for a high-spiced speechwith a good deal about hearths and
homes in itand unriveting the chains of Tyranny.

Oh but it was a clincher for the British Lionit was! The
indignation of the glowing young Columbian knew no bounds. If he
could only have been one of his own forefathershe saidwouldn't
he have peppered that same Lionand been to him as another Brute
Tamer with a wire whipteaching him lessons not easily forgotten.
'Lion! (cried that young Columbian) where is he? Who is he? What
is he? Show him to me. Let me have him here. Here!' said the
young Columbianin a wrestling attitude'upon this sacred altar.
Here!' cried the young Columbianidealising the dining-table'upon
ancestral ashescemented with the glorious blood poured out like
water on our native plains of Chickabiddy Lick! Bring forth that
Lion!' said the young Columbian. 'AloneI dare him! I taunt that
Lion. I tell that Lionthat Freedom's hand once twisted in his
manehe rolls a corse before meand the Eagles of the Great
Republic laugh haha!'

When it was found that the Lion didn't comebut kept out of the
way; that the young Columbian stood therewith folded armsalone
in his glory; and consequently that the Eagles were no doubt
laughing wildly on the mountain tops; such cheers arose as might
have shaken the hands upon the Horse-Guards' clockand changed the
very mean time of the day in England's capital.

'Who is this?' Martin telegraphed to La Fayette.

The Secretary wrote somethingvery gravelyon a piece of paper
twisted it upand had it passed to him from hand to hand. It was
an improvement on the old sentiment: 'Perhaps as remarkable a man as
any in our country.'

This young Columbian was succeeded by anotherto the full as
eloquent as hewho drew down storms of cheers. But both remarkable
youthsin their great excitement (for your true poetry can never
stoop to details)forgot to say with whom or what the Watertoasters
sympathizedand likewise why or wherefore they were sympathetic.
Thus Martin remained for a long time as completely in the dark as
ever; until at length a ray of light broke in upon him through the
medium of the Secretarywhoby reading the minutes of their past
proceedingsmade the matter somewhat clearer. He then learned that
the Watertoast Association sympathized with a certain Public Man in
Irelandwho held a contest upon certain points with England; and
that they did sobecause they didn't love England at all--not by
any means because they loved Ireland much; being indeed horribly
jealous and distrustful of its people alwaysand only tolerating
them because of their working hardwhich made them very useful;
labour being held in greater indignity in the simple republic than
in any other country upon earth. This rendered Martin curious to
see what grounds of sympathy the Watertoast Association put forth;
nor was he long in suspensefor the General rose to read a letter
to the Public Manwhich with his own hands he had written.


'Thus' said the General'thusmy friends and fellow-citizensit
runs:

'"SIR--I address you on behalf of the Watertoast Association of
United Sympathisers. It is foundedsirin the great republic
of America! and now holds its breathand swells the blue veins
in its forehead nigh to burstingas it watchessirwith feverish
intensity and sympathetic ardouryour noble efforts in the cause
of Freedom."'

At the name of Freedomand at every repetition of that nameall
the Sympathisers roared aloud; cheering with nine times nineand
nine times over.

'"In Freedom's namesir--holy Freedom--I address you. In
Freedom's nameI send herewith a contribution to the funds of your
society. In Freedom's namesirI advert with indignation and
disgust to that accursed animalwith gore-stained whiskerswhose
rampant cruelty and fiery lust have ever been a scourgea torment
to the world. The naked visitors to Crusoe's Islandsir; the
flying wives of Peter Wilkins; the fruit-smeared children of the
tangled bush; nayeven the men of large statureanciently bred in
the mining districts of Cornwall; alike bear witness to its savage
nature. Wheresirare the Cormoransthe Blunderboresthe Great
Feefofumsnamed in History? Allallexterminated by its
destroying hand.

'"I alludesirto the British Lion.

'"Devotedmind and bodyheart and soulto Freedomsir--to
Freedomblessed solace to the snail upon the cellar-doorthe
oyster in his pearly bedthe still mite in his home of cheesethe
very winkle of your country in his shelly lair--in her unsullied
namewe offer you our sympathy. Ohsirin this our cherished and
our happy landher fires burn bright and clear and smokeless; once
lighted up in yoursthe lion shall be roasted whole.

'"I amsirin Freedom's name

'"Your affectionate friend and faithful Sympathiser

'"CYRUS CHOKE

'"GeneralU.S.M."'

It happened that just as the General began to read this letterthe
railroad train arrivedbringing a new mail from England; and a
packet had been handed in to the Secretarywhich during its perusal
and the frequent cheerings in homage to freedomhe had opened.
Nowits contents disturbed him very muchand the moment the
General sat downhe hurried to his sideand placed in his hand a
letter and several printed extracts from English newspapers; to
whichin a state of infinite excitementhe called his immediate
attention.

The Generalbeing greatly heated by his own compositionwas in a
fit state to receive any inflammable influence; but he had no sooner
possessed himself of the contents of these documentsthan a change
came over his faceinvolving such a huge amount of choler and


passionthat the noisy concourse were silent in a momentin very
wonder at the sight of him.

'My friends!' cried the Generalrising; 'my friends and fellow
citizenswe have been mistaken in this man.'

'In what man?' was the cry.

'In this' panted the Generalholding up the letter he had read
aloud a few minutes before. 'I find that he has beenand isthe
advocate--consistent in it always too--of Nigger emancipation!'

If anything beneath the sky be realthose Sons of Freedom would
have pistolledstabbed--in some way slain--that man by coward hands
and murderous violenceif he had stood among them at that time.
The most confiding of their own countrymen would not have wagered
then--nonor would they ever peril--one dunghill strawupon the
life of any man in such a strait. They tore the lettercast the
fragments in the airtrod down the pieces as they fell; and yelled
and groanedand hissedtill they could cry no longer.

'I shall move' said the Generalwhen he could make himself heard
'that the Watertoast Association of United Sympathisers be
immediately dissolved!'

Down with it! Away with it! Don't hear of it! Burn its records!
Pull the room down! Blot it out of human memory!

'Butmy fellow-countrymen!' said the General'the contributions.
We have funds. What is to be done with the funds?'

It was hastily resolved that a piece of plate should be presented to
a certain constitutional Judgewho had laid down from the Bench the
noble principle that it was lawful for any white mob to murder any
black man; and that another piece of plateof similar value should
be presented to a certain Patriotwho had declared from his high
place in the Legislaturethat he and his friends would hang without
trialany Abolitionist who might pay them a visit. For the
surplusit was agreed that it should be devoted to aiding the
enforcement of those free and equal lawswhich render it
incalculably more criminal and dangerous to teach a negro to read
and write than to roast him alive in a public city. These points
adjustedthe meeting broke up in great disorderand there was an
end of the Watertoast Sympathy.

As Martin ascended to his bedroomhis eye was attracted by the
Republican bannerwhich had been hoisted from the house-top in
honour of the occasionand was fluttering before a window which he
passed.

'Tut!' said Martin. 'You're a gay flag in the distance. But let a
man be near enough to get the light upon the other side and see
through you; and you are but sorry fustian!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FROM WHICH IT WILL BE SEEN THAT MARTIN BECAME A LION OF HIS OWN
ACCOUNT. TOGETHER WITH THE REASON WHY

As soon as it was generally known in the National Hotelthat the
young EnglishmanMr Chuzzlewithad purchased a 'lo-cation' in the


Valley of Edenand intended to betake himself to that earthly
Paradise by the next steamboathe became a popular character. Why
this should beor how it had come to passMartin no more knew than
Mrs Gampof Kingsgate StreetHigh Holborndid; but that he was
for the time being the lionby popular electionof the Watertoast
communityand that his society was in rather inconvenient request
there could be no kind of doubt.

The first notification he received of this change in his position
was the following epistlewritten in a thin running hand--with
here and there a fat letter or twoto make the general effect more
striking--on a sheet of paperruled with blue lines.

'NATIONAL HOTEL

'MONDAY MORNING.

'Dear Sir--'When I had the privillidge of being your fellow-traveller
in the carsthe day before yesterdayyou offered some remarks
upon the subject of the tower of Londonwhich (in common with my
fellow-citizens generally) I could wish to hear repeated to a public
audience.

'As secretary to the Young Men's Watertoast Association of this
townI am requested to inform you that the Society will be proud to
hear you deliver a lecture upon the Tower of Londonat their Hall
to-morrow eveningat seven o'clock; and as a large issue of
quarter-dollar tickets may be expectedyour answer and consent by
bearer will be considered obliging.

'Dear Sir

'Yours truly

'LA FAYETTE KETTLE.

'The Honourable M. Chuzzlewit.

'P.S.--The Society would not be particular in limiting you to the
Tower of London. Permit me to suggest that any remarks upon the
Elements of Geologyor (if more convenient) upon the Writings of
your talented and witty countrymanthe honourable Mr Millerwould
be well received.'

Very much aghast at this invitationMartin wrote backcivilly
declining it; and had scarcely done sowhen he received another
letter.

'No. 47Bunker Hill Street

'Monday Morning.

'(Private).

'Sir--I was raised in those interminable solitudes where our mighty
Mississippi (or Father of Waters) rolls his turbid flood.

'I am youngand ardent. For there is a poetry in wildnessand
every alligator basking in the slime is in himself an Epicselfcontained.
I aspirate for fame. It is my yearning and my thirst.


'Are yousiraware of any member of Congress in Englandwho would
undertake to pay my expenses to that countryand for six months
after my arrival?

'There is something within me which gives me the assurance that this
enlightened patronage would not be thrown away. In literature or
art; the barthe pulpitor the stage; in one or otherif not all
I feel that I am certain to succeed.

'If too much engaged to write to any such yourselfplease let me
have a list of three or four of those most likely to respondand I
will address them through the Post Office. May I also ask you to
favour me with any critical observations that have ever presented
themselves to your reflective facultieson "Caina Mystery by
the Right Honourable Lord Byron?

'I am, Sir,

'Yours (forgive me if I add, soaringly),

'PUTNAM SMIF

'P.S.--Address your answer to America Junior, Messrs. Hancock &
Floby, Dry Goods Store, as above.'

Both of which letters, together with Martin's reply to each, were,
according to a laudable custom, much tending to the promotion of
gentlemanly feeling and social confidence, published in the next
number of the Watertoast Gazette.

He had scarcely got through this correspondence when Captain
Kedgick, the landlord, kindly came upstairs to see how he was
getting on. The Captain sat down upon the bed before he spoke; and
finding it rather hard, moved to the pillow.

'Well, sir!' said the Captain, putting his hat a little more on one
side, for it was rather tight in the crown: 'You're quite a public
man I calc'late.'

'So it seems,' retorted Martin, who was very tired.

'Our citizens, sir,' pursued the Captain, 'intend to pay their
respects to you. You will have to hold a sort of le-vee, sir, while
you're here.'

'Powers above!' cried Martin, 'I couldn't do that, my good fellow!'

'I reckon you MUST then,' said the Captain.

'Must is not a pleasant word, Captain,' urged Martin.

'Well! I didn't fix the mother language, and I can't unfix it,' said
the Captain coolly; 'else I'd make it pleasant. You must re-ceive.
That's all.'

'But why should I receive people who care as much for me as I care
for them?' asked Martin.

'Well! because I have had a muniment put up in the bar,' returned
the Captain.

'A what?' cried Martin.


'A muniment,' rejoined the Captain.

Martin looked despairingly at Mark, who informed him that the
Captain meant a written notice that Mr Chuzzlewit would receive the
Watertoasters that day, at and after two o'clock which was in effect
then hanging in the bar, as Mark, from ocular inspection of the
same, could testify.

'You wouldn't be unpop'lar, I know,' said the Captain, paring his
nails. 'Our citizens an't long of riling up, I tell you; and our
Gazette could flay you like a wild cat.'

Martin was going to be very wroth, but he thought better of it, and
said:

'In Heaven's name let them come, then.'

'Oh, THEY'll come,' returned the Captain. 'I have seen the big room
fixed a'purpose, with my eyes.'

'But will you,' said Martin, seeing that the Captain was about to
go; 'will you at least tell me this? What do they want to see me
for? what have I done? and how do they happen to have such a sudden
interest in me?'

Captain Kedgick put a thumb and three fingers to each side of the
brim of his hat; lifted it a little way off his head; put it on
again carefully; passed one hand all down his face, beginning at the
forehead and ending at the chin; looked at Martin; then at Mark;
then at Martin again; winked, and walked out.

'Upon my life, now!' said Martin, bringing his hand heavily upon the
table; 'such a perfectly unaccountable fellow as that, I never saw.
Mark, what do you say to this?'

'Why, sir,' returned his partner, 'my opinion is that we must have
got to the MOST remarkable man in the country at last. So I hope
there's an end to the breed, sir.'

Although this made Martin laugh, it couldn't keep off two o'clock.
Punctually, as the hour struck, Captain Kedgick returned to hand him
to the room of state; and he had no sooner got him safe there, than
he bawled down the staircase to his fellow-citizens below, that Mr
Chuzzlewit was 'receiving.'

Up they came with a rush. Up they came until the room was full,
and, through the open door, a dismal perspective of more to come,
was shown upon the stairs. One after another, one after another,
dozen after dozen, score after score, more, more, more, up they
came; all shaking hands with Martin. Such varieties of hands, the
thick, the thin, the short, the long, the fat, the lean, the coarse,
the fine; such differences of temperature, the hot, the cold, the
dry, the moist, the flabby; such diversities of grasp, the tight,
the loose, the short-lived, and the lingering! Still up, up, up,
more, more, more; and ever and anon the Captain's voice was heard
above the crowd--'There's more below! there's more below. Now,
gentlemen you that have been introduced to Mr Chuzzlewit, will you
clear gentlemen? Will you clear? Will you be so good as clear,
gentlemen, and make a little room for more?'

Regardless of the Captain's cries, they didn't clear at all, but
stood there, bolt upright and staring. Two gentlemen connected with
the Watertoast Gazette had come express to get the matter for an
article on Martin. They had agreed to divide the labour. One of


them took him below the waistcoat. One above. Each stood directly
in front of his subject with his head a little on one side, intent
on his department. If Martin put one boot before the other, the
lower gentleman was down upon him; he rubbed a pimple on his nose,
and the upper gentleman booked it. He opened his mouth to speak,
and the same gentleman was on one knee before him, looking in at his
teeth, with the nice scrutiny of a dentist. Amateurs in the
physiognomical and phrenological sciences roved about him with
watchful eyes and itching fingers, and sometimes one, more daring
than the rest, made a mad grasp at the back of his head, and
vanished in the crowd. They had him in all points of view: in
front, in profile, three-quarter face, and behind. Those who were
not professional or scientific, audibly exchanged opinions on his
looks. New lights shone in upon him, in respect of his nose.
Contradictory rumours were abroad on the subject of his hair. And
still the Captain's voice was heard--so stifled by the concourse,
that he seemed to speak from underneath a feather-bed--exclaiming-'
Gentlemen, you that have been introduced to Mr Chuzzlewit, WILL you
clear?'

Even when they began to clear it was no better; for then a stream of
gentlemen, every one with a lady on each arm (exactly like the
chorus to the National Anthem when Royalty goes in state to the
play), came gliding in--every new group fresher than the last, and
bent on staying to the latest moment. If they spoke to him, which
was not often, they invariably asked the same questions, in the same
tone; with no more remorse, or delicacy, or consideration, than if
he had been a figure of stone, purchased, and paid for, and set up
there for their delight. Even when, in the slow course of time,
these died off, it was as bad as ever, if not worse; for then the
boys grew bold, and came in as a class of themselves, and did
everything that the grown-up people had done. Uncouth stragglers,
too, appeared; men of a ghostly kind, who being in, didn't know how
to get out again; insomuch that one silent gentleman with glazed and
fishy eyes and only one button on his waistcoat (which was a very
large metal one, and shone prodigiously), got behind the door, and
stood there, like a clock, long after everybody else was gone.

Martin felt, from pure fatigue, and heat, and worry, as if he could
have fallen on the ground and willingly remained there, if they
would but have had the mercy to leave him alone. But as letters and
messages, threatening his public denouncement if he didn't see the
senders, poured in like hail; and as more visitors came while he
took his coffee by himself; and as Mark, with all his vigilance, was
unable to keep them from the door; he resolved to go to bed--not
that he felt at all sure of bed being any protection, but that he
might not leave a forlorn hope untried.

He had communicated this design to Mark, and was on the eve of
escaping, when the door was thrown open in a great hurry, and an
elderly gentleman entered; bringing with him a lady who certainly
could not be considered young--that was matter of fact; and probably
could not be considered handsome--but that was matter of opinion.
She was very straight, very tall, and not at all flexible in face or
figure. On her head she wore a great straw bonnet, with trimmings
of the same, in which she looked as if she had been thatched by an
unskillful labourer; and in her hand she held a most enormous fan.

'Mr Chuzzlewit, I believe?' said the gentleman.

'That is my name.'

'Sir,' said the gentleman, 'I am pressed for time.'


'Thank God!' thought Martin.

'I go back Toe my home, sir,' pursued the gentleman, 'by the return
train, which starts immediate. Start is not a word you use in your
country, sir.'

'Oh yes, it is,' said Martin.

'You air mistaken, sir,' returned the gentleman, with great
decision: 'but we will not pursue the subject, lest it should awake
your preju--dice. Sir, Mrs Hominy.'

Martin bowed.

'Mrs Hominy, sir, is the lady of Major Hominy, one of our chicest
spirits; and belongs Toe one of our most aristocratic families. You
air, p'raps, acquainted, sir, with Mrs Hominy's writings.'

Martin couldn't say he was.

'You have much Toe learn, and Toe enjoy, sir,' said the gentleman.
'Mrs Hominy is going Toe stay until the end of the Fall, sir, with
her married daughter at the settlement of New Thermopylae, three
days this side of Eden. Any attention, sir, that you can show Toe
Mrs Hominy upon the journey, will be very grateful Toe the Major and
our fellow-citizens. Mrs Hominy, I wish you good night, ma'am, and
a pleasant pro-gress on your route!'

Martin could scarcely believe it; but he had gone, and Mrs Hominy
was drinking the milk.

'A'most used-up I am, I do declare!' she observed. 'The jolting in
the cars is pretty nigh as bad as if the rail was full of snags and
sawyers.'

'Snags and sawyers, ma'am?' said Martin.

'Well, then, I do suppose you'll hardly realise my meaning, sir,'
said Mrs Hominy. 'My! Only think! DO tell!'

It did not appear that these expressions, although they seemed to
conclude with an urgent entreaty, stood in need of any answer; for
Mrs Hominy, untying her bonnet-strings, observed that she would
withdraw to lay that article of dress aside, and would return
immediately.

'Mark!' said Martin. 'Touch me, will you. Am I awake?'

'Hominy is, sir,' returned his partner--'Broad awake! Just the sort
of woman, sir, as would be discovered with her eyes wide open, and
her mind a-working for her country's good, at any hour of the day or
night.'

They had no opportunity of saying more, for Mrs Hominy stalked in
again--very erect, in proof of her aristocratic blood; and holding
in her clasped hands a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, perhaps a
parting gift from that choice spirit, the Major. She had laid aside
her bonnet, and now appeared in a highly aristocratic and classical
cap, meeting beneath her chin: a style of headdress so admirably
adapted to her countenance, that if the late Mr Grimaldi had
appeared in the lappets of Mrs Siddons, a more complete effect could
not have been produced.

Martin handed her to a chair. Her first words arrested him before


he could get back to his own seat.

'Pray, sir!' said Mrs Hominy, 'where do you hail from?'

'I am afraid I am dull of comprehension,' answered Martin, 'being
extremely tired; but upon my word I don't understand you.'

Mrs Hominy shook her head with a melancholy smile that said, not
inexpressively, 'They corrupt even the language in that old
country!' and added then, as coming down a step or two to meet his
low capacity, 'Where was you rose?'

'Oh!' said Martin 'I was born in Kent.'

'And how do you like our country, sir?' asked Mrs Hominy.

'Very much indeed,' said Martin, half asleep. 'At least--that is-pretty
well, ma'am.'

'Most strangers--and partick'larly Britishers--are much surprised by
what they see in the U-nited States,' remarked Mrs Hominy.

'They have excellent reason to be so, ma'am,' said Martin. 'I never
was so much surprised in all my life.'

'Our institutions make our people smart much, sir,' Mrs Hominy
remarked.

'The most short-sighted man could see that at a glance, with his
naked eye,' said Martin.

Mrs Hominy was a philosopher and an authoress, and consequently had
a pretty strong digestion; but this coarse, this indecorous phrase,
was almost too much for her. For a gentleman sitting alone with a
lady--although the door WAS open--to talk about a naked eye!

A long interval elapsed before even she--woman of masculine and
towering intellect though she was--could call up fortitude enough to
resume the conversation. But Mrs Hominy was a traveller. Mrs
Hominy was a writer of reviews and analytical disquisitions. Mrs
Hominy had had her letters from abroad, beginning 'My ever dearest
blank,' and signed 'The Mother of the Modern Gracchi' (meaning the
married Miss Hominy), regularly printed in a public journal, with
all the indignation in capitals, and all the sarcasm in italics.
Mrs Hominy had looked on foreign countries with the eye of a perfect
republican hot from the model oven; and Mrs Hominy could talk (or
write) about them by the hour together. So Mrs Hominy at last came
down on Martin heavily, and as he was fast asleep, she had it all
her own way, and bruised him to her heart's content.

It is no great matter what Mrs Hominy said, save that she had learnt
it from the cant of a class, and a large class, of her fellow
countrymen, who in their every word, avow themselves to be as
senseless to the high principles on which America sprang, a nation,
into life, as any Orson in her legislative halls. Who are no more
capable of feeling, or of caring if they did feel, that by reducing
their own country to the ebb of honest men's contempt, they put in
hazard the rights of nations yet unborn, and very progress of the
human race, than are the swine who wallow in their streets. Who
think that crying out to other nations, old in their iniquity, 'We
are no worse than you!' (No worse!) is high defence and 'vantageground
enough for that Republic, but yesterday let loose upon her
noble course, and but to-day so maimed and lame, so full of sores
and ulcers, foul to the eye and almost hopeless to the sense, that


her best friends turn from the loathsome creature with disgust.
Who, having by their ancestors declared and won their Independence,
because they would not bend the knee to certain Public vices and
corruptions, and would not abrogate the truth, run riot in the Bad,
and turn their backs upon the Good; and lying down contented with
the wretched boast that other Temples also are of glass, and stones
which batter theirs may be flung back; show themselves, in that
alone, as immeasurably behind the import of the trust they hold, and
as unworthy to possess it as if the sordid hucksterings of all their
little governments--each one a kingdom in its small depravity--were
brought into a heap for evidence against them.

Martin by degrees became so far awake, that he had a sense of a
terrible oppression on his mind; an imperfect dream that he had
murdered a particular friend, and couldn't get rid of the body.
When his eyes opened it was staring him full in the face. There was
the horrible Hominy talking deep truths in a melodious snuffle, and
pouring forth her mental endowments to such an extent that the
Major's bitterest enemy, hearing her, would have forgiven him from
the bottom of his heart. Martin might have done something desperate
if the gong had not sounded for supper; but sound it did most
opportunely; and having stationed Mrs Hominy at the upper end of the
table he took refuge at the lower end himself; whence, after a hasty
meal he stole away, while the lady was yet busied with dried beef
and a saucer-full of pickled fixings.

It would be difficult to give an adequate idea of Mrs Hominy's
freshness next day, or of the avidity with which she went headlong
into moral philosophy at breakfast. Some little additional degree
of asperity, perhaps, was visible in her features, but not more than
the pickles would have naturally produced. All that day she clung
to Martin. She sat beside him while he received his friends (for
there was another Reception, yet more numerous than the former),
propounded theories, and answered imaginary objections, so that
Martin really began to think he must be dreaming, and speaking for
two; she quoted interminable passages from certain essays on
government, written by herself; used the Major's pocket-handkerchief
as if the snuffle were a temporary malady, of which she was
determined to rid herself by some means or other; and, in short, was
such a remarkable companion, that Martin quite settled it between
himself and his conscience, that in any new settlement it would be
absolutely necessary to have such a person knocked on the head for
the general peace of society.

In the meantime Mark was busy, from early in the morning until late
at night, in getting on board the steamboat such provisions, tools
and other necessaries, as they had been forewarned it would be wise
to take. The purchase of these things, and the settlement of their
bill at the National, reduced their finances to so low an ebb, that
if the captain had delayed his departure any longer, they would have
been in almost as bad a plight as the unfortunate poorer emigrants,
who (seduced on board by solemn advertisement) had been living on
the lower deck a whole week, and exhausting their miserable stock of
provisions before the voyage commenced. There they were, all
huddled together with the engine and the fires. Farmers who had
never seen a plough; woodmen who had never used an axe; builders who
couldn't make a box; cast out of their own land, with not a hand to
aid them: newly come into an unknown world, children in
helplessness, but men in wants--with younger children at their
backs, to live or die as it might happen!

The morning came, and they would start at noon. Noon came, and they
would start at night. But nothing is eternal in this world; not
even the procrastination of an American skipper; and at night all


was ready.

Dispirited and weary to the last degree, but a greater lion than
ever (he had done nothing all the afternoon but answer letters from
strangers; half of them about nothing; half about borrowing money,
and all requiring an instantaneous reply), Martin walked down to the
wharf, through a concourse of people, with Mrs Hominy upon his arm;
and went on board. But Mark was bent on solving the riddle of this
lionship, if he could; and so, not without the risk of being left
behind, ran back to the hotel.

Captain Kedgick was sitting in the colonnade, with a julep on his
knee, and a cigar in his mouth. He caught Mark's eye, and said:

'Why, what the 'Tarnal brings you here?'

'I'll tell you plainly what it is, Captain,' said Mark. 'I want to
ask you a question.'

'A man may ASK a question, so he may,' returned Kedgick; strongly
implying that another man might not answer a question, so he
mightn't.

'What have they been making so much of him for, now?' said Mark,
slyly. 'Come!'

'Our people like ex-citement,' answered Kedgick, sucking his cigar.

'But how has he excited 'em?' asked Mark.

The Captain looked at him as if he were half inclined to unburden
his mind of a capital joke.

'You air a-going?' he said.

'Going!' cried Mark. 'Ain't every moment precious?'

'Our people like ex-citement,' said the Captain, whispering. 'He
ain't like emigrants in gin'ral; and he excited 'em along of this;'
he winked and burst into a smothered laugh; 'along of this. Scadder
is a smart man, and--and--nobody as goes to Eden ever comes back
alive!'

The wharf was close at hand, and at that instant Mark could hear
them shouting out his name; could even hear Martin calling to him to
make haste, or they would be separated. It was too late to mend the
matter, or put any face upon it but the best. He gave the Captain a
parting benediction, and ran off like a race-horse.

'Mark! Mark!' cried Martin.

'Here am I, sir!' shouted Mark, suddenly replying from the edge of
the quay, and leaping at a bound on board. 'Never was half so
jolly, sir. All right. Haul in! Go ahead!'

The sparks from the wood fire streamed upward from the two chimneys,
as if the vessel were a great firework just lighted; and they roared
away upon the dark water.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MARTIN AND HIS PARTNER TAKE POSSESSION OF THEIR ESTATE. THE JOYFUL


OCCASION INVOLVES SOME FURTHER ACCOUNT OF EDEN

There happened to be on board the steamboat several gentlemen
passengers, of the same stamp as Martin's New York friend Mr Bevan;
and in their society he was cheerful and happy. They released him
as well as they could from the intellectual entanglements of Mrs
Hominy; and exhibited, in all they said and did, so much good sense
and high feeling, that he could not like them too well. 'If this
were a republic of Intellect and Worth,' he said, 'instead of
vapouring and jobbing, they would not want the levers to keep it in
motion.'

'Having good tools, and using bad ones,' returned Mr Tapley, 'would
look as if they was rather a poor sort of carpenters, sir, wouldn't
it?'

Martin nodded. 'As if their work were infinitely above their powers
and purpose, Mark; and they botched it in consequence.'

'The best on it is,' said Mark, 'that when they do happen to make a
decent stroke; such as better workmen, with no such opportunities,
make every day of their lives and think nothing of--they begin to
sing out so surprising loud. Take notice of my words, sir. If ever
the defaulting part of this here country pays its debts--along of
finding that not paying 'em won't do in a commercial point of view,
you see, and is inconvenient in its consequences--they'll take such a
shine out of it, and make such bragging speeches, that a man might
suppose no borrowed money had ever been paid afore, since the world
was first begun. That's the way they gammon each other, sir. Bless
you, I know 'em. Take notice of my words, now!'

'You seem to be growing profoundly sagacious!' cried Martin,
laughing.

'Whether that is,' thought Mark, 'because I'm a day's journey nearer
Eden, and am brightening up afore I die, I can't say. P'rhaps by
the time I get there I shall have growed into a prophet.'

He gave no utterance to these sentiments; but the excessive
joviality they inspired within him, and the merriment they brought
upon his shining face, were quite enough for Martin. Although he
might sometimes profess to make light of his partner's inexhaustible
cheerfulness, and might sometimes, as in the case of Zephaniah
Scadder, find him too jocose a commentator, he was always sensible
of the effect of his example in rousing him to hopefulness and
courage. Whether he were in the humour to profit by it, mattered
not a jot. It was contagious, and he could not choose but be
affected.

At first they parted with some of their passengers once or twice a
day, and took in others to replace them. But by degrees, the towns
upon their route became more thinly scattered; and for many hours
together they would see no other habitations than the huts of the
wood-cutters, where the vessel stopped for fuel. Sky, wood, and
water all the livelong day; and heat that blistered everything it
touched.

On they toiled through great solitudes, where the trees upon the
banks grew thick and close; and floatad in the stream; and held up
shrivelled arms from out the river's depths; and slid down from the
margin of the land, half growing, half decaying, in the miry water.
On through the weary day and melancholy night; beneath the burning
sun, and in the mist and vapour of the evening; on, until return


appeared impossible, and restoration to their home a miserable
dream.

They had now but few people on board, and these few were as flat, as
dull, and stagnant, as the vegetation that oppressed their eyes. No
sound of cheerfulness or hope was heard; no pleasant talk beguiled
the tardy time; no little group made common cause against the full
depression of the scene. But that, at certain periods, they
swallowed food together from a common trough, it might have been old
Charon's boat, conveying melancholy shades to judgment.

At length they drew near New Thermopylae; where, that same evening,
Mrs Hominy would disembark. A gleam of comfort sunk into Martin's
bosom when she told him this. Mark needed none; but he was not
displeased.

It was almost night when they came alongside the landing-place. A
steep bank with an hotel like a barn on the top of it; a wooden
store or two; and a few scattered sheds.

'You sleep here to-night, and go on in the morning, I suppose,
ma'am?' said Martin.

'Where should I go on to?' cried the mother of the modern Gracchi.

'To New Thermopylae.'

'My! ain't I there?' said Mrs Hominy.

Martin looked for it all round the darkening panorama; but he
couldn't see it, and was obliged to say so.

'Why that's it!' cried Mrs Hominy, pointing to the sheds just
mentioned.

'THAT!' exclaimed Martin.

'Ah! that; and work it which way you will, it whips Eden,' said Mrs
Hominy, nodding her head with great expression.

The married Miss Hominy, who had come on board with her husband,
gave to this statement her most unqualified support, as did that
gentleman also. Martin gratefully declined their invitation to
regale himself at their house during the half hour of the vessel's
stay; and having escorted Mrs Hominy and the red pocket-handkerchief
(which was still on active service) safely across the gangway,
returned in a thoughtful mood to watch the emigrants as they removed
their goods ashore.

Mark, as he stood beside him, glanced in his face from time to time;
anxious to discover what effect this dialogue had had upon him, and
not unwilling that his hopes should be dashed before they reached
their destination, so that the blow he feared might be broken in its
fall. But saving that he sometimes looked up quickly at the poor
erections on the hill, he gave him no clue to what was passing in
his mind, until they were again upon their way.

'Mark,' he said then, 'are there really none but ourselves on board
this boat who are bound for Eden?'

'None at all, sir. Most of 'em, as you know, have stopped short;
and the few that are left are going further on. What matters that!
More room there for us, sir.'


'Oh, to be sure!' said Martin. 'But I was thinking--' and there he
paused.

'Yes, sir?' observed Mark.

'How odd it was that the people should have arranged to try their
fortune at a wretched hole like that, for instance, when there is
such a much better, and such a very different kind of place, near at
hand, as one may say.'

He spoke in a tone so very different from his usual confidence, and
with such an obvious dread of Mark's reply, that the good-natured
fellow was full of pity.

'Why, you know, sir,' said Mark, as gently as he could by any means
insinuate the observation, 'we must guard against being too
sanguine. There's no occasion for it, either, because we're
determined to make the best of everything, after we know the worst
of it. Ain't we, sir?'

Martin looked at him, but answered not a word.

'Even Eden, you know, ain't all built,' said Mark.

'In the name of Heaven, man,' cried Martin angrily, 'don't talk of
Eden in the same breath with that place. Are you mad? There--God
forgive me!--don't think harshly of me for my temper!'

After that, he turned away, and walked to and fro upon the deck full
two hours. Nor did he speak again, except to say 'Good night,'
until next day; nor even then upon this subject, but on other topics
quite foreign to the purpose.

As they proceeded further on their track, and came more and more
towards their journey's end, the monotonous desolation of the scene
increased to that degree, that for any redeeming feature it
presented to their eyes, they might have entered, in the body, on
the grim domains of Giant Despair. A flat morass, bestrewn with
fallen timber; a marsh on which the good growth of the earth seemed
to have been wrecked and cast away, that from its decomposing ashes
vile and ugly things might rise; where the very trees took the
aspect of huge weeds, begotten of the slime from which they sprung,
by the hot sun that burnt them up; where fatal maladies, seeking
whom they might infect, came forth at night in misty shapes, and
creeping out upon the water, hunted them like spectres until day;
where even the blessed sun, shining down on festering elements of
corruption and disease, became a horror; this was the realm of Hope
through which they moved.

At last they stopped. At Eden too. The waters of the Deluge might
have left it but a week before; so choked with slime and matted
growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.

There being no depth of water close in shore, they landed from the
vessel's boat, with all their goods beside them. There were a few
log-houses visible among the dark trees; the best, a cow-shed or a
rude stable; but for the wharves, the market-place, the public
buildings-


'Here comes an Edener,' said Mark. 'He'll get us help to carry
these things up. Keep a good heart, sir. Hallo there!'

The man advanced toward them through the thickening gloom, very
slowly; leaning on a stick. As he drew nearer, they observed that


he was pale and worn, and that his anxious eyes were deeply sunken
in his head. His dress of homespun blue hung about him in rags; his
feet and head were bare. He sat down on a stump half-way, and
beckoned them to come to him. When they complied, he put his hand
upon his side as if in pain, and while he fetched his breath stared
at them, wondering.

'Strangers!' he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak.

'The very same,' said Mark. 'How are you, sir?'

'I've had the fever very bad,' he answered faintly. 'I haven't
stood upright these many weeks. Those are your notions I see,'
pointing to their property.

'Yes, sir,' said Mark, 'they are. You couldn't recommend us some
one as would lend a hand to help carry 'em up to the--to the town,
could you, sir?'

'My eldest son would do it if he could,' replied the man; 'but today
he has his chill upon him, and is lying wrapped up in the blankets.
My youngest died last week.'

'I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart,' said Mark, shaking
him by the hand. 'Don't mind us. Come along with me, and I'll give
you an arm back. The goods is safe enough, sir'--to Martin--'there
ain't many people about, to make away with 'em. What a comfort that
is!'

'No,' cried the man. 'You must look for such folk here,' knocking
his stick upon the ground, 'or yonder in the bush, towards the
north. We've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away. Them
that we have here, don't come out at night.'

'The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?' said Mark.

'It's deadly poison,' was the settler's answer.

Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him
as ambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along
explained to him the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it
lay. Close to his own log-house, he said; so close that he had used
their dwelling as a store-house for some corn; they must excuse it
that night, but he would endeavour to get it taken out upon the
morrow. He then gave them to understand, as an additional scrap of
local chit-chat, that he had buried the last proprietor with his own
hands; a piece of information which Mark also received without the
least abatement of his equanimity.

In a word, he conducted them to a miserable cabin, rudely
constructed of the trunks of trees; the door of which had either
fallen down or been carried away long ago; and which was
consequently open to the wild landscape and the dark night. Saving
for the little store he had mentioned, it was perfectly bare of all
furniture; but they had left a chest upon the landing-place, and he
gave them a rude torch in lieu of candle. This latter acquisition
Mark planted in the earth, and then declaring that the mansion
'looked quite comfortable,' hurried Martin off again to help bring
up the chest. And all the way to the landing-place and back, Mark
talked incessantly; as if he would infuse into his partner's breast
some faint belief that they had arrived under the most auspicious
and cheerful of all imaginable circumstances.

But many a man who would have stood within a home dismantled, strong


in his passion and design of vengeance, has had the firmness of his
nature conquered by the razing of an air-built castle. When the
log-hut received them for the second time, Martin laid down upon the
ground, and wept aloud.

'Lord love you, sir!' cried Mr Tapley, in great terror; 'Don't do
that! Don't do that, sir! Anything but that! It never helped man,
woman, or child, over the lowest fence yet, sir, and it never will.
Besides its being of no use to you, it's worse than of no use to me,
for the least sound of it will knock me flat down. I can't stand up
agin it, sir. Anything but that!'

There is no doubt he spoke the truth, for the extraordinary alarm
with which he looked at Martin as he paused upon his knees before
the chest, in the act of unlocking it, to say these words,
sufficiently confirmed him.

'I ask your forgiveness a thousand times, my dear fellow,' said
Martin. 'I couldn't have helped it, if death had been the penalty.'

'Ask my forgiveness!' said Mark, with his accustomed cheerfulness,
as he proceeded to unpack the chest. 'The head partner a-asking
forgiveness of Co., eh? There must be something wrong in the firm
when that happens. I must have the books inspected and the accounts
gone over immediate. Here we are. Everything in its proper place.
Here's the salt pork. Here's the biscuit. Here's the whiskey.
Uncommon good it smells too. Here's the tin pot. This tin pot's a
small fortun' in itself! Here's the blankets. Here's the axe. Who
says we ain't got a first-rate fit out? I feel as if I was a cadet
gone out to Indy, and my noble father was chairman of the Board of
Directors. Now, when I've got some water from the stream afore the
door and mixed the grog,' cried Mark, running out to suit the action
to the word, 'there's a supper ready, comprising every delicacy of
the season. Here we are, sir, all complete. For what we are going
to receive, et cetrer. Lord bless you, sir, it's very like a gipsy
party!'

It was impossible not to take heart, in the company of such a man as
this. Martin sat upon the ground beside the box; took out his
knife; and ate and drank sturdily.

'Now you see,' said Mark, when they had made a hearty meal; 'with
your knife and mine, I sticks this blanket right afore the door. Or
where, in a state of high civilization, the door would be. And very
neat it looks. Then I stops the aperture below, by putting the
chest agin it. And very neat THAT looks. Then there's your
blanket, sir. Then here's mine. And what's to hinder our passing a
good night?'

For all his light-hearted speaking, it was long before he slept
himself. He wrapped his blanket round him, put the axe ready to his
hand, and lay across the threshold of the door; too anxious and too
watchful to close his eyes. The novelty of their dreary situation,
the dread of some rapacious animal or human enemy, the terrible
uncertainty of their means of subsistence, the apprehension of
death, the immense distance and the hosts of obstacles between
themselves and England, were fruitful sources of disquiet in the
deep silence of the night. Though Martin would have had him think
otherwise, Mark felt that he was waking also, and a prey to the same
reflections. This was almost worse than all, for if he began to
brood over their miseries instead of trying to make head against
them there could be little doubt that such a state of mind would
powerfully assist the influence of the pestilent climate. Never had
the light of day been half so welcome to his eyes, as when awaking


from a fitful doze, Mark saw it shining through the blanket in the
doorway.

He stole out gently, for his companion was sleeping now; and having
refreshed himself by washing in the river, where it snowed before
the door, took a rough survey of the settlement. There were not
above a score of cabins in the whole; half of these appeared
untenanted; all were rotten and decayed. The most tottering,
abject, and forlorn among them was called, with great propriety, the
Bank, and National Credit Office. It had some feeble props about
it, but was settling deep down in the mud, past all recovery.

Here and there an effort had been made to clear the land, and
something like a field had been marked out, where, among the stumps
and ashes of burnt trees, a scanty crop of Indian corn was growing.
In some quarters, a snake or zigzag fence had been begun, but in no
instance had it been completed; and the felled logs, half hidden in
the soil, lay mouldering away. Three or four meagre dogs, wasted
and vexed with hunger; some long-legged pigs, wandering away into
the woods in search of food; some children, nearly naked, gazing at
him from the huts; were all the living things he saw. A fetid
vapour, hot and sickening as the breath of an oven, rose up from the
earth, and hung on everything around; and as his foot-prints sunk
into the marshy ground, a black ooze started forth to blot them out.

Their own land was mere forest. The trees had grown so think and
close that they shouldered one another out of their places, and the
weakest, forced into shapes of strange distortion, languished like
cripples. The best were stunted, from the pressure and the want of
room; and high about the stems of all grew long rank grass, dank
weeds, and frowsy underwood; not divisible into their separate
kinds, but tangled all together in a heap; a jungle deep and dark,
with neither earth nor water at its roots, but putrid matter, formed
of the pulpy offal of the two, and of their own corruption.

He went down to the landing-place where they had left their goods
last night; and there he found some half-dozen men--wan and forlorn
to look at, but ready enough to assist--who helped him to carry them
to the log-house. They shook their heads in speaking of the
settlement, and had no comfort to give him. Those who had the means
of going away had all deserted it. They who were left had lost
their wives, their children, friends, or brothers there, and
suffered much themselves. Most of them were ill then; none were the
men they had been once. They frankly offered their assistance and
advice, and, leaving him for that time, went sadly off upon their
several tasks.

Martin was by this time stirring; but he had greatly changed, even
in one night. He was very pale and languid; he spoke of pains and
weakness in his limbs, and complained that his sight was dim, and
his voice feeble. Increasing in his own briskness as the prospect
grew more and more dismal, Mark brought away a door from one of the
deserted houses, and fitted it to their own habitation; then went
back again for a rude bench he had observed, with which he presently
returned in triumph; and having put this piece of furniture outside
the house, arranged the notable tin pot and other such movables upon
it, that it might represent a dresser or a sideboard. Greatly
satisfied with this arrangement, he next rolled their cask of flour
into the house and set it up on end in one corner, where it served
for a side-table. No better dining-table could be required than the
chest, which he solemnly devoted to that useful service thenceforth.
Their blankets, clothes, and the like, he hung on pegs and nails.
And lastly, he brought forth a great placard (which Martin in the
exultation of his heart had prepared with his own hands at the


National Hotel) bearing the inscription, CHUZZLEWIT & CO.,
ARCHITECTS AND SURVEYORS, which he displayed upon the most
conspicuous part of the premises, with as much gravity as if the
thriving city of Eden had a real existence, and they expected to be
overwhelmed with business.

'These here tools,' said Mark, bringing forward Martin's case of
instruments and sticking the compasses upright in a stump before the
door, 'shall be set out in the open air to show that we come
provided. And now, if any gentleman wants a house built, he'd
better give his orders, afore we're other ways bespoke.'

Considering the intense heat of the weather, this was not a bad
morning's work; but without pausing for a moment, though he was
streaming at every pore, Mark vanished into the house again, and
presently reappeared with a hatchet; intent on performing some
impossibilities with that implement.

'Here's ugly old tree in the way, sir,' he observed, 'which'll be
all the better down. We can build the oven in the afternoon. There
never was such a handy spot for clay as Eden is. That's convenient,
anyhow.'

But Martin gave him no answer. He had sat the whole time with his
head upon his hands, gazing at the current as it rolled swiftly by;
thinking, perhaps, how fast it moved towards the open sea, the high
road to the home he never would behold again.

Not even the vigorous strokes which Mark dealt at the tree awoke him
from his mournful meditation. Finding all his endeavours to rouse
him of no use, Mark stopped in his work and came towards him.

'Don't give in, sir,' said Mr Tapley.

'Oh, Mark,' returned his friend, 'what have I done in all my life
that has deserved this heavy fate?'

'Why, sir,' returned Mark, 'for the matter of that, everybody as is
here might say the same thing; many of 'em with better reason p'raps
than you or me. Hold up, sir. Do something. Couldn't you ease
your mind, now, don't you think, by making some personal
obserwations in a letter to Scadder?'

'No,' said Martin, shaking his head sorrowfully: 'I am past that.'

'But if you're past that already,' returned Mark, 'you must be ill,
and ought to be attended to.'

'Don't mind me,' said Martin. 'Do the best you can for yourself.
You'll soon have only yourself to consider. And then God speed you
home, and forgive me for bringing you here! I am destined to die in
this place. I felt it the instant I set foot upon the shore.
Sleeping or waking, Mark, I dreamed it all last night.'

'I said you must be ill,' returned Mark, tenderly, 'and now I'm sure
of it. A touch of fever and ague caught on these rivers, I dare
say; but bless you, THAT'S nothing. It's only a seasoning, and we
must all be seasoned, one way or another. That's religion that is,
you know,' said Mark.

He only sighed and shook his head.

'Wait half a minute,' said Mark cheerily, 'till I run up to one of
our neighbours and ask what's best to be took, and borrow a little


of it to give you; and to-morrow you'll find yourself as strong as
ever again. I won't be gone a minute. Don't give in while I'm
away, whatever you do!'

Throwing down his hatchet, he sped away immediately, but stopped
when he had got a little distance, and looked back; then hurried on
again.

'Now, Mr Tapley,' said Mark, giving himself a tremendous blow in the
chest by way of reviver, 'just you attend to what I've got to say.
Things is looking about as bad as they CAN look, young man. You'll
not have such another opportunity for showing your jolly
disposition, my fine fellow, as long as you live. And therefore,
Tapley, Now's your time to come out strong; or Never!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

REPORTS PROGRESS IN CERTAIN HOMELY MATTERS OF LOVE, HATRED,
JEALOUSY, AND REVENGE

'Hallo, Pecksniff!' cried Mr Jonas from the parlour. 'Isn't
somebody a-going to open that precious old door of yours?'

'Immediately, Mr Jonas. Immediately.'

'Ecod,' muttered the orphan, 'not before it's time neither. Whoever
it is, has knocked three times, and each one loud enough to wake
the--' he had such a repugnance to the idea of waking the Dead, that
he stopped even then with the words upon his tongue, and said,
instead, 'the Seven Sleepers.'

'Immediately, Mr Jonas; immediately,' repeated Pecksniff. 'Thomas
Pinch'--he couldn't make up his mind, in his great agitation,
whether to call Tom his dear friend or a villain, so he shook his
fist at him PRO TEM--'go up to my daughters' room, and tell them
who is here. Say, Silence. Silence! Do you hear me, sir?

'Directly, sir!cried Tomdepartingin a state of much amazement
on his errand.

'You'll--hahaha!--you'll excuse meMr Jonasif I close this
door a momentwill you?' said Pecksniff. 'This may be a
professional call. Indeed I am pretty sure it is. Thank you.' Then
Mr Pecksniffgently warbling a rustic staveput on his garden hat
seized a spadeand opened the street door; calmly appearing on the
thresholdas if he thought he hadfrom his vineyardheard a
modest rapbut was not quite certain.

Seeing a gentleman and lady before himhe started back in as much
confusion as a good man with a crystal conscience might betray in
mere surprise. Recognition came upon him the next momentand he
cried:

'Mr Chuzzlewit! Can I believe my eyes! My dear sir; my good sir! A
joyful houra happy hour indeed. Praymy dear sirwalk in. You
find me in my garden-dress. You will excuse itI know. It is an
ancient pursuitgardening. Primitivemy dear sir. Orif I am
not mistakenAdam was the first of our calling. MY EveI grieve
to say is no moresir; but'--here he pointed to his spadeand
shook his head as if he were not cheerful without an effort--'but I
do a little bit of Adam still.'


He had by this time got them into the best parlourwhere the
portrait by Spillerand the bust by Spokerwere.

'My daughters' said Mr Pecksniff'will be overjoyed. If I could
feel weary upon such a themeI should have been worn out long ago
my dear sirby their constant anticipation of this happiness and
their repeated allusions to our meeting at Mrs Todgers's. Their
fair young friendtoo' said Mr Pecksniff'whom they so desire to
know and love--indeed to know heris to love--I hope I see her
well. I hope in sayingWelcome to my humble roof!I find some
echo in her own sentiments. If features are an index to the heart
I have no fears of that. An extremely engaging expression of
countenanceMr Chuzzlewitmy dear sir--very much so!'

'Mary' said the old man'Mr Pecksniff flatters you. But flattery
from him is worth the having. He is not a dealer in itand it
comes from his heart. We thought Mr--'

'Pinch' said Mary.

'Mr Pinch would have arrived before usPecksniff.'

'He did arrive before youmy dear sir' retorted Pecksniffraising
his voice for the edification of Tom upon the stairs'and was
aboutI dare sayto tell me of your comingwhen I begged him
first to knock at my daughters' chamberand inquire after Charity
my dear childwho is not so well as I could wish. No' said Mr
Pecksniffanswering their looks'I am sorry to sayshe is not.
It is merely an hysterical affection; nothing moreI am not uneasy.
Mr Pinch! Thomas!' exclaimed Pecksniffin his kindest accents.
'Pray come in. I shall make no stranger of you. Thomas is a friend
of mineof rather long-standingMr Chuzzlewityou must know.'

'Thank yousir' said Tom. 'You introduce me very kindlyand
speak of me in terms of which I am very proud'

'Old Thomas!' cried his masterpleasantly 'God bless you!'

Tom reported that the young ladies would appear directlyand that
the best refreshments which the house afforded were even then in
preparationunder their joint superintendence. While he was
speakingthe old man looked at him intentlythough with less
harshness than was common to him; nor did the mutual embarrassment
of Tom and the young ladyto whatever cause he attributed itseem
to escape his observation.

'Pecksniff' he said after a pauserising and taking him aside
towards the window'I was much shocked on hearing of my brother's
death. We had been strangers for many years. My only comfort is
that he must have lived the happier and better man for having
associated no hopes or schemes with me. Peace to his memory! We
were play-fellows once; and it would have been better for us both if
we had died then.'

Finding him in this gentle moodMr Pecksniff began to see another
way out of his difficultiesbesides the casting overboard of Jonas.

'That any manmy dear sircould possibly be the happier for not
knowing you' he returned'you will excuse my doubting. But that
Mr Anthonyin the evening of his lifewas happier in the affection
of his excellent son--a patternmy dear sira pattern to all sons
--and in the care of a distant relation whohowever lowly in his
means of serving himhad no bounds to his inclination; I can inform


you.'

'How's this?' said the old man. 'You are not a legatee?'

'You don't' said Mr Pecksniffwith a melancholy pressure of his
hand'quite understand my nature yetI find. NosirI am not a
legatee. I am proud to say I am not a legatee. I am proud to say
that neither of my children is a legatee. And yetsirI was with
him at his own request. HE understood me somewhat bettersir. He
wrote and saidI am sick. I am sinking. Come to me!I went to
him. I sat beside his bedsirand I stood beside his grave. Yes
at the risk of offending even youI did itsir. Though the avowal
should lead to our instant separationand to the severing of those
tender ties between us which have recently been formedI make it.
But I am not a legatee' said Mr Pecksniffsmiling dispassionately;
'and I never expected to be a legatee. I knew better!'

'His son a pattern!' cried old Martin. 'How can you tell me that?
My brother had in his wealth the usual doom of wealthand root of
misery. He carried his corrupting influence with himgo where he
would; and shed it round himeven on his hearth. It made of his
own child a greedy expectantwho measured every day and hour the
lessening distance between his father and the graveand cursed his
tardy progress on that dismal road.'

'No!' cried Mr Pecksniffboldly. 'Not at allsir!'

'But I saw that shadow in his house' said Martin Chuzzlewit'the
last time we metand warned him of its presence. I know it when I
see itdo I not? Iwho have lived within it all these years!'

'I deny it' Mr Pecksniff answeredwarmly. 'I deny it altogether.
That bereaved young man is now in this housesirseeking in change
of scene the peace of mind he has lost. Shall I be backward in
doing justice to that young manwhen even undertakers and
coffin-makers have been moved by the conduct he has exhibited; when
even mutes have spoken in his praiseand the medical man hasn't
known what to do with himself in the excitement of his feelings!
There is a person of the name of Gampsir--Mrs Gamp--ask her. She
saw Mr Jonas in a trying time. Ask HERsir. She is respectable
but not sentimentaland will state the fact. A line addressed to
Mrs Gampat the BirdShopKingsgate StreetHigh HolbornLondon
will meet with every attentionI have no doubt. Let her be
examinedmy good sir. Strikebut hear! LeapMr Chuzzlewitbut
look! Forgive memy dear sir' said Mr Pecksnifftaking both his
hands'if I am warm; but I am honestand must state the truth.'

In proof of the character he gave himselfMr Pecksniff suffered
tears of honesty to ooze out of his eyes.

The old man gazed at him for a moment with a look of wonder
repeating to himself'Here now! In this house!' But he mastered
his surpriseand saidafter a pause:

'Let me see him.'

'In a friendly spiritI hope?' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Forgive mesir
but he is in the receipt of my humble hospitality.'

'I said' replied the old man'let me see him. If I were disposed
to regard him in any other than a friendly spiritI should have
said keep us apart.'

'Certainlymy dear sir. So you would. You are frankness itselfI


know. I will break this happiness to him' said Mr Pecksniffas he
left the room'if you will excuse me for a minute--gently.'

He paved the way to the disclosure so very gentlythat a quarter of
an hour elapsed before he returned with Mr Jonas. In the meantime
the young ladies had made their appearanceand the table had been
set out for the refreshment of the travellers.

Nowhowever well Mr Pecksniffin his moralityhad taught Jonas
the lesson of dutiful behaviour to his uncleand however perfectly
Jonasin the cunning of his naturehad learnt itthat young man's
bearingwhen presented to his father's brotherwas anything but
manly or engaging. Perhapsindeedso singular a mixture of
defiance and obsequiousnessof fear and hardihoodof dogged
sullenness and an attempt at enraging and propitiationnever was
expressed in any one human figure as in that of Jonaswhenhaving
raised his downcast eyes to Martin's facehe let them fall again
and uneasily closing and unclosing his hands without a moment's
intermissionstood swinging himself from side to sidewaiting to
be addressed.

'Nephew' said the old man. 'You have been a dutiful sonI hear.'

'As dutiful as sons in generalI suppose' returned Jonaslooking
up and down once more. 'I don't brag to have been any better than
other sons; but I haven't been any worseI dare say.'

'A pattern to all sonsI am told' said the old manglancing
towards Mr Pecksniff.

'Ecod!' said Jonaslooking up again for a momentand shaking his
head'I've been as good a son as ever you were a brother. It's the
pot and the kettleif you come to that.'

'You speak bitterlyin the violence of your regret' said Martin
after a pause. 'Give me your hand.'

Jonas did soand was almost at his ease. 'Pecksniff' he
whisperedas they drew their chairs about the table; 'I gave him as
good as he broughteh? He had better look at homebefore he looks
out of windowI think?'

Mr Pecksniff only answered by a nudge of the elbowwhich might
either be construed into an indignant remonstrance or a cordial
assent; but whichin any casewas an emphatic admonition to his
chosen son-in-law to be silent. He then proceeded to do the honours
of the house with his accustomed ease and amiability.

But not even Mr Pecksniff's guileless merriment could set such a
party at their easeor reconcile materials so utterly discordant
and conflicting as those with which he had to deal. The unspeakable
jealously and hatred which that night's explanation had sown in
Charity's breastwas not to be so easily kept down; and more than
once it showed itself in such intensityas seemed to render a full
disclosure of all the circumstances then and thereimpossible to be
avoided. The beauteous Merrytoowith all the glory of her
conquest fresh upon herso probed and lanced the rankling
disappointment of her sister by her capricious airs and thousand
little trials of Mr Jonas's obediencethat she almost goaded her
into a fit of madnessand obliged her to retire from table in a
burst of passionhardly less vehement than that to which she had
abandoned herself in the first tumult of her wrath. The constraint
imposed upon the family by the presence among them for the first
time of Mary Graham (for by that name old Martin Chuzzlewit had


introduced her) did not at all improve this state of things; gentle
and quiet though her manner was. Mr Pecksniff's situation was
peculiarly trying; forwhat with having constantly to keep the
peace between his daughters; to maintain a reasonable show of
affection and unity in his household; to curb the growing ease and
gaiety of Jonaswhich vented itself in sundry insolences towards Mr
Pinchand an indefinable coarseness of manner in reference to Mary
(they being the two dependants); to make no mention at all of his
having perpetually to conciliate his rich old relativeand to
smooth downor explain awaysome of the ten thousand bad
appearances and combinations of bad appearancesby which they were
surrounded on that unlucky evening--what with having to do thisand
it would be difficult to sum up how much morewithout the least
relief or assistance from anybodyit may be easily imagined that Mr
Pecksniff had in his enjoyment something more than that usual
portion of alloy which is mixed up with the best of men's delights.
Perhaps he had never in his life felt such relief as when old
Martinlooking at his watchannounced that it was time to go.

'We have rooms' he said'at the Dragonfor the present. I have a
fancy for the evening walk. The nights are dark just now; perhaps
Mr Pinch would not object to light us home?'

'My dear sir!' cried Pecksniff'I shall be delighted. Merrymy
childthe lantern.'

'The lanternif you pleasemy dear' said Martin; 'but I couldn't
think of taking your father out of doors to-night; andto be brief
I won't.'

Mr Pecksniff already had his hat in his handbut it was so
emphatically said that he paused.

'I take Mr Pinchor go alone' said Martin. 'Which shall it be?'

'It shall be Thomassir' cried Pecksniff'since you are so
resolute upon it. Thomasmy friendbe very carefulif you
please.'

Tom was in some need of this injunctionfor he felt so nervousand
trembled to such a degreethat he found it difficult to hold the
lantern. How much more difficult whenat the old man's bidding she
drew her hand through his--Tom Pinch's--arm!

'And soMr Pinch' said Martinon the way'you are very
comfortably situated here; are you?'

Tom answeredwith even more than his usual enthusiasmthat he was
under obligations to Mr Pecksniff which the devotion of a lifetime
would but imperfectly repay.

'How long have you known my nephew?' asked Martin.

'Your nephewsir?' faltered Tom.

'Mr Jonas Chuzzlewit' said Mary.

'Oh dearyes' cried Tomgreatly relievedfor his mind was
running upon Martin. 'Certainly. I never spoke to him before to-
nightsir!'

'Perhaps half a lifetime will suffice for the acknowledgment of HIS
kindness' observed the old man.


Tom felt that this was a rebuff for himand could not but
understand it as a left-handed hit at his employer. So he was
silent. Mary felt that Mr Pinch was not remarkable for presence of
mindand that he could not say too little under existing
circumstances. So SHE was silent. The old mandisgusted by what
in his suspicious nature he considered a shameless and fulsome puff
of Mr Pecksniffwhich was a part of Tom's hired service and in
which he was determined to persevereset him down at once for a
deceitfulservilemiserable fawner. So HE was silent. And though
they were all sufficiently uncomfortableit is fair to say that
Martin was perhaps the most so; for he had felt kindly towards Tom
at firstand had been interested by his seeming simplicity.

'You're like the rest' he thoughtglancing at the face of the
unconscious Tom. 'You had nearly imposed upon mebut you have lost
your labour. You are too zealous a toad-eaterand betray yourself
Mr Pinch.'

During the whole remainder of the walknot another word was spoken.
First among the meetings to which Tom had long looked forward with a
beating heartit was memorable for nothing but embarrassment and
confusion. They parted at the Dragon door; and sighing as he
extinguished the candle in the lanternTom turned back again over
the gloomy fields.

As he approached the first stilewhich was in a lonely partmade
very dark by a plantation of young firsa man slipped past him and
went on before. Coming to the stile he stoppedand took his seat
upon it. Tom was rather startledand for a moment stood stillbut
he stepped forward again immediatelyand went close up to him.

It was Jonas; swinging his legs to and frosucking the head of a
stickand looking with a sneer at Tom.

'Good gracious me!' cried Tom'who would have thought of its being
you! You followed usthen?'

'What's that to you?' said Jonas. 'Go to the devil!'

'You are not very civilI think' remarked Tom.

'Civil enough for YOU' retorted Jonas. 'Who are you?'

'One who has as good a right to common consideration as another'
said Tom mildly.

'You're a liar' said Jonas. 'You haven't a right to any
consideration. You haven't a right to anything. You're a pretty
sort of fellow to talk about your rightsupon my soul! Haha!--
Rightstoo!'

'If you proceed in this way' returned Tomreddening'you will
oblige me to talk about my wrongs. But I hope your joke is over.'

'It's the way with you curs' said Mr Jonas'that when you know a
man's in real earnestyou pretend to think he's jokingso that you
may turn it off. But that won't do with me. It's too stale. Now
just attend to me for a bitMr Pitchor Witchor Stitchor
whatever your name is.'

'My name is Pinch' observed Tom. 'Have the goodness to call me by
it.'

'What! You mustn't even be called out of your namemustn't you!'


cried Jonas. 'Pauper' prentices are looking upI think. Ecodwe
manage 'em a little better in the city!'

'Never mind what you do in the city' said Tom. 'What have you got
to say to me?'

'Just thisMister Pinch' retorted Jonasthrusting his face so
close to Tom's that Tom was obliged to retreat a step. 'I advise
you to keep your own counseland to avoid title-tattleand not to
cut in where you're not wanted. I've heard something of youmy
friendand your meek ways; and I recommend you to forget 'em till I
am married to one of Pecksniff's galsand not to curry favour among
my relationsbut to leave the course clear. You knowwhen curs
won't leave the course clearthey're whipped off; so this is kind
advice. Do you understand? Eh? Dammewho are you' cried Jonas
with increased contempt'that you should walk home with THEM
unless it was behind 'emlike any other servant out of livery?'

'Come!' cried Tom'I see that you had better get off the stileand
let me pursue my way home. Make room for meif you please.'

'Don't think it!' said Jonasspreading out his legs. 'Not till I
choose. And I don't choose now. What! You're afraid of my making
you split upon some of your babbling just noware youSneak?'

'I am not afraid of many thingsI hope' said Tom; 'and certainly
not of anything that you will do. I am not a tale-bearerand I
despise all meanness. You quite mistake me. Ah!' cried Tom
indignantly. 'Is this manly from one in your position to one in
mine? Please to make room for me to pass. The less I saythe
better.'

'The less you say!' retorted Jonasdangling his legs the moreand
taking no heed of this request. 'You say very littledon't you?
EcodI should like to know what goes on between you and a vagabond
member of my family. There's very little in that tooI dare say!'

'I know no vagabond member of your family' cried Tomstoutly

'You do!' said Jonas.

'I don't' said Tom. 'Your uncle's namesakeif you mean himis no
vagabond. Any comparison between you and him'--Tom snapped his
fingers at himfor he was rising fast in wrath--'is immeasurably to
your disadvantage.'

'Oh indeed!' sneered Jonas. 'And what do you think of his deary-his
beggarly leavingsehMister Pinch?'

'I don't mean to say another wordor stay here another instant'
replied Tom.

'As I told you beforeyou're a liar' said Jonascoolly. 'You'll
stay here till I give you leave to go. Nowkeep where you are
will you?'

He flourished his stick over Tom's head; but in a moment it was
spinning harmlessly in the airand Jonas himself lay sprawling in
the ditch. In the momentary struggle for the stickTom had brought
it into violent contact with his opponent's forehead; and the blood
welled out profusely from a deep cut on the temple. Tom was first
apprised of this by seeing that he pressed his handkerchief to the
wounded partand staggered as he rosebeing stunned.


'Are you hurt?' said Tom. 'I am very sorry. Lean on me for a
moment. You can do that without forgiving meif you still bear me
malice. But I don't know why; for I never offended you before we
met on this spot.'

He made him no answer; not appearing at first to understand himor
even to know that he was hurtthough he several times took his
handkerchief from the cut to look vacantly at the blood upon it.
After one of these examinationshe looked at Tomand then there
was an expression in his featureswhich showed that he understood
what had taken placeand would remember it.

Nothing more passed between them as they went home. Jonas kept a
little in advanceand Tom Pinch sadly followedthinking of the
grief which the knowledge of this quarrel must occasion his
excellent benefactor. When Jonas knocked at the doorTom's heart
beat high; higher when Miss Mercy answered itand seeing her
wounded lovershireked aloud; higherwhen he followed them into
the family parlour; higher than at any other timewhen Jonas spoke.

'Don't make a noise about it' he said. 'It's nothing worth
mentioning. I didn't know the road; the night's very dark; and just
as I came up with Mr Pinch'--he turned his face towards Tombut not
his eyes--'I ran against a tree. It's only skin deep.'

'Cold waterMerrymy child!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Brown paper!
Scissors! A piece of old linen! Charitymy dearmake a bandage.
Bless meMr Jonas!'

'Ohbother YOUR nonsense' returned the gracious son-in-law elect.
'Be of some use if you can. If you can'tget out!'

Miss Charitythough called upon to lend her aidsat upright in one
cornerwith a smile upon her faceand didn't move a finger.
Though Mercy laved the wound herself; and Mr Pecksniff held the
patient's head between his two handsas if without that assistance
it must inevitably come in half; and Tom Pinchin his guilty
agitationshook a bottle of Dutch Drops until they were nothing but
English Frothand in his other hand sustained a formidable carvingknife
really intended to reduce the swellingbut apparently
designed for the ruthless infliction of another wound as soon as
that was dressed; Charity rendered not the least assistancenor
uttered a word. But when Mr Jonas's head was bound upand he had
gone to bedand everybody else had retiredand the house was
quietMr Pinchas he sat mournfully on his bedsteadruminating
heard a gentle tap at his door; and opening itsaw herto his
great astonishmentstanding before him with her finger on her lip.

'Mr Pinch' she whispered. 'Dear Mr Pinch! Tell me the truth!
You did that? There was some quarrel between youand you struck
him? I am sure of it!'

It was the first time she had ever spoken kindly to Tomin all
the many years they had passed together. He was stupefied with
amazement.

'Was it soor not?' she eagerly demanded.

'I was very much provoked' said Tom.

'Then it was?' cried Charitywith sparkling eyes.

'Ye-yes. We had a struggle for the path' said Tom. 'But I didn't
mean to hurt him so much.'


'Not so much!' she repeatedclenching her hand and stamping her
footto Tom's great wonder. 'Don't say that. It was brave of you.
I honour you for it. If you should ever quarrel againdon't spare
him for the worldbut beat him down and set your shoe upon him.
Not a word of this to anybody. Dear Mr PinchI am your friend from
tonight. I am always your friend from this time.'

She turned her flushed face upon Tom to confirm her words by its
kindling expression; and seizing his right handpressed it to her
breastand kissed it. And there was nothing personal in this to
render it at all embarrassingfor even Tomwhose power of
observation was by no means remarkableknew from the energy with
which she did it that she would have fondled any handno matter how
bedaubed or dyedthat had broken the head of Jonas Chuzzlewit.

Tom went into his roomand went to bedfull of uncomfortable
thoughts. That there should be any such tremendous division in the
family as he knew must have taken place to convert Charity Pecksniff
into his friendfor any reasonbutabove allfor that which was
clearly the real one; that Jonaswho had assailed him with such
exceeding coarsenessshould have been sufficiently magnanimous to
keep the secret of their quarrel; and that any train of
circumstances should have led to the commission of an assault and
battery by Thomas Pinch upon any man calling himself the friend of
Seth Pecksniff; were matters of such deep and painful cogitation
that he could not close his eyes. His own violencein particular
so preyed upon the generous mind of Tomthat coupling it with the
many former occasions on which he had given Mr Pecksniff pain and
anxiety (occasions of which that gentleman often reminded him)he
really began to regard himself as destined by a mysterious fate to
be the evil genius and bad angel of his patron. But he fell asleep
at lastand dreamed--new source of waking uneasiness--that he had
betrayed his trustand run away with Mary Graham.

It must be acknowledged thatasleep or awakeTom's position in
reference to this young lady was full of uneasiness. The more he
saw of herthe more he admired her beautyher intelligencethe
amiable qualities that even won on the divided house of Pecksniff
and in a few days restoredat all eventsthe semblance of harmony
and kindness between the angry sisters. When she spokeTom held
his breathso eagerly he listened; when she sanghe sat like one
entranced. She touched his organand from that bright epoch even
itthe old companion of his happiest hoursincapable as he had
thought of elevationbegan a new and deified existence.

God's love upon thy patienceTom! Whothat had beheld theefor
three summer weeksporing through half the deadlong night over the
jingling anatomy of that inscrutable old harpsichord in the back
parlourcould have missed the entrance to thy secret heart: albeit
it was dimly known to thee? Who that had seen the glow upon thy
cheek when leaning down to listenafter hours of labourfor the
sound of one incorrigible notethou foundest that it had a voice at
lastand wheezed out a flat somethingdistantly akin to what it
ought to bewould not have known that it was destined for no common
touchbut one that smotethough gently as an angel's handupon
the deepest chord within thee! And if a friendly glance--ayeeven
though it were as guileless as thine ownDear Tom--could have but
pierced the twilight of that eveningwhenin a voice well tempered
to the timesadsweetand lowyet hopefulshe first sang to the
altered instrumentand wondered at the change; and thousitting
apart at the open windowkept a glad silence and a swelling heart-must
not that glance have read perforce the dawning of a storyTom
that it were well for thee had never been begun!


Tom Pinch's situation was not made the less dangerous or difficult
by the fact of no one word passing between them in reference to
Martin. Honourably mindful of his promiseTom gave her
opportunities of all kinds. Early and late he was in the church; in
her favourite walks; in the villagein the gardenin the meadows;
and in any or all of these places he might have spoken freely. But
no; at all such times she carefully avoided himor never came in
his way unaccompanied. It could not be that she disliked or
distrusted himfor by a thousand little delicate meanstoo slight
for any notice but his ownshe singled him out when others were
presentand showed herself the very soul of kindness. Could it be
that she had broken with Martinor had never returned his
affectionsave in his own bold and heightened fancy? Tom's cheek
grew red with self-reproach as he dismissed the thought.

All this time old Martin came and went in his own strange manneror
sat among the rest absorbed within himselfand holding little
intercourse with any one. Although he was unsocialhe was not
willful in other thingsor troublesomeor morose; being never
better pleased than when they left him quite unnoticed at his book
and pursued their own amusements in his presenceunreserved. It
was impossible to discern in whom he took an interestor whether he
had an interest in any of them. Unless they spoke to him directly
he never showed that he had ears or eyes for anything that passed.

One day the lively Merrysitting with downcast eyes under a shady
tree in the churchyardwhither she had retired after fatiguing
herself by the imposition of sundry trials on the temper of Mr
Jonasfelt that a new shadow came between her and the sun. Raising
her eyes in the expectation of seeing her betrothedshe was not a
little surprised to see old Martin instead. Her surprise was not
diminished when he took his seat upon the turf beside herand
opened a conversation thus:

'When are you to be married?'

'Oh! dear Mr Chuzzlewitmy goodness me! I'm sure I don't know. Not
yet awhileI hope.'

'You hope?' said the old man.

It was very gravely saidbut she took it for banterand giggled
excessively.

'Come!' said the old manwith unusual kindness'you are young
good-lookingand I think good-natured! Frivolous you areand love
to beundoubtedly; but you must have some heart.'

'I have not given it all awayI can tell you' said Merrynodding
her head shrewdlyand plucking up the grass.

'Have you parted with any of it?'

She threw the grass aboutand looked another waybut said nothing.

Martin repeated his question.

'Lormy dear Mr Chuzzlewit! really you must excuse me! How very odd
you are.'

'If it be odd in me to desire to know whether you love the young man
whom I understand you are to marryI AM very odd' said Martin.
'For that is certainly my wish.'


'He's such a monsteryou know' said Merrypouting.

'Then you don't love him?' returned the old man. 'Is that your
meaning?'

'Whymy dear Mr ChuzzlewitI'm sure I tell him a hundred times a
day that I hate him. You must have heard me tell him that.'

'Often' said Martin.

'And so I do' cried Merry. 'I do positively.'

'Being at the same time engaged to marry him' observed the old man.

'Oh yes' said Merry. 'But I told the wretch--my dear Mr
ChuzzlewitI told him when he asked me--that if I ever did marry
himit should only be that I might hate and tease him all my life.'

She had a suspicion that the old man regarded Jonas with anything
but favourand intended these remarks to be extremely captivating.
He did not appearhoweverto regard them in that light by any
means; for when he spoke againit was in a tone of severity.

'Look about you' he saidpointing to the graves; 'and remember
that from your bridal hour to the day which sees you brought as low
as theseand laid in such a bedthere will be no appeal against
him. Thinkand speakand actfor oncelike an accountable
creature. Is any control put upon your inclinations? Are you
forced into this match? Are you insidiously advised or tempted to
contract itby any one? I will not ask by whom; by any one?'

'No' said Merryshrugging her shoulders. 'I don't know that I
am.'

'Don't know that you are! Are you?'

'No' replied Merry. 'Nobody ever said anything to me about it. If
any one had tried to make me have himI wouldn't have had him at
all.'

'I am told that he was at first supposed to be your sister's
admirer' said Martin.

'Ohgood gracious! My dear Mr Chuzzlewitit would be very hard to
make himthough he IS a monsteraccountable for other people's
vanity' said Merry. 'And poor dear Cherry is the vainest darling!'

'It was her mistakethen?'

'I hope it was' cried Merry; 'butall alongthe dear child has
been so dreadfully jealousand SO crossthatupon my word and
honourit's impossible to please herand it's of no use trying.'

'Not forcedpersuadedor controlled' said Martinthoughtfully.
'And that's trueI see. There is one chance yet. You may have
lapsed into this engagement in very giddiness. It may have been the
wanton act of a light head. Is that so?'

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit' simpered Merry'as to light-headedness
there never was such a feather of a head as mine. It's perfect
balloonI declare! You never DIDyou know!'

He waited quietly till she had finishedand then saidsteadily and


slowlyand in a softened voiceas if he would still invite her
confidence:

'Have you any wish--or is there anything within your breast that
whispers you may form the wishif you have time to think--to be
released from this engagement?'

Again Miss Merry poutedand looked downand plucked the grassand
shrugged her shoulders. No. She didn't know that she had. She was
pretty sure she hadn't. Quite sureshe might say. She 'didn't
mind it.'

'Has it ever occurred to you' said Martin'that your married life
may perhaps be miserablefull of bitternessand most unhappy?'

Merry looked down again; and now she tore the grass up by the roots.

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewitwhat shocking words! Of courseI shall
quarrel with him. I should quarrel with any husband. Married
people always quarrelI believe. But as to being miserableand
bitterand all those dreadful thingsyou knowwhy I couldn't be
absolutely thatunless he always had the best of it; and I mean to
have the best of it myself. I always do now' cried Merrynodding
her head and giggling very much; 'for I make a perfect slave of the
creature.'

'Let it go on' said Martinrising. 'Let it go on! I sought to
know your mindmy dearand you have shown it me. I wish you joy.
Joy!' he repeatedlooking full upon herand pointing to the
wicket-gate where Jonas entered at the moment. And thenwithout
waiting for his nephewhe passed out at another gateand went
away.

'Ohyou terrible old man!' cried the facetious Merry to herself.
'What a perfectly hideous monster to be wandering about churchyards
in the broad daylightfrightening people out of their wits! Don't
come hereGriffinor I'll go away directly.'

Mr Jonas was the Griffin. He sat down upon the grass at her side
in spite of this warningand sulkily inquired:

'What's my uncle been a-talking about?'

'About you' rejoined Merry. 'He says you're not half good enough
for me.'

'OhyesI dare say! We all know that. He means to give you some
present worth havingI hope. Did he say anything that looked like
it?'

'THAT he didn't!' cried Merrymost decisively.

'A stingy old dog he is' said Jonas. 'Well?'

'Griffin!' cried Miss Mercyin counterfeit amazement; 'what are you
doingGriffin?'

'Only giving you a squeeze' said the discomfited Jonas. 'There's
no harm in thatI suppose?'

'But there is great deal of harm in itif I don't consider it
agreeable' returned his cousin. 'Do go alongwill you? You make
me so hot!'


Mr Jonas withdrew his armand for a moment looked at her more like
a murderer than a lover. But he cleared his brow by degreesand
broke silence with:

'I sayMel!'

'What do you sayyou vulgar thing--you low savage?' cried his fair
betrothed.

'When is it to be? I can't afford to go on dawdling about here half
my lifeI needn't tell youand Pecksniff says that father's being
so lately dead makes very little odds; for we can be married as
quiet as we please down hereand my being lonely is a good reason
to the neighbours for taking a wife home so soonespecially one
that he knew. As to crossbones (my uncleI mean)he's sure not to
put a spoke in the wheelwhatever we settle onfor he told
Pecksniff only this morningthat if YOU liked it he'd nothing at
all to say. SoMel' said Jonasventuring on another squeeze;
'when shall it be?'

'Upon my word!' cried Merry.

'Upon my soulif you like' said Jonas. 'What do you say to next
weeknow?'

'To next week! If you had said next quarterI should have wondered
at your impudence.'

'But I didn't say next quarter' retorted Jonas. 'I said next
week.'

'ThenGriffin' cried Miss Merrypushing him offand rising. 'I
say no! not next week. It shan't be till I chooseand I may not
choose it to be for months. There!'

He glanced up at her from the groundalmost as darkly as he had
looked at Tom Pinch; but held his peace.

'No fright of a Griffin with a patch over his eye shall dictate to
me or have a voice in the matter' said Merry. 'There!'

Still Mr Jonas held his peace.

'If it's next monththat shall be the very earliest; but I won't
say when it shall be till to-morrow; and if you don't like thatit
shall never be at all' said Merry; 'and if you follow me about and
won't leave me aloneit shall never be at all. There!v And if you
don't do everything I order you to doit shall never be at all. So
don't follow me. ThereGriffin!'

And with thatshe skipped awayamong the trees.

'Ecodmy lady!' said Jonaslooking after herand biting a piece
of strawalmost to powder; 'you'll catch it for thiswhen you ARE
married. It's all very well now--it keeps one onsomehowand you
know it--but I'll pay you off scot and lot by-and-bye. This is a
plaguey dull sort of a place for a man to be sitting by himself in.
I never could abide a mouldy old churchyard.'

As he turned into the avenue himselfMiss Merrywho was far ahead
happened to look back.

'Ah!' said Jonaswith a sullen smileand a nod that was not
addressed to her. 'Make the most of it while it lasts. Get in your


hay while the sun shines. Take your own way as long as it's in your
powermy lady!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

IS IN PART PROFESSIONALAND FURNISHES THE READER WITH SOME VALUABLE
HINTS IN RELATION TO THE MANAGEMENT OF A SICK CHAMBER

Mr Mould was surrounded by his household gods. He was enjoying
the sweets of domestic reposeand gazing on them with a calm
delight. The day being sultryand the window openthe legs of Mr
Mould were on the window-seatand his back reclined against the
shutter. Over his shining head a handkerchief was drawnto guard
his baldness from the flies. The room was fragrant with the smell
of puncha tumbler of which grateful compound stood upon a small
round tableconvenient to the hand of Mr Mould; so deftly mixed
that as his eye looked down into the cool transparent drinkanother
eyepeering brightly from behind the crisp lemon-peellooked up at
himand twinkled like a star.

Deep in the Cityand within the ward of Cheapstood Mr Mould's
establishment. His Haremorin other wordsthe common sitting
room of Mrs Mould and familywas at the backover the little
counting-house behind the shop; abutting on a churchyard small and
shady. In this domestic chamber Mr Mould now sat; gazinga placid
manupon his punch and home. Iffor a moment at a timehe sought
a wider prospectwhence he might return with freshened zest to
these enjoymentshis moist glance wandered like a sunbeam through a
rural screen of scarlet runnerstrained on strings before the
windowand he looked downwith an artist's eyeupon the graves.

The partner of his lifeand daughters twainwere Mr Mould's
companions. Plump as any partridge was each Miss Mouldand Mrs M.
was plumper than the two together. So round and chubby were their
fair proportionsthat they might have been the bodies once
belonging to the angels' faces in the shop belowgrown upwith
other heads attached to make them mortal. Even their peachy cheeks
were puffed out and distendedas though they ought of right to be
performing on celestial trumpets. The bodiless cherubs in the shop
who were depicted as constantly blowing those instruments for ever
and ever without any lungsplayedit is to be presumedentirely
by ear.

Mr Mould looked lovingly at Mrs Mouldwho sat hard byand was a
helpmate to him in his punch as in all other things. Each seraph
daughtertooenjoyed her share of his regardsand smiled upon him
in return. So bountiful were Mr Mould's possessionsand so large
his stock in tradethat even therewithin his household sanctuary
stood a cumbrous presswhose mahogany maw was filled with shrouds
and winding-sheetsand other furniture of funerals. Butthough
the Misses Mould had been brought upas one may saybeneath his
eyeit had cast no shadow on their timid infancy or blooming youth.
Sporting behind the scenes of death and burial from cradlehoodthe
Misses Mould knew better. Hat-bandsto themwere but so many yards
of silk or crape; the final robe but such a quantity of linen. The
Misses Mould could idealise a player's habitor a court-lady's
petticoator even an act of parliament. But they were not to be
taken in by palls. They made them sometimes.

The premises of Mr Mould were hard of hearing to the boisterous
noises in the great main streetsand nestled in a quiet corner


where the City strife became a drowsy humthat sometimes rose and
sometimes fell and sometimes altogether ceased; suggesting to a
thoughtful mind a stoppage in Cheapside. The light came sparkling
in among the scarlet runnersas if the churchyard winked at Mr
Mouldand said'We understand each other;' and from the distant
shop a pleasant sound arose of coffin-making with a low melodious
hammerrattattattatalike promoting slumber and digestion.

'Quite the buzz of insects' said Mr Mouldclosing his eyes in a
perfect luxury. 'It puts one in mind of the sound of animated
nature in the agricultural districts. It's exactly like the
woodpecker tapping.'

'The woodpecker tapping the hollow ELM tree' observed Mrs Mould
adapting the words of the popular melody to the description of wood
commonly used in the trade.

'Haha!' laughed Mr Mould. 'Not at all badmy dear. We shall be
glad to hear from you againMrs M. Hollow elm treeeh! Haha!
Very good indeed. I've seen worse than that in the Sunday papers
my love.'

Mrs Mouldthus encouragedtook a little more of the punchand
handed it to her daughterswho dutifully followed the example of
their mother.

'Hollow ELM treeeh?' said Mr Mouldmaking a slight motion with
his legs in his enjoyment of the joke. 'It's beech in the song.
Elmeh? Yesto be sure. Hahaha! Upon my soulthat's one of
the best things I know?' He was so excessively tickled by the jest
that he couldn't forget itbut repeated twenty times'Elmeh?
Yesto be sure. Elmof course. Hahaha! Upon my lifeyou
knowthat ought to be sent to somebody who could make use of it.
It's one of the smartest things that ever was said. Hollow ELM
treeeh? of course. Very hollow. Hahaha!'

Here a knock was heard at the room door.

'That's TackerI know' said Mrs Mould'by the wheezing he makes.
Who that hears him nowwould suppose he'd ever had wind enough to
carry the feathers on his head! Come inTacker.'

'Beg your pardonma'am' said Tackerlooking in a little way. 'I
thought our Governor was here.'

'Well! so he is' cried Mould.

'Oh! I didn't see youI'm sure' said Tackerlooking in a little
farther. 'You wouldn't be inclined to take a walking one of two
with the plain wood and a tin plateI suppose?'

'Certainly not' replied Mr Mould'much too common. Nothing to say
to it.'

'I told 'em it was precious low' observed Mr Tacker.

'Tell 'em to go somewhere else. We don't do that style of business
here' said Mr Mould. 'Like their impudence to propose it. Who is
it?'

'Why' returned Tackerpausing'that's where it isyou see. It's
the beadle's son-in-law.'

'The beadle's son-in-laweh?' said Mould. 'Well! I'll do it if the


beadle follows in his cocked hat; not else. We carry it off that
wayby looking officialbut it'll be low enoughthen. His cocked
hatmind!'

'I'll take caresir' rejoined Tacker. 'Oh! Mrs Gamp's belowand
wants to speak to you.'

'Tell Mrs Gamp to come upstairs' said Mould. 'Now Mrs Gamp
what's YOUR news?'

The lady in question was by this time in the doorwaycurtseying to
Mrs Mould. At the same moment a peculiar fragrance was borne upon
the breezeas if a passing fairy had hiccoughedand had previously
been to a wine-vaults.

Mrs Gamp made no response to Mr Mouldbut curtseyed to Mrs Mould
againand held up her hands and eyesas in a devout thanksgiving
that she looked so well. She was neatlybut not gaudily attired
in the weeds she had worn when Mr Pecksniff had the pleasure of
making her acquaintance; and was perhaps the turning of a scale more
snuffy.

'There are some happy creeturs' Mrs Gamp observed'as time runs
back'ards withand you are oneMrs Mould; not that he need do
nothing except use you in his most owldacious way for years to come
I'm sure; for young you are and will be. I says to Mrs Harris' Mrs
Gamp continued'only t'other day; the last Monday evening fortnight
as ever dawned upon this Piljian's Projiss of a mortal wale; I says
to Mrs Harris when she says to meYears and our trials, Mrs Gamp,
sets marks upon us all.--"Say not the wordsMrs Harrisif you and
me is to be continual friendsfor sech is not the case. Mrs
Mould I says, making so free, I will confess, as use the name,'
(she curtseyed here), 'is one of them that goes agen the
obserwation straight; and neverMrs Harriswhilst I've a drop of
breath to drawwill I set byand not stand updon't think it."-"
I ast your pardonma'am says Mrs Harris, and I humbly grant
your grace; for if ever a woman lived as would see her feller
creeturs into fits to serve her friendswell do I know that woman's
name is Sairey Gamp."'

At this point she was fain to stop for breath; and advantage may be
taken of the circumstanceto state that a fearful mystery
surrounded this lady of the name of Harriswhom no one in the
circle of Mrs Gamp's acquaintance had ever seen; neither did any
human being know her place of residencethough Mrs Gamp appeared on
her own showing to be in constant communication with her. There
were conflicting rumours on the subject; but the prevalent opinion
was that she was a phantom of Mrs Gamp's brain--as Messrs. Doe and
Roe are fictions of the law--created for the express purpose of
holding visionary dialogues with her on all manner of subjectsand
invariably winding up with a compliment to the excellence of her
nature.

'And likeways what a pleasure' said Mrs Gampturning with a
tearful smile towards the daughters'to see them two young ladies
as I know'd afore a tooth in their pretty heads was cutand have
many a day seen--ahthe sweet creeturs!--playing at berryins down
in the shopand follerin' the order-book to its long home in the
iron safe! But that's all past and overMr Mould;' as she thus got
in a carefully regulated routine to that gentlemanshe shook her
head waggishly; 'That's all past and over nowsiran't it?'

'ChangesMrs Gampchanges!' returned the undertaker.


'More changes tooto comeafore we've done with changessir'
said Mrs Gampnodding yet more waggishly than before. 'Young
ladies with such faces thinks of something else besides berryins
don't theysir?'

'I am sure I don't knowMrs Gamp' said Mouldwith a chuckle--'Not
bad in Mrs Gampmy dear?'

'Oh yesyou do knowsir!' said Mrs Gamp'and so does Mrs Mould
your 'ansome pardner toosir; and so do Ialthough the blessing of
a daughter was deniged me; whichif we had had oneGamp would
certainly have drunk its little shoes right off its feetas with
our precious boy he didand arterward send the child a errand to
sell his wooden leg for any money it would fetch as matches in the
roughand bring it home in liquor; which was truly done beyond his
yearsfor ev'ry individgle penny that child lost at toss or buy for
kidney ones; and come home arterwards quite boldto break the news
and offering to drown himself if sech would be a satisfaction to his
parents.--Oh yesyou do knowsir' said Mrs Gampwiping her eye
with her shawland resuming the thread of her discourse. 'There's
something besides births and berryins in the newspapersan't there
Mr Mould?'

Mr Mould winked at Mrs Mouldwhom he had by this time taken on his
kneeand said: 'No doubt. A good deal moreMrs Gamp. Upon my
lifeMrs Gamp is very far from badmy dear!'

'There's marryingsan't theresir?' said Mrs Gampwhile both the
daughters blushed and tittered. 'Bless their precious heartsand
well they knows it! Well you know'd it tooand well did Mrs Mould
when you was at their time of life! But my opinion isyou're all of
one age now. For as to you and Mrs Mouldsirever having
grandchildren--'

'Oh! Fiefie! NonsenseMrs Gamp' replied the undertaker.
'Devilish smartthough. Ca-pi-tal!'--this was in a whisper. 'My
dear'--aloud again--'Mrs Gamp can drink a glass of rumI dare say.
Sit downMrs Gampsit down.'

Mrs Gamp took the chair that was nearest the doorand casting up
her eyes towards the ceilingfeigned to be wholly insensible to the
fact of a glass of rum being in preparationuntil it was placed in
her hand by one of the young ladieswhen she exhibited the greatest
surprise.

'A thing' she said'as hardly everMrs Mouldoccurs with me
unless it is when I am indispogedand find my half a pint of porter
settling heavy on the chest. Mrs Harris often and often says to me
Sairey Gamp,she saysyou raly do amaze me!Mrs Harris,I
says to herwhy so? Give it a name, I beg.Telling the truth
then, ma'am,says Mrs Harrisand shaming him as shall be nameless
betwixt you and me, never did I think till I know'd you, as any
woman could sick-nurse and monthly likeways, on the little that you
takes to drink.Mrs Harris,I says to hernone on us knows what
we can do till we tries; and wunst, when me and Gamp kept 'ouse, I
thought so too. But now,I saysmy half a pint of porter fully
satisfies; perwisin', Mrs Harris, that it is brought reg'lar, and
draw'd mild. Whether I sicks or monthlies, ma'am, I hope I does my
duty, but I am but a poor woman, and I earns my living hard;
therefore I DO require it, which I makes confession, to be brought
reg'lar and draw'd mild.'

The precise connection between these observations and the glass of
rumdid not appear; for Mrs Gamp proposing as a toast 'The best of


lucks to all!' took off the dram in quite a scientific manner
without any further remarks.

'And what's your newsMrs Gamp?' asked Mould againas that lady
wiped her lips upon her shawland nibbled a corner off a soft
biscuitwhich she appeared to carry in her pocket as a provision
against contingent drams. 'How's Mr Chuffey?'

'Mr Chuffeysir' she replied'is jest as usual; he an't no better
and he an't no worse. I take it very kind in the gentleman to have
wrote up to you and saidlet Mrs Gamp take care of him till I come
home;but ev'rythink he does is kind. There an't a many like him.
If there waswe shouldn't want no churches.'

'What do you want to speak to me aboutMrs Gamp?' said Mould
coming to the point.

'Jest thissir' Mrs Gamp returned'with thanks to you for asking.
There IS a gentsirat the Bull in Holbornas has been took ill
thereand is bad abed. They have a day nurse as was recommended
from Bartholomew's; and well I knows herMr Mouldher name bein'
Mrs Prigthe best of creeturs. But she is otherways engaged at
nightand they are in wants of night-watching; consequent she says
to themhaving reposed the greatest friendliness in me for twenty
yearThe soberest person going, and the best of blessings in a
sick room, is Mrs Gamp. Send a boy to Kingsgate Street,she says
and snap her up at any price, for Mrs Gamp is worth her weight and
more in goldian guineas.My landlord brings the message down to me
and saysbein' in a light place where you are, and this job
promising so well, why not unite the two?No, sir,I saysnot
unbeknown to Mr Mould, and therefore do not think it. But I will go
to Mr Mould,I saysand ast him, if you like.' Here she looked
sideways at the undertakerand came to a stop.

'Night-watchingeh?' said Mouldrubbing his chin.

'From eight o'clock till eightsir. I will not deceive you' Mrs
Gamp rejoined.

'And then go backeh?' said would.

'Quite freethensirto attend to Mr Chuffey. His ways bein'
quietand his hours earlyhe'd be abedsirnearly all the time.
I will not deny' said Mrs Gamp with meekness'that I am but a poor
womanand that the money is a object; but do not let that act upon
youMr Mould. Rich folks may ride on camelsbut it an't so easy
for 'em to see out of a needle's eye. That is my comfortand I
hope I knows it.'

'WellMrs Gamp' observed Mould'I don't see any particular
objection to your earning an honest penny under such circumstances.
I should keep it quietI thinkMrs Gamp. I wouldn't mention it to
Mr Chuzzlewit on his returnfor instanceunless it were necessary
or he asked you pointblank.'

'The very words was on my lipssir' Mrs Gamp rejoined. 'Suppoging
that the gent should dieI hope I might take the liberty of saying
as I know'd some one in the undertaking lineand yet give no
offence to yousir?'

'CertainlyMrs Gamp' said Mouldwith much condescension. 'You
may casually remarkin such a casethat we do the thing pleasantly
and in a great variety of stylesand are generally considered to
make it as agreeable as possible to the feelings of the survivors.


But don't obtrude itdon't obtrude it. Easyeasy! My dearyou
may as well give Mrs Gamp a card or twoif you please.'

Mrs Gamp received themand scenting no more rum in the wind (for
the bottle was locked up again) rose to take her departure.

'Wishing ev'ry happiness to this happy family' said Mrs Gamp 'with
all my heart. Good arternoonMrs Mould! If I was Mr would I should
be jealous of youma'am; and I'm sureif I was youI should be
jealous of Mr Mould.'

'Tuttut! Bahbah! Go alongMrs Gamp!' cried the delighted
undertaker.

'As to the young ladies' said Mrs Gampdropping a curtsey'bless
their sweet looks--how they can ever reconsize it with their duties
to be so grown up with such young parentsit an't for sech as me to
give a guess at.'

'Nonsensenonsense. Be offMrs Gamp!' cried Mould. But in the
height of his gratification he actually pinched Mrs Mould as he said
it.

'I'll tell you whatmy dear' he observedwhen Mrs Gamp had at
last withdrawn and shut the door'that's a ve-ry shrewd woman.
That's a woman whose intellect is immensely superior to her station
in life. That's a woman who observes and reflects in an uncommon
manner. She's the sort of woman now' said Moulddrawing his silk
handkerchief over his head againand composing himself for a nap
'one would almost feel disposed to bury for nothing; and do it
neatlytoo!'

Mrs Mould and her daughters fully concurred in these remarks; the
subject of which had by this time reached the streetwhere she
experienced so much inconvenience from the airthat she was obliged
to stand under an archway for a short timeto recover herself.
Even after this precautionshe walked so unsteadily as to attract
the compassionate regards of divers kind-hearted boyswho took the
liveliest interest in her disorder; and in their simple language
bade her be of good cheerfor she was 'only a little screwed.'

Whatever she wasor whatever name the vocabulary of medical science
would have bestowed upon her maladyMrs Gamp was perfectly
acquainted with the way home again; and arriving at the house of
Anthony Chuzzlewit & Sonlay down to rest. Remaining there until
seven o'clock in the eveningand then persuading poor old Chuffey
to betake himself to bedshe sallied forth upon her new engagement.
Firstshe went to her private lodgings in Kingsgate Streetfor a
bundle of robes and wrappings comfortable in the night season; and
then repaired to the Bull in Holbornwhich she reached as the
clocks were striking eight.

As she turned into the yardshe stopped; for the landlord
landladyand head chambermaidwere all on the threshold together
talking earnestly with a young gentleman who seemed to have just
come or to be just going away. The first words that struck upon Mrs
Gamp's ear obviously bore reference to the patient; and it being
expedient that all good attendants should know as much as possible
about the case on which their skill is brought to bearMrs Gamp
listened as a matter of duty.

'No betterthen?' observed the gentleman.

'Worse!' said the landlord.


'Much worse' added the landlady.

'Oh! a deal badder' cried the chambermaid from the background
opening her eyes very wideand shaking her head.

'Poor fellow!' said the gentleman'I am sorry to hear it. The
worst of it isthat I have no idea what friends or relations he
hasor where they liveexcept that it certainly is not in London.'

The landlord looked at the landlady; the landlady looked at the
landlord; and the chambermaid remarkedhysterically'that of all
the many wague directions she had ever seen or heerd of (and they
wasn't few in an hotel)THAT was the waguest.'

'The fact isyou see' pursued the gentleman'as I told you
yesterday when you sent to meI really know very little about him.
We were school-fellows together; but since that time I have only met
him twice. On both occasions I was in London for a boy's holiday
(having come up for a week or so from Wiltshire)and lost sight of
him again directly. The letter bearing my name and address which
you found upon his tableand which led to your applying to meis
in answeryou will observeto one he wrote from this house the
very day he was taken illmaking an appointment with him at his own
request. Here is his letterif you wish to see it.'

The landlord read it; the landlady looked over him. The
chambermaidin the backgroundmade out as much of it as she could
and invented the rest; believing it all from that time forth as a
positive piece of evidence.

'He has very little luggageyou say?' observed the gentlemanwho
was no other than our old friendJohn Westlock.

'Nothing but a portmanteau' said the landlord; 'and very little in
it.'

'A few pounds in his pursethough?'

'Yes. It's sealed upand in the cash-box. I made a memorandum of
the amountwhich you're welcome to see.'

'Well!' said John'as the medical gentleman says the fever must
take its courseand nothing can be done just now beyond giving him
his drinks regularly and having him carefully attended tonothing
more can be said that I know ofuntil he is in a condition to give
us some information. Can you suggest anything else?'

'N-no' replied the landlord'except--'

'Exceptwho's to payI suppose?' said John.

'Why' hesitated the landlord'it would be as well.'

'Quite as well' said the landlady.

'Not forgetting to remember the servants' said the chambermaid in a
bland whisper.

'It is but reasonableI fully admit' said John Westlock. 'At all
eventsyou have the stock in hand to go upon for the present; and I
will readily undertake to pay the doctor and the nurses.'

'Ah!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'A rayal gentleman!'


She groaned her admiration so audiblythat they all turned round.
Mrs Gamp felt the necessity of advancingbundle in handand
introducing herself.

'The night-nurse' she observed'from Kingsgate Streetwell
beknown to Mrs Prig the day-nurseand the best of creeturs. How is
the poor dear gentleman to-night? If he an't no better yetstill
that is what must be expected and prepared for. It an't the fust
time by a many scorema'am' dropping a curtsey to the landlady
'that Mrs Prig and me has nussed togetherturn and turn aboutone
offone on. We knows each other's waysand often gives relief
when others fail. Our charges is but lowsir'--Mrs Gamp
addressed herself to John on this head--'considerin' the nater of
our painful dooty. If they wos made accordin' to our wishesthey
would be easy paid.'

Regarding herself as having now delivered her inauguration address
Mrs Gamp curtseyed all roundand signified her wish to be conducted
to the scene of her official duties. The chambermaid led her
through a variety of intricate passagesto the top of the house;
and pointing at length to a solitary door at the end of a gallery
informed her that yonder was the chamber where the patient lay.
That doneshe hurried off with all the speed she could make.

Mrs Gamp traversed the gallery in a great heat from having carried
her large bundle up so many stairsand tapped at the door which was
immediately opened by Mrs Prigbonneted and shawled and all
impatience to be gone. Mrs Prig was of the Gamp buildbut not so
fat; and her voice was deeper and more like a man's. She had also a
beard.

'I began to think you warn't a-coming!' Mrs Prig observedin some
displeasure.

'It shall be made good to-morrow night' said Mrs Gamp 'Honorable.
I had to go and fetch my things.' She had begun to make signs of
inquiry in reference to the position of the patient and his
overhearing them--for there was a screen before the door--when
Mrs Prig settled that point easily.

'Oh!' she said aloud'he's quietbut his wits is gone. It an't no
matter wot you say.'

'Anythin' to tell afore you goesmy dear?' asked Mrs Gampsetting
her bundle down inside the doorand looking affectionately at her
partner.

'The pickled salmon' Mrs Prig replied'is quite delicious. I can
partlck'ler recommend it. Don't have nothink to say to the cold
meatfor it tastes of the stable. The drinks is all good.'

Mrs Gamp expressed herself much gratified.

'The physic and them things is on the drawers and mankleshelf' said
Mrs Prigcursorily. 'He took his last slime draught at seven. The
easy-chair an't soft enough. You'll want his piller.'

Mrs Gamp thanked her for these hintsand giving her a friendly good
nightheld the door open until she had disappeared at the other end
of the gallery. Having thus performed the hospitable duty of seeing
her safely offshe shut itlocked it on the insidetook up her
bundlewalked round the screenand entered on her occupation of
the sick chamber.


'A little dullbut not so bad as might be' Mrs Gamp remarked.
'I'm glad to see a parapidgein case of fireand lots of roofs and
chimley-pots to walk upon.'

It will be seen from these remarks that Mrs Gamp was looking out of
window. When she had exhausted the prospectshe tried the
easy-chairwhich she indignantly declared was 'harder than a
brickbadge.' Next she pursued her researches among the
physic-bottlesglassesjugsand tea-cups; and when she had
entirely satisfied her curiosity on all these subjects of
investigationshe untied her bonnet-strings and strolled up to the
bedside to take a look at the patient.

A young man--dark and not ill-looking--with long black hairthat
seemed the blacker for the whiteness of the bed-clothes. His eyes
were partly openand he never ceased to roll his head from side to
side upon the pillowkeeping his body almost quiet. He did not
utter words; but every now and then gave vent to an expression of
impatience or fatiguesometimes of surprise; and still his restless
head--ohwearyweary hour!--went to and fro without a moment's
intermission.

Mrs Gamp solaced herself with a pinch of snuffand stood looking at
him with her head inclined a little sidewaysas a connoisseur might
gaze upon a doubtful work of art. By degreesa horrible
remembrance of one branch of her calling took possession of the
woman; and stooping downshe pinned his wandering arms against his
sidesto see how he would look if laid out as a dead man. Her
fingers itched to compose his limbs in that last marble attitude.

'Ah!' said Mrs Gampwalking away from the bed'he'd make a lovely
corpse.'

She now proceeded to unpack her bundle; lighted a candle with the
aid of a fire-box on the drawers; filled a small kettleas a
preliminary to refreshing herself with a cup of tea in the course of
the night; laid what she called 'a little bit of fire' for the same
philanthropic purpose; and also set forth a small tea-boardthat
nothing might be wanting for her comfortable enjoyment. These
preparations occupied so longthat when they were brought to a
conclusion it was high time to think about supper; so she rang the
bell and ordered it.

'I thinkyoung woman' said Mrs Gamp to the assistant chambermaid
in a tone expressive of weakness'that I could pick a little bit of
pickled salmonwith a nice little sprig of fenneland a sprinkling
of white pepper. I takes new breadmy dearwith just a little pat
of fresh butterand a mossel of cheese. In case there should be
such a thing as a cowcumber in the 'ousewill you be so kind as
bring itfor I'm rather partial to 'emand they does a world of
good in a sick room. If they draws the Brighton Old Tipper hereI
takes THAT ale at nightmy loveit bein' considered wakeful by the
doctors. And whatever you doyoung womandon't bring more than a
shilling's-worth of gin and water-warm when I rings the bell a
second time; for that is always my allowanceand I never takes a
drop beyond!'

Having preferred these moderate requestsMrs Gamp observed that she
would stand at the door until the order was executedto the end
that the patient might not be disturbed by her opening it a second
time; and therefore she would thank the young woman to 'look sharp.'

A tray was brought with everything upon iteven to the cucumber and


Mrs Gamp accordingly sat down to eat and drink in high good humour.
The extent to which she availed herself of the vinegarand supped
up that refreshing fluid with the blade of her knifecan scarcely
be expressed in narrative.

'Ah!' sighed Mrs Gampas she meditated over the warm shilling'sworth
'what a blessed thing it is--living in a wale--to be
contented! What a blessed thing it is to make sick people happy in
their bedsand never mind one's self as long as one can do a
service! I don't believe a finer cowcumber was ever grow'd. I'm sure
I never see one!'

She moralised in the same vein until her glass was emptyand then
admistered the patient's medicineby the simple process of
clutching his windpipe to make him gaspand immediately pouring it
down his throat.

'I a'most forgot the pillerI declare!' said Mrs Gampdrawing it
away. 'There! Now he's comfortable as he can beI'm sure! I must
try to make myself as much so as I can.'

With this viewshe went about the construction of an extemporaneous
bed in the easy-chairwith the addition of the next easy one for
her feet. Having formed the best couch that the circumstances
admitted ofshe took out of her bundle a yellow night-capof
prodigious sizein shape resembling a cabbage; which article of
dress she fixed and tied on with the utmost carepreviously
divesting herself of a row of bald old curls that could scarcely be
called falsethey were so very innocent of anything approaching to
deception. From the same repository she brought forth a night-jacket
in which she also attired herself. Finallyshe produced a
watchman's coat which she tied round her neck by the sleevesso
that she become two people; and lookedbehindas if she were in
the act of being embraced by one of the old patrol.

All these arrangements madeshe lighted the rush-lightcoiled
herself up on her couchand went to sleep. Ghostly and dark the
room becameand full of lowering shadows. The distant noises in
the streets were gradually hushed; the house was quiet as a
sepulchre; the dead of might was coffined in the silent city.

Ohwearyweary hour! Ohhaggard mindgroping darkly through the
past; incapable of detaching itself from the miserable present;
dragging its heavy chain of care through imaginary feasts and
revelsand scenes of awful pomp; seeking but a moment's rest among
the long-forgotten haunts of childhoodand the resorts of
yesterday; and dimly finding fear and horror everywhere! Ohweary
weary hour! What were the wanderings of Cainto these!

Stillwithout a moment's intervalthe burning head tossed to and
fro. Stillfrom time to timefatigueimpatiencesufferingand
surprisefound utterance upon that rackand plainly toothough
never once in words. At lengthin the solemn hour of midnighthe
began to talk; waiting awfully for answers sometimes; as though
invisible companions were about his bed; and so replying to their
speech and questioning again.

Mrs Gamp awokeand sat up in her bed; presenting on the wall the
shadow of a gigantic night constablestruggling with a prisoner.

'Come! Hold your tongue!' she criedin sharp reproof. 'Don't make
none of that noise here.'

There was no alteration in the faceor in the incessant motion of


the headbut he talked on wildly.

'Ah!' said Mrs Gampcoming out of the chair with an impatient
shiver; 'I thought I was a-sleepin' too pleasant to last! The
devil's in the nightI thinkit's turned so chilly!'

'Don't drink so much!' cried the sick man. 'You'll ruin us all.
Don't you see how the fountain sinks? Look at the mark where the
sparkling water was just now!'

'Sparkling waterindeed!' said Mrs Gamp. 'I'll have a sparkling
cup o' teaI think. I wish you'd hold your noise!'

He burst into a laughwhichbeing prolongedfell off into a
dismal wail. Checking himselfwith fierce inconstancy he began
to count--fast.

'One--two--three--four--five--six.'

One, two, buckle my shoe,' said Mrs Gampwho was now on her
kneeslighting the firethree, four, shut the door,--I wish
you'd shut your mouthyoung man--"fivesixpicking up sticks."
If I'd got a few handyI should have the kettle boiling all the
sooner.'

Awaiting this desirable consummationshe sat down so close to the
fender (which was a high one) that her nose rested upon it; and for
some time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that feature
backwards and forwards along the brass topas far as she could
without changing her position to do it. She maintainedall the
whilea running commentary upon the wanderings of the man in bed.

'That makes five hundred and twenty-one menall dressed alikeand
with the same distortion on their facesthat have passed in at the
windowand out at the door' he criedanxiously. 'Look there!
Five hundred and twenty-two--twenty-three--twenty-four. Do you see
them?'

'Ah! I see 'em' said Mrs Gamp; 'all the whole kit of 'em numbered
like hackney-coachesan't they?'

'Touch me! Let me be sure of this. Touch me!'

'You'll take your next draught when I've made the kettle bile'
retorted Mrs Gampcomposedly'and you'll be touched then. You'll
be touched uptooif you don't take it quiet.'

'Five hundred and twenty-eightfive hundred and twenty-ninefive
hundred and thirty.--Look here!'

'What's the matter now?' said Mrs Gamp.

'They're coming four abreasteach man with his arm entwined in the
next man'sand his hand upon his shoulder. What's that upon the
arm of every manand on the flag?'

'Spidersp'raps' said Mrs Gamp.

'Crape! Black crape! Good God! why do they wear it outside?'

'Would you have 'em carry black crape in their insides?' Mrs Gamp
retorted. 'Hold your noisehold your noise.'

The fire beginning by this time to impart a grateful warmthMrs


Gamp became silent; gradually rubbed her nose more and more slowly
along the top of the fender; and fell into a heavy doze. She was
awakened by the room ringing (as she fancied) with a name she knew:

'Chuzzlewit!'

The sound was so distinct and realand so full of agonised
entreatythat Mrs Gamp jumped up in terrorand ran to the door.
She expected to find the passage filled with peoplecome to tell
her that the house in the city had taken fire. But the place was
empty; not a soul was there. She opened the windowand looked out.
Darkdulldingyand desolate house-tops. As she passed to her
seat againshe glanced at the patient. Just the same; but silent.
Mrs Gamp was so warm nowthat she threw off the watchman's coat
and fanned herself.

'It seemed to make the wery bottles ring' she said. 'What could I
have been a-dreaming of? That dratted ChuffeyI'll be bound.'

The supposition was probable enough. At any ratea pinch of snuff
and the song of the steaming kettlequite restored the tone of Mrs
Gamp's nerveswhich were none of the weakest. She brewed her tea;
made some buttered toast; and sat down at the tea-boardwith her
face to the fire.

When once againin a tone more terrible than that which had
vibrated in her slumbering earthese words were shrieked out:

'Chuzzlewit! Jonas! No!'

Mrs Gamp dropped the cup she was in the act of raising to her lips
and turned round with a start that made the little tea-board leap.
The cry had come from the bed.

It was bright morning the next time Mrs Gamp looked out of the
windowand the sun was rising cheerfully. Lighter and lighter grew
the skyand noisier the streets; and high into the summer air
uprose the smoke of newly kindled firesuntil the busy day was
broad awake.

Mrs Prig relieved punctuallyhaving passed a good night at her
other patient's. Mr Westlock came at the same timebut he was not
admittedthe disorder being infectious. The doctor came too. The
doctor shook his head. It was all he could dounder the
circumstancesand he did it well.

'What sort of a nightnurse?'

'Restlesssir' said Mrs Gamp.

'Talk much?'

'Middlingsir' said Mrs Gamp.

'Nothing to the purposeI suppose?'

'Oh bless younosir. Only jargon.'

'Well!' said the doctor'we must keep him quiet; keep the room
cool; give him his draughts regularly; and see that he's carefully
looked to. That's all!'

'And as long as Mrs Prig and me waits upon himsirno fear of


that' said Mrs Gamp.

'I suppose' observed Mrs Prigwhen they had curtseyed the doctor
out; 'there's nothin' new?'

'Nothin' at allmy dear' said Mrs Gamp. 'He's rather wearin' in
his talk from making up a lot of names; elseways you needn't mind
him.'

'OhI shan't mind him' Mrs Prig returned. 'I have somethin' else
to think of.'

'I pays my debts to-nightyou knowmy dearand comes afore my
time' said Mrs Gamp. 'ButBetsy Prig'--speaking with great
feelingand laying her hand upon her arm--'try the cowcumbersGod
bless you!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AN UNEXPECTED MEETINGAND A PROMISING PROSPECT

The laws of sympathy between beards and birdsand the secret source
of that attraction which frequently impels a shaver of the one to be
a dealer in the otherare questions for the subtle reasoning of
scientific bodies; not the less sobecause their investigation
would seem calculated to lead to no particular result. It is enough
to know that the artist who had the honour of entertaining Mrs Gamp
as his first-floor lodgerunited the two pursuits of barbering and
bird-fancying; and that it was not an original idea of hisbut one
in which he haddispersed about the by-streets and suburbs of the
towna host of rivals.

The name of the householder was Paul Sweedlepipe. But he was
commonly called Poll Sweedlepipe; and was not uncommonly believed to
have been so christenedamong his friends and neighbours.

With the exception of the staircaseand his lodger's private
apartmentPoll Sweedlepipe's house was one great bird's nest.
Gamecocks resided in the kitchen; pheasants wasted the brightness of
their golden plumage on the garret; bantams roosted in the cellar;
owls had possession of the bedroom; and specimens of all the smaller
fry of birds chirrupped and twittered in the shop. The staircase
was sacred to rabbits. There in hutches of all shapes and kinds
made from old packing-casesboxesdrawersand tea-cheststhey
increased in a prodigious degreeand contributed their share
towards that complicated whiff whichquite impartiallyand without
distinction of personssaluted every nose that was put into
Sweedlepipe's easy shaving-shop.

Many noses found their way therefor all thatespecially on Sunday
morningbefore church-time. Even archbishops shaveor must be
shavedon a Sundayand beards WILL grow after twelve o'clock on
Saturday nightthough it be upon the chins of base mechanics; who
not being able to engage their valets by the quarterhire them by
the joband pay them--ohthe wickedness of copper coin!--in dirty
pence. Poll Sweedlepipethe sinnershaved all comers at a penny
eachand cut the hair of any customer for twopence; and being a
lone unmarried manand having some connection in the bird linePoll
got on tolerably well.

He was a little elderly manwith a clammy cold right handfrom


which even rabbits and birds could not remove the smell of shavingsoap.
Poll had something of the bird in his nature; not of the
hawk or eaglebut of the sparrowthat builds in chimney-stacks and
inclines to human company. He was not quarrelsomethoughlike the
sparrow; but peacefullike the dove. In his walk he strutted; and
in this respecthe bore a faint resemblance to the pigeonas well
as in a certain prosiness of speechwhich mightin its monotony
be likened to the cooing of that bird. He was very inquisitive; and
when he stood at his shop-door in the evening-tidewatching the
neighbourswith his head on one sideand his eye cocked knowingly
there was a dash of the raven in him. Yet there was no more
wickedness in Poll than in a robin. Happilytoowhen any of his
ornithological properties were on the verge of going too farthey
were quencheddissolvedmelted downand neutralised in the barber;
just as his bald head--otherwiseas the head of a shaved magpie-lost
itself in a wig of curly black ringletsparted on one side
and cut away almost to the crownto indicate immense capacity of
intellect.

Poll had a very smallshrill treble voicewhich might have led the
wags of Kingsgate Street to insist the more upon his feminine
designation. He had a tender hearttoo; forwhen he had a good
commission to provide three or four score sparrows for a shootingmatch
he would observein a compassionate tonehow singular it
was that sparrows should have been made expressly for such purposes.
The questionwhether men were made to shoot themnever entered
into Poll's philosophy.

Poll worein his sporting charactera velveteen coata great deal
of blue stockingankle bootsa neckerchief of some bright colour
and a very tall hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupation of barber
he generally subsided into an apron not over-cleana flannel
jacketand corduroy knee-shorts. It was in this latter costume
but with his apron girded round his waistas a token of his having
shut up shop for the nightthat he closed the door one evening
some weeks after the occurrences detailed in the last chapterand
stood upon the steps in Kingsgate Streetlistening until the little
cracked bell within should leave off ringing. For until it did-this
was Mr Sweedlepipe's reflection--the place never seemed quiet
enough to be left to itself.

'It's the greediest little bell to ring' said Poll'that ever was.
But it's quiet at last.'

He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said these wordsand
hastened down the street. Just as he was turning into Holbornhe
ran against a young gentleman in a livery. This youth was bold
though smalland with several lively expressions of displeasure
turned upon him instantly.

'NowSTOO-PID!' cried the young gentleman. 'Can't you look where
you're a-going to--eh? Can't you mind where you're a-coming to--eh?
What do you think your eyes was made for--eh? Ah! Yes. Oh! Now
then!'

The young gentleman pronounced the two last words in a very loud
tone and with frightful emphasisas though they contained within
themselves the essence of the direst aggravation. But he had
scarcely done sowhen his anger yielded to surpriseand he cried
in a milder tone:

'What! Polly!'

'Whyit an't yousure!' cried Poll. 'It can't be you!'


'No. It an't me' returned the youth. 'It's my sonmy oldest
one. He's a credit to his fatheran't hePolly?' With this
delicate little piece of banterhe halted on the pavementand went
round and round in circlesfor the better exhibition of his figure;
rather to the inconvenience of the passengers generallywho were
not in an equal state of spirits with himself.

'I wouldn't have believed it' said Poll. 'What! You've left your
old placethen? Have you?'

'Have I!' returned his young friendwho had by this time stuck his
hands into the pockets of his white cord breechesand was
swaggering along at the barber's side. 'D'ye know a pair of topboots
when you see 'emPolly?--look here!'

'Beau-ti-ful' cried Mr Sweedlepipe.

'D'ye know a slap-up sort of buttonwhen you see it?' said the
youth. 'Don't look at mineif you ain't a judgebecause these
lions' heads was made for men of taste; not snobs.'

'Beau-ti-ful!' cried the barber again. 'A grass-green frock-coat
toobound with gold; and a cockade in your hat!'

'I should hope so' replied the youth. 'Blow the cockadethough;
forexcept that it don't turn roundit's like the wentilator that
used to be in the kitchen winder at Todgers's. You ain't seen the
old lady's name in the Gazettehave you?'

'No' returned the barber. 'Is she a bankrupt?'

'If she ain'tshe will be' retorted Bailey. 'That bis'ness never
can be carried on without ME. Well! How are you?'

'Oh! I'm pretty well' said Poll. 'Are you living at this end of
the townor were you coming to see me? Was that the bis'ness that
brought you to Holborn?'

'I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn' returned Baileywith some
displeasure. 'All my bis'ness lays at the West End. I've got the
right sort of governor now. You can't see his face for his
whiskersand can't see his whiskers for the dye upon 'em. That's a
gentleman ain't it? You wouldn't like a ride in a cabwould you?
Whyit wouldn't be safe to offer it. You'd faint awayonly to see
me a-comin' at a mild trot round the corner.'

To convey a slight idea of the effect of this approachMr Bailey
counterfeited in his own person the action of a high-trotting horse
and threw up his head so highin backing against a pumpthat he
shook his hat off.

'Whyhe's own uncle to Capricorn' said Bailey'and brother to
Cauliflower. He's been through the winders of two chaney shops
since we've had himand was sold for killin' his missis. That's a
horseI hope?'

'Ah! you'll never want to buy any more red pollsnow' observed
Polllooking on his young friend with an air of melancholy.
'You'll never want to buy any more red polls nowto hang up over
the sinkwill you?'

'I should think not' replied Bailey. 'Reether so. I wouldn't have
nothin' to say to any bird below a Peacock; and HE'd be wulgar.


Wellhow are you?'

'Oh! I'm pretty well' said Poll. He answered the question again
because Mr Bailey asked it again; Mr Bailey asked it againbecause
--accompanied with a straddling action of the white cordsa bend of
the kneesand a striking forth of the top-boots--it was an easy
horse-fleshyturfy sort of thing to do.

'Wot are you up toold feller?' added Mr Baileywith the same
graceful rakishness. He was quite the man-about-town of the
conversationwhile the easy-shaver was the child.

'WhyI am going to fetch my lodger home' said Paul.

'A woman!' cried Mr Bailey'for a twenty-pun' note!'

The little barber hastened to explain that she was neither a young
womannor a handsome womanbut a nursewho had been acting as a
kind of house-keeper to a gentleman for some weeks pastand left
her place that nightin consequence of being superseded by another
and a more legitimate house-keeper--to witthe gentleman's bride.

'He's newly marriedand he brings his young wife home to-night'
said the barber. 'So I'm going to fetch my lodger away--Mr
Chuzzlewit'sclose behind the Post Office--and carry her box for
her.'

'Jonas Chuzzlewit's?' said Bailey.

'Ah!' returned Paul: 'that's the name sure enough. Do you know
him?'

'Ohno!' cried Mr Bailey; 'not at all. And I don't know her! Not
neither! Whythey first kept company through mea'most.'

'Ah?' said Paul.

'Ah!' said Mr Baileywith a wink; 'and she ain't bad looking mind
you. But her sister was the best. SHE was the merry one. I often
used to have a bit of fun with herin the hold times!'

Mr Bailey spoke as if he already had a leg and three-quarters in the
graveand this had happened twenty or thirty years ago. Paul
Sweedlepipethe meekwas so perfectly confounded by his precocious
self-possessionand his patronizing manneras well as by his
bootscockadeand liverythat a mist swam before his eyesand he
saw--not the Bailey of acknowledged juvenility from Todgers's
Commercial Boarding Housewho had made his acquaintance within a
twelvemonthby purchasingat sundry timessmall birds at twopence
each--but a highly-condensed embodiment of all the sporting grooms
in London; an abstract of all the stable-knowledge of the time; a
something at a high-pressure that must have had existence many
yearsand was fraught with terrible experiences. And trulythough
in the cloudy atmosphere of Todgers'sMr Bailey's genius had ever
shone out brightly in this particular respectit now eclipsed both
time and spacecheated beholders of their sensesand worked on
their belief in defiance of all natural laws. He walked along the
tangible and real stones of Holborn Hillan undersized boy; and
yet he winked the winksand thought the thoughtsand did the
deedsand said the sayings of an ancient man. There was an old
principle within himand a young surface without. He became an
inexplicable creature; a breeched and booted Sphinx. There was no
course open to the barberbut to go distracted himselfor to take
Bailey for granted; and he wisely chose the latter.


Mr Bailey was good enough to continue to bear him companyand to
entertain himas they wentwith easy conversation on various
sporting topics; especially on the comparative meritsas a general
principleof horses with white stockingsand horses without. In
regard to the style of tail to be preferredMr Bailey had opinions
of his ownwhich he explainedbut begged they might by no means
influence his friend'sas here he knew he had the misfortune to
differ from some excellent authorities. He treated Mr Sweedlepipe
to a dramcompounded agreeably to his own directionswhich he
informed him had been invented by a member of the Jockey Club; and
as they were by this time near the barber's destinationhe observed
thatas he had an hour to spareand knew the partieshe wouldif
quite agreeablebe introduced to Mrs Gamp.

Paul knocked at Jonas Chuzzlewit's; andon the door being opened by
that ladymade the two distinguished persons known to one another.
It was a happy feature in Mrs Gamp's twofold professionthat it
gave her an interest in everything that was young as well as in
everything that was old. She received Mr Bailey with much kindness.

'It's very goodI'm sureof you to come' she said to her
landlord'as well as bring so nice a friend. But I'm afraid
that I must trouble you so far as to step infor the young couple
has not yet made appearance.'

'They're lateain't they?' inquired her landlordwhen she had
conducted them downstairs into the kitchen.

'Wellsirconsidern' the Wings of Lovethey are' said Mrs Gamp.

Mr Bailey inquired whether the Wings of Love had ever won a plate
or could be backed to do anything remarkable; and being informed
that it was not a horsebut merely a poetical or figurative
expressionevinced considerable disgust. Mrs Gamp was so very much
astonished by his affable manners and great easethat she was about
to propound to her landlord in a whisper the staggering inquiry
whether he was a man or a boywhen Mr Sweedlepipeanticipating her
designmade a timely diversion.

'He knows Mrs Chuzzlewit' said Paul aloud.

'There's nothin' he don't know; that's my opinion' observed Mrs
Gamp. 'All the wickedness of the world is Print to him.'

Mr Bailey received this as a complimentand saidadjusting his
cravat'reether so.'

'As you knows Mrs Chuzzlewityou knowsp'rapswhat her chris'en
name is?' Mrs Gamp observed.

'Charity' said Bailey.

'That it ain't!' cried Mrs Gamp.

'Cherrythen' said Bailey. 'Cherry's short for it. It's all the
same.'

'It don't begin with a C at all' retorted Mrs Gampshaking her
head. 'It begins with a M.'

'Whew!' cried Mr Baileyslapping a little cloud of pipe-clay out of
his left leg'then he's been and married the merry one!'


As these words were mysteriousMrs Gamp called upon him to explain
which Mr Bailey proceeded to do; that lady listening greedily to
everything he said. He was yet in the fullness of his narrative when
the sound of wheelsand a double knock at the street door
announced the arrival of the newly married couple. Begging him to
reserve what more he had to say for her hearing on the way home
Mrs Gamp took up the candleand hurried away to receive and welcome
the young mistress of the house.

'Wishing you appiness and joy with all my art' said Mrs Gamp
dropping a curtsey as they entered the hall; 'and youtoosir.
Your lady looks a little tired with the journeyMr Chuzzlewita
pretty dear!'

'She has bothered enough about it' grumbled Mr Jonas. 'Nowshow a
lightwill you?'

'This wayma'amif you please' said Mrs Gampgoing upstairs
before them. 'Things has been made as comfortable as they could be
but there's many things you'll have to alter your own self when you
gets time to look about you! Ah! sweet thing! But you don't' added
Mrs Gampinternally'you don't look much like a merry oneI must
say!'

It was true; she did not. The death that had gone before the bridal
seemed to have left its shade upon the house. The air was heavy and
oppressive; the rooms were dark; a deep gloom filled up every chink
and corner. Upon the hearthstonelike a creature of ill omensat
the aged clerkwith his eyes fixed on some withered branches in the
stove. He rose and looked at her.

'So there you areMr Chuff' said Jonas carelesslyas he dusted
his boots; 'still in the land of the livingeh?'

'Still in the land of the livingsir' retorted Mrs Gamp. 'And Mr
Chuffey may thank you for itas many and many a time I've told
him.'

Mr Jonas was not in the best of humoursfor he merely saidas he
looked round'We don't want you any moreyou knowMrs Gamp.'

'I'm a-going immediatesir' returned the nurse; 'unless there's
nothink I can do for youma'am. Ain't there' said Mrs Gampwith
a look of great sweetnessand rummaging all the time in her pocket;
'ain't there nothink I can do for youmy little bird?'

'No' said Merryalmost crying. 'You had better go awayplease!'

With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness; with one eye on the
futureone on the brideand an arch expression in her facepartly
spiritualpartly spirituousand wholly professional and peculiar
to her art; Mrs Gamp rummaged in her pocket againand took from it
a printed cardwhereon was an inscription copied from her signboard.

'Would you be so goodmy darling dovey of a dear young married
lady' Mrs Gamp observedin a low voice'as put that somewheres
where you can keep it in your mind? I'm well beknown to many
ladiesand it's my card. Gamp is my nameand Gamp my nater.
Livin' quite handyI will make so bold as call in now and thenand
make inquiry how your health and spirits ismy precious chick!'

And with innumerable leerswinkscoughsnodssmilesand
curtseysall leading to the establishment of a mysterious and
confidential understanding between herself and the brideMrs Gamp


invoking a blessing upon the houseleeredwinkedcoughednodded
smiledand curtseyed herself out of the room.

'But I will sayand I would if I was led a Martha to the Stakes for
it' Mrs Gamp remarked below stairsin a whisper'that she don't
look much like a merry one at this present moment of time.'

'Ah! wait till you hear her laugh!' said Bailey.

'Hem!' cried Mrs Gampin a kind of groan. 'I willchild.'

They said no more in the housefor Mrs Gamp put on her bonnetMr
Sweedlepipe took up her box; and Mr Bailey accompanied them towards
Kingsgate Street; recounting to Mrs Gamp as they went alongthe
origin and progress of his acquaintance with Mrs Chuzzlewit and her
sister. It was a pleasant instance of this youth's precocitythat
he fancied Mrs Gamp had conceived a tenderness for himand was much
tickled by her misplaced attachment.

As the door closed heavily behind themMrs Jonas sat down in a
chairand felt a strange chill creep upon herwhilst she looked
about the room. It was pretty much as she had known itbut
appeared more dreary. She had thought to see it brightened to
receive her.

'It ain't good enough for youI suppose?' said Jonaswatching her
looks.

'Whyit IS dull' said Merrytrying to be more herself.

'It'll be duller before you're done with it' retorted Jonas'if
you give me any of your airs. You're a nice articleto turn sulky
on first coming home! Ecodyou used to have life enoughwhen you
could plague me with it. The gal's downstairs. Ring the bell for
supperwhile I take my boots off!'

She roused herself from looking after him as he left the roomto do
what he had desired; when the old man Chuffey laid his hand softly
on her arm.

'You are not married?' he said eagerly. 'Not married?'

'Yes. A month ago. Good Heavenwhat is the matter?'

He answered nothing was the matter; and turned from her. But in her
fear and wonderturning alsoshe saw him raise his trembling hands
above his headand heard him say:

'Oh! woewoewoeupon this wicked house!'

It was her welcome--HOME.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW FACESBUT IN
FALSE COLOURS. THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITEAND THAT BITERS MAY
SOMETIMES BE BITTEN.

Mr BaileyJunior--for the sporting characterwhilom of general
utility at Todgers'shad now regularly set up in life under that
namewithout troubling himself to obtain from the legislature a


direct licence in the form of a Private Billwhich of all kinds and
classes of bills is without exception the most unreasonable in its
charges--Mr BaileyJuniorjust tall enough to be seen by an
inquiring eyegazing indolently at society from beneath the apron
of his master's cabdrove slowly up and down Pall Mallabout the
hour of noonin waiting for his 'Governor.' The horse of
distinguished familywho had Capricorn for his nephewand
Cauliflower for his brothershowed himself worthy of his high
relations by champing at the bit until his chest was white with
foamand rearing like a horse in heraldry; the plated harness and
the patent leather glittered in the sun; pedestrians admired; Mr
Bailey was complacentbut unmoved. He seemed to say'A barrow
good peoplea mere barrow; nothing to what we could doif we
chose!' and on he wentsquaring his short green arms outside the
apronas if he were hooked on to it by his armpits.

Mr Bailey had a great opinion of Brother to Cauliflowerand
estimated his powers highly. But he never told him so. On the
contraryit was his practicein driving that animalto assail him
with disrespectfulif not injuriousexpressionsas'Ah! would
you!' 'Did you think itthen?' 'Where are you going to now?' 'No
you won'tmy lad!' and similar fragmentary remarks. These being
usually accompanied by a jerk of the reinor a crack of the whip
led to many trials of strength between themand to many contentions
for the upper-handterminatingnow and thenin china-shopsand
other unusual goalsas Mr Bailey had already hinted to his friend
Poll Sweedlepipe.

On the present occasion Mr Baileybeing in spiritswas more than
commonly hard upon his charge; in consequence of which that fiery
animal confined himself almost entirely to his hind legs in
displaying his pacesand constantly got himself into positions with
reference to the cabriolet that very much amazed the passengers in
the street. But Mr Baileynot at all disturbedhad still a shower
of pleasantries to bestow on any one who crossed his path; as
calling to a full-grown coal-heaver in a wagonwho for a moment
blocked the way'Nowyoung 'unwho trusted YOU with a cart?'
inquiring of elderly ladies who wanted to crossand ran back again
'Why they didn't go to the workhouse and get an order to be buried?'
tempting boyswith friendly wordsto get up behindand
immediately afterwards cutting them down; and the like flashes of a
cheerful humourwhich he would occasionally relieve by going round
St. James's Square at a hand gallopand coming slowly into Pall
Mall by another entryas ifin the intervalhis pace had been a
perfect crawl.

It was not until these amusements had been very often repeatedand
the apple-stall at the corner had sustained so many miraculous
escapes as to appear impregnablethat Mr Bailey was summoned to the
door of a certain house in Pall Malland turning shortobeyed the
call and jumped out. It was not until he had held the bridle for
some minutes longerevery jerk of Cauliflower's brother's headand
every twitch of Cauliflower's brother's nostriltaking him off his
legs in the meanwhilethat two persons entered the vehicleone of
whom took the reins and drove rapidly off. Nor was it until Mr
Bailey had run after it some hundreds of yards in vainthat he
managed to lift his short leg into the iron stepand finally to get
his boots upon the little footboard behind. Thenindeedhe became
a sight to see; and--standing now on one foot and now upon the other
now trying to look round the cab on this sidenow on thatand now
endeavouring to peep over the top of itas it went dashing in among
the carts and coaches--was from head to heel Newmarket.

The appearance of Mr Bailey's governor as he drove along fully


justified that enthusiastic youth's description of him to the
wondering Poll. He had a world of jet-black shining hair upon his
headupon his cheeksupon his chinupon his upper lip. His
clothessymmetrically madewere of the newest fashion and the
costliest kind. Flowers of gold and blueand green and blushing
redwere on his waistcoat; precious chains and jewels sparkled on
his breast; his fingersclogged with brilliant ringswere as
unwieldly as summer flies but newly rescued from a honey-pot. The
daylight mantled in his gleaming hat and boots as in a polished
glass. And yetthough changed his nameand changed his outward
surfaceit was Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside downand
inside outas great men have been sometimes known to be; though no
longer Montague Tiggbut Tigg Montague; still it was Tigg; the same
Satanicgallantmilitary Tigg. The brass was burnished
lacquerednewly stamped; yet it was the true Tigg metal
notwithstanding.

Beside him sat a smiling gentlemanof less pretensions and of
business lookswhom he addressed as David. Surely not the David of
the--how shall it be phrased?--the triumvirate of golden balls? Not
Davidtapster at the Lombards' Arms? Yes. The very man.

'The secretary's salaryDavid' said Mr Montague'the office being
now establishedis eight hundred pounds per annumwith his houserent
coalsand candles free. His five-and-twenty shares he holds
of course. Is that enough?'

David smiled and noddedand coughed behind a little locked
portfolio which he carried; with an air that proclaimed him to be
the secretary in question.

'If that's enough' said Montague'I will propose it at the Board
to-dayin my capacity as chairman.'

The secretary smiled again; laughedindeedthis time; and said
rubbing his nose slily with one end of the portfolio:

'It was a capital thoughtwasn't it?'

'What was a capital thoughtDavid?' Mr Montague inquired.

'The Anglo-Bengalee' tittered the secretary.

'The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company is
rather a capital concernI hopeDavid' said Montague.

'Capital indeed!' cried the secretarywith another laugh--' in one
sense.'

'In the only important one' observed the chairman; 'which is number
oneDavid.'

'What' asked the secretarybursting into another laugh'what will
be the paid up capitalaccording to the next prospectus?'

'A figure of twoand as many oughts after it as the printer can get
into the same line' replied his friend. 'Haha!'

At this they both laughed; the secretary so vehementlythat in
kicking up his feethe kicked the apron openand nearly started
Cauliflower's brother into an oyster shop; not to mention Mr
Bailey's receiving such a sudden swingthat he held on for a
moment quite a young Fameby one strap and no legs.


'What a chap you are!' exclaimed David admiringlywhen this little
alarm had subsided.

'SaygeniusDavidgenius.'

'"Wellupon my soulyou ARE a genius then' said David. 'I always
knew you had the gift of the gabof course; but I never believed
you were half the man you are. How could I?'

'I rise with circumstancesDavid. That's a point of genius in
itself' said Tigg. 'If you were to lose a hundred pound wager to
me at this minute Davidand were to pay it (which is most
confoundedly improbable)I should risein a mental point of view
directly.'

It is due to Mr Tigg to say that he had really risen with his
opportunities; andpeculating on a grander scalehe had become
a grander man altogether.

'Haha' cried the secretarylaying his handwith growing
familiarityupon the chairman's arm. 'When I look at youand
think of your property in Bengal being--hahaha!--'

The half-expressed idea seemed no less ludicrous to Mr Tigg than to
his friendfor he laughed tooheartily.

'--Being' resumed David'being amenable--your property in Bengal
being amenable--to all claims upon the company; when I look at you
and think of thatyou might tickle me into fits by waving the
feather of a pen at me. Upon my soul you might!'

'It a devilish fine property' said Tigg Montague'to be amenable
to any claims. The preserve of tigers alone is worth a mint of
moneyDavid.'

David could only reply in the intervals of his laughter'Ohwhat a
chap you are!' and so continued to laughand hold his sidesand
wipe his eyesfor some timewithout offering any other
observation.

'A capital idea?' said Tiggreturning after a time to his
companion's first remark; 'no doubt it was a capital idea. It was
my idea.'

'Nono. It was my idea' said David. 'Hang itlet a man have
some credit. Didn't I say to you that I'd saved a few pounds?--'

'You said! Didn't I say to you' interposed Tigg'that I had come
into a few pounds?'

'Certainly you did' returned Davidwarmly'but that's not the
idea. Who saidthat if we put the money together we could furnish
an officeand make a show?'

'And who said' retorted Mr Tigg'thatprovided we did it on a
sufficiently large scalewe could furnish an office and make a
showwithout any money at all? Be rationaland justand calm
and tell me whose idea was that.'

'Whythere' David was obliged to confess'you had the advantage
of meI admit. But I don't put myself on a level with you. I only
want a little credit in the business.'

'All the credit you deserve to have' said Tigg.


'The plain work of the companyDavid--figuresbookscirculars
advertisementspeninkand papersealing-wax and wafers--is
admirably done by you. You are a first-rate groveller. I don't
dispute it. But the ornamental departmentDavid; the inventive
and poetical department--'

'Is entirely yours' said his friend. 'No question of it. But with
such a swell turnout as thisand all the handsome things you've
got about youand the life you leadI mean to say it's a precious
comfortable department too.'

'Does it gain the purpose? Is it Anglo-Bengalee?' asked Tigg.

'Yes' said David.

'Could you undertake it yourself?' demanded Tigg.

'No' said David.

'Haha!' laughed Tigg. 'Then be contented with your station and
your profitsDavidmy fine fellowand bless the day that made us
acquainted across the counter of our common unclefor it was a
golden day to you.'

It will have been already gathered from the conversation of these
worthiesthat they were embarked in an enterprise of some
magnitudein which they addressed the public in general from the
strong position of having everything to gain and nothing at all to
lose; and whichbased upon this great principlewas thriving
pretty comfortably.

The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company
started into existence one morningnot an Infant Institutionbut a
Grown-up Company running alone at a great paceand doing business
right and left: with a 'branch' in a first floor over a tailor's at
the west-end of the townand main offices in a new street in the
Citycomprising the upper part of a spacious house resplendent in
stucco and plate-glasswith wire-blinds in all the windowsand
'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On
the doorpost was painted again in large letters'offices of the
Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company' and
on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription;
always kept very brightas courting inquiry; staring the City out
of countenance after office hours on working daysand all day long
on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Withinthe offices
were newly plasterednewly paintednewly paperednewly countered
newly floor-clothednewly tablednewly chairednewly fitted up in
every waywith goods that were substantial and expensiveand
designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green
ledgers with red backslike strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the
court-guides directoriesday-booksalmanacksletter-boxes
weighing-machines for lettersrows of fire-buckets for dashing out
a conflagration in its first sparkand saving the immense wealth in
notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes
the clockthe office seal--in its capacious selfsecurity for
anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the
chimney-piecesand the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house!
Publicity! WhyAnglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance
company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at
every turn until the eyes are dazzled with itand the head is
giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paperand it
makes a scroll-work round the sealand it shines out of the
porter's buttonsand it is repeated twenty times in every circular


and public notice wherein one David CrimpleEsquireSecretary and
resident Directortakes the liberty of inviting your attention to
the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-
Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully
proves to you that any connection on your part with that
establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and
constantly increasing Bonus to yourselfand that nobody can run any
risk by the transaction except the officewhichin its great
liberality is pretty sure to lose. And thisDavid Crimple
Esquiresubmits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him)is
the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of
Management for its permanence and stability.

This gentleman's nameby the wayhad been originally Crimp; but as
the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be
misrepresentedhe had altered it to Crimple.

Lest with all these proofs and confirmationsany man should be
suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life
Assurance company; should doubt in tigercabor personTigg
MontagueEsquire(of Pall Mall and Bengal)or any other name in
the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the
premises--a wonderful creaturein a vast red waistcoat and a shorttailed
pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the
minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No
confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew
where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given
or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This
mysterious beingrelying solely on his figurehad applied for the
situationand had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They
were high; but he knewdoubtlessthat no man could carry such an
extent of waistcoat as himselfand felt the full value of his
capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected
for him in a corner of the officewith his glazed hat hanging on a
peg over his headit was impossible to doubt the respectability of
the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of
his red waistcoat untillike the problem of the nails in the
horse's shoesthe total became enormous. People had been known to
apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds
and looking at himto begbefore the form of proposal was filled
upthat it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His
coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his
waistcoat. Respectabilitycompetenceproperty in Bengal or
anywhere elseresponsibility to any amount on the part of the
company that employed himwere all expressed in that one garment.

Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street
itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a
Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee.
Whether he was a deep rogueor a stately simpletonit was
impossible to make outbut he appeared to believe in the Anglo-
Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having
nothing whatever to doand something less to take care ofwould
look as if the pressure of his numerous dutiesand a sense of the
treasure in the company's strong-roommade him a solemn and a
thoughtful man.

As the cabriolet drove up to the doorthis officer appeared
bare-headed on the pavementcrying aloud 'Room for the chairman
room for the chairmanif you please!' much to the admiration of the
bystanderswhoit is needless to sayhad their attention directed
to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforthby that means. Mr Tigg
leaped gracefully outfollowed by the Managing Director (who was by
this time very distant and respectful)and ascended the stairs


still preceded by the porterwho cried as he went'By your leave
there! by your leave! The Chairman of the BoardGentle--MEN! In
like mannerbut in a still more stentorian voicehe ushered the
chairman through the public officewhere some humble clients were
transacting businessinto an awful chamberlabelled Board-room;
the door of which sanctuary immediately closedand screened the
great capitalist from vulgar eyes.

The board-room had a Turkey carpet in ita sideboarda portrait of
Tigg MontagueEsquireas chairman; a very imposing chair of
officegarnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a
long tableset out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper
foolscapclean pensand inkstands. The chairman having taken his
seat with great solemnitythe secretary supported him on his right
handand the porter stood bolt upright behind themforming a warm
background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being
a light-hearted little fiction.

'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg.

'Sir!' replied the porter.

'Let the Medical Officer knowwith my complimentsthat I wish to
see him.'

Bullamy cleared his throatand bustled out into the officecrying
'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By
your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the
gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door-at
his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to
stretch their necks and stand upon their toesthirsting to catch
the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber.

'Joblingmy dear friend!' said Mr Tigg'how are you? Bullamy
wait outside. Crimpledon't leave us. Joblingmy good fellowI
am glad to see you.'

'And how are youMr Montagueeh?' said the Medical Officer
throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easychairs
in the board-room)and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from
the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little
worn with businesseh? If sorest. A little feverish from wine
humph? If sowater. Nothing at all the matterand quite
comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this
time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunchMr
Montague.'

The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had
followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the graveand who had
attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these
words; and casually addedas he brushed some grains of snuff from
his shirt-frill'I always take it myself about this time of daydo
you know!'

'Bullamy!' said the Chairmanringing the little bell.

'Sir!'

'Lunch.'

'Not on my accountI hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good.
Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Haha! if I had been a sharp
practitionerMr MontagueI shouldn't have mentioned it without a
fee; for you may depend upon itmy dear sirthat if you don't make


a point of taking lunchyou'll very soon come under my hands.
Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--'

The resident Director gave an involuntary startfor the doctorin
the heat of his demonstrationcaught it up and laid it across his
ownas if he were going to take it offthen and there.

'In Mr Crimple's legyou'll observe' pursued the doctorturning
back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands'where Mr
Crimple's knee fits into the socketherethere is--that is to say
between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.'

'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimplelooking with
something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with
other legsain't it?'

'Never you mindmy good sir' returned the doctorshaking his
head'whether it is the same with other legsor not the same.'

'But I do mind' said David.

'I take a particular caseMr Montague' returned the doctor'as
illustrating my remarkyou observe. In this portion of Mr
Crimple's legsirthere is a certain amount of animal oil. In
every one of Mr Crimple's jointssirthere is more or less of the
same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his mealsor
fails to take his proper quantity of restthat oil wanesand
becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones
sink down into their socketssirand Mr Crimple becomes a weazen
punystuntedmiserable man!'

The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenlyas if he were already
in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands againand
looked triumphantly at the chairman.

'We know a few secrets of nature in our professionsir' said the
doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and
the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that.
It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally.
Where do you supposenow'--the doctor closed one eyeas he leaned
back smilingly in his chairand formed a triangle with his hands
of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr
Crimple's stomach is?'

Mr Crimplemore agitated than beforeclapped his hand immediately
below his waistcoat.

'Not at all' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular
mistake! My good siryou're altogether deceived.'

'I feel it therewhen it's out of order; that's all I know' said
Crimple.

'You think you do' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better.
There was a patient of mine once' touching one of the many mourning
rings upon his fingersand slightly bowing his head'a gentleman
who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his
will--"in testimony as he was pleased to say, of the unremitting
zealtalentand attention of my friend and medical attendantJohn
JoblingEsquireM.R.C.S.--who was so overcome by the idea of
having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality
of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional
reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand,
and said, JoblingGod bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became


speechlessand was ultimately buried at Brixton.'

'By your leave there!' cried Bullamywithout. 'By your leave!
Refreshment for the Board-room!'

'Ha!' said the doctorjocularlyas he rubbed his handsand drew
his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life AssuranceMr
Montague. The best Policy in the worldmy dear sir. We should be
providentand eat and drink whenever we can. EhMr Crimple?'

The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkilyas if the
gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the
unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its
situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a
tray covered with a snow-white clothwhichbeing thrown back
displayed a pair of cold roast fowlsflanked by some potted meats
and a cool saladquickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced
still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeiraand
another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an
appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer.

The lunch was handsomely servedwith a profusion of rich glass
plateand china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on
a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the
Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceededthe Medical Officer
grew more and more joyous and red-facedinsomuch that every
mouthful he ateand every drop of wine he swallowedseemed to
impart new lustre to his eyesand to light up new sparks in his
nose and forehead.

In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhoodMr Jobling
wasas we have already seen in some measurea very popular
character. He had a portentously sagacious chinand a pompous
voicewith a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly
to the heartlike a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium
of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever
of the whitesthis clothes of the blackest and sleekesthis gold
watch-chain of the heaviestand his seals of the largest. His
bootswhich were always of the brightestcreaked as he walked.
Perhaps he could shake his headrub his handsor warm himself
before a firebetter than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way
of smacking his lips and saying'Ah!' at intervals while patients
detailed their symptomswhich inspired great confidence. It seemed
to express'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but
go ongo on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything
to say or notit was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full
of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered
for the same reasonto be something much too extensive for
description. His female patients could never praise him too highly;
and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him
to their friends'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might
be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation)
he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your
life!'

Jobling was for many reasonsand not last in the list because his
connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families
exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted
for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect
himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well
paid) functionaryor to allow his connection to be misunderstood
abroadif he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an
inquiring patientafter this manner:


'Whymy dear sirwith regard to the Anglo-Bengaleemy
informationyou seeis limited; very limited. I am the medical
officerin consideration of a certain monthly payment. The
labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical
scholarJobling!' thinks the patient'well-read man!')--'and I
receive it regularly. Therefore I am boundso far as my own
knowledge goesto speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can
be fairer than Jobling's conduct' thinks the patientwho has just
paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to memy
dear friend' says the doctor'touching the responsibility or
capital of the companythere I am at fault; for I have no head for
figuresand not being a shareholderam delicate of showing any
curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will
agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics
of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than
Jobling's feeling' thinks the patient.) 'Very goodmy dear sirso
the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it.
A remarkably handsome manand quite the gentleman in every respect.
PropertyI am toldin India. House and everything belonging to
himbeautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish
scale. And pictureswhicheven in an anatomical point of view
are per-fection. In case you should ever think of doing anything
with the companyI'll pass youyou may depend upon it. I can
conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any
man's constitutionit is yours; and this little indisposition has
done him more goodma'am' says the doctorturning to the
patient's wife'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the
nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell
the honest truthone half of them are nonsense--compared with such
a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I
ever met with in my life' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and
honourI'll consider of it!')

'Commission to youdoctoron four new policiesand a loan this
morningeh?' said Crimplelookingwhen they had finished lunch
over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!'

'Joblingmy dear friend' said Tigg'long life to you.'

'Nono. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the
commission' said the doctor'I haven't really. It's picking your
pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know.
My patients ask me what I knowand I tell 'em what I know. Nothing
else. Caution is my weak sidethat's the truth; and always was
from a boy. That is' said the doctorfilling his glass'caution
in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in
this company myselfif I had not been paying money elsewhere for
many years--that's quite another question.'

He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling
that he did it but indifferentlychanged the theme and praised the
wine.

'Talking of wine' said the doctor'reminds me of one of the finest
glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a
funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT partyMr Montague
have you?' handing him a card.

'He is not buriedI hope?' said Tiggas he took it. 'The honour
of his company is not requested if he is.'

'Haha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably
connected with that very occasion though.'


'Oh!' said Tiggsmoothing his moustacheas he cast his eyes upon
the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.'

The words were on his lipswhen Bullamy enteredand presented a
card to the Medical Officer.

'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising.

'And he's sure to appeareh?' said Tigg.

'WhynoMr Montagueno' returned the doctor. 'We will not say
that in the present casefor this gentleman is very far from it.'

'So much the better' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to
the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamyclear the table and take the things
out by the other door. Mr Crimplebusiness.'

'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling.

'I shall be eternally delighted' answered Tiggkissing his hand
and smiling sweetly.

The doctor disappeared into the outer officeand immediately
returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit.

'Mr Montague' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit.
My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know' he added checking
himself with infinite policyand looking round with a smile;
'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really
is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR
chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY
chairmanyou know. I have no connection with the companyfarther
than giving themfor a certain fee and rewardmy poor opinion as a
medical manprecisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or
Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear
the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary
operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr
CrimpleI believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.'

Pending these remarks on the part of the doctorand the lengthened
and sonorous pinch with which he followed them upJonas took a seat
at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the
reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of usbut it is
especially in the nature of a mean mindto be overawed by fine
clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on
Jonas.

'Now you two gentlemen have business to discussI know' said the
doctor'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives
are waiting for me in the next roomand I have a round of visits to
make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to
introduce you to each otherI may go about my business. Good-bye.
But allow meMr Montaguebefore I goto say this of my friend who
sits beside you: That gentleman has done moresir' rapping his
snuff-box solemnly'to reconcile me to human naturethan any man
alive or dead. Good-bye!'

With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the roomand
proceeded in his own official departmentto impress the lives in
waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge
of his dutyand the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-
Bengalee; by feeling their pulseslooking at their tongues
listening at their ribspoking them in the chestand so forth;
thoughif he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of


lives they werethe Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readilyhe
was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and
was not the original Joblingbut a spurious imitation.

Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas
Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone.

'I learn from our friend' said Tiggdrawing his chair towards
Jonas with a winning ease of manner'that you have been thinking--'

'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so' cried Jonasinterrupting.
'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I
was coming here for such or such a purposewhythat's his
lookout. I don't stand committed by that.'

Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual
distrust of his characterit was in his nature to seek to revenge
himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniturein exact
proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence.

'If I come here to ask a question or twoand get a document or two
to consider ofI don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand
thatyou know' said Jonas.

'My dear fellow!' cried Tiggclapping him on the shoulder'I
applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at
firstall possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I
disguise what you know so wellbut what the crowd never dream of?
We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only
question iswhether in serving our own turnwe can serve yours
too; whether in double-lining our own nestwe can put a single
living into yours. Ohyou're in our secret. You're behind the
scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with youwhen we
know we can't help it.'

It was remarkedon the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these
pagesthat there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a
simplicity of innocenceand that in all matters involving a faith
in knaveryhe was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had
preferred any claim to high and honourable dealingJonas would have
suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when
he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and
everybodyJonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellowand
one to be talked to freely.

He changed his position in the chairnot for a less awkwardbut
for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit
rejoined:

'You an't a bad man of businessMr Montague. You know how to
set about itI WILL say.'

'Tuttut' said Tiggnodding confidentiallyand showing his white
teeth; 'we are not childrenMr Chuzzlewit; we are grown menI
hope.'

Jonas assentedand said after a short silencefirst spreading out
his legsand sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home
he was

'The truth is--'

'Don't saythe truth' interposed Tiggwith another grin. 'It's
so like humbug.'


Greatly charmed by thisJonas began again.

'The long and the short of it is--'

'Better' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!'

'--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the
old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once hadI
mean. They started objections they had no right to startand put
questions they had no right to putand carried things much too high
for my taste.'

As he made these observations he cast down his eyesand looked
curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him.

He made so long a pausethat Tigg came to the rescueand saidin
his pleasantest manner:

'Take a glass of wine.'

'Nono' returned Jonaswith a cunning shake of the head; 'none of
thatthankee. No wine over business. All very well for youbut
it wouldn't do for me.'

'What an old hand you areMr Chuzzlewit!' said Tiggleaning back in
his chairand leering at him through his half-shut eyes.

Jonas shook his head againas much as to say'You're right there;'
And then resumedjocosely:

'Not such an old handeitherbut that I've been and got married.
That's rather greenyou'll say. Perhaps it isespecially as she's
young. But one never knows what may happen to these womenso I'm
thinking of insuring her life. It is but fairyou knowthat a man
should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.'

'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking
circumstances' murmured Tiggwith his eyes shut up as before.

'Exactly' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Nowsupposing I did
it hereI should do it cheapI knowand easywithout bothering
her about it; which I'd much rather not dofor it's just in a
woman's way to take it into her headif you talk to her about
such thingsthat she's going to die directly.'

'So it is' cried Tiggkissing his hand in honour of the sex.
'You're quite right. Sweetsillyfluttering little simpletons!'

'Well' said Jonas'on that accountyou knowand because offence
has been given me in other quartersI wouldn't mind patronizing
this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for
the Company's going on. That's the--'

'Not the truth?' cried Tiggholding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't
use that Sunday School expressionplease!'

'The long and the short of it' said Jonas. 'The long and the short
of it iswhat's the security?'

'The paid-up capitalmy dear sir' said Tiggreferring to some
papers on the table'isat this present moment--'

'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitalsyou know' said Jonas.


'You do?' cried Tiggstopping short.

'I should hope so.'

He turned the papers down againand moving nearer to himsaid in
his ear:

'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!'

It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus
requestedhe made shift to take a tolerable survey of the
chairman's features. The chairman fell back a littleto give him
the better opportunity.

'You know me?' he inquiredelevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect?
You've seen me before?'

'WhyI thought I remembered your face when I first came in' said
Jonasgazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen
it. No. I don't remembereven now. Was it in the street?'

'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg

'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonasfetching a long breath.
'You don't mean when--'

'Yes' cried Tigg'when there was a very charming and delightful
little family partyat which yourself and your respected father
assisted.'

'Wellnever mind HIM' said Jonas. 'He's deadand there's no help
for it.'

'Deadis he!' cried Tigg'Venerable old gentlemanis he dead!
You're very like him.'

Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace
perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the
personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was
not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That
gentleman perceived itand tapping him familiarly on the sleeve
beckoned him to the window. From this momentMr Montague's
jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable.

'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak
plainly.'

Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather
ecod!'

'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

'Precious seedy' said Jonas.

Mr Montague pointed down into the streetwhere Bailey and the cab
were in attendance.

'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?'

'No.'

'Mine. Do you like this room?'


'It must have cost a lot of money' said Jonas.

'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered thisand
nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums
instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join
us!'

Jonas stared at him in amazement.

'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montaguecalling his attention to
the multitude without.

'Very' said Jonasonly glancing at itand immediately afterwards
looking at him again.

'There are printed calculations' said his companion'which will
tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that
thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em
will come in heremerely because they find this office here;
knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Haha!
Join us. You shall come in cheap.'

Jonas looked at him harder and harder.

'I can tell you' said Tigg in his ear'how many of 'em will buy
annuitieseffect insurancesbring us their money in a hundred
shapes and waysforce it upon ustrust us as if we were the Mint;
yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at
the corner. Not so much. Haha!'

Jonas gradually broke into a smile.

'Yah!' said Montaguegiving him a pleasant thrust in the breast;
'you're too deep for usyou dogor I wouldn't have told you. Dine
with me to-morrowin Pall Mall!'

'I will' said Jonas.

'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you
and look 'em over. See' he saidsnatching some printed forms from
the table. 'B is a little tradesmanclerkparsonartistauthor
any common thing you like.'

'Yes' said Jonaslooking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!'

'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no
matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two
securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the
amountand brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the
office. Ha haha! Is that a good notion?'

'Ecodthat's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really
do it?'

'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard upmy good fellowand
will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.'

'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't' said Jonas.

'I think it does' replied the chairman'and I'm proud to hear you
say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--'

'That an't much' interrupted Jonas.


'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part
of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us
unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for
itself from all its clients. But charity begins at homeand
justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon uswe're
not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular
interestwe get B's premiumand B's friends' premiumsand we
charge B for the bondandwhether we accept him or notwe charge
B for "inquiries" (we keep a manat a pound a weekto make 'em)
and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in shortmy good
fellowwe stick it into Bup hill and down daleand make a
devilish comfortable little property out of him. Hahaha! I
drive Bin point of fact' said Tiggpointing to the cabriolet
'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Hahaha!'

Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his
peculiar vein of humour.

'Then' said Tigg Montague'we grant annuities on the very lowest
and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old
ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Hahaha! And
we pay 'em too--perhaps. Hahaha!'

'But there's responsibility in that' said Jonaslooking doubtful.

'I take it all myself' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible
for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment!
Hahaha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the
common policies. Very profitablevery comfortable. Money down
you know; repeated every year; capital fun!'

'But when they begin to fall in' observed Jonas. 'It's all very
wellwhile the office is youngbut when the policies begin to
die--that's what I am thinking of.'

'At the first startmy dear fellow' said Montague'to show you
how correct your judgment iswe had a couple of unlucky deaths that
brought us down to a grand piano.'

'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas.

'I give you my sacred word of honour' said Tigg Montague'that I
raised money on every other individual piece of propertyand was
left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an uprightgrand
tooso that I couldn't even sit upon it. Butmy dear
fellowwe got over it. We granted a great many new policies that
week (liberal allowance to solicitorsby the bye)and got over it
in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavilyas you
very justly observe they mayone of these days; then--' he finished
the sentence in so low a whisperthat only one disconnected word
was audibleand that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.'

'Whyyou're as bold as brass!' said Jonasin the utmost
admiration.

'A man can well afford to be as bold as brassmy good fellowwhen
he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairmanwith a laugh that
shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?'

'At what time?' asked Jonas.

'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join
us!'


'I don't know about that' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be
looked into first.'

'You shall look' said Montagueslapping him on the back'into
anything and everything you please. But you'll join usI am
convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!'

Obedient to the summons and the little bellthe waistcoat appeared.
Being charged to show Jonas outit went before; and the voice
within it criedas usual'By your leave thereby your leave!
Gentleman from the board-roomby your leave!'

Mr Montague being left alonepondered for some momentsand then
saidraising his voice:

'Is Nadgett in the office there?'

'Here he issir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room
door after himas carefully as if he were about to plot a murder.

He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no
virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee
business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to
be a secret. He was a shortdried-upwithered old manwho seemed
to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him
credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body.
How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even
what he waswas a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried
contradictory cardsin some of which he called himself a coalmerchant
in others a wine-merchantin others a commission-agent
in others a collectorin others an accountant; as if he really
didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments
in the Cityand the other man never seemed to come. He would sit
on 'Change for hourslooking at everybody who walked in and out
and would do the like at Garraway'sand in other business coffeerooms
in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very
damp pocket-handkerchief before the fireand still looking over his
shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed
threadbareshabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept
his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping overthat he might
have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver
glovewhich he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or
sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been
a bankruptothers that he had gone an infant into an ancient
Chancery suit which was still dependingbut it was all a secret.
He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal
in his pocketand often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of
the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go
to anybodyfor he would put them into a secret place in his coat
and deliver them to himself weeks afterwardsvery much to his own
surprisequite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died
worth a million of moneyor had died worth twopence halfpenny
everybody would have been perfectly satisfiedand would have said
it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a
race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one
anotheras they are to the rest of mankind.

'Mr Nadgett' said Montaguecopying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon
a piece of paperfrom the card which was still lying on the table
'any information about this nameI shall be glad to have myself.
Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape togetherbring me.
Bring it to meMr Nadgett.'

Nadgett put on his spectaclesand read the name attentively; then


looked at the chairman over his glassesand bowed; then took them
offand put them in their case; and then put the case in his
pocket. When he had done sohe lookedwithout his spectaclesat
the paper as it lay before himand at the same time produced his
pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as
it wasit was very full of documentsbut he found a place for this
one; and having clasped it carefullypassed it by a kind of solemn
legerdemain into the same region as before.

He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no
wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as
carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of
the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to
various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The
Company was looking upfor they flowed in gayly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME

There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly
prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had
so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently
forward. Firstlythere was money to be made by it. Secondlythe
money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other
people's cost. Thirdlyit involved much outward show of homage and
distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere
and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profithave a
lot of chaps to order aboutand get into regular good society by
one and the same meansand them so easy to one's handain't such a
bad look-out' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only
second to his avarice; forconscious that there was nothing in his
personconductcharacteror accomplishmentsto command respect
he was greedy of powerand wasin his heartas much a tyrant as
any laureled conqueror on record.

But he determined to proceed with cunning and cautionand to be
very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's
private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow
knave that Montague wanted him to be soor he wouldn't have invited
him while his decision was yet in abeyancethan the possibility of
that genius being able to overreach him in any waypierced through
his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had saidin
the outsetthat Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonaswho would
have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing elsethough he had
solemnly sworn itbelieved him in thatinstantly.

It was with a faltering handand yet with an imbecile attempt at
a swaggerthat he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall
when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to
the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take
notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him.

'Mr Montague at home?'

'I should hope he wos at homeand waiting dinnertoo' said
Baileywith the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your
hat up along with youor leave it here?'

Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there.


'The hold nameI suppose?' said Baileywith a grin.

Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation.

'Whatdon't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey
with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you
remember my taking your name up to the young ladieswhen you came
a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shopwarn't it? Times is
changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!'

Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this complimenthe
ushered the visitor upstairsand having announced himretired
with a private wink.

The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman
but Mr Montague had all the upper portionand splendid lodging it
was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant
apartmentfurnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with
picturescopies from the antique in alabaster and marblechina
vaseslofty mirrorscrimson hangings of the richest silkgilded
carvingsluxurious couchesglistening cabinets inlaid with
precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance.
The only guests besides Jonas were the doctorthe resident
Directorand two other gentlemenwhom Montague presented in due
form.

'My dear friendI am delighted to see you. Jobling you knowI
believe?'

'I think so' said the doctor pleasantlyas he stepped out of the
circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My
dear sirI see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!'

'Mr Wolf' said Montagueas soon as the doctor would allow him to
introduce the two others'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr PipMr Chuzzlewit.'

Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making
Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart
and whispered behind his hand:

'Men of the worldmy dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf
--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever
weekly paper--ohremarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man-capital
man to know--ohcapital man!'

'Well!' said Wolffolding his arms and resuming a conversation
which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord
Nobley say to that?'

'Why' returned Pipwith an oath. 'He didn't know what to say.

Samesirif he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a
good fellow Nobley is!'
'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week

that Nobley said to meBy Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow,
and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me
blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!'

'Just like him' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done
it!'

'Not a doubt of it' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--'

'Ohyes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was


dumb--sewn updeadsir--but after a minute he said to the Duke
Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He
knows.Damme!said the DukeI appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip.
Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord
Harry!said I. "Haha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is.
BravoPip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump
Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in
townPip." And so I doto this day.'

The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfactionwhich was in
no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to
the dining roomalong with his distinguished hostand took his
seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor.
The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to
the house; and dinner was done full justice toby all parties.

It was a good a one as money (or creditno matter which) could
produce. The disheswinesand fruits were of the choicest kind.
Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas
was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone
when his host disturbed him.

'A glass of wine?'

'Oh!' said Jonaswho had had several glasses already. 'As much of
that as you like! It's too good to refuse.'

'Well saidMr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf.

'Tom Gagupon my soul!' said Pip.

'Positivelyyou knowthat's--hahaha!' observed the doctor
laying down his knife and fork for one instantand then going to work
againpell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!'

'You're tolerably comfortableI hope?' said Tiggapart to Jonas.

'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME' he replied'Famous!'

'I thought it best not to have a party' said Tigg. 'You feel
that?'

'Whywhat do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to
say you do this every daydo you?'

'My dear fellow' said Montagueshrugging his shoulders'every day
of my lifewhen I dine at home. This is my common style. It was
of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through
it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "NoI won't I said.
he shall take us in the rough!"

'And pretty smoothtooecod!' said Jonasglancing round the
table. 'This don't cost a trifle.'

'Whyto be candid with youit does not' returned the other. 'But
I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.'

Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheekand said'Was it?'

'When you join usyou won't get rid of your share of the profits in
the same way?' said Tigg.

'Quite different' retorted Jonas.


'Welland you're right' said Tiggwith friendly candour. 'You
needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the
connection together; butas I take a pleasure in itthat's my
department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's
expenseI hope?'

'Not a bit' said Jonas.

'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?'

'Ah!' said Jonas'I don't mind. On the contrary.'

'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wineI take my
oath' said Tigg. 'Oh deepdeepdeep of you this morning! I must
tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pipmy good
fellowI've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend
Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word
of honour he is the deepest dog I knowPip!'

Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the
anecdotebeing toldwas received with loud applauseas an
incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pipin a natural
spirit of emulationthen related some instances of his own depth;
and Wolf not to be left behind-handrecited the leading points of
one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These
lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion' were
highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of
point.

'Men of the worldmy dear sir' Jobling whispered to Jonas;
'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself
it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not
only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's
philosophically improving. It's charactermy dear sir; character!'

It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciatedwhatever its
particular walk in life may bethat the general harmony of the
company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two
men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of
societyand by the gallant defenders of their country in the army
and navybut particularly the former. The least of their stories
had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the
Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections.

'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know himI'm afraid' said Wolfin reference
to a certain personage of illustrious descentwho had previously
figured in a reminiscence.

'No' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort
of fellows.'

'He was very fond of literature' observed Wolf.

'Was he?' said Tigg.

'Ohyes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he
said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount
who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name
what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolfeh? Sharp biterWolf.
We must keep the Wolf from the dooras the proverb says. It was
very well. And being complimentaryI printed it.'

'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pipwho invented a new oath for
the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He


came into our place one night to take Her home; rather sluedbut
not much; and saidWhere's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce
Pip!--"What's the rowmy lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug
Pip! What's the good of ShakspearePip? I never read him. What
the devil is it all aboutPip? There's a lot of feet in
Shakspeare's versebut there an't any legs worth mentioning in
Shakspeare's playsare therePip? JulietDesdemonaLady
Macbethand all the rest of 'emwhatever their names aremight as
well have no legs at allfor anything the audience know about it
Pip. Whyin that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience
Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic
poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be
lectured? NoPip. If I wanted thatI'd go to church. What's the
legitimate object of the dramaPip? Human nature. What are legs?
Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg piecesPipand I'll
stand by youmy buck!" and I am proud to say' added Pip'that he
DID stand by mehandsomely.'

The conversation now becoming generalMr Jonas's opinion was
requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the
sentiments of Mr Pipthat gentleman was extremely gratified.
Indeedboth himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonasthat
they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship
and the fumes of wineJonas grew talkative.

It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more
talkative he becomesthe more agreeable he is; on the contraryhis
merits show to most advantageperhapsin silence. Having no
meansas he thoughtof putting himself on an equality with the
restbut by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he
had been complimentedJonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost;
and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own
profundityand cut his fingers with his own edge-tools.

It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at
his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling
winesand partook of his monstrous profusionto ridicule the
extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at
such a wanton boardand in such more than doubtful companythis
might have proved a disagreeable experimentbut that Tigg and
Crimplestudying to understand their man thoroughlygave him what
license he chose: knowing that the more he tookthe better for
their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he
wasfor all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog
fashionwith his sharpest points towards themhe wasin fact
betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness.

Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's
philosophical knowledge (by the waythe doctor slipped off quietly
after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue
distinctly from the hostor took it from what they saw and heard
they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of
Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the
pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he
was so well qualified to shine; and informed himin the most
friendly manner that the advantages of their respective
establishments were entirely at his control. In a wordthey said
'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them
and he would be; adding within himselfthat so long as they 'stood
treat' there was nothing he would like better.

After coffeewhich was served in the drawing-roomthere was a
short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation;
rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flaggedJonas


took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the
furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it
had originally costand the like. In all of thishe wasas he
considereddesperately hard on Montagueand very demonstrative of
his own brilliant parts.

Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the
entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy
proceedingswhich were not intelligibleit ended in the unsteady
departure of the two gentlemen of the worldand the slumber of Mr
Jonas upon one of the sofas.

As he could not be made to understand where he wasMr Bailey
received orders to call a hackney-coachand take him home; which
that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the
hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning.

'Is he hookeddo you think?' whispered Crimpleas himself and
partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay.

'Aye!' said Tiggin the same tone. 'With a strong ironperhaps.
Has Nadgett been here to-night?'

'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had companyhe went away.'

'Why did he do that?'

'He said he would come back early in the morningbefore you were
out of bed.'

'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's
the boy! Now Mr Baileytake this gentleman homeand see him safely
in. Hallohere! Why Chuzzlewithalloa!'

They got him upright with some difficultyand assisted him
downstairswhere they put his hat upon his headand tumbled him
into the coach. Mr Baileyhaving shut him inmounted the box
beside the coachmanand smoked his cigar with an air of particular
satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free
and sporting character about itwhich was quite congenial to his
taste.

Arriving in due time at the house in the CityMr Bailey jumped
downand expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the
like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the
great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect
of this feathe saw that a dim lightpreviously visible at an
upper windowhad been already removed and was travelling
downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this
taperMr Bailey skipped back to the door againand put his eye
to the keyhole.

It was the merry one herself. But sadlystrangely altered! So
careworn and dejectedso faltering and full of fear; so fallen
humbledbroken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would
have been a less surprise.

She set the light upon a bracket in the halland laid her hand upon
her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on
towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey
lost his self-possessionand still had his eye where the keyhole
had beenwhen she opened it.

'Aha!' said Mr Baileywith an effort. 'There you areare you?


What's the matter? Ain't you wellthough?'

In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his
altered dressso much of her old smile came back to her face that
Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry againfor he saw
tears standing in her poor dim eyes.

'Don't be frightened' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter.
I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little
swipeyyou know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his bootsto express
intoxication.

'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merrytrembling.

'Todgers'sbless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin
to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been adining
with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was acoming
to see us?'

'No' she saidfaintly.

'Oh yes! We're heavy swells tooand so I tell you. Don't you come
outa-catching cold in your head. I'll wake him!' Mr Bailey
expressing in his demeanour a perfect confidence that he could carry
him in with easeif necessaryopened the coach doorlet down the
stepsand giving Jonas a shakecried 'We've got homemy flower!
Tumble upthen!'

He was so far recovered as to be able to respond to this appealand
to come stumbling out of the coach in a heapto the great hazard of
Mr Bailey's person. When he got upon the pavementMr Bailey first
butted at him in frontand then dexterously propped him up behind;
and having steadied him by these meanshe assisted him into the
house.

'You go up first with the light' said Bailey to Mr Jonas'and
we'll foller. Don't tremble so. He won't hurt you. When I've had
a drop too muchI'm full of good natur myself.'

She went on before; and her husband and Baileyby dint of tumbling
over each otherand knocking themselves aboutgot at last into the
sitting-room above stairswhere Jonas staggered into a seat.

'There!' said Mr Bailey. 'He's all right now. You ain't got
nothing to cry forbless you! He's righter than a trivet!'

The ill-favoured brutewith dress awryand sodden faceand
rumpled hairsat blinking and droopingand rolling his idiotic
eyes aboutuntilbecoming conscious by degreeshe recognized his
wifeand shook his fist at her.

'Ah!' cried Mr Baileysquaring his arms with a sudden emotion.
'Whatyou're wiciousare you? Would you though! You'd better
not!'

'Praygo away!' said Merry. 'Baileymy good boygo home.
Jonas!' she said; timidly laying her hand upon his shoulderand
bending her head down over him. 'Jonas!'

'Look at her!' cried Jonaspushing her off with his extended arm.
'Look here! Look at her! Here's a bargain for a man!'

'Dear Jonas!'


'Dear Devil!' he repliedwith a fierce gesture. 'You're a pretty
clog to be tied to a man for lifeyou mewlingwhite-faced cat!
Get out of my sight!'

'I know you don't mean itJonas. You wouldn't say it if you were
sober.'

With affected gayety she gave Bailey a piece of moneyand again
implored him to be gone. Her entreaty was so earnestthat the boy
had not the heart to stay there. But he stopped at the bottom of
the stairsand listened.

'I wouldn't say it if I was sober!' retorted Jonas. 'You know
better. Have I never said it when I was sober?'

'Oftenindeed!' she answered through her tears.

'Hark ye!' cried Jonasstamping his foot upon the ground. 'You
made me bear your pretty humours onceand ecod I'll make you bear
mine now. I always promised myself I would. I married you that I
might. I'll know who's masterand who's slave!'

'Heaven knows I am obedient!' said the sobbing girl. 'Much more so
than I ever thought to be!'

Jonas laughed in his drunken exultation. 'What! you're finding it
outare you! Patienceand you will in time! Griffins have claws
my girl. There's not a pretty slight you ever put upon menor a
pretty trick you ever played menor a pretty insolence you ever
showed methat I won't pay back a hundred-fold. What else did I
marry you for? YOUtoo!' he saidwith coarse contempt.

It might have softened him--indeed it might--to hear her turn a
little fragment of a song he used to say he liked; tryingwith
a heart so fullto win him back.

'Oho!' he said'you're deafare you? You don't hear meeh? So
much the better for you. I hate you. I hate myselffor having
been fool enough to strap a pack upon my back for the pleasure of
treading on it whenever I choose. Whythings have opened to me
nowso that I might marry almost where I liked. But I wouldn't;
I'd keep single. I ought to be singleamong the friends I know.
Instead of thathere I amtied like a log to you. Pah! Why do
you show your pale face when I come home? Am I never to forget you?'

'How late it is!' she said cheerfullyopening the shutter after an
interval of silence. 'Broad dayJonas!'

'Broad day or black nightwhat do I care!' was the kind rejoinder.

'The night passed quicklytoo. I don't mind sitting upat all.'

'Sit up for me againif you dare!' growled Jonas.

'I was reading' she proceeded'all night long. I began when you
went outand read till you came home again. The strangest story
Jonas! And truethe book says. I'll tell it you to-morrow.'

'Truewas it?' said Jonasdoggedly.

'So the book says.'

'Was there anything in itabout a man's being determined to conquer
his wifebreak her spiritbend her tempercrush all her humours


like so many nut-shells--kill herfor aught I know?' said Jonas.

'No. Not a word' she answered quickly.

'Oh!' he returned. 'That'll be a true story thoughbefore long;
for all the book says nothing about it. It's a lying bookI see.
A fit book for a lying reader. But you're deaf. I forgot that.'

There was another interval of silence; and the boy was stealing
awaywhen he heard her footstep on the floorand stopped. She
went up to himas it seemedand spoke lovingly; saying that she
would defer to him in everything and would consult his wishes and
obey themand they might be very happy if he would be gentle with
her. He answered with an imprecationand--

Not with a blow? Yes. Stern truth against the base-souled villain;
with a blow.

No angry cries; no loud reproaches. Even her weeping and her sobs
were stifled by her clinging round him. She only saidrepeating
it in agony of hearthow could hecould hecould he--and lost
utterance in tears.

Oh womanGod beloved in old Jerusalem! The best among us need
deal lightly with thy faultsif only for the punishment thy nature
will endurein bearing heavy evidence against uson the Day of
Judgment!

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IN WHICH SOME PEOPLE ARE PRECOCIOUSOTHERS PROFESSIONALAND OTHERS
MYSTERIOUS; ALL IN THEIR SEVERAL WAYS

It may have been the restless remembrance of what he had seen and
heard overnightor it may have been no deeper mental operation than
the discovery that he had nothing to dowhich caused Mr Baileyon
the following afternoonto feel particularly disposed for agreeable
societyand prompted him to pay a visit to his friend Poll
Sweedlepipe.

On the little bell giving clamorous notice of a visitor's approach
(for Mr Bailey came in at the door with a lungeto get as much
sound out of the bell as possible)Poll Sweedlepipe desisted from
the contemplation of a favourite owland gave his young friend
hearty welcome.

'Whyyou look smarter by day' said Poll'than you do by candlelight.
I never see such a tight young dasher.'

'Reether soPolly. How's our fair friendSairah?'

'Ohshe's pretty well' said Poll. 'She's at home.'

'There's the remains of a fine woman about SairahPoll' observed
Mr Baileywith genteel indifference.

'Oh!' thought Poll'he's old. He must be very old!'

'Too much crumbyou know' said Mr Bailey; 'too fatPoll. But
there's many worse at her time of life'


'The very owl's a-opening his eyes!' thought Poll. 'I don't wonder
at it in a bird of his opinions.'

He happened to have been sharpening his razorswhich were lying
open in a rowwhile a huge strop dangled from the wall. Glancing
at these preparationsMr Bailey stroked his chinand a thought
appeared to occur to him.

'Poll' he said'I ain't as neat as I could wish about the gills.
Being hereI may as well have a shaveand get trimmed close.'

The barber stood aghast; but Mr Bailey divested himself of his neckcloth
and sat down in the easy shaving chair with all the dignity
and confidence in life. There was no resisting his manner. The
evidence of sight and touch became as nothing. His chin was as
smooth as a new-laid egg or a scraped Dutch cheese; but Poll
Sweedlepipe wouldn't have ventured to denyon affidavitthat he
had the beard of a Jewish rabbi.

'Go WITH the grainPollall roundplease' said Mr Bailey
screwing up his face for the reception of the lather. 'You may do
wot you like with the bits of whisker. I don't care for 'em.'

The meek little barber stood gazing at him with the brush and soapdish
in his handstirring them round and round in a ludicrous
uncertaintyas if he were disabled by some fascination from
beginning. At last he made a dash at Mr Bailey's cheek. Then he
stopped againas if the ghost of a beard had suddenly receded from
his touch; but receiving mild encouragement from Mr Baileyin the
form of an adjuration to 'Go in and win' he lathered him
bountifully. Mr Bailey smiled through the suds in his satisfaction.
'Gently over the stonesPoll. Go a tip-toe over the pimples!'

Poll Sweedlepipe obeyedand scraped the lather off again with
particular care. Mr Bailey squinted at every successive dabas it
was deposited on a cloth on his left shoulderand seemedwith a
microscopic eyeto detect some bristles in it; for he murmured more
than once 'Reether redder than I could wishPoll.' The operation
being concludedPoll fell back and stared at him againwhile Mr
Baileywiping his face on the jack-towelremarked'that arter
late hours nothing freshened up a man so much as a easy shave.'

He was in the act of tying his cravat at the glasswithout his
coatand Poll had wiped his razorready for the next customer
when Mrs Gampcoming downstairslooked in at the shop-door to
give the barber neighbourly good day. Feeling for her unfortunate
situationin having conceived a regard for himself which it was not
in the nature of things that he could returnMr Bailey hastened to
soothe her with words of kindness.

'Hallo!' he said'Sairah! I needn't ask you how you've been this
long timefor you're in full bloom. All a-blowin and a-growin;
ain't shePolly?'

'Whydrat the Bragian boldness of that boy!' cried Mrs Gampthough
not displeased. 'What a imperent young sparrow it is! I wouldn't be
that creetur's mother not for fifty pound!'

Mr Bailey regarded this as a delicate confession of her attachment
and a hint that no pecuniary gain could recompense her for its being
rendered hopeless. He felt flattered. Disinterested affection is
always flattering.

'Ahdear!' moaned Mrs Gampsinking into the shaving chair'that


there blessed BullMr Sweedlepipehas done his wery best to conker
me. Of all the trying inwalieges in this walley of the shadder
that one beats 'em black and blue.'

It was the practice of Mrs Gamp and her friends in the profession
to say this of all the easy customers; as having at once the effect
of discouraging competitors for officeand accounting for the
necessity of high living on the part of the nurses.

'Talk of constitooshun!' Mrs Gamp observed. 'A person's
constitooshun need be made of bricks to stand it. Mrs Harris jestly
says to mebut t'other dayOh! Sairey Gamp,she sayshow is it
done?Mrs Harris, ma'am,I says to herwe gives no trust
ourselves, and puts a deal o'trust elsevere; these is our religious
feelins, and we finds 'em answer.Sairey,says Mrs Harrissech
is life. Vich likeways is the hend of all things!'

The barber gave a soft murmuras much as to say that Mrs Harris's
remarkthough perhaps not quite so intelligible as could be desired
from such an authoritydid equal honour to her head and to her
heart.

'And here' continued Mrs Gamp'and here am I a-goin twenty mile in
distanton as wentersome a chance as ever any one as monthlied ever
runI do believe. Says Mrs Harriswith a woman's and a mother's
art a-beatin in her human breastshe says to meYou're not agoin,
Sairey, Lord forgive you!Why am I not a-goin, Mrs Harris?
I replies. "Mrs Gill I says, wos never wrong with six; and is it
likelyma'am--I ast you as a mother--that she will begin to be
unreg'lar now? Often and often have I heerd him say I says to Mrs
Harris, meaning Mr Gill, that he would back his wife agen Moore's
almanackto name the very day and hourfor ninepence farden. IS
it likelyma'am I says, as she will fail this once?" Says Mrs
Harris "Noma'amnot in the course of natur. But she says, the
tears a-fillin in her eyes, you knows much betterer than mewith
your experiengehow little puts us out. A Punch's show she says,
a chimbley sweepa newfundlan dogor a drunkin man a-comin round
the corner sharp may do it." So it mayMr Sweedlepipes' said Mrs
Gamp'there's no deniging of it; and though my books is clear for a
full weekI takes a anxious art along with meI do assure you
sir.'

'You're so full of zealyou see!' said Poll. 'You worrit yourself
so.'

'Worrit myself!' cried Mrs Gampraising her hands and turning up
her eyes. 'You speak truth in thatsirif you never speaks no
more 'twixt this and when two Sundays jines together. I feels the
sufferins of other people more than I feels my ownthough no one
mayn't suppoge it. The families I've had' said Mrs Gamp'if all
was knowd and credit done where credit's doowould take a week to
chris'en at Saint Polge's fontin!'

'Where's the patient goin?' asked Sweedlepipe.

'Into Har'fordshirewhich is his native air. But native airs nor
native graces neither' Mrs Gamp observed'won't bring HIM round.'

'So bad as that?' inquired the wistful barber. 'Indeed!'

Mrs Gamp shook her head mysteriouslyand pursed up her lips.
'There's fevers of the mind' she said'as well as body. You may
take your slime drafts till you files into the air with
efferwescence; but you won't cure that.'


'Ah!' said the barberopening his eyesand putting on his raven
aspect; 'Lor!'

'No. You may make yourself as light as any gash balloon' said Mrs
Gamp. 'But talkwhen you're wrong in your head and when you're in
your sleepof certain things; and you'll be heavy in your mind.'

'Of what kind of things now?' inquired Pollgreedily biting his
nails in his great interest. 'Ghosts?'

Mrs Gampwho perhaps had been already tempted further than she had
intended to goby the barber's stimulating curiositygave a sniff
of uncommon significanceand saidit didn't signify.

'I'm a-goin down with my patient in the coach this arternoon' she
proceeded. 'I'm a-goin to stop with him a day or sotill he gets a
country nuss (drat them country nussesmuch the orkard hussies
knows about their bis'ness); and then I'm a-comin back; and that's
my troubleMr Sweedlepipes. But I hope that everythink'll only go
on right and comfortable as long as I'm away; perwisin whichas Mrs
Harris saysMrs Gill is welcome to choose her own time; all times
of the day and night bein' equally the same to me.'

During the progress of the foregoing remarkswhich Mrs Gamp had
addressed exclusively to the barberMr Bailey had been tying his
cravatgetting on his coatand making hideous faces at himself in
the glass. Being now personally addressed by Mrs Gamphe turned
roundand mingled in the conversation.

'You ain't been in the CityI supposesirsince we was all three
there together' said Mrs Gamp'at Mr Chuzzlewit's?'

'YesI haveSairah. I was there last night.'

'Last night!' cried the barber.

'YesPollreether so. You can call it this morningif you like
to be particular. He dined with us.'

'Who does that young Limb mean by "hus?"' said Mrs Gampwith most
impatient emphasis.

'Me and my GovernorSairah. He dined at our house. We wos very
merrySairah. So much sothat I was obliged to see him home in a
hackney coach at three o'clock in the morning.' It was on the tip of
the boy's tongue to relate what had followed; but remembering how
easily it might be carried to his master's earsand the repeated
cautions he had had from Mr Crimple 'not to chatter' he checked
himself; addingonly'She was sitting upexpecting him.'

'And all things considered' said Mrs Gamp sharply'she might have
know'd better than to go a-tirin herself outby doin' anythink of
the sort. Did they seem pretty pleasant togethersir?'

'Ohyes' answered Bailey'pleasant enough.'

'I'm glad on it' said Mrs Gampwith a second sniff of significance.

'They haven't been married so long' observed Pollrubbing his
hands'that they need be anything but pleasant yet awhile.'

'No' said Mrs Gampwith a third significant signal.


'Especially' pursued the barber'when the gentleman bears such a
character as you gave him.'

'I speak; as I findMr Sweedlepipes' said Mrs Gamp. 'Forbid it
should be otherways! But we never knows wot's hidden in each other's
hearts; and if we had glass winders therewe'd need keep the
shetters upsome on usI do assure you!'

'But you don't mean to say--' Poll Sweedlepipe began.

'No' said Mrs Gampcutting him very short'I don't. Don't think
I do. The torters of the Imposition shouldn't make me own I did.
All I says is' added the good womanrising and folding her shawl
about her'that the Bull's a-waitinand the precious moments is
a-flyin' fast.'

The little barber having in his eager curiosity a great desire to
see Mrs Gamp's patientproposed to Mr Bailey that they should
accompany her to the Bulland witness the departure of the coach.
That young gentleman assentingthey all went out together.

Arriving at the tavernMrs Gamp (who was full-dressed for the
journeyin her latest suit of mourning) left her friends to
entertain themselves in the yardwhile she ascended to the sick
roomwhere her fellow-labourer Mrs Prig was dressing the invalid.

He was so wastedthat it seemed as if his bones would rattle when
they moved him. His cheeks were sunkenand his eyes unnaturally
large. He lay back in the easy-chair like one more dead than
living; and rolled his languid eyes towards the door when Mrs Gamp
appearedas painfully as if their weight alone were burdensome to
move.

'And how are we by this time?' Mrs Gamp observed. 'We looks
charming.'

'We looks a deal charminger than we arethen' returned Mrs Priga
little chafed in her temper. 'We got out of bed back'ardsI think
for we're as cross as two sticks. I never see sich a man. He
wouldn't have been washedif he'd had his own way.'

'She put the soap in my mouth' said the unfortunate patient feebly.

'Couldn't you keep it shut then?' retorted Mrs Prig. 'Who do you
think's to wash one featerand miss anotherand wear one's eyes
out with all manner of fine work of that descriptionfor half-acrown
a day! If you wants to be tittivatedyou must pay accordin'.'

'Oh dear me!' cried the patient'oh deardear!'

'There!' said Mrs Prig'that's the way he's been a-conductin of
himselfSarahever since I got him out of bedif you'll believe
it.'

'Instead of being grateful' Mrs Gamp observed'for all our little
ways. Ohfie for shamesirfie for shame!'

Here Mrs Prig seized the patient by the chinand began to rasp his
unhappy head with a hair-brush.

'I suppose you don't like thatneither!' she observedstopping to
look at him.

It was just possible that he didn't for the brush was a specimen of


the hardest kind of instrument producible by modern art; and his
very eyelids were red with the friction. Mrs Prig was gratified to
observe the correctness of her suppositionand said triumphantly
'she know'd as much.'

When his hair was smoothed down comfortably into his eyesMrs Prig
and Mrs Gamp put on his neckerchief; adjusting his shirt collar with
great nicetyso that the starched points should also invade those
organsand afflict them with an artificial ophthalmia. His
waistcoat and coat were next arranged; and as every button was
wrenched into a wrong button-holeand the order of his boots was
reversedhe presented on the whole rather a melancholy appearance.

'I don't think it's right' said the poor weak invalid. 'I feel as
if I was in somebody else's clothes. I'm all on one side; and
you've made one of my legs shorter than the other. There's a bottle
in my pocket too. What do you make me sit upon a bottle for?'

'Deuce take the man!' cried Mrs Gampdrawing it forth. 'If he
ain't been and got my night-bottle here. I made a little cupboard
of his coat when it hung behind the doorand quite forgot it
Betsey. You'll find a ingun or twoand a little tea and sugar in
his t'other pocketmy dearif you'll just be good enough to take
'em out.'

Betsey produced the property in questiontogether with some other
articles of general chandlery; and Mrs Gamp transferred them to her
own pocketwhich was a species of nankeen pannier. Refreshment
then arrived in the form of chops and strong ale for the ladiesand
a basin of beef-tea for the patient; which refection was barely at
an end when John Westlock appeared.

'Up and dressed!' cried Johnsitting down beside him. 'That's
brave. How do you feel?'

'Much better. But very weak.'

'No wonder. You have had a hard bout of it. But country airand
change of scene' said John'will make another man of you! WhyMrs
Gamp' he addedlaughingas he kindly arranged the sick man's
garments'you have odd notions of a gentleman's dress!'

'Mr Lewsome an't a easy gent to get into his clothessir' Mrs Gamp
replied with dignity; 'as me and Betsey Prig can certify afore the
Lord Mayor and Uncommon Counsellorsif needful!'

John at that moment was standing close in front of the sick manin
the act of releasing him from the torture of the collars before
mentionedwhen he said in a whisper:

'Mr Westlock! I don't wish to be overheard. I have something very
particular and strange to say to you; something that has been a
dreadful weight on my mindthrough this long illness.'

Quick in all his motionsJohn was turning round to desire the women
to leave the room; when the sick man held him by the sleeve.

'Not now. I've not the strength. I've not the courage. May I tell
it when I have? May I write itif I find that easier and better?'

'May you!' cried John. 'WhyLewsomewhat is this!'

'Don't ask me what it is. It's unnatural and cruel. Frightful to
think of. Frightful to tell. Frightful to know. Frightful to have


helped in. Let me kiss your hand for all your goodness to me. Be
kinder stilland don't ask me what it is!'

At firstJohn gazed at him in great surprise; but remembering how
very much reduced he wasand how recently his brain had been on
fire with feverbelieved that he was labouring under some imaginary
horror or despondent fancy. For farther information on this point
he took an opportunity of drawing Mrs Gamp asidewhile Betsey Prig
was wrapping him in cloaks and shawlsand asked her whether he was
quite collected in his mind.

'Oh bless youno!' said Mrs Gamp. 'He hates his nusses to this
hour. They always does itsir. It's a certain sign. If you could
have heerd the poor dear soul a-findin fault with me and Betsey
Prignot half an hour agoyou would have wondered how it is we
don't get fretted to the tomb.'

This almost confirmed John in his suspicion; sonot taking what had
passed into any serious accounthe resumed his former cheerful
mannerand assisted by Mrs Gamp and Betsey Prigconducted Lewsome
downstairs to the coach; just then upon the point of starting.
Poll Sweedlepipe was at the door with his arms tight folded and his
eyes wide openand looked on with absorbing interestwhile the
sick man was slowly moved into the vehicle. His bony hands and
haggard face impressed Poll wonderfully; and he informed Mr Bailey
in confidencethat he wouldn't have missed seeing him for a pound.
Mr Baileywho was of a different constitutionremarked that he
would have stayed away for five shillings.

It was a troublesome matter to adjust Mrs Gamp's luggage to her
satisfaction; for every package belonging to that lady had the
inconvenient property of requiring to be put in a boot by itself
and to have no other luggage near iton pain of actions at law for
heavy damages against the proprietors of the coach. The umbrella
with the circular patch was particularly hard to be got rid ofand
several times thrust out its battered brass nozzle from improper
crevices and chinksto the great terror of the other passengers.
Indeedin her intense anxiety to find a haven of refuge for this
chattelMrs Gamp so often moved itin the course of five minutes
that it seemed not one umbrella but fifty. At length it was lost
or said to be; and for the next five minutes she was face to face
with the coachmango wherever he mightprotesting that it should
be 'made good' though she took the question to the House of
Commons.

At lasther bundleand her pattensand her basketand
everything elsebeing disposed ofshe took a friendly leave of
Poll and Mr Baileydropped a curtsey to John Westlockand parted
as from a cherished member of the sisterhood with Betsey Prig.

'Wishin you lots of sicknessmy darlin creetur' Mrs Gamp observed
'and good places. It won't be longI hopeafore we works
togetheroff and onagainBetsey; and may our next meetin' be at
a large family'swhere they all takes it reg'larone from another
turn and turn aboutand has it business-like.'

'I don't care how soon it is' said Mrs Prig; 'nor how many weeks it
lasts.'

Mrs Gamp with a reply in a congenial spirit was backing to the
coachwhen she came in contact with a lady and gentleman who were
passing along the footway.

'Take caretake care here!' cried the gentleman. 'Halloo!


My dear! Whyit's Mrs Gamp!'

'WhatMr Mould!' exclaimed the nurse. 'And Mrs Mould! who would
have thought as we should ever have a meetin' hereI'm sure!'

'Going out of townMrs Gamp?' cried Mould. 'That's unusualisn't
it?'

'It IS unusualsir' said Mrs Gamp. 'But only for a day or two at
most. The gent' she whispered'as I spoke about.'

'Whatin the coach!' cried Mould. 'The one you thought of
recommending? Very odd. My dearthis will interest you. The
gentleman that Mrs Gamp thought likely to suit us is in the coach
my love.'

Mrs Mould was greatly interested.

'Heremy dear. You can stand upon the door-step' said Mould'and
take a look at him. Ha! There he is. Where's my glass? Oh! all
right. I've got it. Do you see himmy dear?'

'Quite plain' said Mrs Mould.

'Upon my lifeyou knowthis is a very singular circumstance' said
Mouldquite delighted. 'This is the sort of thingmy dearI
wouldn't have missed on any account. It tickles one. It's
interesting. It's almost a little playyou know. Ah! There
he is! To be sure. Looks poorlyMrs M.don't he?'

Mrs Mould assented.

'He's coming our wayperhapsafter all' said Mould. 'Who knows!
I feel as if I ought to show him some little attentionreally. He
don't seem a stranger to me. I'm very much inclined to move my hat
my dear.'

'He's looking hard this way' said Mrs Mould.

'Then I will!' cried Mould. 'How d'ye dosir! I wish you good day.
Ha! He bows too. Very gentlemanly. Mrs Gamp has the cards in her
pocketI have no doubt. This is very singularmy dear--and very
pleasant. I am not superstitiousbut it really seems as if one was
destined to pay him those little melancholy civilities which belong
to our peculiar line of business. There can be no kind of objection
to your kissing your hand to himmy dear.'

Mrs Mould did so.

'Ha!' said Mould. 'He's evidently gratified. Poor fellow! I am
quite glad you did itmy love. Bye byeMrs Gamp!' waving his
hand. 'There he goes; there he goes!'

So he did; for the coach rolled off as the words were spoken. Mr
and Mrs Mouldin high good humourwent their merry way. Mr Bailey
retired with Poll Sweedlepipe as soon as possible; but some little
time elapsed before he could remove his friend from the ground
owing to the impression wrought upon the barber's nerves by Mrs
Prigwhom he pronouncedin admiration of her beardto be a woman
of transcendent charms.

When the light cloud of bustle hanging round the coach was thus
dispersedNadgett was seen in the darkest box of the Bull coffeeroom
looking wistfully up at the clock--as if the man who never


appeared were a little behind his time.

CHAPTER THIRTY

PROVES THAT CHANGES MAY BE RUNG IN THE BEST-REGULATED FAMILIESAND
THAT MR PECKNIFF WAS A SPECIAL HAND AT A TRIPLE-BOB-MAJOR

As the surgeon's first care after amputating a limbis to take up
the arteries the cruel knife has severedso it is the duty of this
historywhich in its remorseless course has cut from the
Pecksniffian trunk its right armMercyto look to the parent stem
and see how in all its various ramifications it got on without her.

And first of Mr Pecksniff it may be observedthat having provided
for his youngest daughter that choicest of blessingsa tender and
indulgent husband; and having gratified the dearest wish of his
parental heart by establishing her in life so happily; he renewed
his youthand spreading the plumage of his own bright conscience
felt himself equal to all kinds of flights. It is customary with
fathers in stage-playsafter giving their daughters to the men of
their heartsto congratulate themselves on having no other business
on their hands but to die immediately; though it is rarely found
that they are in a hurry to do it. Mr Pecksniffbeing a father of
a more sage and practical classappeared to think that his
immediate business was to live; and having deprived himself of one
comfortto surround himself with others.

But however much inclined the good man was to be jocose and playful
and in the garden of his fancy to disport himself (if one may say
so) like an architectural kittenhe had one impediment constantly
opposed to him. The gentle Cherrystung by a sense of slight and
injurywhich far from softening down or wearing outrankled and
festered in her heart--the gentle Cherry was in flat rebellion.
She waged fierce war against her dear papashe led her parent
what is usually calledfor want of a better figure of speech
the life of a dog. But never did that dog livein kennel
stable-yardor housewhose life was half as hard as Mr Pecksniff's
with his gentle child.

The father and daughter were sitting at their breakfast. Tom had
retiredand they were alone. Mr Pecksniff frowned at first; but
having cleared his browlooked stealthily at his child. Her nose
was very red indeedand screwed up tightwith hostile preparation.

'Cherry' cried Mr Pecksniff'what is amiss between us? My child
why are we disunited?'

Miss Pecksniff's answer was scarcely a response to this gush of
affectionfor it was simply'BotherPa!'

'Bother!' repeated Mr Pecksniffin a tone of anguish.

'Oh! 'tis too latePa' said his daughtercalmly 'to talk to me
like this. I know what it meansand what its value is.'

'This is hard!' cried Mr Pecksniffaddressing his breakfast-cup.
'This is very hard! She is my child. I carried her in my arms when
she wore shapeless worsted shoes--I might saymufflers--many years
ago!'

'You needn't taunt me with thatPa' retorted Cherrywith a


spiteful look. 'I am not so many years older than my sister
eitherthough she IS married to your friend!'

'Ahhuman naturehuman nature! Poor human nature!' said Mr
Pecksniffshaking his head at human natureas if he didn't belong
to it. 'To think that this discord should arise from such a cause!
oh dearoh dear!'

'From such a cause indeed!' cried Cherry. 'State the real cause
Paor I'll state it myself. Mind! I will!'

Perhaps the energy with which she said this was infectious. However
that may beMr Pecksniff changed his tone and the expression of his
face for one of angerif not downright violencewhen he said:

'You will! you have. You did yesterday. You do always. You have
no decency; you make no secret of your temper; you have exposed
yourself to Mr Chuzzlewit a hundred times.'

'Myself!' cried Cherrywith a bitter smile. 'Oh indeed! I don't
mind that.'

'Metoothen' said Mr Pecksniff.

His daughter answered with a scornful laugh.

'And since we have come to an explanationCharity' said Mr
Pecksniffrolling his head portentously'let me tell you that I
won't allow it. None of your nonsenseMiss! I won't permit it to
be done.'

'I shall do' said Charityrocking her chair backwards and
forwardsand raising her voice to a high pitch'I shall doPa
what I please and what I have done. I am not going to be crushed in
everythingdepend upon it. I've been more shamefully used than
anybody ever was in this world' here she began to cry and sob'and
may expect the worse treatment from youI know. But I don't care
for that. NoI don't!'

Mr Pecksniff was made so desperate by the loud tone in which she
spokethatafter looking about him in frantic uncertainty for some
means of softening ithe rose and shook her until the ornamental
bow of hair upon her head nodded like a plume. She was so very much
astonished by this assaultthat it really had the desired effect.

'I'll do it again!' cried Mr Pecksniffas he resumed his seat and
fetched his breath'if you dare to talk in that loud manner. How
do you mean about being shamefully used? If Mr Jonas chose your
sister in preference to youwho could help itI should wish to
know? What have I to do with it?'

'Wasn't I made a convenience of? Weren't my feelings trifled with?
Didn't he address himself to me first?' sobbed Cherryclasping her
hands; 'and ohgood graciousthat I should live to be shook!'

'You'll live to be shaken again' returned her parent'if you drive
me to that means of maintaining the decorum of this humble roof.
You surprise me. I wonder you have not more spirit. If Mr Jonas
didn't care for youhow could you wish to have him?'

'I wish to have him!' exclaimed Cherry. 'I wish to have himPa!'

'Then what are you making all this piece of work for' retorted her
father'if you didn't wish to have him?'


'Because I was treated with duplicity' said Cherry; 'and because my
own sister and my own father conspired against me. I am not angry
with HER' said Cherry; looking much more angry than ever. 'I pity
her. I'm sorry for her. I know the fate that's in store for her
with that Wretch.'

'Mr Jonas will survive your calling him a wretchmy childI dare
say' said Mr Pecksniffwith returning resignation; 'but call him
what you like and make an end of it.'

'Not an endPa' said Charity. 'Nonot an end. That's not the
only point on which we're not agreed. I won't submit to it. It's
better you should know that at once. No; I won't submit to it
indeedPa! I am not quite a fooland I am not blind. All I have
got to say isI won't submit to it.'

Whatever she meantshe shook Mr Pecksniff now; for his lame attempt
to seem composed was melancholy in the last degree. His anger
changed to meeknessand his words were mild and fawning.

'My dear' he said; 'if in the short excitement of an angry moment I
resorted to an unjustifiable means of suppressing a little outbreak
calculated to injure you as well as myself--it's possible I may have
done so; perhaps I did--I ask your pardon. A father asking pardon
of his child' said Mr Pecksniff'isI believea spectacle to
soften the most rugged nature.'

But it didn't at all soften Miss Pecksniff; perhaps because her
nature was not rugged enough. On the contraryshe persisted in
sayingover and over againthat she wasn't quite a fooland
wasn't blindand wouldn't submit to it.

'You labour under some mistakemy child!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'but
I will not ask you what it is; I don't desire to know. Nopray!'
he addedholding out his hand and colouring again'let us avoid
the subjectmy dearwhatever it is!'

'It's quite right that the subject should be avoided between us
sir' said Cherry. 'But I wish to be able to avoid it altogether
and consequently must beg you to provide me with a home.'

Mr Pecksniff looked about the roomand said'A homemy child!'

'Another homepapa' said Cherrywith increasing stateliness
'Place me at Mrs Todgers's or somewhereon an independent footing;
but I will not live hereif such is to be the case.'

It is possible that Miss Pecksniff saw in Mrs Todgers's a vision of
enthusiastic menpining to fall in adoration at her feet. It is
possible that Mr Pecksniffin his new-born juvenilitysawin the
suggestion of that same establishmentan easy means of relieving
himself from an irksome charge in the way of temper and
watchfulness. It is undoubtedly a fact that in the attentive ears
of Mr Pecksniffthe proposition did not sound quite like the dismal
knell of all his hopes.

But he was a man of great feeling and acute sensibility; and he
squeezed his pocket-handkerchief against his eyes with both hands-as
such men always doespecially when they are observed. 'One of
my birds' Mr Pecksniff said'has left me for the stranger's
breast; the other would take wing to Todgers's! Wellwellwhat am
I? I don't know what I amexactly. Never mind!'


Even this remarkmade more pathetic perhaps by his breaking down in
the middle of ithad no effect upon Charity. She was grimrigid
and inflexible.

'But I have ever' said Mr Pecksniff'sacrificed my children's
happiness to my own--I mean my own happiness to my children's--and I
will not begin to regulate my life by other rules of conduct now.
If you can be happier at Mrs Todgers's than in your father's house
my deargo to Mrs Todgers's! Do not think of memy girl!' said Mr
Pecksniff with emotion; 'I shall get on pretty wellno doubt.'

Miss Charitywho knew he had a secret pleasure in the contemplation
of the proposed changesuppressed her ownand went on to negotiate
the terms. His views upon this subject were at first so very
limited that another differenceinvolving possibly another shaking
threatened to ensue; but by degrees they came to something like an
understandingand the storm blew over. IndeedMiss Charity's idea
was so agreeable to boththat it would have been strange if they
had not come to an amicable agreement. It was soon arranged between
them that the project should be triedand that immediately; and
that Cherry's not being welland needing change of sceneand
wishing to be near her sistershould form the excuse for her
departure to Mr Chuzzlewit and Maryto both of whom she had pleaded
indisposition for some time past. These premises agreed onMr
Pecksniff gave her his blessingwith all the dignity of a selfdenying
man who had made a hard sacrificebut comforted himself
with the reflection that virtue is its own reward. Thus they were
reconciled for the first time since that not easily forgiven night
when Mr Jonasrepudiating the elderhad confessed his passion for
the younger sisterand Mr Pecksniff had abetted him on moral
grounds.

But how happened it--in the name of an unexpected addition to that
small familythe Seven Wonders of the Worldwhatever and wherever
they may behow happened it--that Mr Pecksniff and his daughter
were about to part? How happened it that their mutual relations
were so greatly altered? Why was Miss Pecksniff so clamorous to
have it understood that she was neither blind nor foolishand she
wouldn't bear it? It is not possible that Mr Pecksniff had any
thoughts of marrying again; or that his daughterwith the sharp eye
of a single womanfathomed his design!

Let us inquire into this.

Mr Pecksniffas a man without reproachfrom whom the breath of
slander passed like common breath from any other polished surface
could afford to do what common men could not. He knew the purity of
his own motives; and when he had a motive worked at it as only a
very good man (or a very bad one) can. Did he set before himself
any strong and palpable motives for taking a second wife? Yes; and
not one or two of thembut a combination of very many.

Old Martin Chuzzlewit had gradually undergone an important change.
Even upon the night when he made such an ill-timed arrival at Mr
Pecksniff's househe was comparatively subdued and easy to deal
with. This Mr Pecksniff attributedat the timeto the effect his
brother's death had had upon him. But from that hour his character
seemed to have modified by regular degreesand to have softened
down into a dull indifference for almost every one but Mr Pecksniff.
His looks were much the same as everbut his mind was singularly
altered. It was not that this or that passion stood out in brighter
or in dimmer hues; but that the colour of the whole man was faded.
As one trait disappearedno other trait sprung up to take its
place. His senses dwindled too. He was less keen of sight; was


deaf sometimes; took little notice of what passed before him; and
would be profoundly taciturn for days together. The process of this
alteration was so easy that almost as soon as it began to be
observed it was complete. But Mr Pecksniff saw it firstand having
Anthony Chuzzlewit fresh in his recollectionsaw in his brother
Martin the same process of decay.

To a gentleman of Mr Pecksniff's tendernessthis was a very
mournful sight. He could not but foresee the probability of his
respected relative being made the victim of designing personsand
of his riches falling into worthless hands. It gave him so much
pain that he resolved to secure the property to himself; to keep bad
testamentary suitors at a distance; to wall up the old gentlemanas
it werefor his own use. By little and littlethereforehe began
to try whether Mr Chuzzlewit gave any promise of becoming an
instrument in his handsand finding that he didand indeed that he
was very supple in his plastic fingershe made it the business of
his life--kind soul!--to establish an ascendancy over him; and every
little test he durst apply meeting with a success beyond his hopes
he began to think he heard old Martin's cash already chinking in his
own unworldly pockets.

But when Mr Pecksniff pondered on this subject (asin his zealous
wayhe often did)and thought with an uplifted heart of the train
of circumstances which had delivered the old gentleman into his
hands for the confusion of evil-doers and the triumph of a righteous
naturehe always felt that Mary Graham was his stumbling-block.
Let the old man say what he wouldMr Pecksniff knew he had a strong
affection for her. He knew that he showed it in a thousand little
ways; that he liked to have her near himand was never quite at
ease when she was absent long. That he had ever really sworn to
leave her nothing in his willMr Pecksniff greatly doubted. That
even if he hadthere were many ways by which he could evade the
oath and satisfy his conscienceMr Pecksniff knew. That her
unprotected state was no light burden on the old man's mindhe also
knewfor Mr Chuzzlewit had plainly told him so. 'Then' said Mr
Pecksniff 'what if I married her! What' repeated Mr Pecksniff
sticking up his hair and glancing at his bust by Spoker; 'what if
making sure of his approval first--he is nearly imbecilepoor
gentleman--I married her!'

Mr Pecksniff had a lively sense of the Beautiful; especially in
women. His manner towards the sex was remarkable for its
insinuating character. It is recorded of him in another part of
these pagesthat he embraced Mrs Todgers on the smallest
provocation; and it was a way he had; it was a part of the gentle
placidity of his disposition. Before any thought of matrimony was
in his mindhe had bestowed on Mary many little tokens of his
spiritual admiration. They had been indignantly receivedbut that
was nothing. Trueas the idea expanded within himthese had
become too ardent to escape the piercing eye of Cherrywho read his
scheme at once; but he had always felt the power of Mary's charms.
So Interest and Inclination made a pairand drew the curricle of Mr
Pecksniff's plan.

As to any thought of revenging himself on young Martin for his
insolent expressions when they partedand of shutting him out still
more effectually from any hope of reconciliation with his
grandfatherMr Pecksniff was much too meek and forgiving to be
suspected of harbouring it. As to being refused by MaryMr
Pecksniff was quite satisfied that in her position she could never
hold out if he and Mr Chuzzlewit were both against her. As to
consulting the wishes of her heart in such a caseit formed no part
of Mr Pecksniff's moral code; for he knew what a good man he was


and what a blessing he must be to anybody. His daughter having
broken the iceand the murder being out between themMr Pecksniff
had now only to pursue his design as cleverly as he couldand by
the craftiest approaches.

'Wellmy good sir' said Mr Pecksniffmeeting old Martin in the
gardenfor it was his habit to walk in and out by that wayas the
fancy took him; 'and how is my dear friend this delicious morning?'

'Do you mean me?' asked the old man.

'Ah!' said Mr Pecksniff'one of his deaf daysI see. Could I mean
any one elsemy dear sir?'

'You might have meant Mary' said the old man.

'Indeed I might. Quite true. I might speak of her as a deardear
friendI hope?' observed Mr Pecksniff.

'I hope so' returned old Martin. 'I think she deserves it.'

'Think!' cried Pecksniff'thinkMr Chuzzlewit!'

'You are speakingI know' returned Martin'but I don't catch what
you say. Speak up!'

'He's getting deafer than a flint' said Pecksniff. 'I was saying
my dear sirthat I am afraid I must make up my mind to part with
Cherry.'

'What has SHE been doing?' asked the old man.

'He puts the most ridiculous questions I ever heard!' muttered Mr
Pecksniff. 'He's a child to-day.' After which he addedin a mild
roar: 'She hasn't been doing anythingmy dear friend.'

'What are you going to part with her for?' demanded Martin.

'She hasn't her health by any means' said Mr Pecksniff. 'She
misses her sistermy dear sir; they doted on each other from the
cradle. And I think of giving her a run in London for a change. A
good long runsirif I find she likes it.'

'Quite right' cried Martin. 'It's judicious.'

'I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you mean to bear me company
in this dull partwhile she's away?' said Mr Pecksniff.

'I have no intention of removing from it' was Martin's answer.

'Then why' said Mr Pecksnifftaking the old man's arm in hisand
walking slowly on; 'Whymy good sircan't you come and stay with
me? I am sure I could surround you with more comforts--lowly as is
my Cot--than you can obtain at a village house of entertainment.
And pardon meMr Chuzzlewitpardon me if I say that such a place
as the Dragonhowever well-conducted (andas far as I knowMrs
Lupin is one of the worthiest creatures in this county)is hardly a
home for Miss Graham.'

Martin mused a moment; and then saidas he shook him by the hand:

'No. You're quite right; it is not.'

'The very sight of skittles' Mr Pecksniff eloquently pursued'is


far from being congenial to a delicate mind.'

'It's an amusement of the vulgar' said old Martin'certainly.'

'Of the very vulgar' Mr Pecksniff answered. 'Then why not bring
Miss Graham heresir? Here is the house. Here am I alone in it
for Thomas Pinch I do not count as any one. Our lovely friend shall
occupy my daughter's chamber; you shall choose your own; we shall
not quarrelI hope!'

'We are not likely to do that' said Martin.

Mr Pecksniff pressed his hand. 'We understand each othermy dear
sirI see!--I can wind him' he thoughtwith exultation'round my
little finger.'

'You leave the recompense to me?' said the old manafter a minute's
silence.

'Oh! do not speak of recompense!' cried Pecksniff.

'I say' repeated Martinwith a glimmer of his old obstinacy'you
leave the recompense to me. Do you?'

'Since you desire itmy good sir.'

'I always desire it' said the old man. 'You know I always desire
it. I wish to pay as I goeven when I buy of you. Not that I do
not leave a balance to be settled one dayPecksniff.'

The architect was too much overcome to speak. He tried to drop a
tear upon his patron's handbut couldn't find one in his dry
distillery.

'May that day be very distant!' was his pious exclamation. 'Ah
sir! If I could say how deep an interest I have in you and yours!
I allude to our beautiful young friend.'

'True' he answered. 'True. She need have some one interested in
her. I did her wrong to train her as I did. Orphan though she was
she would have found some one to protect her whom she might have
loved again. When she was a childI pleased myself with the
thought that in gratifying my whim of placing her between me and
false-hearted knavesI had done her a kindness. Now she is a
womanI have no such comfort. She has no protector but herself. I
have put her at such odds with the worldthat any dog may bark or
fawn upon her at his pleasure. Indeed she stands in need of
delicate consideration. Yes; indeed she does!'

'If her position could be altered and definedsir?' Mr Pecksniff
hinted.

'How can that be done? Should I make a seamstress of heror a
governess?'

'Heaven forbid!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'My dear sirthere are other
ways. There are indeed. But I am much excited and embarrassed at
presentand would rather not pursue the subject. I scarcely know
what I mean. Permit me to resume it at another time.'

'You are not unwell?' asked Martin anxiously.

'Nono!' cried Pecksniff. 'No. Permit me to resume it at another
time. I'll walk a little. Bless you!'


Old Martin blessed him in returnand squeezed his hand. As he
turned awayand slowly walked towards the houseMr Pecksniff stood
gazing after him; being pretty well recovered from his late emotion
whichin any other manone might have thought had been assumed as
a machinery for feeling Martin's pulse. The change in the old man
found such a slight expression in his figurethat Mr Pecksniff
looking after himcould not help saying to himself:

'And I can wind him round my little finger! Only think!'

Old Martin happening to turn his headsaluted him affectionately.
Mr Pecksniff returned the gesture.

'Whythe time was' said Mr Pecksniff; 'and not long agowhen he
wouldn't look at me! How soothing is this change. Such is the
delicate texture of the human heart; so complicated is the process
of its being softened! Externally he looks the sameand I can wind
him round my little finger. Only think!'

In sober truththere did appear to be nothing on which Mr Pecksniff
might not have ventured with Martin Chuzzlewit; for whatever Mr
Pecksniff said or did was rightand whatever he advised was done.
Martin had escaped so many snares from needy fortune-huntersand
had withered in the shell of his suspicion and distrust for so many
yearsbut to become the good man's tool and plaything. With the
happiness of this conviction painted on his facethe architect went
forth upon his morning walk.

The summer weather in his bosom was reflected in the breast of
Nature. Through deep green vistas where the boughs arched overhead
and showed the sunlight flashing in the beautiful perspective;
through dewy fern from which the startled hares leaped upand fled
at his approach; by mantled poolsand fallen treesand down in
hollow placesrustling among last year's leaves whose scent woke
memory of the past; the placid Pecksniff strolled. By meadow gates
and hedges fragrant with wild roses; and by thatched-roof cottages
whose inmates humbly bowed before him as a man both good and wise;
the worthy Pecksniff walked in tranquil meditation. The bee passed
onwardhumming of the work he had to do; the idle gnats for ever
going round and round in one contracting and expanding ringyet
always going on as fast as hedanced merrily before him; the colour
of the long grass came and wentas if the light clouds made it
timid as they floated through the distant air. The birdsso many
Pecksniff consciencessang gayly upon every branch; and Mr
Pecksniff paid HIS homage to the day by ruminating on his projects
as he walked along.

Chancing to tripin his abstractionover the spreading root of an
old treehe raised his pious eyes to take a survey of the ground
before him. It startled him to see the embodied image of his
thoughts not far ahead. Mary herself. And alone.

At first Mr Pecksniff stopped as if with the intention of avoiding
her; but his next impulse was to advancewhich he did at a brisk
pace; caroling as he went so sweetly and with so much innocence
that he only wanted feathers and wings to be a bird.

Hearing notes behind hernot belonging to the songsters of the
groveshe looked round. Mr Pecksniff kissed his handand was at
her side immediately.

'Communing with nature?' said Mr Pecksniff. 'So am I.'


She said the morning was so beautiful that she had walked further
than she intendedand would return. Mr Pecksniff said it was
exactly his caseand he would return with her.

'Take my armsweet girl' said Mr Pecksniff.

Mary declined itand walked so very fast that he remonstrated.
'You were loitering when I came upon you' Mr Pecksniff said. 'Why
be so cruel as to hurry now? You would not shun mewould you?'

'YesI would' she answeredturning her glowing cheek indignantly
upon him'you know I would. Release meMr Pecksniff. Your touch
is disagreeable to me.'

His touch! What? That chaste patriarchal touch which Mrs Todgers-surely
a discreet lady--had endurednot only without complaintbut
with apparent satisfaction! This was positively wrong. Mr Pecksniff
was sorry to hear her say it.

'If you have not observed' said Mary'that it is sopray take
assurance from my lipsand do notas you are a gentleman
continue to offend me.'

'Wellwell!' said Mr Pecksniffmildly'I feel that I might
consider this becoming in a daughter of my ownand why should I
object to it in one so beautiful! It's harsh. It cuts me to the
soul' said Mr Pecksniff; 'but I cannot quarrel with youMary.'

She tried to say she was sorry to hear itbut burst into tears. Mr
Pecksniff now repeated the Todgers performance on a comfortable
scaleas if he intended it to last some time; and in his disengaged
handcatching hersemployed himself in separating the fingers with
his ownand sometimes kissing themas he pursued the conversation
thus:

'I am glad we met. I am very glad we met. I am able now to ease my
bosom of a heavy loadand speak to you in confidence. Mary' said
Mr Pecksniff in his tenderest tonesindeed they were so very
tender that he almost squeaked: 'My soul! I love you!'

A fantastic thingthat maiden affectation! She made believe to
shudder.

'I love you' said Mr Pecksniff'my gentle lifewith a devotion
which is quite surprisingeven to myself. I did suppose that the
sensation was buried in the silent tomb of a ladyonly second to
you in qualities of the mind and form; but I find I am mistaken.'

She tried to disengage her handbut might as well have tried to
free herself from the embrace of an affectionate boa-constrictor; if
anything so wily may be brought into comparison with Pecksniff.

'Although I am a widower' said Mr Pecksniffexamining the rings
upon her fingersand tracing the course of one delicate blue vein
with his fat thumb'a widower with two daughtersstill I am not
encumberedmy love. One of themas you knowis married. The
otherby her own desirebut with a viewI will confess--why not?
--to my altering my conditionis about to leave her father's house.
I have a characterI hope. People are pleased to speak well of me
I think. My person and manner are not absolutely those of a
monsterI trust. Ah! naughty Hand!' said Mr Pecksniff
apostrophizing the reluctant prize'why did you take me prisoner?
Gogo!'


He slapped the hand to punish it; but relentingfolded it in his
waistcoat to comfort it again.

'Blessed in each otherand in the society of our venerable friend
my darling' said Mr Pecksniff'we shall be happy. When he is
wafted to a haven of restwe will console each other. My pretty
primrosewhat do you say?'

'It is possible' Mary answeredin a hurried manner'that I ought
to feel grateful for this mark of your confidence. I cannot say
that I dobut I am willing to suppose you may deserve my thanks.
Take them; and pray leave meMr Pecksniff.'

The good man smiled a greasy smile; and drew her closer to him.

'Praypray release meMr Pecksniff. I cannot listen to your
proposal. I cannot receive it. There are many to whom it may be
acceptablebut it is not so to me. As an act of kindness and an
act of pityleave me!'

Mr Pecksniff walked on with his arm round her waistand her hand in
hisas contentedly as if they had been all in all to each other
and were joined in the bonds of truest love.

'If you force me by your superior strength' said Marywho finding
that good words had not the least effect upon himmade no further
effort to suppress her indignation; 'if you force me by your
superior strength to accompany you backand to be the subject of
your insolence upon the wayyou cannot constrain the expression of
my thoughts. I hold you in the deepest abhorrence. I know your
real nature and despise it.'

'Nono' said Mr Pecksniffsweetly. 'Nonono!'

'By what arts or unhappy chances you have gained your influence over
Mr ChuzzlewitI do not know' said Mary; 'it may be strong enough
to soften even thisbut he shall know of thistrust mesir.'

Mr Pecksniff raised his heavy eyelids languidlyand let them fall
again. It was saying with perfect coolness'Ayeaye! Indeed!'

'Is it not enough' said Mary'that you warp and change his nature
adapt his every prejudice to your bad endsand harden a heart
naturally kind by shutting out the truth and allowing none but false
and distorted views to reach it; is it not enough that you have the
power of doing thisand that you exercise itbut must you also be
so coarseso crueland so cowardly to me?'

Still Mr Pecksniff led her calmly onand looked as mild as any lamb
that ever pastured in the fields.

'Will nothing move yousir?' cried Mary.

'My dear' observed Mr Pecksniffwith a placid leer'a habit of
self-examinationand the practice of--shall I say of virtue?'

'Of hypocrisy' said Mary.

'Nono' resumed Mr Pecksniffchafing the captive hand
reproachfully'of virtue--have enabled me to set such guards upon
myselfthat it is really difficult to ruffle me. It is a curious
factbut it is difficultdo you knowfor any one to ruffle me.
And did she think' said Mr Pecksniffwith a playful tightening of
his grasp 'that SHE could! How little did she know his heart!'


Littleindeed! Her mind was so strangely constituted that she would
have preferred the caresses of a toadan adderor a serpent--nay
the hug of a bear--to the endearments of Mr Pecksniff.

'Comecome' said that good gentleman'a word or two will set this
matter rightand establish a pleasant understanding between us. I
am not angrymy love.'

'YOU angry!'

'No' said Mr Pecksniff'I am not. I say so. Neither are you.'

There was a beating heart beneath his hand that told another story
though.

'I am sure you are not' said Mr Pecksniff: 'and I will tell you
why. There are two Martin Chuzzlewitsmy dear; and your carrying
your anger to one might have a serious effect--who knows!--upon the
other. You wouldn't wish to hurt himwould you?'

She trembled violentlyand looked at him with such a proud disdain
that he turned his eyes away. No doubt lest he should be offended
with her in spite of his better self.

'A passive quarrelmy love' said Mr Pecksniff'may be changed
into an active oneremember. It would be sad to blight even a
disinherited young man in his already blighted prospects; but how
easy to do it. Ahhow easy! HAVE I influence with our venerable
frienddo you think? Wellperhaps I have. Perhaps I have.'

He raised his eyes to hers; and nodded with an air of banter that
was charming.

'No' he continuedthoughtfully. 'Upon the wholemy sweetif I
were you I'd keep my secret to myself. I am not at all sure--very
far from it--that it would surprise our friend in any wayfor he
and I have had some conversation together only this morningand he
is anxiousvery anxiousto establish you in some more settled
manner. But whether he was surprised or not surprisedthe
consequence of your imparting it might be the same. Martin junior
might suffer severely. I'd have compassion on Martin juniordo you
know?' said Mr Pecksniffwith a persuasive smile. 'Yes. He don't
deserve itbut I would.'

She wept so bitterly nowand was so much distressedthat he
thought it prudent to unclasp her waistand hold her only by the
hand.

'As to our own share in the precious little mystery' said Mr
Pecksniff'we will keep it to ourselvesand talk of it between
ourselvesand you shall think it over. You will consentmy love;
you will consentI know. Whatever you may think; you will. I seem
to remember to have heard--I really don't know whereor how'--he
addedwith bewitching frankness'that you and Martin juniorwhen
you were childrenhad a sort of childish fondness for each other.
When we are marriedyou shall have the satisfaction of thinking
that it didn't last to ruin himbut passed away to do him good; for
we'll see then what we can do to put some trifling help in Martin
junior's way. HAVE I any influence with our venerable friend?
Well! Perhaps I have. Perhaps I have.'

The outlet from the wood in which these tender passages occurred
was close to Mr Pecksniff's house. They were now so near it that he


stoppedand holding up her little fingersaid in playful accents
as a parting fancy:

'Shall I bite it?'

Receiving no reply he kissed it instead; and then stooping down
inclined his flabby face to hers--he had a flabby facealthough he
WAS a good man--and with a blessingwhich from such a source was
quite enough to set her up in lifeand prosper her from that time
forth permitted her to leave him.

Gallantry in its true sense is supposed to ennoble and dignify a
man; and love has shed refinements on innumerable Cymons. But Mr
Pecksniff--perhaps because to one of his exalted nature these were
mere grossnesses--certainly did not appear to any unusual advantage
now that he was left alone. On the contraryhe seemed to be shrunk
and reduced; to be trying to hide himself within himself; and to be
wretched at not having the power to do it. His shoes looked too
large; his sleeve looked too long; his hair looked too limp; his
features looked too mean; his exposed throat looked as if a halter
would have done it good. For a minute or twoin facthe was hot
and paleand meanand shyand slinkingand consequently not at
all Pecksniffian. But after thathe recovered himselfand went
home with as beneficent an air as if he had been the High Priest of
the summer weather.

'I have arranged to goPapa' said Charity'to-morrow.'

'So soonmy child!'

'I can't go too soon' said Charity'under the circumstances. I
have written to Mrs Todgers to propose an arrangementand have
requested her to meet me at the coachat all events. You'll be
quite your own master nowMr Pinch!'

Mr Pecksniff had just gone out of the roomand Tom had just come
into it.

'My own master!' repeated Tom.

'Yesyou'll have nobody to interfere with you' said Charity. 'At
least I hope you won't. Hem! It's a changing world.'

'What! are YOU going to be marriedMiss Pecksniff?' asked Tom in
great surprise.

'Not exactly' faltered Cherry. 'I haven't made up my mind to be.
I believe I could beif I choseMr Pinch.'

'Of course you could!' said Tom. And he said it in perfect good
faith. He believed it from the bottom of his heart.

'No' said Cherry'I am not going to be married. Nobody isthat I
know of. Hem! But I am not going to live with Papa. I have my
reasonsbut it's all a secret. I shall always feel very kindly
towards youI assure youfor the boldness you showed that night.
As to you and meMr PinchWE part the best friends possible!'

Tom thanked her for her confidenceand for her friendshipbut
there was a mystery in the former which perfectly bewildered him.
In his extravagant devotion to the familyhe had felt the loss of
Merry more than any one but those who knew that for all the slights
he underwent he thought his own demerits were to blamecould
possibly have understood. He had scarcely reconciled himself to


that when here was Charity about to leave them. She had grown up
as it wereunder Tom's eye. The sisters were a part of Pecksniff
and a part of Tom; items in Pecksniff's goodnessand in Tom's
service. He couldn't bear it; not two hours' sleep had Tom that
nightthrough dwelling in his bed upon these dreadful changes.

When morning dawned he thought he must have dreamed this piece of
ambiguity; but noon going downstairs he found them packing trunks
and cording boxesand making other preparations for Miss Charity's
departurewhich lasted all day long. In good time for the evening
coachMiss Charity deposited her housekeeping keys with much
ceremony upon the parlour table; took a gracious leave of all the
house; and quitted her paternal roof--a blessing for which the
Pecksniffian servant was observed by some profane persons to be
particularly active in the thanksgiving at church next Sunday.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MR PINCH IS DISCHARGED OF A DUTY WHICH HE NEVER OWED TO ANYBODYAND
MR PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO SOCIETY

The closing words of the last chapter lead naturally to the
commencement of thisits successor; for it has to do with a church.
With the churchso often mentioned heretoforein which Tom Pinch
played the organ for nothing.

One sultry afternoonabout a week after Miss Charity's departure
for LondonMr Pecksniff being out walking by himselftook it into
his head to stray into the churchyard. As he was lingering among
the tombstonesendeavouring to extract an available sentiment or
two from the epitaphs--for he never lost an opportunity of making up
a few moral crackersto be let off as occasion served--Tom Pinch
began to practice. Tom could run down to the church and do so
whenever he had time to spare; for it was a simple little organ
provided with wind by the action of the musician's feet; and he was
independenteven of a bellows-blower. Though if Tom had wanted one
at any timethere was not a man or boy in all the villageand away
to the turnpike (tollman included)but would have blown away for
him till he was black in the face.

Mr Pecksniff had no objection to music; not the least. He was
tolerant of everything; he often said so. He considered it a
vagabond kind of triflingin generaljust suited to Tom's
capacity. But in regard to Tom's performance upon this same organ
he was remarkably lenientsingularly amiable; for when Tom played
it on SundaysMr Pecksniff in his unbounded sympathy felt as if he
played it himselfand were a benefactor to the congregation. So
whenever it was impossible to devise any other means of taking the
value of Tom's wages out of himMr Pecksniff gave him leave to
cultivate this instrument. For which mark of his consideration Tom
was very grateful.

The afternoon was remarkably warmand Mr Pecksniff had been
strolling a long way. He had not what may be called a fine ear for
musicbut he knew when it had a tranquilizing influence on his
soul; and that was the case nowfor it sounded to him like a
melodious snore. He approached the churchand looking through the
diamond lattice of a window near the porchsaw Tomwith the
curtains in the loft drawn backplaying away with great expression
and tenderness.


The church had an inviting air of coolness. The old oak roof
supported by cross-beamsthe hoary wallsthe marble tabletsand
the cracked stone pavementwere refreshing to look at. There were
leaves of ivy tapping gently at the opposite windows; and the sun
poured in through only one; leaving the body of the church in
tempting shade. But the most tempting spot of allwas one redcurtained
and soft-cushioned pewwherein the official dignitaries
of the place (of whom Mr Pecksniff was the head and chief) enshrined
themselves on Sundays. Mr Pecksniff's seat was in the corner; a
remarkably comfortable corner; where his very large Prayer-Book was
at that minute making the most of its quarto self upon the desk. He
determined to go in and rest.

He entered very softly; in part because it was a church; in part
because his tread was always soft; in part because Tom played a
solemn tune; in part because he thought he would surprise him when
he stopped. Unbolting the door of the high pew of statehe glided
in and shut it after him; then sitting in his usual placeand
stretching out his legs upon the hassockshe composed himself to
listen to the music.

It is an unaccountable circumstance that he should have felt drowsy
therewhere the force of association might surely have been enough
to keep him wide awake; but he did. He had not been in the snug
little corner five minutes before he began to nod. He had not
recovered himself one minute before he began to nod again. In the
very act of opening his eyes indolentlyhe nodded again. In the
very act of shutting themhe nodded again. So he fell out of one
nod into another until at last he ceased to nod at alland was as
fast as the church itself.

He had a consciousness of the organlong after he fell asleep
though as to its being an organ he had no more idea of that than he
had of its being a bull. After a while he began to have at
intervals the same dreamy impressions of voices; and awakening to an
indolent curiosity upon the subjectopened his eyes.

He was so indolentthat after glancing at the hassocks and the pew
he was already half-way off to sleep againwhen it occurred to him
that there really were voices in the church; low voicestalking
earnestly hard by; while the echoes seemed to mutter responses. He
roused himselfand listened.

Before he had listened half a dozen secondshe became as broad
awake as ever he had been in all his life. With eyesand earsand
mouthwide openhe moved himself a very little with the utmost
cautionand gathering the curtain in his handpeeped out.

Tom Pinch and Mary. Of course. He had recognized their voicesand
already knew the topic they discussed. Looking like the small end
of a guillotined manwith his chin on a level with the top of the
pewso that he might duck down immediately in case of either of
them turning roundhe listened. Listened with such concentrated
eagernessthat his very hair and shirt-collar stood bristling up to
help him.

'No' cried Tom. 'No letters have ever reached meexcept that one
from New York. But don't be uneasy on that accountfor it's very
likely they have gone away to some far-off placewhere the posts
are neither regular nor frequent. He said in that very letter that
it might be soeven in that city to which they thought of
travelling--Edenyou know.'

'It is a great weight upon my mind' said Mary.


'Ohbut you mustn't let it be' said Tom. 'There's a true saying
that nothing travels so fast as ill news; and if the slightest harm
had happened to Martinyou may be sure you would have heard of it
long ago. I have often wished to say this to you' Tom continued
with an embarrassment that became him very well'but you have never
given me an opportunity.'

'I have sometimes been almost afraid' said Mary'that you might
suppose I hesitated to confide in youMr Pinch.'

'No' Tom stammered'I--I am not aware that I ever supposed that.
I am sure that if I haveI have checked the thought directlyas an
injustice to you. I feel the delicacy of your situation in having
to confide in me at all' said Tom'but I would risk my life to
save you from one day's uneasiness; indeed I would!'

Poor Tom!

'I have dreaded sometimes' Tom continued'that I might have
displeased you by--by having the boldness to try and anticipate your
wishes now and then. At other times I have fancied that your
kindness prompted you to keep aloof from me.'

'Indeed!'

'It was very foolish; very presumptuous and ridiculousto think
so' Tom pursued; 'but I feared you might suppose it possible that
I--I--should admire you too much for my own peace; and so denied
yourself the slight assistance you would otherwise have accepted
from me. If such an idea has ever presented itself to you'
faltered Tom'pray dismiss it. I am easily made happy; and I shall
live contented here long after you and Martin have forgotten me. I
am a poorshyawkward creature; not at all a man of the world; and
you should think no more of mebless youthan if I were an old
friar!'

If friars bear such hearts as thineTomlet friars multiply;
though they have no such rule in all their stern arithmetic.

'Dear Mr Pinch!' said Marygiving him her hand; 'I cannot tell you
how your kindness moves me. I have never wronged you by the
lightest doubtand have never for an instant ceased to feel that
you were all--much more than all--that Martin found you. Without
the silent care and friendship I have experienced from youmy life
here would have been unhappy. But you have been a good angel to me;
filling me with gratitude of hearthopeand courage.'

'I am as little like an angelI am afraid' replied Tomshaking
his head'as any stone cherubim among the grave-stones; and I don't
think there are many real angels of THAT pattern. But I should like
to know (if you will tell me) why you have been so very silent about
Martin.'

'Because I have been afraid' said Mary'of injuring you.'

'Of injuring me!' cried Tom.

'Of doing you an injury with your employer.'

The gentleman in question dived.

'With Pecksniff!' rejoined Tomwith cheerful confidence. 'Oh dear
he'd never think of us! He's the best of men. The more at ease you


werethe happier he would be. Oh dearyou needn't be afraid of
Pecksniff. He is not a spy.'

Many a man in Mr Pecksniff's placeif he could have dived through
the floor of the pew of state and come out at Calcutta or any
inhabited region on the other side of the earthwould have done it
instantly. Mr Pecksniff sat down upon a hassockand listening more
attentively than eversmiled.

Mary seemed to have expressed some dissent in the meanwhilefor Tom
went on to saywith honest energy:

'WellI don't know how it isbut it always happenswhenever I
express myself in this way to anybody almostthat I find they won't
do justice to Pecksniff. It is one of the most extraordinary
circumstances that ever came within my knowledgebut it is so.
There's John Westlockwho used to be a pupil hereone of the besthearted
young men in the worldin all other matters--I really
believe John would have Pecksniff flogged at the cart's tail if he
could. And John is not a solitary casefor every pupil we have had
in my time has gone away with the same inveterate hatred of him.
There was Mark Tapleytooquite in another station of life' said
Tom; 'the mockery he used to make of Pecksniff when he was at the
Dragon was shocking. Martin too: Martin was worse than any of 'em.
But I forgot. He prepared you to dislike Pecksniffof course. So
you came with a prejudiceyou knowMiss Grahamand are not a fair
witness.'

Tom triumphed very much in this discoveryand rubbed his hands with
great satisfaction.

'Mr Pinch' said Mary'you mistake him.'

'Nono!' cried Tom. 'YOU mistake him. But' he addedwith a
rapid change in his tone'what is the matter? Miss Grahamwhat is
the matter?'

Mr Pecksniff brought up to the top of the pewby slow degreeshis
hairhis foreheadhis eyebrowhis eye. She was sitting on a
bench beside the door with her hands before her face; and Tom was
bending over her.

'What is the matter?' cried Tom. 'Have I said anything to hurt you?
Has any one said anything to hurt you? Don't cry. Pray tell me
what it is. I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Mercy on usI
never was so surprised and grieved in all my life!'

Mr Pecksniff kept his eye in the same place. He could have moved it
now for nothing short of a gimlet or a red-hot wire.

'I wouldn't have told youMr Pinch' said Mary'if I could have
helped it; but your delusion is so absorbingand it is so necessary
that we should be upon our guard; that you should not be
compromised; and to that end that you should know by whom I am
beset; that no alternative is left me. I came here purposely to
tell youbut I think I should have wanted courage if you had not
chanced to lead me so directly to the object of my coming.'

Tom gazed at her steadfastlyand seemed to say'What else?' But he
said not a word.

'That person whom you think the best of men' said Marylooking up
and speaking with a quivering lip and flashing eye.


'Lord bless me!' muttered Tomstaggering back. 'Wait a moment.
That person whom I think the best of men! You mean Pecksniffof
course. YesI see you mean Pecksniff. Good gracious medon't
speak without authority. What has he done? If he is not the best
of menwhat is he?'

'The worst. The falsestcraftiestmeanestcruellestmost
sordidmost shameless' said the trembling girl--trembling with her
indignation.

Tom sat down on a seatand clasped his hands.

'What is he' said Mary'who receiving me in his house as his
guest; his unwilling guest; knowing my historyand how defenceless
and alone I ampresumes before his daughters to affront me sothat
if I had a brother but a childwho saw ithe would instinctively
have helped me?'

'He is a scoundrel!' exclaimed Tom. 'Whoever he may behe is a
scoundrel.'

Mr Pecksniff dived again.

'What is he' said Mary'whowhen my only friend--a dear and kind
onetoo--was in full health of mindhumbled himself before him
but was spurned away (for he knew him then) like a dog. Whoin his
forgiving spiritnow that that friend is sunk into a failing state
can crawl about him againand use the influence he basely gains for
every base and wicked purposeand not for one--not one--that's true
or good?'

'I say he is a scoundrel!' answered Tom.

'But what is he--ohMr Pinchwhat IS he--whothinking he could
compass these designs the better if I were his wifeassails me with
the coward's argument that if I marry himMartinon whom I have
brought so much misfortuneshall be restored to something of his
former hopes; and if I do notshall be plunged in deeper ruin?
What is he who makes my very constancy to one I love with all my
heart a torture to myself and wrong to him; who makes medo what I
willthe instrument to hurt a head I would heap blessings on! What
is he whowinding all these cruel snares about meexplains their
purpose to mewith a smooth tongue and a smiling facein the broad
light of day; dragging me onthe whilein his embraceand holding
to his lips a hand' pursued the agitated girlextending it'which
I would have struck offif with it I could lose the shame and
degradation of his touch?'

'I say' cried Tomin great excitement'he is a scoundrel and a
villain! I don't care who he isI say he is a double-dyed and most
intolerable villain!'

Covering her face with her hands againas if the passion which
had sustained her through these disclosures lost itself in an
overwhelming sense of shame and griefshe abandoned herself to
tears.

Any sight of distress was sure to move the tenderness of Tombut
this especially. Tears and sobs from her were arrows in his heart.
He tried to comfort her; sat down beside her; expended all his store
of homely eloquence; and spoke in words of praise and hope of
Martin. Ayethough he loved her from his soul with such a selfdenying
love as woman seldom wins; he spoke from first to last of
Martin. Not the wealth of the rich Indies would have tempted Tom to


shirk one mention of her lover's name.

When she was more composedshe impressed upon Tom that this man she
had describedwas Pecksniff in his real colours; and word by word
and phrase by phraseas well as she remembered itrelated what had
passed between them in the wood: which was no doubt a source of high
gratification to that gentleman himselfwho in his desire to see
and his dread of being seenwas constantly diving down into the
state pewand coming up again like the intelligent householder in
Punch's Showwho avoids being knocked on the head with a cudgel.
When she had concluded her accountand had besought Tom to be very
distant and unconscious in his manner towards her after this
explanationand had thanked him very muchthey parted on the alarm
of footsteps in the burial-ground; and Tom was left alone in the
church again.

And now the full agitation and misery of the disclosure came rushing
upon Tom indeed. The star of his whole life from boyhood had
becomein a momentputrid vapour. It was not that Pecksniff
Tom's Pecksniffhad ceased to existbut that he never had existed.
In his death Tom would have had the comfort of remembering what he
used to bebut in this discoveryhe had the anguish of
recollecting what he never was. Foras Tom's blindness in this
matter had been total and not partialso was his restored sight.
HIS Pecksniff could never have worked the wickedness of which he had
just now heardbut any other Pecksniff could; and the Pecksniff who
could do that could do anythingand no doubt had been doing
anything and everything except the right thingall through his
career. From the lofty height on which poor Tom had placed his idol
it was tumbled down headlongand

Not all the king's horsesnor all the king's men

Could have set Mr Pecksniff up again.

Legions of Titans couldn't have got him out of the mud; and serve
him right! But it was not he who suffered; it was Tom. His compass
was brokenhis chart destroyedhis chronometer had stoppedhis
masts were gone by the board; his anchor was adriftten thousand
leagues away.

Mr Pecksniff watched him with a lively interestfor he divined the
purpose of Tom's ruminationsand was curious to see how he
conducted himself. For some timeTom wandered up and down the
aisle like a man dementedstopping occasionally to lean against a
pew and think it over; then he stood staring at a blank old monument
bordered tastefully with skulls and cross-bonesas if it were the
finest work of Art he had ever seenalthough at other times he held
it in unspeakable contempt; then he sat down; then walked to and fro
again; then went wandering up into the organ-loftand touched the
keys. But their minstrelsy was changedtheir music gone; and
sounding one long melancholy chordTom drooped his head upon his
hands and gave it up as hopeless.

'I wouldn't have cared' said Tom Pinchrising from his stool and
looking down into the church as if he had been the Clergyman'I
wouldn't have cared for anything he might have done to Mefor I
have tried his patience oftenand have lived upon his sufferance
and have never been the help to him that others could have been. I
wouldn't have mindedPecksniff' Tom continuedlittle thinking who
heard him'if you had done Me any wrong; I could have found plenty
of excuses for that; and though you might have hurt mecould have
still gone on respecting you. But why did you ever fall so low as


this in my esteem! Oh PecksniffPecksniffthere is nothing I would
not have givento have had you deserve my old opinion of you;
nothing!'

Mr Pecksniff sat upon the hassock pulling up his shirt-collarwhile
Tomtouched to the quickdelivered this apostrophe. After a pause
he heard Tom coming down the stairsjingling the church keys; and
bringing his eye to the top of the pew againsaw him go slowly out
and lock the door.

Mr Pecksniff durst not issue from his place of concealment; for
through the windows of the church he saw Tom passing on among the
gravesand sometimes stopping at a stoneand leaning there as if
he were a mourner who had lost a friend. Even when he had left the
churchyardMr Pecksniff still remained shut up; not being at all
secure but that in his restless state of mind Tom might come
wandering back. At length he issued forthand walked with a
pleasant countenance into the vestry; where he knew there was a
window near the groundby which he could release himself by merely
stepping out.

He was in a curious frame of mindMr Pecksniff; being in no hurry
to gobut rather inclining to a dilatory trifling with the time
which prompted him to open the vestry cupboardand look at himself
in the parson's little glass that hung within the door. Seeing that
his hair was rumpledhe took the liberty of borrowing the canonical
brush and arranging it. He also took the liberty of opening another
cupboard; but he shut it up again quicklybeing rather startled by
the sight of a black and a white surplice dangling against the wall;
which had very much the appearance of two curates who had committed
suicide by hanging themselves. Remembering that he had seen in the
first cupboard a port-wine bottle and some biscuitshe peeped into
it againand helped himself with much deliberation; cogitating all
the time thoughin a very deep and weighty manneras if his
thoughts were otherwise employed.

He soon made up his mindif it had ever been in doubt; and putting
back the bottle and biscuitsopened the casement. He got out into
the churchyard without any difficulty; shut the window after him;
and walked straight home.

'Is Mr Pinch indoors?' asked Mr Pecksniff of his serving-maid.

'Just come insir.'

'Just come ineh?' repeated Mr Pecksniffcheerfully. 'And gone
upstairsI suppose?'

'Yes sir. Gone upstairs. Shall I call himsir?'

'No' said Mr Pecksniff'no. You needn't call himJane. Thank
youJane. How are your relationsJane?'

'Pretty wellI thank yousir.'

'I am glad to hear it. Let them know I asked about themJane. Is
Mr Chuzzlewit in the wayJane?'

'Yessir. He's in the parlourreading.'

'He's in the parlourreadingis heJane?' said Mr Pecksniff.
'Very well. Then I think I'll go and see himJane.'

Never had Mr Pecksniff been beheld in a more pleasant humour!


But when he walked into the parlour where the old man was engaged as
Jane had said; with pen and ink and paper on a table close at hand
(for Mr Pecksniff was always very particular to have him well
supplied with writing materials)he became less cheerful. He was
not angryhe was not vindictivehe was not crosshe was not
moodybut he was grieved; he was sorely grieved. As he sat down by
the old man's sidetwo tears--not tears like those with which
recording angels blot their entries outbut drops so precious that
they use them for their ink--stole down his meritorious cheeks.

'What is the matter?' asked old Martin. 'Pecksniffwhat ails you
man?'

'I am sorry to interrupt youmy dear sirand I am still more sorry
for the cause. My goodmy worthy friendI am deceived.'

'You are deceived!'

'Ah!' cried Mr Pecksniffin an agony'deceived in the tenderest
point. Cruelly deceived in that quartersirin which I placed the
most unbounded confidence. DeceivedMr Chuzzlewitby Thomas
Pinch.'

'Oh! badbadbad!' said Martinlaying down his book. 'Very bad!
I hope not. Are you certain?'

'Certainmy good sir! My eyes and ears are witnesses. I wouldn't
have believed it otherwise. I wouldn't have believed itMr
Chuzzlewitif a Fiery Serpent had proclaimed it from the top of
Salisbury Cathedral. I would have said' cried Mr Pecksniff'that
the Serpent lied. Such was my faith in Thomas Pinchthat I would
have cast the falsehood back into the Serpent's teethand would
have taken Thomas to my heart. But I am not a Serpentsirmyself
I grieve to sayand no excuse or hope is left me.'

Martin was greatly disturbed to see him so much agitatedand to
hear such unexpected news. He begged him to compose himselfand
asked upon what subject Mr Pinch's treachery had been developed.

'That is almost the worst of allsir' Mr Pecksniff answered. 'on
a subject nearly concerning YOU. Oh! is it not enough' said Mr
Pecksnifflooking upward'that these blows must fall on mebut
must they also hit my friends!'

'You alarm me' cried the old manchanging colour. 'I am not so
strong as I was. You terrify mePecksniff!'

'Cheer upmy noble sir' said Mr Pecksnifftaking courage'and we
will do what is required of us. You shall know allsirand shall
be righted. But first excuse mesirexcuse me. I have a duty to
dischargewhich I owe to society.'

He rang the belland Jane appeared. 'Send Mr Pinch hereif you
pleaseJane.'

Tom came. Constrained and altered in his mannerdowncast and
dejectedvisibly confused; not liking to look Pecksniff in the
face.

The honest man bestowed a glance on Mr Chuzzlewitas who should say
'You see!' and addressed himself to Tom in these terms:

'Mr PinchI have left the vestry-window unfastened. Will you do me


the favour to go and secure it; then bring the keys of the sacred
edifice to me!'

'The vestry-windowsir?' cried Tom.

'You understand meMr PinchI think' returned his patron. 'Yes
Mr Pinchthe vestry-window. I grieve to say that sleeping in the
church after a fatiguing rambleI overheard just now some
fragments' he emphasised that word'of a dialogue between two
parties; and one of them locking the church when he went outI was
obliged to leave it myself by the vestry-window. Do me the favour
to secure that vestry-windowMr Pinchand then come back to me.'

No physiognomist that ever dwelt on earth could have construed Tom's
face when he heard these words. Wonder was in itand a mild look
of reproachbut certainly no fear or guiltalthough a host of
strong emotions struggled to display themselves. He bowedand
without saying one wordgood or badwithdrew.

'Pecksniff' cried Martinin a tremble'what does all this mean?
You are not going to do anything in hasteyou may regret!'

'Nomy good sir' said Mr Pecksnifffirmly'No. But I have a
duty to discharge which I owe to society; and it shall be
dischargedmy friendat any cost!'

Ohlate-rememberedmuch-forgottenmouthingbraggart dutyalways
owedand seldom paid in any other coin than punishment and wrath
when will mankind begin to know thee! When will men acknowledge thee
in thy neglected cradleand thy stunted youthand not begin their
recognition in thy sinful manhood and thy desolate old age! Oh
ermined Judge whose duty to society isnowto doom the ragged
criminal to punishment and deathhadst thou neverMana duty to
discharge in barring up the hundred open gates that wooed him to the
felon's dockand throwing but ajar the portals to a decent life! Oh
prelateprelatewhose duty to society it is to mourn in melancholy
phrase the sad degeneracy of these bad times in which thy lot of
honours has been castdid nothing go before thy elevation to the
lofty seatfrom which thou dealest out thy homilies to other
tarriers for dead men's shoeswhose duty to society has not begun!
Oh! magistrateso rare a country gentleman and brave a squirehad
you no duty to societybefore the ricks were blazing and the mob
were mad; or did it spring uparmed and booted from the eartha
corps of yeomanry full-grown!

Mr Pecksniff's duty to society could not be paid till Tom came back.
The interval which preceded the return of that young manhe
occupied in a close conference with his friend; so that when Tom did
arrivehe found the two quite ready to receive him. Mary was in
her own room abovewhither Mr Pecksniffalways consideratehad
besought old Martin to entreat her to remain some half-hour longer
that her feelings might be spared.

When Tom came backhe found old Martin sitting by the windowand
Mr Pecksniff in an imposing attitude at the table. On one side of
him was his pocket-handkerchief; and on the other a little heap (a
very little heap) of gold and silverand odd pence. Tom sawat a
glancethat it was his own salary for the current quarter.

'Have you fastened the vestry-windowMr Pinch?' said Pecksniff.

'Yessir.'

'Thank you. Put down the keys if you pleaseMr Pinch.'


Tom placed them on the table. He held the bunch by the key of the
organ-loft (though it was one of the smallest)and looked hard at
it as he laid it down. It had been an oldold friend of Tom's; a
kind companion to himmany and many a day.

'Mr Pinch' said Pecksniffshaking his head; 'ohMr Pinch! I
wonder you can look me in the face!'

Tom did it though; and notwithstanding that he has been described as
stooping generallyhe stood as upright then as man could stand.

'Mr Pinch' said Pecksnifftaking up his handkerchiefas if he
felt that he should want it soon'I will not dwell upon the past.
I will spare youand I will spare myselfthat pain at least.'

Tom's was not a very bright eyebut it was a very expressive one
when he looked at Mr Pecksniffand said:

'Thank yousir. I am very glad you will not refer to the past.'

'The present is enough' said Mr Pecksniffdropping a penny'and
the sooner THAT is pastthe better. Mr PinchI will not dismiss
you without a word of explanation. Even such a course would be
quite justifiable under the circumstances; but it might wear an
appearance of hurryand I will not do it; for I am' said Mr
Pecksniffknocking down another penny'perfectly self-possessed.
Therefore I will say to youwhat I have already said to Mr
Chuzzlewit.'

Tom glanced at the old gentlemanwho nodded now and then as
approving of Mr Pecksniff's sentences and sentimentsbut interposed
between them in no other way.

'From fragments of a conversation which I overheard in the church
just nowMr Pinch' said Pecksniff'between yourself and Miss
Graham--I say fragmentsbecause I was slumbering at a considerable
distance from youwhen I was roused by your voices--and from what I
sawI ascertained (I would have given a great deal not to have
ascertainedMr Pinch) that youforgetful of all ties of duty and
of honoursir; regardless of the sacred laws of hospitalityto
which you were pledged as an inmate of this house; have presumed to
address Miss Graham with unreturned professions of attachment and
proposals of love.'

Tom looked at him steadily.

'Do you deny itsir?' asked Mr Pecksniffdropping one pound two
and fourpenceand making a great business of picking it up again.

'Nosir' replied Tom. 'I do not.'

'You do not' said Mr Pecksniffglancing at the old gentleman.
'Oblige me by counting this moneyMr Pinchand putting your name
to this receipt. You do not?'

NoTom did not. He scorned to deny it. He saw that Mr Pecksniff
having overheard his own disgracecared not a jot for sinking lower
yet in his contempt. He saw that he had devised this fiction as the
readiest means of getting rid of him at oncebut that it must end
in that any way. He saw that Mr Pecksniff reckoned on his not
denying itbecause his doing so and explaining would incense the
old man more than ever against Martin and against Mary; while
Pecksniff himself would only have been mistaken in his 'fragments.'


Deny it! No.

'You find the amount correctdo youMr Pinch?' said Pecksniff.

'Quite correctsir' answered Tom.

'A person is waiting in the kitchen' said Mr Pecksniff'to carry
your luggage wherever you please. We partMr Pinchat onceand
are strangers from this time.'

Something without a name; compassionsorrowold tenderness
mistaken gratitudehabit; none of theseand yet all of them; smote
upon Tom's gentle heart at parting. There was no such soul as
Pecksniff's in that carcase; and yetthough his speaking out had
not involved the compromise of one he lovedhe couldn't have
denounced the very shape and figure of the man. Not even then.

'I will not say' cried Mr Pecksniffshedding tears'what a blow
this is. I will not say how much it tries me; how it works upon my
nature; how it grates upon my feelings. I do not care for that. I
can endure as well as another man. But what I have to hopeand
what you have to hopeMr Pinch (otherwise a great responsibility
rests upon you)isthat this deception may not alter my ideas of
humanity; that it may not impair my freshnessor contractif I may
use the expressionmy Pinions. I hope it will not; I don't think
it will. It may be a comfort to youif not nowat some future
timeto know that I shall endeavour not to think the worse of my
fellow-creatures in generalfor what has passed between us.
Farewell!'

Tom had meant to spare him one little puncturation with a lancet
which he had it in his power to administerbut he changed his mind
on hearing thisand said:

'I think you left something in the churchsir.'

'Thank youMr Pinch' said Pecksniff. 'I am not aware that I did.'

'This is your double eye-glassI believe?' said Tom.

'Oh!' cried Pecksniffwith some degree of confusion. 'I am obliged
to you. Put it downif you please.'

'I found it' said Tomslowly--'when I went to bolt the vestrywindow--
in the pew.'

So he had. Mr Pecksniff had taken it off when he was bobbing up and
downlest it should strike against the panelling; and had forgotten
it. Going back to the church with his mind full of having been
watchedand wondering very much from what partTom's attention was
caught by the door of the state pew standing open. Looking into it
he found the glass. And thus he knewand by returning it gave Mr
Pecksniff the information that he knewwhere the listener had been;
and that instead of overhearing fragments of the conversationhe
must have rejoiced in every word of it.

'I am glad he's gone' said Martindrawing a long breath when Tom
had left the room.

'It IS a relief' assented Mr Pecksniff. 'It is a great relief.
But having discharged--I hope with tolerable firmness--the duty
which I owed to societyI will nowmy dear sirif you will give
me leaveretire to shed a few tears in the back gardenas an
humble individual.'


Tom went upstairs; cleared his shelf of books; packed them up with
his music and an old fiddle in his trunk; got out his clothes (they
were not so many that they made his head ache); put them on the top
of his books; and went into the workroom for his case of
instruments. There was a ragged stool therewith the horsehair all
sticking out of the top like a wig: a very Beast of a stool in
itself; on which he had taken up his daily seatyear after year
during the whole period of his service. They had grown older and
shabbier in company. Pupils had served their time; seasons had come
and gone. Tom and the worn-out stool had held together through it
all. That part of the room was traditionally called 'Tom's Corner.'
It had been assigned to him at first because of its being situated
in a strong draughtand a great way from the fire; and he had
occupied it ever since. There were portraits of him on the walls
with all his weak points monstrously portrayed. Diabolical
sentimentsforeign to his characterwere represented as issuing
from his mouth in fat balloons. Every pupil had added something
even unto fancy portraits of his father with one eyeand of his
mother with a disproportionate noseand especially of his sister;
who always being presented as extremely beautifulmade full amends
to Tom for any other jokes. Under less uncommon circumstancesit
would have cut Tom to the heart to leave these things and think that
he saw them for the last time; but it didn't now. There was no
Pecksniff; there never had been a Pecksniff; and all his other
griefs were swallowed up in that.

Sowhen he returned into the bedroomandhaving fastened his box
and a carpet-bagput on his walking gaitersand his great-coat
and his hatand taken his stick in his handlooked round it for
the last time. Early on summer morningsand by the light of
private candle-ends on winter nightshe had read himself half blind
in this same room. He had tried in this same room to learn the
fiddle under the bedclothesbut yielding to objections from the
other pupilshad reluctantly abandoned the design. At any other
time he would have parted from it with a pangthinking of all he
had learned thereof the many hours he had passed there; for the
love of his very dreams. But there was no Pecksniff; there never
had been a Pecksniffand the unreality of Pecksniff extended itself
to the chamberin whichsitting on one particular bedthe thing
supposed to be that Great Abstraction had often preached morality
with such effect that Tom had felt a moisture in his eyeswhile
hanging breathless on the words.

The man engaged to bear his box--Tom knew him well: a Dragon man-came
stamping up the stairsand made a roughish bow to Tom (to whom
in common times he would have nodded with a grin) as though he were
aware of what had happenedand wished him to perceive it made no
difference to HIM. It was clumsily done; he was a mere waterer of
horses; but Tom liked the man for itand felt it more than going
away.

Tom would have helped him with the boxbut he made no more of it
though it was a heavy onethan an elephant would have made of a
castle; just swinging it on his back and bowling downstairs as if
being naturally a heavy sort of fellowhe could carry a box
infinitely better than he could go alone. Tom took the carpet-bag
and went downstairs along with him. At the outer door stood Jane
crying with all her might; and on the steps was Mrs Lupinsobbing
bitterlyand putting out her hand for Tom to shake.

'You're coming to the DragonMr Pinch?'

'No' said Tom'no. I shall walk to Salisbury to-night. I


couldn't stay here. For goodness' sakedon't make me so unhappy
Mrs Lupin.'

'But you'll come to the DragonMr Pinch. If it's only for tonight.
To see meyou know; not as a traveller.'

'God bless my soul!' said Tomwiping his eyes. 'The kindness of
people is enough to break one's heart! I mean to go to Salisbury
to-nightmy dear good creature. If you'll take care of my box for
me till I write for itI shall consider it the greatest kindness
you can do me.'

'I wish' cried Mrs Lupin'there were twenty boxesMr Pinchthat
I might have 'em all.'

'Thank'ee' said Tom. 'It's like you. Good-bye. Good-bye.'

There were several peopleyoung and oldstanding about the door
some of whom cried with Mrs Lupin; while others tried to keep up a
stout heartas Tom did; and others were absorbed in admiration of
Mr Pecksniff--a man who could build a churchas one may sayby
squinting at a sheet of paper; and others were divided between that
feeling and sympathy with Tom. Mr Pecksniff had appeared on the top
of the stepssimultaneously with his old pupiland while Tom was
talking with Mrs Lupin kept his hand stretched outas though he
said 'Go forth!' When Tom went forthand had turned the corner Mr
Pecksniff shook his headshut his eyesand heaving a deep sigh
shut the door. On whichthe best of Tom's supporters said he must
have done some dreadful deedor such a man as Mr Pecksniff never
could have felt like that. If it had been a common quarrel (they
observed)he would have said somethingbut when he didn'tMr
Pinch must have shocked him dreadfully.

Tom was out of hearing of their shrewd opinionsand plodded on as
steadily as he could gountil he came within sight of the turnpike
where the tollman's family had cried out 'Mr Pinch!' that frosty
morningwhen he went to meet young Martin. He had got through the
villageand this toll-bar was his last trial; but when the infant
toll-takers came screeching outhe had half a mind to run for it
and make a bolt across the country.

'Whydeary Mr Pinch! ohdeary sir!' cried the tollman's wife. 'What
an unlikely time for you to be a-going this way with a bag!'

'I am going to Salisbury' said Tom.

'Whygoodnesswhere's the gigthen?' cried the tollman's wife
looking down the roadas if she thought Tom might have been upset
without observing it.

'I haven't got it' said Tom. 'I--' he couldn't evade it; he felt
she would have him in the next questionif he got over this one.
'I have left Mr Pecksniff.'

The tollman--a crusty customeralways smoking solitary pipes in a
Windsor chairinsideset artfully between two little windows that
looked up and down the roadso that when he saw anything coming up
he might hug himself on having toll to takeand when he saw it
going downmight hug himself on having taken it--the tollman was
out in an instant.

'Left Mr Pecksniff!' cried the tollman.

'Yes' said Tom'left him.'


The tollman looked at his wifeuncertain whether to ask her if she
had anything to suggestor to order her to mind the children.
Astonishment making him surlyhe preferred the latterand sent her
into the toll-house with a flea in her ear.

'You left Mr Pecksniff!' cried the tollmanfolding his armsand
spreading his legs. 'I should as soon have thought of his head
leaving him.'

'Aye!' said Tom'so should Iyesterday. Good night!'

If a heavy drove of oxen hadn't come by immediatelythe tollman
would have gone down to the village straightto inquire into it.
As things turned outhe smoked another pipeand took his wife into
his confidence. But their united sagacity could make nothing of it
and they went to bed--metaphorically--in the dark. But several
times that nightwhen a waggon or other vehicle came throughand
the driver asked the tollkeeper 'What news?' he looked at the man by
the light of his lanternto assure himself that he had an interest
in the subjectand then saidwrapping his watch-coat round his
legs:

'You've heerd of Mr Pecksniff down yonder?'

'Ah! sure-ly!'

'And of his young man Mr Pinchp'raps?'

'Ah!'

'They've parted.'

After every one of these disclosuresthe tollman plunged into his
house againand was seen no morewhile the other side went on in
great amazement.

But this was long after Tom was abedand Tom was now with his face
towards Salisburydoing his best to get there. The evening was
beautiful at firstbut it became cloudy and dull at sunsetand the
rain fell heavily soon afterwards. For ten long miles he plodded
onwet throughuntil at last the lights appearedand he came into
the welcome precincts of the city.

He went to the inn where he had waited for Martinand briefly
answering their inquiries after Mr Pecksniffordered a bed. He had
no heart for tea or suppermeat or drink of any kindbut sat by
himself before an empty table in the public room while the bed was
getting readyrevolving in his mind all that had happened that
eventful dayand wondering what he could or should do for the
future. It was a great relief when the chambermaid came inand
said the bed was ready.

It was a low four-postershelving downward in the centre like a
troughand the room was crowded with impracticable tables and
exploded chests of drawersfull of damp linen. A graphic
representation in oil of a remarkably fat ox hung over the
fireplaceand the portrait of some former landlord (who might have
been the ox's brotherhe was so like him) stared roundly inat the
foot of the bed. A variety of queer smells were partially quenched
in the prevailing scent of very old lavender; and the window had not
been opened for such a long space of time that it pleaded immemorial
usageand wouldn't come open now.


These were trifles in themselvesbut they added to the strangeness
of the placeand did not induce Tom to forget his new position.
Pecksniff had gone out of the world--had never been in it--and it
was as much as Tom could do to say his prayers without him. But he
felt happier afterwardsand went to sleepand dreamed about him as
he Never Was.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

TREATS OF TODGER'S AGAIN; AND OF ANOTHER BLIGHTED PLANT BESIDES THE
PLANTS UPON THE LEADS

Early on the day next after that on which she bade adieu to the
halls of her youth and the scenes of her childhoodMiss Pecksniff
arriving safely at the coach-office in Londonwas there received
and conducted to her peaceful home beneath the shadow of the
Monumentby Mrs Todgers. M. Todgers looked a little worn by cares
of gravy and other such solicitudes arising out of her
establishmentbut displayed her usual earnestness and warmth of
manner.

'And howmy sweet Miss Pecksniff' said she'how is your princely
pa?'

Miss Pecksniff signified (in confidence) that he contemplated the
introduction of a princely ma; and repeated the sentiment that she
wasn't blindand wasn't quite a fooland wouldn't bear it.

Mrs Todgers was more shocked by the intelligence than any one could
have expected. She was quite bitter. She said there was no truth
in man and that the warmer he expressed himselfas a general
principlethe falser and more treacherous he was. She foresaw with
astonishing clearness that the object of Mr Pecksniff's attachment
was designingworthlessand wicked; and receiving from Charity the
fullest confirmation of these viewsprotested with tears in her
eyes that she loved Miss Pecksniff like a sisterand felt her
injuries as if they were her own.

'Your real darling sisterI have not seen her more than once since
her marriage' said Mrs Todgers'and then I thought her looking
poorly. My sweet Miss PecksniffI always thought that you was to
be the lady?'

'Oh dear no!' cried Cherryshaking her head. 'Oh noMrs Todgers.
Thank you. No! not for any consideration he could offer.'

'I dare say you are right' said Mrs Todgers with a sigh. 'I feared
it all along. But the misery we have had from that matchhere
among ourselvesin this housemy dear Miss Pecksniffnobody would
believe.'

'LorMrs Todgers!'

'Awfulawful!' repeated Mrs Todgerswith strong emphasis. 'You
recollect our youngest gentlemanmy dear?'

'Of course I do' said Cherry.

'You might have observed' said Mrs Todgers'how he used to watch
your sister; and that a kind of stony dumbness came over him
whenever she was in company?'


'I am sure I never saw anything of the sort' said Cherryin a
peevish manner. 'What nonsenseMrs Todgers!'

'My dear' returned that lady in a hollow voice'I have seen him
again and againsitting over his pie at dinnerwith his spoon a
perfect fixture in his mouthlooking at your sister. I have seen
him standing in a corner of our drawing-roomgazing at herin such
a lonelymelancholy statethat he was more like a Pump than a man
and might have drawed tears.'

'I never saw it!' cried Cherry; 'that's all I can say.'

'But when the marriage took place' said Mrs Todgersproceeding
with her subject'when it was in the paperand was read out here
at breakfastI thought he had taken leave of his sensesI did
indeed. The violence of that young manmy dear Miss Pecksniff; the
frightful opinions he expressed upon the subject of selfdestruction;
the extraordinary actions he performed with his tea;
the clenching way in which he bit his bread and butter; the manner
in which he taunted Mr Jinkins; all combined to form a picture never
to be forgotten.'

'It's a pity he didn't destroy himselfI think' observed Miss
Pecksniff.

'Himself!' said Mrs Todgers'it took another turn at night. He was
for destroying other people then. There was a little chaffing going
on--I hope you don't consider that a low expressionMiss Pecksniff;
it is always in our gentlemen's mouths--a little chaffing going on
my dearamong 'emall in good naturewhen suddenly he rose up
foaming with his furyand but for being held by three would have
had Mr Jinkins's life with a bootjack.'

Miss Pecksniff's face expressed supreme indifference.

'And now' said Mrs Todgers'now he is the meekest of men. You can
almost bring the tears into his eyes by looking at him. He sits
with me the whole day long on Sundaystalking in such a dismal way
that I find it next to impossible to keep my spirits up equal to the
accommodation of the boarders. His only comfort is in female
society. He takes me half-price to the playto an extent which I
sometimes fear is beyond his means; and I see the tears a-standing
in his eyes during the whole performance--particularly if it is
anything of a comic nature. The turn I experienced only yesterday'
said Mrs Todgers putting her hand to her side'when the house-maid
threw his bedside carpet out of the window of his roomwhile I was
sitting hereno one can imagine. I thought it was himand that he
had done it at last!'

The contempt with which Miss Charity received this pathetic account
of the state to which the youngest gentleman in company was reduced
did not say much for her power of sympathising with that unfortunate
character. She treated it with great levityand went on to inform
herselfthen and afterwardswhether any other changes had occurred
in the commercial boarding-house.

Mr Bailey was goneand had been succeeded (such is the decay of
human greatness!) by an old woman whose name was reported to be
Tamaroo--which seemed an impossibility. Indeed it appeared in the
fullness of time that the jocular boarders had appropriated the word
from an English balladin which it is supposed to express the bold
and fiery nature of a certain hackney coachman; and that it was
bestowed upon Mr Bailey's successor by reason of her having nothing


fiery about herexcept an occasional attack of that fire which is
called St. Anthony's. This ancient female had been engagedin
fulfillment of a vowregistered by Mrs Todgersthat no more boys
should darken the commercial doors; and she was chiefly remarkable
for a total absence of all comprehension upon every subject
whatever. She was a perfect Tomb for messages and small parcels;
and when dispatched to the Post Office with lettershad been
frequently seen endeavouring to insinuate them into casual chinks in
private doorsunder the delusion that any door with a hole in it
would answer the purpose. She was a very little old womanand
always wore a very coarse apron with a bib before and a loop behind
together with bandages on her wristswhich appeared to be afflicted
with an everlasting sprain. She was on all occasions chary of
opening the street doorand ardent to shut it again; and she waited
at table in a bonnet.

This was the only great change over and above the change which had
fallen on the youngest gentleman. As for himhe more than
corroborated the account of Mrs Todgers; possessing greater
sensibility than even she had given him credit for. He entertained
some terrible notions of Destinyamong other mattersand talked
much about people's 'Missions'; upon which he seemed to have some
private information not generally attainableas he knew it had been
poor Merry's mission to crush him in the bud. He was very frail and
tearful; for being aware that a shepherd's mission was to pipe to
his flocksand that a boatswain's mission was to pipe all hands
and that one man's mission was to be a paid piperand another man's
mission was to pay the piperso he had got it into his head that
his own peculiar mission was to pipe his eye. Which he did
perpetually.

He often informed Mrs Todgers that the sun had set upon him; that
the billows had rolled over him; that the car of Juggernaut had
crushed himand also that the deadly Upas tree of Java had blighted
him. His name was Moddle.

Towards this most unhappy ModdleMiss Pecksniff conducted herself
at first with distant haughtinessbeing in no humour to be
entertained with dirges in honour of her married sister. The poor
young gentleman was additionally crushed by thisand remonstrated
with Mrs Todgers on the subject.

'Even she turns from meMrs Todgers' said Moddle.

'Then why don't you try and be a little bit more cheerfulsir?'
retorted Mrs Todgers.

'CheerfulMrs Todgers! cheerful!' cried the youngest gentleman;
'when she reminds me of days for ever fledMrs Todgers!'

'Then you had better avoid her for a short timeif she does' said
Mrs Todgers'and come to know her againby degrees. That's my
advice.'

'But I can't avoid her' replied Moddle'I haven't strength of mind
to do it. OhMrs Todgersif you knew what a comfort her nose is
to me!'

'Her nosesir!' Mrs Todgers cried.

'Her profilein general' said the youngest gentleman'but
particularly her nose. It's so like;' here he yielded to a burst of
grief. 'it's so like hers who is Another'sMrs Todgers!'


The observant matron did not fail to report this conversation to
Charitywho laughed at the timebut treated Mr Moddle that very
evening with increased considerationand presented her side face to
him as much as possible. Mr Moddle was not less sentimental than
usual; was rather more soif anything; but he sat and stared at her
with glistening eyesand seemed grateful.

'Wellsir!' said the lady of the Boarding-House next day. 'You
held up your head last night. You're coming roundI think.'

'Only because she's so like her who is Another'sMrs Todgers'
rejoined the youth. 'When she talksand when she smilesI think
I'm looking on HER brow againMrs Todgers.'

This was likewise carried to Charitywho talked and smiled next
evening in her most engaging mannerand rallying Mr Moddle on the
lowness of his spiritschallenged him to play a rubber at cribbage.
Mr Moddle taking up the gauntletthey played several rubbers for
sixpencesand Charity won them all. This may have been partially
attributable to the gallantry of the youngest gentlemanbut it was
certainly referable to the state of his feelings also; for his eyes
being frequently dimmed by tearshe thought that aces were tens
and knaves queenswhich at times occasioned some confusion in his
play.

On the seventh night of cribbagewhen Mrs Todgerssitting by
proposed that instead of gambling they should play for 'love' Mr
Moddle was seen to change colour. On the fourteenth nighthe
kissed Miss Pecksniff's snuffersin the passagewhen she went
upstairs to bed; meaning to have kissed her handbut missing it.

In shortMr Moddle began to be impressed with the idea that Miss
Pecksniff's mission was to comfort him; and Miss Pecksniff began to
speculate on the probability of its being her mission to become
ultimately Mrs Moddle. He was a young gentleman (Miss Pecksniff was
not a very young lady) with rising prospectsand 'almost' enough to
live on. Really it looked very well.

Besides--besides--he had been regarded as devoted to Merry. Merry
had joked about himand had once spoken of it to her sister as a
conquest. He was better lookingbetter shapedbetter spoken
better temperedbetter mannered than Jonas. He was easy to manage
could be made to consult the humours of his Betrothedand could be
shown off like a lamb when Jonas was a bear. There was the rub!

In the meantime the cribbage went onand Mrs Todgers went off; for
the youngest gentlemandropping her societybegan to take Miss
Pecksniff to the play. He also beganas Mrs Todgers saidto slip
home 'in his dinner-times' and to get away from 'the office' at
unholy seasons; and twiceas he informed Mrs Todgers himselfhe
received anonymous lettersenclosing cards from Furniture
Warehouses--clearly the act of that ungentlemanly ruffian Jinkins;
only he hadn't evidence enough to call him out upon. All of which
so Mrs Todgers told Miss Pecksniffspoke as plain English as the
shining sun.

'My dear Miss Pecksniffyou may depend upon it' said Mrs Todgers
'that he is burning to propose.'

'My goodness mewhy don't he then?' cried Cherry.

'Men are so much more timid than we think 'emmy dear' returned
Mrs Todgers. 'They baulk themselves continually. I saw the words
on Todgers's lips for months and months and monthsbefore he said


'em.'

Miss Pecksniff submitted that Todgers might not have been a fair
specimen.

'Oh yeshe was. Oh bless youyesmy dear. I was very particular
in those daysI assure you' said Mrs Todgersbridling. 'Nono.
You give Mr Moddle a little encouragementMiss Pecksniffif you
wish him to speak; and he'll speak fast enoughdepend upon it.'

'I am sure I don't know what encouragement he would haveMrs
Todgers' returned Charity. 'He walks with meand plays cards with
meand he comes and sits alone with me.'

'Quite right' said Mrs Todgers. 'That's indispensablemy dear.'

'And he sits very close to me.'

'Also quite correct' said Mrs Todgers.

'And he looks at me.'

'To be sure he does' said Mrs Todgers.

'And he has his arm upon the back of the chair or sofaor whatever
it is--behind meyou know.'

'I should think so' said Mrs Todgers.

'And then he begins to cry!'

Mrs Todgers admitted that he might do better than that; and might
undoubtedly profit by the recollection of the great Lord Nelson's
signal at the battle of Trafalgar. Stillshe saidhe would come
roundornot to mince the matterwould be brought roundif Miss
Pecksniff took up a decided positionand plainly showed him that it
must be done.

Determining to regulate her conduct by this opinionthe young lady
received Mr Moddleon the earliest subsequent occasionwith an air
of constraint; and gradually leading him to inquirein a dejected
mannerwhy she was so changedconfessed to him that she felt it
necessary for their mutual peace and happiness to take a decided
step. They had been much together latelyshe observedmuch
togetherand had tasted the sweets of a genuine reciprocity of
sentiment. She never could forget himnor could she ever cease to
think of him with feelings of the liveliest friendshipbut people
had begun to talkthe thing had been observedand it was necessary
that they should be nothing more to each otherthan any gentleman
and lady in society usually are. She was glad she had had the
resolution to say thus much before her feelings had been tried too
far; they had been greatly triedshe would admit; but though she
was weak and sillyshe would soon get the better of itshe hoped.

Moddlewho had by this time become in the last degree maudlinand
wept abundantlyinferred from the foregoing avowalthat it was his
mission to communicate to others the blight which had fallen on
himself; and thatbeing a kind of unintentional Vampirehe had had
Miss Pecksniff assigned to him by the Fatesas Victim Number One.
Miss Pecksniff controverting this opinion as sinfulModdle was
goaded on to ask whether she could be contented with a blighted
heart; and it appearing on further examination that she could be
plighted his dismal trothwhich was accepted and returned.


He bore his good fortune with the utmost moderation. Instead of
being triumphanthe shed more tears than he had ever been known to
shed before; andsobbingsaid:

'Oh! what a day this has been! I can't go back to the office this
afternoon. Ohwhat a trying day this has been! Good Gracious!'

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

FURTHER PROCEEDINGS IN EDENAND A PROCEEDING OUT OF IT. MARTIN
MAKES A DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE

From Mr Moddle to Eden is an easy and natural transition. Mr
Moddleliving in the atmosphere of Miss Pecksniff's lovedwelt (if
he had but known it) in a terrestrial Paradise. The thriving city
of Eden was also a terrestrial Paradiseupon the showing of its
proprietors. The beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been
poetically described as a something too good for man in his fallen
and degraded state. That was exactly the character of the thriving
city of Edenas poetically heightened by Zephaniah ScadderGeneral
Chokeand other worthies; part and parcel of the talons of that
great American Eaglewhich is always airing itself sky-high in
purest aetherand neverno nevernevertumbles down with
draggled wings into the mud.

When Mark Tapleyleaving Martin in the architectural and surveying
officeshad effectually strengthened and encouraged his own spirits
by the contemplation of their joint misfortuneshe proceededwith
new cheerfulnessin search of help; congratulating himselfas he
went alongon the enviable position to which he had at last
attained.

'I used to thinksometimes' said Mr Tapley'as a desolate island
would suit mebut I should only have had myself to provide for
thereand being naturally a easy man to managethere wouldn't have
been much credit in THAT. Now here I've got my partner to take care
onand he's something like the sort of man for the purpose. I want
a man as is always a-sliding off his legs when he ought to be on
'em. I want a man as is so low down in the school of life that he's
always a-making figures of one in his copy-bookand can't get no
further. I want a man as is his own great coat and cloakand is
always a-wrapping himself up in himself. And I have got him too'
said Mr Tapleyafter a moment's silence. 'What a happiness!'

He paused to look rounduncertain to which of the log-houses he
should repair.

'I don't know which to take' he observed; 'that's the truth.
They're equally prepossessing outsideand equally commodiousno
doubtwithin; being fitted up with every convenience that a
Alligatorin a state of natur'could possibly require. Let me
see! The citizen as turned out last nightlives under waterin the
right hand dog-kennel at the corner. I don't want to trouble him
if I can help itpoor manfor he is a melancholy object; a reg'lar
Settler in every respect. There's house with a winderbut I am
afraid of their being proud. I don't know whether a door ain't too
aristocratic; but here goes for the first one!'

He went up to the nearest cabinand knocked with his hand. Being
desired to enterhe complied.


'Neighbour' said Mark; 'for I AM a neighbourthough you don't know
me; I've come a-begging. Hallo! hal--lo! Am I a-bedand dreaming!'

He made this exclamation on hearing his own name pronouncedand
finding himself clasped about the skirts by two little boyswhose
faces he had often washedand whose suppers he had often cookedon
board of that noble and fast-sailing line-of-packet shipthe Screw.

'My eyes is wrong!' said Mark. 'I don't believe 'em. That ain't my
fellow-passenger youndera-nursing her little girlwhoI am sorry
to seeis so delicate; and that ain't her husband as come to New
York to fetch her. Nor these' he addedlooking down upon the
boys'ain't them two young shavers as was so familiar to me; though
they are uncommon like 'em. That I must confess.'

The woman shed tearsin very joy to see him; the man shook both his
hands and would not let them go; the two boys hugged his legs; the
sick child in the mother's arms stretched out her burning little
fingersand mutteredin her hoarsedry throathis wellremembered
name.

It was the same familysure enough. Altered by the salubrious air
of Eden. But the same.

'This is a new sort of a morning call' said Markdrawing a long
breath. 'It strikes one all of a heap. Wait a little bit! I'm acoming
round fast. That'll do! These gentlemen ain't my friends.
Are they on the visiting list of the house?'

The inquiry referred to certain gaunt pigswho had walked in after
himand were much interested in the heels of the family. As they
did not belong to the mansionthey were expelled by the two little
boys.

'I ain't superstitious about toads' said Marklooking round the
room'but if you could prevail upon the two or three I see in
companyto step out at the same timemy young friendsI think
they'd find the open air refreshing. Not that I at all object to
'em. A very handsome animal is a toad' said Mr Tapleysitting
down upon a stool; 'very spotted; very like a partickler style of
old gentleman about the throat; very bright-eyedvery cooland
very slippy. But one sees 'em to the best advantage out of doors
perhaps.'

While pretendingwith such talk as thisto be perfectly at his
easeand to be the most indifferent and careless of menMark
Tapley had an eye on all around him. The wan and meagre aspect of
the familythe changed looks of the poor motherthe fevered child
she held in her lapthe air of great despondency and little hope on
everythingwere plain to himand made a deep impression on his
mind. He saw it all as clearly and as quicklyas with his bodily
eyes he saw the rough shelves supported by pegs driven between the
logsof which the house was made; the flour-cask in the corner
serving also for a table; the blanketsspadesand other articles
against the walls; the damp that blotched the ground; or the crop of
vegetable rottenness in every crevice of the hut.

'How is it that you have come here?' asked the manwhen their first
expressions of surprise were over.

'Whywe come by the steamer last night' replied Mark. 'Our
intention is to make our fortuns with punctuality and dispatch; and
to retire upon our property as soon as ever it's realised. But how
are you all? You're looking noble!'


'We are but sickly now' said the poor womanbending over her
child. 'But we shall do better when we are seasoned to the place.'

'There are some here' thought Mark 'whose seasoning will last for
ever.'

But he said cheerfully'Do better! To be sure you will. We shall
all do better. What we've got to do isto keep up our spiritsand
be neighbourly. We shall come all right in the endnever fear.
That reminds meby the byethat my partner's all wrong just at
present; and that I looked in to beg for him. I wish you'd come and
give me your opinion of himmaster.'

That must have been a very unreasonable request on the part of Mark
Tapleywith whichin their gratitude for his kind offices on board
the shipthey would not have complied instantly. The man rose to
accompany him without a moment's delay. Before they wentMark took
the sick child in his armsand tried to comfort the mother; but the
hand of death was on it thenhe saw.

They found Martin in the houselying wrapped up in his blanket on
the ground. He wasto all appearancevery ill indeedand shook
and shivered horribly; not as people do from coldbut in a
frightful kind of spasm or convulsionthat racked his whole body.
Mark's friend pronounced his disease an aggravated kind of fever
accompanied with ague; which was very common in those partsand
which he predicted would be worse to-morrowand for many more
to-morrows. He had had it himself off and onhe saidfor a
couple of years or so; but he was thankful thatwhile so many
he had known had died about himhe had escaped with life.

'And with not too much of that' thought Marksurveying his
emaciated form. 'Eden for ever!'

They had some medicine in their chest; and this man of sad
experience showed Mark how and when to administer itand how he
could best alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attentions did
not stop there; for he was backwards and forwards constantlyand
rendered Mark good service in all his brisk attempts to make their
situation more endurable. Hope or comfort for the future he could
not bestow. The season was a sickly one; the settlement a grave.
His child died that night; and Markkeeping the secret from Martin
helped to bury itbeneath a treenext day.

With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (who became
the more exacting in his claimsthe worse he grew)Mark worked out
of doorsearly and late; and with the assistance of his friend and
otherslaboured to do something with their land. Not that he had
the least strength of heart or hopeor steady purpose in so doing
beyond the habitual cheerfulness of his dispositionand his amazing
power of self-sustainment; for within himselfhe looked on their
condition as beyond all hopeandin his own words'came out
strong' in consequence.

'As to coming out as strong as I could wishsir' he confided to
Martin in a leisure moment; that is to sayone eveningwhile he
was washing the linen of the establishmentafter a hard day's work
'that I give up. It's a piece of good fortune as never is to happen
to meI see!'

'Would you wish for circumstances stronger than these?' Martin
retorted with a groanfrom underneath his blanket.


'Whyonly see how easy they might have been strongersir' said
Mark'if it wasn't for the envy of that uncommon fortun of mine
which is always after meand tripping me up. The night we landed
hereI thought things did look pretty jolly. I won't deny it.
thought they did look pretty jolly.'

'How do they look now?' groaned Martin.

'Ah!' said Mark'Ahto be sure. That's the question. How do they
look now? On the very first morning of my going outwhat do I do?
Stumble on a family I knowwho are constantly assisting of us in
all sorts of waysfrom that time to this! That won't doyou know;
that ain't what I'd a right to expect. If I had stumbled on a
serpent and got bit; or stumbled on a first-rate patriotand got
bowie-knifedor stumbled on a lot of Sympathisers with inverted
shirt-collarsand got made a lion of; I might have distinguished
myselfand earned some credit. As it isthe great object of my
voyage is knocked on the head. So it would bewherever I went.
How do you feel to-nightsir?'

'Worse than ever' said poor Martin.

'That's something' returned Mark'but not enough. Nothing but
being very bad myselfand jolly to the lastwill ever do me
justice.'

'In Heaven's namedon't talk of that' said Martin with a thrill
of terror. 'What should I doMarkif you were taken ill!'

Mr Tapley's spirits appeared to be stimulated by this remark
although it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded with his
washing in a brighter mood; and observed 'that his glass was
arising.'

'There's one good thing in this placesir' said Mr Tapley
scrubbing away at the linen'as disposes me to be jolly; and that
is that it's a reg'lar little United States in itself. There's two
or three American settlers left; and they coolly comes over one
even heresiras if it was the wholesomest and loveliest spot in
the world. But they're like the cock that went and hid himself to
save his lifeand was found out by the noise he made. They can't
help crowing. They was born to do itand do it they mustwhatever
comes of it.'

Glancing from his work out at the door as he said these words
Mark's eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a straw
hatwith a short black pipe in his mouthand a great hickory stick
studded all over with knotsin his hand; who smoking and chewing as
he came alongand spitting frequentlyrecorded his progress by a
train of decomposed tobacco on the ground.

'Here's one on 'em' cried Mark'Hannibal Chollop.'

'Don't let him in' said Martinfeebly.

'He won't want any letting in' replied Mark. 'He'll come insir.'
Which turned out to be quite truefor he did. His face was almost
as hard and knobby as his stick; and so were his hands. His head
was like an old black hearth-broom. He sat down on the chest with
his hat on; and crossing his legs and looking up at Marksaid
without removing his pipe:

'WellMr Co.! and how do you git alongsir?'


It may be necessary to observe that Mr Tapley had gravely introduced
himself to all strangersby that name.

'Pretty wellsir; pretty well' said Mark.

'If this ain't Mr Chuzzlewitain't it!' exclaimed the visitor 'How
do YOU git alongsir?'

Martin shook his headand drew the blanket over it involuntarily;
for he felt that Hannibal was going to spit; and his eyeas the
song sayswas upon him.

'You need not regard mesir' observed Mr Chollopcomplacently.
'I am fever-proofand likewise agur.'

'Mine was a more selfish motive' said Martinlooking out again.
'I was afraid you were going to--'

'I can calc'late my distancesir' returned Mr Chollop'to an
inch.'

With a proof of which happy faculty he immediately favoured him.

'I re-quiresir' said Hannibal'two foot clear in a circ'lar direction
and can engage my-self toe keep within it. I HAVE gone ten
footin a circ'lar di-rectionbut that was for a wager.'

'I hope you won itsir' said Mark.

'WellsirI realised the stakes' said Chollop. 'Yessir.'

He was silent for a timeduring which he was actively engaged in
the formation of a magic circle round the chest on which he sat.
When it was completedhe began to talk again.

'How do you like our countrysir?' he inquiredlooking at Martin.

'Not at all' was the invalid's reply.

Chollop continued to smoke without the least appearance of emotion
until he felt disposed to speak again. That time at length
arrivinghe took his pipe from his mouthand said:

'I am not surprised to hear you say so. It re-quires An elevation
and A preparation of the intellect. The mind of man must be
prepared for FreedomMr Co.'

He addressed himself to Mark; because he saw that Martinwho wished
him to gobeing already half-mad with feverish irritationwhich
the droning voice of this new horror rendered almost insupportable
had closed his eyesand turned on his uneasy bed.

'A little bodily preparation wouldn't be amisseitherwould it
sir' said Mark'in the case of a blessed old swamp like this?'

'Do you con-sider this a swampsir?' inquired Chollop gravely.

'Why yessir' returned Mark. 'I haven't a doubt about it myself.'

'The sentiment is quite Europian' said the major'and does not
surprise me; what would your English millions say to such a swamp in
Englandsir?'

'They'd say it was an uncommon nasty oneI should thinksaid Mark;


'and that they would rather be inoculated for fever in some other
way.'

'Europian!' remarked Chollopwith sardonic pity. 'Quite Europian!'

And there he sat. Silent and coolas if the house were his;
smoking away like a factory chimney.

Mr Chollop wasof courseone of the most remarkable men in the
country; but he really was a notorious person besides. He was
usually described by his friendsin the South and Westas 'a
splendid sample of our na-tive raw materialsir' and was much
esteemed for his devotion to rational Liberty; for the better
propagation whereof he usually carried a brace of revolving pistols
in his coat pocketwith seven barrels a-piece. He also carried
amongst other trinketsa sword-stickwhich he called his
'Tickler.' and a great knifewhich (for he was a man of a pleasant
turn of humour) he called 'Ripper' in allusion to its usefulness as
a means of ventilating the stomach of any adversary in a close
contest. He had used these weapons with distinguished effect in
several instancesall duly chronicled in the newspapers; and was
greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which he had 'jobbed out'
the eye of one gentlemanas he was in the act of knocking at his
own street-door.

Mr Chollop was a man of a roving disposition; andin any less
advanced communitymight have been mistaken for a violent vagabond.
But his fine qualities being perfectly understood and appreciated in
those regions where his lot was castand where he had many kindred
spirits to consort withhe may be regarded as having been born
under a fortunate starwhich is not always the case with a man so
much before the age in which he lives. Preferringwith a view to
the gratification of his tickling and ripping fanciesto dwell upon
the outskirts of societyand in the more remote towns and cities
he was in the habit of emigrating from place to placeand
establishing in each some business--usually a newspaper--which he
presently sold; for the most part closing the bargain by challenging
stabbingpistollingor gouging the new editorbefore he had quite
taken possession of the property.

He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kindbut had abandoned
itand was about to leave. He always introduced himself to
strangers as a worshipper of Freedom; was the consistent advocate of
Lynch lawand slavery; and invariably recommendedboth in print
and speechthe 'tarring and feathering' of any unpopular person who
differed from himself. He called this 'planting the standard of
civilization in the wilder gardens of My country.'

There is little doubt that Chollop would have planted this standard
in Eden at Mark's expensein return for his plainness of speech
(for the genuine Freedom is dumbsave when she vaunts herself)but
for the utter desolation and decay prevailing in the settlementand
his own approaching departure from it. As it washe contented
himself with showing Mark one of the revolving-pistolsand asking
him what he thought of that weapon.

'It ain't long since I shot a man down with thatsirin the State
of IllinOY' observed Chollop.

'Did youindeed!' said Markwithout the smallest agitation. 'Very
free of you. And very independent!'

'I shot him downsir' pursued Chollop'for asserting in the
Spartan Porticoa tri-weekly journalthat the ancient Athenians


went a-head of the present Locofoco Ticket.'

'And what's that?' asked Mark.

'Europian not to know' said Chollopsmoking placidly. 'Europian
quite!'

After a short devotion to the interests of the magic circlehe
resumed the conversation by observing:

'You won't half feel yourself at home in Edennow?'

'No' said Mark'I don't.'

'You miss the imposts of your country. You miss the house dues?'
observed Chollop.

'And the houses--rather' said Mark.

'No window dues heresir' observed Chollop.

'And no windows to put 'em on' said Mark.

'No stakesno dungeonsno blocksno racksno scaffoldsno
thumbscrewsno pikesno pillories' said Chollop.

'Nothing but rewolwers and bowie-knives' returned Mark. 'And what
are they? Not worth mentioning!'

The man who had met them on the night of their arrival came crawling
up at this junctureand looked in at the door.

'Wellsir' said Chollop. 'How do YOU git along?'

He had considerable difficulty in getting along at alland said as
much in reply.

'Mr Co. And mesir' observed Chollop'are disputating a piece.
He ought to be slicked up pretty smart to disputate between the Old
World and the NewI do expect?'

'Well!' returned the miserable shadow. 'So he had.'

'I was merely observingsir' said Markaddressing this new
visitor'that I looked upon the city in which we have the honour to
liveas being swampy. What's your sentiments?'

'I opinionate it's moist perhapsat certain times' returned the
man.

'But not as moist as Englandsir?' cried Chollopwith a fierce
expression in his face.

'Oh! Not as moist as England; let alone its Institutions' said the
man.

'I should hope there ain't a swamp in all Americayas don't whip
THAT small island into mush and molasses' observed Chollop
decisively. 'You bought slickstraightand right awayof
Scaddersir?' to Mark.

He answered in the affirmative. Mr Chollop winked at the other
citizen.


'Scadder is a smart mansir? He is a rising man? He is a man as
will come up'ardsright side upsir?' Mr Chollop winked again at
the other citizen.

'He should have his right side very high upif I had my way' said
Mark. 'As high up as the top of a good tall gallowsperhaps.'

Mr Chollop was so delighted at the smartness of his excellent
countryman having been too much for the Britisherand at the
Britisher's resenting itthat he could contain himself no longer
and broke forth in a shout of delight. But the strangest exposition
of this ruling passion was in the other--the pestilence-stricken
brokenmiserable shadow of a man--who derived so much entertainment
from the circumstance that he seemed to forget his own ruin in
thinking of itand laughed outright when he said 'that Scadder was
a smart manand had draw'd a lot of British capital that wayas
sure as sun-up.'

After a full enjoyment of this jokeMr Hannibal Chollop sat smoking
and improving the circlewithout making any attempts either to
converse or to take leave; apparently labouring under the not
uncommon delusion that for a free and enlightened citizen of the
United States to convert another man's house into a spittoon for two
or three hours togetherwas a delicate attentionfull of interest
and politenessof which nobody could ever tire. At last he rose.

'I am a-going easy' he observed.

Mark entreated him to take particular care of himself.

'Afore I go' he said sternly'I have got a leetle word to say to
you. You are darnation 'cuteyou are.'

Mark thanked him for the compliment.

'But you are much too 'cute to last. I can't con-ceive of any
spotted Painter in the bushas ever was so riddled through and
through as you will beI bet.'

'What for?' asked Mark.

'We must be cracked upsir' retorted Chollopin a tone of menace.
'You are not now in A despotic land. We are a model to the airth
and must be jist cracked-upI tell you.'

'What! I speak too freedo I?' cried Mark.

'I have draw'd upon A manand fired upon A man for less' said
Chollopfrowning. 'I have know'd strong men obleeged to make
themselves uncommon skase for less. I have know'd men Lynched for
lessand beaten into punkin'-sarse for lessby an enlightened
people. We are the intellect and virtue of the airththe cream of
human natur'and the flower Of moral force. Our backs is easy ris.
We must be cracked-upor they risesand we snarls. We shows our
teethI tell youfierce. You'd better crack us upyou had!'

After the delivery of this cautionMr Chollop departed; with
RipperTicklerand the revolversall ready for action on the
shortest notice.

'Come out from under the blanketsir' said Mark'he's gone.
What's this!' he added softly; kneeling down to look into his
partner's faceand taking his hot hand. 'What's come of all that
chattering and swaggering? He's wandering in his mind to-nightand


don't know me!'

Martin indeed was dangerously ill; very near his death. He lay in
that state many daysduring which time Mark's poor friends
regardless of themselvesattended him. Markfatigued in mind and
body; working all the day and sitting up at night; worn with hard
living and the unaccustomed toil of his new life; surrounded by
dismal and discouraging circumstances of every kind; never
complained or yielded in the least degree. If ever he had thought
Martin selfish or inconsiderateor had deemed him energetic only by
fits and startsand then too passive for their desperate fortunes
he now forgot it all. He remembered nothing but the better
qualities of his fellow-wandererand was devoted to himheart and
hand.

Many weeks elapsed before Martin was strong enough to move about
with the help of a stick and Mark's arm; and even then his recovery
for want of wholesome air and proper nourishmentwas very slow. He
was yet in a feeble and weak conditionwhen the misfourtune he had
so much dreaded fell upon them. Mark was taken ill.

Mark fought against it; but the malady fought harderand his
efforts were in vain.

'Floored for the presentsir' he said one morningsinking back
upon his bed; 'but jolly!'

Floored indeedand by a heavy blow! As any one but Martin might
have known beforehand.

If Mark's friends had been kind to Martin (and they had been very)
they were twenty times kinder to Mark. And now it was Martin's turn
to workand sit beside the bed and watchand listen through the
longlong nightsto every sound in the gloomy wilderness; and hear
poor Mr Tapleyin his wandering fancyplaying at skittles in the
Dragonmaking love-remonstrances to Mrs Lupingetting his sea-legs
on board the Screwtravelling with old Tom Pinch on English roads
and burning stumps of trees in Edenall at once.

But whenever Martin gave him drink or medicineor tended him in any
wayor came into the house returning from some drudgery without
the patient Mr Tapley brightened up and cried: 'I'm jollysir; 'I'm
jolly!'

Nowwhen Martin began to think of thisand to look at Mark as he
lay there; never reproaching him by so much as an expression of
regret; never murmuring; always striving to be manful and staunch;
he began to thinkhow was it that this man who had had so few
advantageswas so much better than he who had had so many? And
attendance upon a sick bedbut especially the sick bed of one whom
we have been accustomed to see in full activity and vigourbeing a
great breeder of reflectionhe began to ask himself in what they
differed.

He was assisted in coming to a conclusion on this head by the
frequent presence of Mark's friendtheir fellow-passenger across
the oceanwhich suggested to him that in regard to having aided
herfor examplethey had differed very much. Somehow he coupled
Tom Pinch with this train of reflection; and thinking that Tom would
be very likely to have struck up the same sort of acquaintance under
similar circumstancesbegan to think in what respects two people so
extremely different were like each otherand were unlike him. At
first sight there was nothing very distressing in these meditations
but they did undoubtedly distress him for all that.


Martin's nature was a frank and generous one; but he had been bred
up in his grandfather's house; and it will usually be found that the
meaner domestic vices propagate themselves to be their own
antagonists. Selfishness does this especially; so do suspicion
cunningstealthand covetous propensities. Martin had
unconsciously reasoned as a child'My guardian takes so much
thought of himselfthat unless I do the like by MYselfI shall be
forgotten.' So he had grown selfish.

But he had never known it. If any one had taxed him with the vice
he would have indignantly repelled the accusationand conceived
himself unworthily aspersed. He never would have known itbut that
being newly risen from a bed of dangerous sicknessto watch by such
another couchhe felt how nearly Self had dropped into the grave
and what a poor dependentmiserable thing it was.

It was natural for him to reflect--he had months to do it in--upon
his own escapeand Mark's extremity. This led him to consider
which of them could be the better sparedand why? Then the curtain
slowly rose a very little way; and SelfSelfSelfwas shown
below.

He asked himselfbesideswhen dreading Mark's decease (as all men
do and mustat such a time)whether he had done his duty by him
and had deserved and made a good response to his fidelity and zeal.
No. Short as their companionship had beenhe felt in manymany
instancesthat there was blame against himself; and still inquiring
whythe curtain slowly rose a little moreand SelfSelfSelf
dilated on the scene.

It was long before he fixed the knowledge of himself so firmly in
his mind that he could thoroughly discern the truth; but in the
hideous solitude of that most hideous placewith Hope so far
removedAmbition quenchedand Death beside him rattling at the
very doorreflection cameas in a plague-beleaguered town; and so
he felt and knew the failing of his lifeand saw distinctly what an
ugly spot it was.

Eden was a hard school to learn so hard a lesson in; but there were
teachers in the swamp and thicketand the pestilential airwho had
a searching method of their own.

He made a solemn resolution that when his strength returned he would
not dispute the point or resist the convictionbut would look upon
it as an established factthat selfishness was in his breastand
must be rooted out. He was so doubtful (and with justice) of his
own characterthat he determined not to say one word of vain regret
or good resolve to Markbut steadily to keep his purpose before his
own eyes solely; and there was not a jot of pride in this; nothing
but humility and steadfastness; the best armour he could wear. So
low had Eden brought him down. So high had Eden raised him up.

After a long and lingering illness (in certain forlorn stages of
whichwhen too far gone to speakhe had feebly written 'jolly!' on
a slate)Mark showed some symptoms of returning health. They came
and wentand flickered for a time; but he began to mend at last
decidedly; and after that continued to improve from day to day.

As soon as he was well enough to talk without fatigueMartin
consulted him upon a project he had in his mindand which a few
months back he would have carried into execution without troubling
anybody's head but his own.


'Ours is a desperate case' said Martin. 'Plainly. The place is
deserted; its failure must have become known; and selling what we
have bought to any onefor anythingis hopelesseven if it were
honest. We left home on a mad enterpriseand have failed. The
only hope left usthe only one end for which we have now to tryis
to quit this settlement for everand get back to England. Anyhow!
by any means! only to get back thereMark.'

'That's allsir' returned Mr Tapleywith a significant stress
upon the words; 'only that!'

'Nowupon this side of the water' said Martin'we have but one
friend who can help usand that is Mr Bevan.'

'I thought of him when you was ill' said Mark.

'But for the time that would be lostI would even write to my
grandfather' Martin went on to say'and implore him for money to
free us from this trap into which we were so cruelly decoyed. Shall
I try Mr Bevan first?'

'He's a very pleasant sort of a gentleman' said Mark. 'I think
so.'

'The few goods we brought hereand in which we spent our money
would produce something if sold' resumed Martin; 'and whatever they
realise shall be paid him instantly. But they can't be sold here.'

'There's nobody but corpses to buy 'em' said Mr Tapleyshaking his
head with a rueful air'and pigs.'

'Shall I tell him soand only ask him for money enough to enable us
by the cheapest means to reach New Yorkor any port from which we
may hope to get a passage homeby serving in any capacity?
Explaining to him at the same time how I am connectedand that I
will endeavour to repay himeven through my grandfather
immediately on our arrival in England?'

'Why to be sure' said Mark: 'he can only say noand he may say
yes. If you don't mind trying himsir--'

'Mind!' exclaimed Martin. 'I am to blame for coming hereand I
would do anything to get away. I grieve to think of the past. If I
had taken your opinion soonerMarkwe never should have been here
I am certain.'

Mr Tapley was very much surprised at this admissionbut protested
with great vehemencethat they would have been there all the same;
and that he had set his heart upon coming to Edenfrom the first
word he had ever heard of it.

Martin then read him a letter to Mr Bevanwhich he had already
prepared. It was frankly and ingenuously writtenand described
their situation without the least concealment; plainly stated the
miseries they had undergone; and preferred their request in modest
but straightforward terms. Mark highly commended it; and they
determined to dispatch it by the next steamboat going the right way
that might call to take in wood at Eden--where there was plenty of
wood to spare. Not knowing how to address Mr Bevan at his own place
of abodeMartin superscribed it to the care of the memorable Mr
Norris of New Yorkand wrote upon the cover an entreaty that it
might be forwarded without delay.

More than a week elapsed before a boat appeared; but at length they


were awakened very early one morning by the high-pressure snorting
of the 'Esau Slodge;' named after one of the most remarkable men in
the countrywho had been very eminent somewhere. Hurrying down to
the landing-placethey got it safe on board; and waiting anxiously
to see the boat departstopped up the gangway; an instance of
neglect which caused the 'Capting' of the Esau Slodge to 'wish he
might be sifted fine as flourand whittled small as chips; that if
they didn't come off that there fixing right smart toohe'd spill
'em in the drink;' whereby the Capting metaphorically said he'd
throw them in the river.

They were not likely to receive an answer for eight or ten weeks at
the earliest. In the meantime they devoted such strength as they
had to the attempted improvement of their land; to clearing some of
itand preparing it for useful purposes. Monstrously defective as
their farming wasstill it was better than their neighbours'; for
Mark had some practical knowledge of such mattersand Martin
learned of him; whereas the other settlers who remained upon the
putrid swamp (a mere handfuland those withered by disease)
appeared to have wandered there with the idea that husbandry was the
natural gift of all mankind. They helped each other after their own
manner in these strugglesand in all others; but they worked as
hopelessly and sadly as a gang of convicts in a penal settlement.

Often at night when Mark and Martin were aloneand lying down to
sleepthey spoke of homefamiliar placeshousesroadsand
people whom they knew; sometimes in the lively hope of seeing them
againand sometimes with a sorrowful tranquillityas if that hope
were dead. It was a source of great amazement to Mark Tapley to
findpervading all these conversationsa singular alteration in
Martin.

'I don't know what to make of him' he thought one night'he ain't
what I supposed. He don't think of himself half as much. I'll try
him again. Asleepsir?'

'NoMark.'

'Thinking of homesir?'

'YesMark.'

'So was Isir. I was wondering how Mr Pinch and Mr Pecksniff gets
on now.'

'Poor Tom!' said Martinthoughtfully.

'Weak-minded mansir' observed Mr Tapley. 'Plays the organ for
nothingsir. Takes no care of himself?'

'I wish he took a little moreindeed' said Martin. 'Though I
don't know why I should. We shouldn't like him half as well
perhaps.'

'He gets put uponsir' hinted Mark.

'Yes!' said Martinafter a short silence. 'I know thatMark.'

He spoke so regretfully that his partner abandoned the themeand
was silent for a short time until he had thought of another.

'Ahsir!' said Markwith a sigh. 'Dear me! You've ventured a good
deal for a young lady's love!'


'I tell you what. I'm not so sure of thatMark' was the reply; so
hastily and energetically spokenthat Martin sat up in his bed to
give it. 'I begin to be far from clear upon it. You may depend
upon it she is very unhappy. She has sacrificed her peace of mind;
she has endangered her interests very much; she can't run away from
those who are jealous of herand opposed to heras I have done.
She has to endureMark; to endure without the possibility of
actionpoor girl! I begin to think that she has more to bear than
ever I had. Upon my soul I do!'

Mr Tapley opened his eyes wide in the dark; but did not interrupt.

'And I'll tell you a secretMark' said Martin'since we ARE upon
this subject. That ring--'

'Which ringsir?' Mark inquiredopening his eyes still wider.

'That ring she gave me when we partedMark. She bought it; bought
it; knowing I was poor and proud (Heaven help me! Proud!) and wanted
money.'

'Who says sosir?' asked Mark.

'I say so. I know it. I thought of itmy good fellowhundreds of
timeswhile you were lying ill. And like a beastI took it from
her handand wore it on my ownand never dreamed of this even at
the moment when I parted with itwhen some faint glimmering of the
truth might surely have possessed me! But it's late' said Martin
checking himself'and you are weak and tiredI know. You only
talk to cheer me up. Good night! God bless youMark!'

'God bless yousir! But I'm reg'larly defrauded' thought Mr
Tapleyturning round with a happy face. 'It's a swindle. I never
entered for this sort of service. There'll be no credit in being
jolly with HIM!'

The time wore onand other steamboats coming from the point on
which their hopes were fixedarrived to take in wood; but still no
answer to the letter. Rainheatfoul slimeand noxious vapour
with all the ills and filthy things they bredprevailed. The
earththe airthe vegetationand the water that they drankall
teemed with deadly properties. Their fellow-passenger had lost two
children long before; and buried now her last. Such things are much
too common to be widely known or cared for. Smart citizens grow
richand friendless victims smart and dieand are forgotten. That
is all.

At last a boat came panting up the ugly riverand stopped at Eden.
Mark was waiting at the wood hut when it cameand had a letter
handed to him from on board. He bore it off to Martin. They looked
at one anothertrembling.

'It feels heavy' faltered Martin. And opening it a little roll of
dollar-notes fell out upon the ground.

What either of them saidor didor feltat firstneither of them
knew. All Mark could ever tell wasthat he was at the river's bank
again out of breathbefore the boat had goneinquiring when it
would retrace its track and put in there.

The answer wasin ten or twelve days; notwithstanding which they
began to get their goods together and to tie them up that very
night. When this stage of excitement was passedeach of them
believed (they found this outin talking of it afterwards) that he


would surely die before the boat returned.

They livedhoweverand it cameafter the lapse of three long
crawling weeks. At sunriseon an autumn daythey stood upon her
deck.

'Courage! We shall meet again!' cried Martinwaving his hand to two
thin figures on the bank. 'In the Old World!'

'Or in the next one' added Mark below his breath. 'To see them
standing side by sideso quietis a'most the worst of all!'

They looked at one another as the vessel moved awayand then looked
backward at the spot from which it hurried fast. The log-housewith
the open doorand drooping trees about it; the stagnant morning
mistand red sundimly seen beyond; the vapour rising up from land
and river; the quick stream making the loathsome banks it washed
more flat and dull; how often they returned in dreams! How often it
was happiness to wake and find them Shadows that had vanished!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

IN WHICH THE TRAVELLERS MOVE HOMEWARDAND ENCOUNTER SOME
DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS UPON THE WAY

Among the passengers on board the steamboatthere was a faint
gentleman sitting on a low camp-stoolwith his legs on a high
barrel of flouras if he were looking at the prospect with his
ankleswho attracted their attention speedily.

He had straight black hairparted up the middle of his head and
hanging down upon his coat; a little fringe of hair upon his chin;
wore no neckcloth; a white hat; a suit of blacklong in the sleeves
and short in the legs; soiled brown stockings and laced shoes. His
complexionnaturally muddywas rendered muddier by too strict an
economy of soap and water; and the same observation will apply to
the washable part of his attirewhich he might have changed with
comfort to himself and gratification to his friends. He was about
five and thirty; was crushed and jammed up in a heapunder the
shade of a large green cotton umbrella; and ruminated over his
tobacco-plug like a cow.

He was not singularto be surein these respects; for every
gentleman on board appeared to have had a difference with his
laundress and to have left off washing himself in early youth.
Every gentlemantoowas perfectly stopped up with tight plugging
and was dislocated in the greater part of his joints. But about
this gentleman there was a peculiar air of sagacity and wisdom
which convinced Martin that he was no common character; and this
turned out to be the case.

'How do you do sir?' said a voice in Martin's ear

'How do you do sir?' said Martin.

It was a tall thin gentleman who spoke to himwith a carpet-cap on
and a long loose coat of green baizeornamented about the pockets
with black velvet.

'You air from Europesir?'


'I am' said Martin.

'You air fortunatesir.'

Martin thought so too; but he soon discovered that the gentleman and
he attached different meanings to this remark.

'You air fortunatesirin having an opportunity of beholding our
Elijah Pogramsir.'

'Your Elijahpogram!' said Martinthinking it was all one wordand
a building of some sort.

'Yes sir.'

Martin tried to look as if he understood himbut he couldn't make
it out.

'Yessir' repeated the gentleman. 'our Elijah Pogramsirisat
this minuteidentically settin' by the en-gine biler.'

The gentleman under the umbrella put his right forefinger to his
eyebrowas if he were revolving schemes of state.

'That is Elijah Pogramis it?' said Martin.

'Yessir' replied the other. 'That is Elijah Pogram.'

'Dear me!' said Martin. 'I am astonished.' But he had not the least
idea who this Elijah Pogram was; having never heard the name in all
his life.

'If the biler of this vessel was Toe bustsir' said his new
acquaintance'and Toe bust nowthis would be a festival day in the
calendar of despotism; pretty nigh equallin'sirin its effects
upon the human raceour Fourth of glorious July. Yessirthat is
the Honourable Elijah PogramMember of Congress; one of the masterminds
of our countrysir. There is a browsirthere!'

'Quite remarkable' said Martin.

'Yessir. Our own immortal Chigglesiris said to have observed
when he made the celebrated Pogram statter in marblewhich rose so
much con-test and preju-dice in Europethat the brow was more than
mortal. This was before the Pogram Defianceand wasthereforea
pre-dictioncruel smart.'

'What is the Pogram Defiance?' asked Martinthinkingperhapsit
was the sign of a public-house.

'An o-rationsir' returned his friend.

'Oh! to be sure' cried Martin. 'What am I thinking of! It
defied--'

'It defied the worldsir' said the othergravely. 'Defied the
world in general to com-pete with our country upon any hook; and
devellop'd our internal resources for making war upon the universal
airth. You would like to know Elijah Pogramsir?'

'If you please' said Martin.

'Mr Pogram' said the stranger--Mr Pogram having overheard every
word of the dialogue--'this is a gentleman from Europesir; from


Englandsir. But gen'rous ene-mies may meet upon the neutral sile
of private lifeI think.'

The languid Mr Pogram shook hands with Martinlike a clock-work
figure that was just running down. But he made amends by chewing
like one that was just wound up.

'Mr Pogram' said the introducer'is a public servantsir. When
Congress is recessedhe makes himself acquainted with those free
United Statesof which he is the gifted son.'

It occurred to Martin that if the Honourable Elijah Pogram had
stayed at homeand sent his shoes upon a tourthey would have
answered the same purpose; for they were the only part of him in a
situation to see anything.

In course of timehoweverMr Pogram rose; and having ejected
certain plugging consequences which would have impeded his
articulationtook up a position where there was something to lean
againstand began to talk to Martin; shading himself with the green
umbrella all the time.

As he began with the words'How do you like--?' Martin took him up
and said:

'The countryI presume?'

'Yessir' said Elijah Pogram. A knot of passengers gathered round
to hear what followed; and Martin heard his friend sayas he
whispered to another friendand rubbed his hands'Pogram will
smash him into sky-blue fitsI know!'

'Why' said Martinafter a moment's hesitation'I have learned by
experiencethat you take an unfair advantage of a strangerwhen
you ask that question. You don't mean it to be answeredexcept in
one way. NowI don't choose to answer it in that wayfor I cannot
honestly answer it in that way. And thereforeI would rather not
answer it at all.'

But Mr Pogram was going to make a great speech in the next session
about foreign relationsand was going to write strong articles on
the subject; and as he greatly favoured the free and independent
custom (a very harmless and agreeable one) of procuring information
of any sort in any kind of confidenceand afterwards perverting it
publicly in any manner that happened to suit himhe had determined
to get at Martin's opinions somehow or other. For if he could have
got nothing out of himhe would have had to invent it for himand
that would have been laborious. He made a mental note of his
answerand went in again.

'You are from Edensir? How did you like Eden?'

Martin said what he thought of that part of the countryin pretty
strong terms.

'It is strange' said Pogramlooking round upon the group'this
hatred of our countryand her Institutions! This national antipathy
is deeply rooted in the British mind!'

'Good Heavensir' cried Martin. 'Is the Eden Land Corporation
with Mr Scadder at its headand all the misery it has workedat
its dooran Institution of America? A part of any form of
government that ever was known or heard of?'


'I con-sider the cause of this to be' said Pogramlooking round
again and taking himself up where Martin had interrupted him
'partly jealousy and pre-judiceand partly the nat'ral unfitness of
the British people to appreciate the ex-alted Institutions of our
native land. I expectsir' turning to Martin again'that a
gentleman named Chollop happened in upon you during your lo-cation
in the town of Eden?'

'Yes' answered Martin; 'but my friend can answer this better than I
canfor I was very ill at the time. Mark! The gentleman is
speaking of Mr Chollop.'

'Oh. Yessir. Yes. I see him' observed Mark.

'A splendid example of our na-tive raw materialsir?' said Pogram
interrogatively.

'Indeedsir!' cried Mark.

The Honourable Elijah Pogram glanced at his friends as though he
would have said'Observe this! See what follows!' and they rendered
tribute to the Pogram genius by a gentle murmur.

'Our fellow-countryman is a model of a manquite fresh from Natur's
mould!' said Pogramwith enthusiasm. 'He is a true-born child of
this free hemisphere! Verdant as the mountains of our country;
bright and flowing as our mineral Licks; unspiled by withering
conventionalities as air our broad and boundless Perearers! Rough he
may be. So air our Barrs. Wild he may be. So air our Buffalers.
But he is a child of Natur'and a child of Freedom; and his
boastful answer to the Despot and the Tyrant isthat his bright
home is in the Settin Sun.'

Part of this referred to Chollopand part to a Western postmaster
whobeing a public defaulter not very long before (a character not
at all uncommon in America)had been removed from office; and on
whose behalf Mr Pogram (he voted for Pogram) had thundered the last
sentence from his seat in Congressat the head of an unpopular
President. It told brilliantly; for the bystanders were delighted
and one of them said to Martin'that he guessed he had now seen
something of the eloquential aspect of our countryand was chawed
up pritty small.'

Mr Pogram waited until his hearers were calm againbefore he said
to Mark:

'You do not seem to coincidesir?'

'Why' said Mark'I didn't like him much; and that's the truth
sir. I thought he was a bully; and I didn't admire his carryin'
them murderous little persuadersand being so ready to use 'em.'

'It's singler!' said Pogramlifting his umbrella high enough to
look all round from under it. 'It's strange! You observe the
settled opposition to our Institutions which pervades the British
mind!'

'What an extraordinary people you are!' cried Martin. 'Are Mr
Chollop and the class he representsan Institution here? Are
pistols with revolving barrelssword-sticksbowie-knivesand such
thingsInstitutions on which you pride yourselves? Are bloody
duelsbrutal combatssavage assaultsshooting down and stabbing
in the streetsyour Institutions! WhyI shall hear next that
Dishonour and Fraud are among the Institutions of the great


republic!'

The moment the words passed his lipsthe Honourable Elijah Pogram
looked round again.

'This morbid hatred of our Institutions' he observed'is quite a
study for the psychological observer. He's alludin' to Repudiation
now!'

'Oh! you may make anything an Institution if you like' said Martin
laughing'and I confess you had me therefor you certainly have
made that one. But the greater part of these things are one
Institution with usand we call it by the generic name of Old
Bailey!'

The bell being rung for dinner at this momenteverybody ran away
into the cabinwhither the Honourable Elijah Pogram fled with such
precipitation that he forgot his umbrella was upand fixed it so
tightly in the cabin door that it could neither be let down nor got
out. For a minute or so this accident created a perfect rebellion
among the hungry passengers behindwhoseeing the dishesand
hearing the knives and forks at workwell knew what would happen
unless they got there instantlyand were nearly mad; while several
virtuous citizens at the table were in deadly peril of choking
themselves in their unnatural efforts to get rid of all the meat
before these others came.

They carried the umbrella by stormhoweverand rushed in at the
breach. The Honourable Elijah Pogram and Martin found themselves
after a severe struggleside by sideas they might have come
together in the pit of a London theatre; and for four whole minutes
afterwardsPogram was snapping up great blocks of everything he
could get hold oflike a raven. When he had taken this unusually
protracted dinnerhe began to talk to Martin; and begged him not to
have the least delicacy in speaking with perfect freedom to himfor
he was a calm philosopher. Which Martin was extremely glad to hear;
for he had begun to speculate on Elijah being a disciple of that
other school of republican philosophywhose noble sentiments are
carved with knives upon a pupil's bodyand writtennot with pen
and inkbut tar and feathers.

'What do you think of my countrymen who are presentsir?' inquired
Elijah Pogram.

'Oh! very pleasant' said Martin.

They were a very pleasant party. No man had spoken a word; every
one had been intentas usualon his own private gorging; and the
greater part of the company were decidedly dirty feeders.

The Honourable Elijah Pogram looked at Martin as if he thought 'You
don't mean thatI know!' and he was soon confirmed in this opinion.

Sitting opposite to them was a gentleman in a high state of tobacco
who wore quite a little beardcomposed of the overflowing of that
weedas they had dried about his mouth and chin; so common an
ornament that it would scarcely have attracted Martin's observation
but that this good citizenburning to assert his equality against
all comerssucked his knife for some momentsand made a cut with
it at the butterjust as Martin was in the act of taking some.
There was a juiciness about the deed that might have sickened a
scavenger.

When Elijah Pogram (to whom this was an every-day incident) saw that


Martin put the plate awayand took no butterhe was quite
delightedand said

'Well! The morbid hatred of you British to the Institutions of our
country is as-TONishing!'

'Upon my life!' cried Martinin his turn. 'This is the most
wonderful community that ever existed. A man deliberately makes a
hog of himselfand THAT'S an Institution!'

'We have no time to ac-quire formssir' said Elijah Pogram.

'Acquire!' cried Martin. 'But it's not a question of acquiring
anything. It's a question of losing the natural politeness of a
savageand that instinctive good breeding which admonishes one man
not to offend and disgust another. Don't you think that man over
the wayfor instancenaturally knows betterbut considers it a
very fine and independent thing to be a brute in small matters?'

'He is a na-tive of our countryand is nat'rally bright and spry
of course' said Mr Pogram.

'Nowobserve what this comes toMr Pogram' pursued Martin. 'The
mass of your countrymen begin by stubbornly neglecting little social
observanceswhich have nothing to do with gentilitycustomusage
governmentor countrybut are acts of commondecentnatural
human politeness. You abet them in thisby resenting all attacks
upon their social offences as if they were a beautiful national
feature. From disregarding small obligations they come in regular
course to disregard great ones; and so refuse to pay their debts.
What they may door what they may refuse to do nextI don't know;
but any man may see if he willthat it will be something following
in natural successionand a part of one great growthwhich is
rotten at the root.'

The mind of Mr Pogram was too philosophical to see this; so they
went on deck againwhereresuming his former posthe chewed until
he was in a lethargic stateamounting to insensibility.

After a weary voyage of several daysthey came again to that same
wharf where Mark had been so nearly left behindon the night of
starting for Eden. Captain Kedgickthe landlordwas standing
thereand was greatly surprised to see them coming from the boat.

'Whywhat the 'tarnal!' cried the Captain. 'Well! I do admire at
thisI do!'

'We can stay at your house until to-morrowCaptainI suppose?'
said Martin.

'I reckon you can stay there for a twelvemonth if you like'
retorted Kedgick coolly. 'But our people won't best like your
coming back.'

'Won't like itCaptain Kedgick!' said Martin.

'They did ex-pect you was a-going to settle' Kedgick answeredas
he shook his head. 'They've been took inyou can't deny!'

'What do you mean?' cried Martin.

'You didn't ought to have received 'em' said the Captain. 'No you
didn't!'


'My good friend' returned Martin'did I want to receive them? Was
it any act of mine? Didn't you tell me they would rile upand that
I should be flayed like a wild cat--and threaten all kinds of
vengeanceif I didn't receive them?'

'I don't know about that' returned the Captain. 'But when our
people's frills is outthey're starched up pretty stiffI tell
you!'

With thathe fell into the rear to walk with Markwhile Martin and
Elijah Pogram went on to the National.

'We've come back aliveyou see!' said Mark.

'It ain't the thing I did expect' the Captain grumbled. 'A man
ain't got no right to be a public manunless he meets the public
views. Our fashionable people wouldn't have attended his le-veeif
they had know'd it.'

Nothing mollified the Captainwho persisted in taking it very ill
that they had not both died in Eden. The boarders at the National
felt strongly on the subject too; but it happened by good fortune
that they had not much time to think about this grievancefor it
was suddenly determined to pounce upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram
and give HIM a le-vee forthwith.

As the general evening meal of the house was over before the arrival
of the boatMartinMarkand Pogram were taking tea and fixings at
the public table by themselveswhen the deputation entered to
announce this honour; consisting of six gentlemen boarders and a
very shrill boy.

'Sir!' said the spokesman.

'Mr Pogram!' cried the shrill boy.

The spokesman thus reminded of the shrill boy's presenceintroduced
him. 'Doctor Ginery Dunklesir. A gentleman of great poetical
elements. He has recently jined us heresirand is an acquisition
to ussirI do assure you. Yessir. Mr Joddsir. Mr Izzard
sir. Mr Julius Bibsir.'

'Julius Washington Merryweather Bib' said the gentleman himself TO
himself.

'I beg your pardonsir. Excuse me. Mr Julius Washington
Merryweather Bibsir; a gentleman in the lumber linesirand much
esteemed. Colonel Gropersir. Pro-fessor Pipersir. My own name
siris Oscar Buffum.'

Each man took one slide forward as he was named; butted at the
Honourable Elijah Pogram with his head; shook handsand slid back
again. The introductions being completedthe spokesman resumed.

'Sir!'

'Mr Pogram!' cried the shrill boy.

'Perhaps' said the spokesmanwith a hopeless look'you will be so
goodDr. Ginery Dunkleas to charge yourself with the execution
of our little officesir?'

As there was nothing the shrill boy desired morehe immediately
stepped forward.


'Mr Pogram! Sir! A handful of your fellow-citizenssirhearing
of your arrival at the National Hoteland feeling the patriotic
character of your public serviceswishsirto have the
gratification of beholding youand mixing with yousir; and
unbending with yousirin those moments which--'

'Air' suggested Buffum.

'Which air so peculiarly the lotsirof our great and happy
country.'

'Hear!' cried Colonel Grouperin a loud voice. 'Good! Hear him!
Good!'

'And thereforesir' pursued the Doctor'they request; as A mark
Of their respect; the honour of your company at a little le-Vee
sirin the ladies' ordinaryat eight o'clock.'

Mr Pogram bowedand said:

'Fellow countrymen!'

'Good!' cried the Colonel. 'Hearhim! Good!'

Mr Pogram bowed to the Colonel individuallyand then resumed.

'Your approbation of My labours in the common cause goes to My
heart. At all times and in all places; in the ladies' ordinaryMy
friendsand in the Battle Field--'

'Goodvery good! Hear him! Hear him!' said the Colonel.

'The name of Pogram will be proud to jine you. And may itMy
friendsbe written on My tombHe was a member of the Congress of
our common country, and was ac-Tive in his trust.'

'The Com-mitteesir' said the shrill boy'will wait upon you at
five minutes afore eight. I take My leavesir!'

Mr Pogram shook hands with himand everybody elseonce more; and
when they came back again at five minutes before eightthey said
one by onein a melancholy voice'How do you dosir?' and shook
hands with Mr Pogram all over againas if he had been abroad for a
twelvemonth in the meantimeand they metnowat a funeral.

But by this time Mr Pogram had freshened himself upand had
composed his hair and features after the Pogram statueso that any
one with half an eye might cry out'There he is! as he delivered
the Defiance!' The Committee were embellished also; and when they
entered the ladies' ordinary in a bodythere was much clapping of
hands from ladies and gentlemenaccompanied by cries of 'Pogram!
Pogram!' and some standing up on chairs to see him.

The object of the popular caress looked round the room as he walked
up itand smiled; at the same time observing to the shrill boy
that he knew something of the beauty of the daughters of their
common countrybut had never seen it in such lustre and perfection
as at that moment. Which the shrill boy put in the paper next day;
to Elijah Pogram's great surprise.

'We will re-quest yousirif you please' said Buffumlaying
hands on Mr Pogram as if he were taking his measure for a coat'to
stand up with your back agin the wall right in the furthest corner


that there may be more room for our fellow cit-izens. If you could
set your back right slap agin that curtain-pegsirkeeping your
left leg everlastingly behind the stovewe should be fixed quite
slick.'

Mr Pogram did as he was toldand wedged himself into such a little
corner that the Pogram statue wouldn't have known him.

The entertainments of the evening then began. Gentlemen brought
ladies upand brought themselves upand brought each other up; and
asked Elijah Pogram what he thought of this political questionand
what he thought of that; and looked at himand looked at one
anotherand seemed very unhappy indeed. The ladies on the chairs
looked at Elijah Pogram through their glassesand said audibly'I
wish he'd speak. Why don't he speak? Ohdo ask him to speak!' And
Elijah Pogram looked sometimes at the ladies and sometimes
elsewheredelivering senatorial opinionsas he was asked for them.
But the great end and object of the meeting seemed to benot to let
Elijah Pogram out of the corner on any account; so there they kept
himhard and fast.

A great bustle at the doorin the course of the eveningannounced
the arrival of some remarkable person; and immediately afterwards an
elderly gentlemanmuch excitedwas seen to precipitate himself
upon the crowdand battle his way towards the Honourable Elijah
Pogram. Martinwho had found a snug place of observation in a
distant cornerwhere he stood with Mark beside him (for he did not
so often forget him now as formerlythough he still did sometimes)
thought he knew this gentlemanbut had no doubt of itwhen he
cried as loud as he couldwith his eyes starting out of his head:

'SirMrs Hominy!'

'Lord bless that womanMark. She has turned up again!'

'Here she comessir' answered Mr Tapley. 'Pogram knows her. A
public character! Always got her eye upon her countrysir! If that
there lady's husband is of my opinionwhat a jolly old gentleman he
must be!'

A lane was made; and Mrs Hominywith the aristocratic stalkthe
pocket handkerchiefthe clasped handsand the classical capcame
slowly up itin a procession of one. Mr Pogram testified emotions
of delight on seeing herand a general hush prevailed. For it was
known that when a woman like Mrs Hominy encountered a man like
Pogramsomething interesting must be said.

Their first salutations were exchanged in a voice too low to reach
the impatient ears of the throng; but they soon became audiblefor
Mrs Hominy felt her positionand knew what was expected of her.

Mrs H. was hard upon him at first; and put him through a rigid
catechism in reference to a certain vote he had givenwhich she had
found it necessaryas the mother of the modern Gracchito
deprecate in a line by itselfset up expressly for the purpose in
German text. But Mr Pogram evading it by a well-timed allusion to
the star-spangled bannerwhichit appearedhad the remarkable
peculiarity of flouting the breeze whenever it was hoisted where the
wind blewshe forgave him. They now enlarged on certain questions
of tariffcommercial treatyboundaryimportation and exportation
with great effect. And Mrs Hominy not only talkedas the saying
islike a bookbut actually did talk her own booksword for word.

'My! what is this!' cried Mrs Hominyopening a little note which


was handed her by her excited gentleman-usher. 'Do tell! ohwell
now! on'y think!'

And then she read aloudas follows:

'Two literary ladies present their compliments to the mother of the
modern Gracchiand claim her kind introductionas their talented
countrywomanto the honourable (and distinguished) Elijah Pogram
whom the two L. L.'s have often contemplated in the speaking marble
of the soul-subduing Chiggle. On a verbal intimation from the
mother of the M. G.that she will comply with the request of the two

L. L.'sthey will have the immediate pleasure of joining the galaxy
assembled to do honour to the patriotic conduct of a Pogram. It may
be another bond of union between the two L. L.'s and the mother of
the M. G. to observethat the two L. L.'s are Transcendental.'
Mrs Hominy promptly roseand proceeded to the doorwhence she
returnedafter a minute's intervalwith the two L. L.'swhom she
ledthrough the lane in the crowdwith all that stateliness of
deportment which was so remarkably her ownup to the great Elijah
Pogram. It was (as the shrill boy cried out in an ecstasy) quite
the Last Scene from Coriolanus. One of the L. L.'s wore a brown
wig of uncommon size. Sticking on the forehead of the other
by invisible meanswas a massive cameoin size and shape like
the raspberry tart which is ordinarily sold for a penny
representing on its front the Capitol at Washington.

'Miss Toppitand Miss Codger!' said Mrs Hominy.

'Codger's the lady so often mentioned in the English newspapers I
should thinksir' whispered Mark. 'The oldest inhabitant as never
remembers anything.'

'To be presented to a Pogram' said Miss Codger'by a Hominy
indeeda thrilling moment is it in its impressiveness on what we
call our feelings. But why we call them soor why impressed they
areor if impressed they are at allor if at all we areor if
there really isoh gasping one! a Pogram or a Hominyor any active
principle to which we give those titlesis a topicSpirit
searchinglight abandonedmuch too vast to enter onat this
unlooked-for crisis.'

'Mind and matter' said the lady in the wig'glide swift into the
vortex of immensity. Howls the sublimeand softly sleeps the calm
Idealin the whispering chambers of Imagination. To hear itsweet
it is. But thenoutlaughs the stern philosopherand saith to the
GrotesqueWhat ho! arrest for me that Agency. Go, bring it here!
And so the vision fadeth.'

After thisthey both took Mr Pogram by the handand pressed it to
their lipsas a patriotic palm. That homage paidthe mother of
the modern Gracchi called for chairsand the three literary ladies
went to work in earnestto bring poor Pogram outand make him show
himself in all his brilliant colours.

How Pogram got out of his depth instantlyand how the three L. L.'s
were never in theirsis a piece of history not worth recording.
Suffice itthat being all four out of their depthsand all unable
to swimthey splashed up words in all directionsand floundered
about famously. On the wholeit was considered to have been the
severest mental exercise ever heard in the National Hotel. Tears
stood in the shrill boy's eyes several times; and the whole company
observed that their heads ached with the effort--as well they might.


When it at last became necessary to release Elijah Pogram from the
cornerand the Committee saw him safely back again to the next
roomthey were fervent in their admiration.

'Which' said Mr Buffum'must have ventor it will bust. Toe you
Mr PogramI am grateful. Toe-wards yousirI am inspired with
lofty venerationand with deep e-mo-tion. The sentiment Toe which
I would propose to give ex-pressionsiris this: "May you ever be
as firmsiras your marble statter! May it ever be as great a
terror Toe its ene-mies as you."'

There is some reason to suppose that it was rather terrible to its
friends; being a statue of the Elevated or Goblin Schoolin which
the Honourable Elijah Pogram was represented as in a very high wind
with his hair all standing on endand his nostrils blown wide open.
But Mr Pogram thanked his friend and countryman for the aspiration
to which he had given utteranceand the Committeeafter another
solemn shaking of handsretired to bedexcept the Doctor; who
immediately repaired to the newspaper-officeand there wrote a
short poem suggested by the events of the eveningbeginning with
fourteen starsand headed'A Fragment. Suggested by witnessing
the Honourable Elijah Pogram engaged in a philosophical disputation
with three of Columbia's fairest daughters. By Doctor Ginery
Dunkle. Of Troy.'

If Pogram was as glad to get to bed as Martin washe must have been
well rewarded for his labours. They started off again next day
(Martin and Mark previously disposing of their goods to the
storekeepers of whom they had purchased themfor anything they
would bring)and were fellow travellers to within a short distance
of New York. When Pogram was about to leave them he grew
thoughtfuland after pondering for some timetook Martin aside.

'We air going to partsir' said Pogram.

'Pray don't distress yourself' said Martin; 'we must bear it.'

'It ain't thatsir' returned Pogram'not at all. But I should
wish you to accept a copy of My oration.'

'Thank you' said Martin'you are very good. I shall be most
happy.'

'It ain't quite thatsirneither' resumed Pogram; 'air you bold
enough to introduce a copy into your country?'

'Certainly' said Martin. 'Why not?'

'Its sentiments air strongsir' hinted Pogramdarkly.

'That makes no difference' said Martin. 'I'll take a dozen if you
like.'

'Nosir' retorted Pogram. 'Not A dozen. That is more than I
require. If you are content to run the hazardsirhere is one for
your Lord Chancellor' producing it'and one for Your principal
Secretary of State. I should wish them to see itsiras
expressing what my opinions air. That they may not plead ignorance
at a future time. But don't get into dangersiron my account!'

'There is not the least dangerI assure you' said Martin. So he
put the pamphlets in his pocketand they parted.

Mr Bevan had written in his letter thatat a certain timewhich


fell out happily just thenhe would be at a certain hotel in the
cityanxiously expecting to see them. To this place they repaired
without a moment's delay. They had the satisfaction of finding him
within; and of being received by their good friendwith his own
warmth and heartiness.

'I am truly sorry and ashamed' said Martin'to have begged of you.
But look at us. See what we areand judge to what we are reduced!'

'So far from claiming to have done you any service' returned the
other'I reproach myself with having beenunwittinglythe
original cause of your misfortunes. I no more supposed you would go
to Eden on such representations as you received; orindeedthat
you would do anything but be dispossessedby the readiest meansof
your idea that fortunes were so easily made here; than I thought of
going to Eden myself.'

'The fact isI closed with the thing in a mad and sanguine manner'
said Martin'and the less said about it the better for me. Mark
herehadn't a voice in the matter.'

'Well! but he hadn't a voice in any other matterhad he?' returned
Mr Bevan; laughing with an air that showed his understanding of Mark
and Martin too.

'Not a very powerful oneI am afraid' said Martin with a blush.
'But live and learnMr Bevan! Nearly die and learn; we learn the
quicker.'

'Now' said their friend'about your plans. You mean to return
home at once?'

'OhI think so' returned Martin hastilyfor he turned pale at the
thought of any other suggestion. 'That is your opinion tooI
hope?'

'Unquestionably. For I don't know why you ever came here; though
it's not such an unusual caseI am sorry to saythat we need go
any farther into that. You don't know that the ship in which you
came over with our friend General Fladdockis in portof course?'

'Indeed!' said Martin.

'Yes. And is advertised to sail to-morrow.'

This was tempting newsbut tantalising too; for Martin knew that
his getting any employment on board a ship of that class was
hopeless. The money in his pocket would not pay one-fourth of the
sum he had already borrowedand if it had been enough for their
passage-moneyhe could hardly have resolved to spend it. He
explained this to Mr Bevanand stated what their project was.

'Whythat's as wild as Eden every bit' returned his friend. 'You
must take your passage like a Christian; at leastas like a
Christian as a fore-cabin passenger can; and owe me a few more
dollars than you intend. If Mark will go down to the ship and see
what passengers there areand finds that you can go in her without
being actually suffocatedmy advice isgo! You and I will look
about us in the meantime (we won't call at the Norris's unless you
like)and we will all three dine together in the afternoon.'

Martin had nothing to express but gratitudeand so it was arranged.
But he went out of the room after Markand advised him to take
their passage in the Screwthough they lay upon the bare deck;


which Mr Tapleywho needed no entreaty on the subject readily
promised to do.

When he and Martin met againand were alonehe was in high
spiritsand evidently had something to communicatein which he
gloried very much.

'I've done Mr Bevansir' said Mark.

'Done Mr Bevan!' repeated Martin.

'The cook of the Screw went and got married yesterdaysir' said Mr
Tapley.

Martin looked at him for farther explanation.

'And when I got on boardand the word was passed that it was me'
said Mark'the mate he comes and asks me whether I'd engage to take
this said cook's place upon the passage home. "For you're used to
it he says; you were always a-cooking for everybody on your
passage out." And so I was' said Mark'although I never cooked
beforeI'll take my oath.'

'What did you say?' demanded Martin.

'Say!' cried Mark. 'That I'd take anything I could get. "If that's
so says the mate, whybring a glass of rum;" which they brought
according. And my wagessir' said Mark in high glee'pays your
passage; and I've put the rolling-pin in your berth to take it (it's
the easy one up in the corner); and there we areRule Britannia
and Britons strike home!'

'There never was such a good fellow as you are!' cried Martin
seizing him by the hand. 'But what do you mean by "doing" Mr Bevan
Mark?'

'Whydon't you see?' said Mark. 'We don't tell himyou know. We
take his moneybut we don't spend itand we don't keep it. What
we do iswrite him a little noteexplaining this engagementand
roll it upand leave it at the barto be given to him after we are
gone. Don't you see?'

Martin's delight in this idea was not inferior to Mark's. It was
all done as he proposed. They passed a cheerful evening; slept at
the hotel; left the letter as arranged; and went off to the ship
betimes next morningwith such light hearts as the weight of their
past miseries engendered.

'Good-bye! a hundred thousand times good-bye!' said Martin to their
friend. 'How shall I remember all your kindness! How shall I ever
thank you!'

'If you ever become a rich manor a powerful one' returned his
friend'you shall try to make your Government more careful of its
subjects when they roam abroad to live. Tell it what you know of
emigration in your own caseand impress upon it how much suffering
may be prevented with a little pains!'

Cheerilyladscheerily! Anchor weighed. Ship in full sail. Her
sturdy bowsprit pointing true to England. America a cloud upon the
sea behind them!

'WhyCook! what are you thinking of so steadily?' said Martin.


'WhyI was a-thinkingsir' returned Mark'that if I was a
painter and was called upon to paint the American Eaglehow should
I do it?'

'Paint it as like an Eagle as you couldI suppose.'

'No' said Mark. 'That wouldn't do for mesir. I should want to
draw it like a Batfor its short-sightedness; like a Bantamfor
its bragging; like a Magpiefor its honesty; like a Peacockfor
its vanity; like a ostrichfor its putting its head in the mudand
thinking nobody sees it--'

'And like a Phoenixfor its power of springing from the ashes of
its faults and vicesand soaring up anew into the sky!' said
Martin. 'WellMark. Let us hope so.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ARRIVING IN ENGLANDMARTIN WITNESSES A CEREMONYFROM WHICH HE
DERIVES THE CHEERING INFORMATION THAT HE HAS NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN IN
HIS ABSENCE

It was mid-dayand high water in the English port for which the
Screw was boundwhenborne in gallantly upon the fullness of the
tideshe let go her anchor in the river.

Bright as the scene was; freshand full of motion; airyfreeand
sparkling; it was nothing to the life and exultation in the breasts
of the two travellersat sight of the old churchesroofsand
darkened chimney stacks of Home. The distant roar that swelled up
hoarsely from the busy streetswas music in their ears; the lines
of people gazing from the wharveswere friends held dear; the
canopy of smoke that overhung the town was brighter and more
beautiful to them than if the richest silks of Persia had been
waving in the air. And though the water going on its glistening
trackturnedever and againaside to dance and sparkle round
great shipsand heave them up; and leaped from off the blades of
oarsa shower of diving diamonds; and wantoned with the idle boats
and swiftly passedin many a sportive chasethrough obdurate old
iron ringsset deep into the stone-work of the quays; not even it
was half so buoyantand so restlessas their fluttering hearts
when yearning to set footonce moreon native ground.

A year had passed since those same spires and roofs had faded from
their eyes. It seemed to thema dozen years. Some trifling
changeshere and therethey called to mind; and wondered that they
were so few and slight. In health and fortuneprospect and
resourcethey came back poorer men than they had gone away. But it
was home. And though home is a namea wordit is a strong one;
stronger than magician ever spokeor spirit answered toin
strongest conjuration.

Being set ashorewith very little money in their pocketsand no
definite plan of operation in their headsthey sought out a cheap
tavernwhere they regaled upon a smoking steakand certain flowing
mugs of beeras only men just landed from the sea can revel in the
generous dainties of the earth. When they had feastedas two
grateful-tempered giants might have donethey stirred the fire
drew back the glowing curtain from the windowand making each a
sofa for himselfby union of the great unwieldy chairsgazed
blissfully into the street.


Even the street was made a fairy streetby being half hidden in an
atmosphere of steakand strongstoutstand-up English beer. For
on the window-glass hung such a mistthat Mr Tapley was obliged to
rise and wipe it with his handkerchiefbefore the passengers
appeared like common mortals. And even thena spiral little cloud
went curling up from their two glasses of hot grogwhich nearly hid
them from each other.

It was one of those unaccountable little rooms which are never seen
anywhere but in a tavernand are supposed to have got into taverns
by reason of the facilities afforded to the architect for getting
drunk while engaged in their construction. It had more corners in
it than the brain of an obstinate man; was full of mad closetsinto
which nothing could be put that was not specially invented and made
for that purpose; had mysterious shelvings and bulkheadsand
indications of staircases in the ceiling; and was elaborately
provided with a bell that rung in the room itselfabout two feet
from the handleand had no connection whatever with any other part
of the establishment. It was a little below the pavementand
abutted close upon it; so that passengers grated against the windowpanes
with their buttonsand scraped it with their baskets; and
fearful boys suddenly coming between a thoughtful guest and the
lightderided himor put out their tongues as if he were a
physician; or made white knobs on the ends of their noses by
flattening the same against the glassand vanished awfullylike
spectres.

Martin and Mark sat looking at the people as they passeddebating
every now and then what their first step should be.

'We want to see Miss Maryof course' said Mark.

'Of course' said Martin. 'But I don't know where she is. Not
having had the heart to write in our distress--you yourself thought
silence most advisable--and consequentlynever having heard from
her since we left New York the first timeI don't know where she
ismy good fellow.'

'My opinion issir' returned Mark'that what we've got to do is
to travel straight to the Dragon. There's no need for you to go
therewhere you're knownunless you like. You may stop ten mile
short of it. I'll go on. Mrs Lupin will tell me all the news. Mr
Pinch will give me every information that we want; and right glad Mr
Pinch will be to do it. My proposal is: To set off walking this
afternoon. To stop when we are tired. To get a lift when we can.
To walk when we can't. To do it at onceand do it cheap.'

'Unless we do it cheapwe shall have some difficulty in doing it at
all' said Martinpulling out the bankand telling it over in his
hand.

'The greater reason for losing no timesir' replied Mark.
'Whereaswhen you've seen the young lady; and know what state of
mind the old gentleman's inand all about it; then you'll know what
to do next.'

'No doubt' said Martin. 'You are quite right.'

They were raising their glasses to their lipswhen their hands
stopped midwayand their gaze was arrested by a figure which
slowlyvery slowlyand reflectivelypassed the window at that
moment.


Mr Pecksniff. Placidcalmbut proud. Honestly proud. Dressed
with peculiar caresmiling with even more than usual blandness
pondering on the beauties of his art with a mild abstraction from
all sordid thoughtsand gently travelling across the discas if he
were a figure in a magic lantern.

As Mr Pecksniff passeda person coming in the opposite direction
stopped to look after him with great interest and respectalmost
with veneration; and the landlord bouncing out of the houseas if
he had seen him toojoined this personand spoke to himand shook
his head gravelyand looked after Mr Pecksniff likewise.

Martin and Mark sat staring at each otheras if they could not
believe it; but there stood the landlordand the other man still.
In spite of the indignation with which this glimpse of Mr Pecksniff
had inspired himMartin could not help laughing heartily. Neither
could Mark.

'We must inquire into this!' said Martin. 'Ask the landlord in
Mark.'

Mr Tapley retired for that purposeand immediately returned with
their large-headed host in safe convoy.

'Praylandlord!' said Martin'who is that gentleman who passed
just nowand whom you were looking after?'

The landlord poked the fire as ifin his desire to make the most of
his answerhe had become indifferent even to the price of coals;
and putting his hands in his pocketssaidafter inflating himself
to give still further effect to his reply:

'Thatgentlemenis the great Mr Pecksniff! The celebrated
architectgentlemen!'

He looked from one to the other while he said itas if he were
ready to assist the first man who might be overcome by the
intelligence.

'The great Mr Pecksniffthe celebrated architectgentlemen.' said
the landlord'has come down hereto help to lay the first stone of
a new and splendid public building.'

'Is it to be built from his designs?' asked Martin.

'The great Mr Pecksniffthe celebrated architectgentlemen'
returned the landlordwho seemed to have an unspeakable delight in
the repetition of these words'carried off the First Premiumand
will erect the building.'

'Who lays the stone?' asked Martin.

'Our member has come down express' returned the landlord. 'No
scrubs would do for no such a purpose. Nothing less would satisfy
our Directors than our member in the House of Commonswho is
returned upon the Gentlemanly Interest.'

'Which interest is that?' asked Martin.

'Whatdon't you know!' returned the landlord.

It was quite clear the landlord didn't. They always told him at
election timethat it was the Gentlemanly sideand he immediately
put on his top-bootsand voted for it.


'When does the ceremony take place?' asked Martin.

'This day' replied the landlord. Then pulling out his watchhe
addedimpressively'almost this minute.'

Martin hastily inquired whether there was any possibility of getting
in to witness it; and finding that there would be no objection to
the admittance of any decent personunless indeed the ground were
fullhurried off with Markas hard as they could go.

They were fortunate enough to squeeze themselves into a famous
corner on the groundwhere they could see all that passedwithout
much dread of being beheld by Mr Pecksniff in return. They were not
a minute too soonfor as they were in the act of congratulating
each othera great noise was heard at some distanceand everybody
looked towards the gate. Several ladies prepared their pocket
handkerchiefs for waving; and a stray teacher belonging to the
charity school being much cheered by mistakewas immensely groaned
at when detected.

'Perhaps he has Tom Pinch with him' Martin whispered Mr Tapley.

'It would be rather too much of a treat for himwouldn't itsir?'
whispered Mr Tapley in return.

There was no time to discuss the probabilities either wayfor the
charity schoolin clean linencame filing in two and twoso much
to the self-approval of all the people present who didn't subscribe
to itthat many of them shed tears. A band of music followedled
by a conscientious drummer who never left off. Then came a great
many gentlemen with wands in their handsand bows on their breasts
whose share in the proceedings did not appear to be distinctly laid
downand who trod upon each otherand blocked up the entry for a
considerable period. These were followed by the Mayor and
Corporationall clustering round the member for the Gentlemanly
Interest; who had the great Mr Pecksniffthe celebrated architect
on his right handand conversed with him familiarly as they came
along. Then the ladies waved their handkerchiefsand the gentlemen
their hatsand the charity children shriekedand the member for
the Gentlemanly Interest bowed.

Silence being restoredthe member for the Gentlemanly Interest
rubbed his handsand wagged his headand looked about him
pleasantly; and there was nothing this member didat which some
lady or other did not burst into an ecstatic waving of her pocket
handkerchief. When he looked up at the stonethey said how
graceful! when he peeped into the holethey said how condescending!
when he chatted with the Mayorthey said how easy! when he folded
his arms they cried with one accordhow statesman-like!

Mr Pecksniff was observed tooclosely. When he talked to the
Mayorthey saidOhreallywhat a courtly man he was! When he
laid his hand upon the mason's shouldergiving him directionshow
pleasant his demeanour to the working classes; just the sort of man
who made their toil a pleasure to thempoor dear souls!

But now a silver trowel was brought; and when the member for the
Gentlemanly Interesttucking up his coat-sleevedid a little
sleight of hand with the mortarthe air was rentso loud was the
applause. The workman-like manner in which he did it was amazing.
No one could conceive where such a gentlemanly creature could have
picked the knowledge up.


When he had made a kind of dirt-pie under the direction of the
masonthey brought a little vase containing coinsthe which the
member for the Gentlemanly Interest jingledas if he were going to
conjure. Whereat they said how drollhow cheerfulwhat a flow of
spirits! This put into its placean ancient scholar read the
inscriptionwhich was in Latin; not in English; that would never
do. It gave great satisfaction; especially every time there was a
good long substantive in the third declensionablative casewith
an adjective to match; at which periods the assembly became very
tenderand were much affected.

And now the stone was lowered down into its placeamidst the
shouting of the concourse. When it was firmly fixedthe member for
the Gentlemanly Interest struck upon it thrice with the handle of
the trowelas if inquiringwith a touch of humourwhether anybody
was at home. Mr Pecksniff then unrolled his Plans (prodigious plans
they were)and people gathered round to look at and admire them.

Martinwho had been fretting himself--quite unnecessarilyas Mark
thought--during the whole of these proceedingscould no longer
restrain his impatience; but stepping forward among several others
looked straight over the shoulder of the unconscious Mr Pecksniff
at the designs and plans he had unrolled. He returned to Mark
boiling with rage.

'Whywhat's the mattersir?' cried Mark.

'Matter! This is MY building.'

'Your buildingsir!' said Mark.

'My grammar-school. I invented it. I did it all. He has only put
four windows inthe villainand spoilt it!'

Mark could hardly believe it at firstbut being assured that it was
really soactually held him to prevent his interference foolishly
until his temporary heat was past. In the meantimethe member
addressed the company on the gratifying deed which he had just
performed.

He said that since he had sat in Parliament to represent the
Gentlemanly Interest of that town; and he might addthe Lady
Interesthe hopedbesides (pocket handkerchiefs); it had been his
pleasant duty to come among themand to raise his voice on their
behalf in Another Place (pocket handkerchiefs and laughter)often.
But he had never come among themand had never raised his voice
with half such puresuch deepsuch unalloyed delightas now.
'The present occasion' he said'will ever be memorable to me; not
only for the reasons I have assignedbut because it has afforded me
an opportunity of becoming personally known to a gentleman--'

Here he pointed the trowel at Mr Pecksniffwho was greeted with
vociferous cheeringand laid his hand upon his heart.

'To a gentleman whoI am happy to believewill reap both
distinction and profit from this field; whose fame had previously
penetrated to me--as to whose ears has it not!--but whose
intellectual countenance I never had the distinguished honour to
behold until this dayand whose intellectual conversation I had
never before the improving pleasure to enjoy.'

Everybody seemed very glad of thisand applauded more than ever.

'But I hope my Honourable Friend' said the Gentlemanly member--of


course he added "if he will allow me to call him so and of course
Mr Pecksniff bowed--'will give me many opportunities of cultivating
the knowledge of him; and that I may have the extraordinary
gratification of reflecting in after-time that I laid on this day
two first stones, both belonging to structures which shall last my
life!'

Great cheering again. All this time, Martin was cursing Mr
Pecksniff up hill and down dale.

'My friends!' said Mr Pecksniff, in reply. 'My duty is to build,
not speak; to act, not talk; to deal with marble, stone, and brick;
not language. I am very much affected. God bless you!'

This address, pumped out apparently from Mr Pecksniff's very heart,
brought the enthusiasm to its highest pitch. The pocket
handkerchiefs were waved again; the charity children were admonished
to grow up Pecksniffs, every boy among them; the Corporation,
gentlemen with wands, member for the Gentlemanly Interest, all
cheered for Mr Pecksniff. Three cheers for Mr Pecksniff! Three more
for Mr Pecksniff! Three more for Mr Pecksniff, gentlemen, if you
please! One more, gentlemen, for Mr Pecksniff, and let it be a good
one to finish with!

In short, Mr Pecksniff was supposed to have done a great work and
was very kindly, courteously, and generously rewarded. When the
procession moved away, and Martin and Mark were left almost alone
upon the ground, his merits and a desire to acknowledge them formed
the common topic. He was only second to the Gentlemanly member.

'Compare the fellow's situation to-day with ours!' said Martin
bitterly.

'Lord bless you, sir!' cried Mark, 'what's the use? Some architects
are clever at making foundations, and some architects are clever at
building on 'em when they're made. But it'll all come right in the
end, sir; it'll all come right!'

'And in the meantime--' began Martin.

'In the meantime, as you say, sir, we have a deal to do, and far to
go. So sharp's the word, and Jolly!'

'You are the best master in the world, Mark,' said Martin, 'and I
will not be a bad scholar if I can help it, I am resolved! So come!
Best foot foremost, old fellow!'

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

TOM PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE. WHAT HE FINDS AT STARTING

Oh! What a different town Salisbury was in Tom Pinch's eyes to be
sure, when the substantial Pecksniff of his heart melted away into
an idle dream! He possessed the same faith in the wonderful shops,
the same intensified appreciation of the mystery and wickedness of
the place; made the same exalted estimate of its wealth, population,
and resources; and yet it was not the old city nor anything like it.
He walked into the market while they were getting breakfast ready
for him at the Inn; and though it was the same market as of old,
crowded by the same buyers and sellers; brisk with the same
business; noisy with the same confusion of tongues and cluttering of


fowls in coops; fair with the same display of rolls of butter, newly
made, set forth in linen cloths of dazzling whiteness; green with
the same fresh show of dewy vegetables; dainty with the same array
in higglers' baskets of small shaving-glasses, laces, braces,
trouser-straps, and hardware; savoury with the same unstinted show
of delicate pigs' feet, and pies made precious by the pork that once
had walked upon them; still it was strangely changed to Tom. For,
in the centre of the market-place, he missed a statue he had set up
there as in all other places of his personal resort; and it looked
cold and bare without that ornament.

The change lay no deeper than this, for Tom was far from being sage
enough to know, that, having been disappointed in one man, it would
have been a strictly rational and eminently wise proceeding to have
revenged himself upon mankind in general, by mistrusting them one
and all. Indeed this piece of justice, though it is upheld by the
authority of divers profound poets and honourable men, bears a
nearer resemblance to the justice of that good Vizier in the
Thousand-and-one Nights, who issues orders for the destruction of
all the Porters in Bagdad because one of that unfortunate fraternity
is supposed to have misconducted himself, than to any logical, not
to say Christian, system of conduct, known to the world in later
times.

Tom had so long been used to steep the Pecksniff of his fancy in his
tea, and spread him out upon his toast, and take him as a relish
with his beer, that he made but a poor breakfast on the first
morning after his expulsion. Nor did he much improve his appetite
for dinner by seriously considering his own affairs, and taking
counsel thereon with his friend the organist's assistant.

The organist's assistant gave it as his decided opinion that
whatever Tom did, he must go to London; for there was no place like
it. Which may be true in the main, though hardly, perhaps, in
itself, a sufficient reason for Tom's going there.

But Tom had thought of London before, and had coupled with it
thoughts of his sister, and of his old friend John Westlock, whose
advice he naturally felt disposed to seek in this important crisis
of his fortunes. To London, therefore, he resolved to go; and he
went away to the coach-office at once, to secure his place. The
coach being already full, he was obliged to postpone his departure
until the next night; but even this circumstance had its bright side
as well as its dark one, for though it threatened to reduce his poor
purse with unexpected country charges, it afforded him an
opportunity of writing to Mrs Lupin and appointing his box to be
brought to the old finger-post at the old time; which would enable
him to take that treasure with him to the metropolis, and save the
expense of its carriage. 'So,' said Tom, comforting himself, 'it's
very nearly as broad as it's long.'

And it cannot be denied that, when he had made up his mind to even
this extent, he felt an unaccustomed sense of freedom--a vague and
indistinct impression of holiday-making--which was very luxurious.
He had his moments of depression and anxiety, and they were, with
good reason, pretty numerous; but still, it was wonderfully pleasant
to reflect that he was his own master, and could plan and scheme for
himself. It was startling, thrilling, vast, difficult to
understand; it was a stupendous truth, teeming with responsibility
and self-distrust; but in spite of all his cares, it gave a curious
relish to the viands at the Inn, and interposed a dreamy haze
between him and his prospects, in which they sometimes showed to
magical advantage.


In this unsettled state of mind, Tom went once more to bed in the
low four-poster, to the same immovable surprise of the effigies of
the former landlord and the fat ox; and in this condition, passed
the whole of the succeeding day. When the coach came round at last
with 'London' blazoned in letters of gold upon the boot, it gave Tom
such a turn, that he was half disposed to run away. But he didn't
do it; for he took his seat upon the box instead, and looking down
upon the four greys, felt as if he were another grey himself, or, at
all events, a part of the turn-out; and was quite confused by the
novelty and splendour of his situation.

And really it might have confused a less modest man than Tom to find
himself sitting next that coachman; for of all the swells that ever
flourished a whip professionally, he might have been elected
emperor. He didn't handle his gloves like another man, but put them
on--even when he was standing on the pavement, quite detached from
the coach--as if the four greys were, somehow or other, at the ends
of the fingers. It was the same with his hat. He did things with
his hat, which nothing but an unlimited knowledge of horses and the
wildest freedom of the road, could ever have made him perfect in.
Valuable little parcels were brought to him with particular
instructions, and he pitched them into this hat, and stuck it on
again; as if the laws of gravity did not admit of such an event as
its being knocked off or blown off, and nothing like an accident
could befall it. The guard, too! Seventy breezy miles a day were
written in his very whiskers. His manners were a canter; his
conversation a round trot. He was a fast coach upon a down-hill
turnpike road; he was all pace. A waggon couldn't have moved
slowly, with that guard and his key-bugle on the top of it.

These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as he sat upon
the box, and looked about him. Such a coachman, and such a guard,
never could have existed between Salisbury and any other place. The
coach was none of your steady-going, yokel coaches, but a
swaggering, rakish, dissipated London coach; up all night, and lying
by all day, and leading a devil of a life. It cared no more for
Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet. It rattled noisily through
the best streets, defied the Cathedral, took the worst corners
sharpest, went cutting in everywhere, making everything get out of
its way; and spun along the open country-road, blowing a lively
defiance out of its key-bugle, as its last glad parting legacy.

It was a charming evening. Mild and bright. And even with the
weight upon his mind which arose out of the immensity and
uncertainty of London, Tom could not resist the captivating sense of
rapid motion through the pleasant air. The four greys skimmed
along, as if they liked it quite as well as Tom did; the bugle was
in as high spirits as the greys; the coachman chimed in sometimes
with his voice; the wheels hummed cheerfully in unison; the brass
work on the harness was an orchestra of little bells; and thus, as
they went clinking, jingling, rattling smoothly on, the whole
concern, from the buckles of the leaders' coupling-reins to the
handle of the hind boot, was one great instrument of music.

Yoho, past hedges, gates, and trees; past cottages and barns, and
people going home from work. Yoho, past donkey-chaises, drawn aside
into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses, whipped up at a
bound upon the little watercourse, and held by struggling carters
close to the five-barred gate, until the coach had passed the narrow
turning in the road. Yoho, by churches dropped down by themselves
in quiet nooks, with rustic burial-grounds about them, where the
graves are green, and daisies sleep--for it is evening--on the
bosoms of the dead. Yoho, past streams, in which the cattle cool
their feet, and where the rushes grow; past paddock-fences, farms,


and rick-yards; past last year's stacks, cut, slice by slice, away,
and showing, in the waning light, like ruined gables, old and brown.
Yoho, down the pebbly dip, and through the merry water-splash and up
at a canter to the level road again. Yoho! Yoho!

Was the box there, when they came up to the old finger-post? The
box! Was Mrs Lupin herself? Had she turned out magnificently as a
hostess should, in her own chaise-cart, and was she sitting in a
mahogany chair, driving her own horse Dragon (who ought to have been
called Dumpling), and looking lovely? Did the stage-coach pull up
beside her, shaving her very wheel, and even while the guard helped
her man up with the trunk, did he send the glad echoes of his bugle
careering down the chimneys of the distant Pecksniff, as if the
coach expressed its exultation in the rescue of Tom Pinch?

'This is kind indeed!' said Tom, bending down to shake hands with
her. 'I didn't mean to give you this trouble.'

'Trouble, Mr Pinch!' cried the hostess of the Dragon.

'Well! It's a pleasure to you, I know,' said Tom, squeezing her hand
heartily. 'Is there any news?'

The hostess shook her head.

'Say you saw me,' said Tom, 'and that I was very bold and cheerful,
and not a bit down-hearted; and that I entreated her to be the same,
for all is certain to come right at last. Good-bye!'

'You'll write when you get settled, Mr Pinch?' said Mrs Lupin.

'When I get settled!' cried Tom, with an involuntary opening of his
eyes. 'Oh, yes, I'll write when I get settled. Perhaps I had
better write before, because I may find that it takes a little time
to settle myself; not having too much money, and having only one
friend. I shall give your love to the friend, by the way. You were
always great with Mr Westlock, you know. Good-bye!'

'Good-bye!' said Mrs Lupin, hastily producing a basket with a long
bottle sticking out of it. 'Take this. Good-bye!'

'Do you want me to carry it to London for you?' cried Tom. She was
already turning the chaise-cart round.

'No, no,' said Mrs Lupin. 'It's only a little something for
refreshment on the road. Sit fast, Jack. Drive on, sir. All
right! Good-bye!'

She was a quarter of a mile off, before Tom collected himself; and
then he was waving his hand lustily; and so was she.

'And that's the last of the old finger-post,' thought Tom, straining
his eyes, 'where I have so often stood to see this very coach go by,
and where I have parted with so many companions! I used to compare
this coach to some great monster that appeared at certain times to
bear my friends away into the world. And now it's bearing me away,
to seek my fortune, Heaven knows where and how!'

It made Tom melancholy to picture himself walking up the lane and
back to Pecksniff's as of old; and being melancholy, he looked
downwards at the basket on his knee, which he had for the moment
forgotten.

'She is the kindest and most considerate creature in the world,'


thought Tom. 'Now I KNOW that she particularly told that man of
hers not to look at me, on purpose to prevent my throwing him a
shilling! I had it ready for him all the time, and he never once
looked towards me; whereas that man naturally, (for I know him very
well,) would have done nothing but grin and stare. Upon my word,
the kindness of people perfectly melts me.'

Here he caught the coachman's eye. The coachman winked.
'Remarkable fine woman for her time of life,' said the coachman.

'I quite agree with you,' returned Tom. 'So she is.'

'Finer than many a young 'un, I mean to say,' observed the coachman.
'Eh?'

'Than many a young one,' Tom assented.

'I don't care for 'em myself when they're too young,' remarked the
coachman.

This was a matter of taste, which Tom did not feel himself called
upon to discuss.

'You'll seldom find 'em possessing correct opinions about
refreshment, for instance, when they're too young, you know,' said
the coachman; 'a woman must have arrived at maturity, before her
mind's equal to coming provided with a basket like that.'

'Perhaps you would like to know what it contains?' said Tom,
smiling.

As the coachman only laughed, and as Tom was curious himself, he
unpacked it, and put the articles, one by one, upon the footboard.
A cold roast fowl, a packet of ham in slices, a crusty loaf, a piece
of cheese, a paper of biscuits, half a dozen apples, a knife, some
butter, a screw of salt, and a bottle of old sherry. There was a
letter besides, which Tom put in his pocket.

The coachman was so earnest in his approval of Mrs Lupin's provident
habits, and congratulated Torn so warmly on his good fortune, that
Tom felt it necessary, for the lady's sake, to explain that the
basket was a strictly Platonic basket, and had merely been presented
to him in the way of friendship. When he had made the statement
with perfect gravity; for he felt it incumbent on him to disabuse
the mind of this lax rover of any incorrect impressions on the
subject; he signified that he would be happy to share the gifts with
him, and proposed that they should attack the basket in a spirit of
good fellowship at any time in the course of the night which the
coachman's experience and knowledge of the road might suggest, as
being best adapted to the purpose. From this time they chatted so
pleasantly together, that although Tom knew infinitely more of
unicorns than horses, the coachman informed his friend the guard at
the end of the next stage, 'that rum as the box-seat looked, he was
as good a one to go, in pint of conversation, as ever he'd wish to
sit by.'

Yoho, among the gathering shades; making of no account the deep
reflections of the trees, but scampering on through light and
darkness, all the same, as if the light of London fifty miles away,
were quite enough to travel by, and some to spare. Yoho, beside the
village green, where cricket-players linger yet, and every little
indentation made in the fresh grass by bat or wicket, ball or
player's foot, sheds out its perfume on the night. Away with four
fresh horses from the Bald-faced Stag, where topers congregate about


the door admiring; and the last team with traces hanging loose, go
roaming off towards the pond, until observed and shouted after by a
dozen throats, while volunteering boys pursue them. Now, with a
clattering of hoofs and striking out of fiery sparks, across the old
stone bridge, and down again into the shadowy road, and through the
open gate, and far away, away, into the wold. Yoho!

Yoho, behind there, stop that bugle for a moment! Come creeping over
to the front, along the coach-roof, guard, and make one at this
basket! Not that we slacken in our pace the while, not we; we rather
put the bits of blood upon their metal, for the greater glory of the
snack. Ah! It is long since this bottle of old wine was brought
into contact with the mellow breath of night, you may depend, and
rare good stuff it is to wet a bugler's whistle with. Only try it.
Don't be afraid of turning up your finger, Bill, another pull! Now,
take your breath, and try the bugle, Bill. There's music! There's a
tone!' over the hills and far away,' indeed. Yoho! The skittish
mare is all alive to-night. Yoho! Yoho!

See the bright moon! High up before we know it; making the earth
reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges, trees, low
cottages, church steeples, blighted stumps and flourishing young
slips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean to contemplate
their own fair images till morning. The poplars yonder rustle that
their quivering leaves may see themselves upon the ground. Not so
the oak; trembling does not become HIM; and he watches himself in
his stout old burly steadfastness, without the motion of a twig.
The moss-grown gate, ill-poised upon its creaking hinges, crippled
and decayed swings to and fro before its glass, like some fantastic
dowager; while our own ghostly likeness travels on, Yoho! Yoho!
through ditch and brake, upon the ploughed land and the smooth,
along the steep hillside and steeper wall, as if it were a phantom-
Hunter.

Clouds too! And a mist upon the Hollow! Not a dull fog that hides
it, but a light airy gauze-like mist, which in our eyes of modest
admiration gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread before; as
real gauze has done ere now, and would again, so please you, though
we were the Pope. Yoho! Why now we travel like the Moon herself.
Hiding this minute in a grove of trees; next minute in a patch of
vapour; emerging now upon our broad clear course; withdrawing now,
but always dashing on, our journey is a counter-part of hers. Yoho!
A match against the Moon!

The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when Day comes rushing up.
Yoho! Two stages, and the country roads are almost changed to a
continuous street. Yoho, past market-gardens, rows of houses,
villas, crescents, terraces, and squares; past waggons, coaches,
carts; past early workmen, late stragglers, drunken men, and sober
carriers of loads; past brick and mortar in its every shape; and in
among the rattling pavements, where a jaunty-seat upon a coach is
not so easy to preserve! Yoho, down countless turnings, and through
countless mazy ways, until an old Innyard is gained, and Tom Pinch,
getting down quite stunned and giddy, is in London!

'Five minutes before the time, too!' said the driver, as he received
his fee of Tom.

'Upon my word,' said Tom, 'I should not have minded very much, if we
had been five hours after it; for at this early hour I don't know
where to go, or what to do with myself.'

'Don't they expect you then?' inquired the driver.


'Who?' said Tom.

'Why them,' returned the driver.

His mind was so clearly running on the assumption of Tom's having
come to town to see an extensive circle of anxious relations and
friends, that it would have been pretty hard work to undeceive him.
Tom did not try. He cheerfully evaded the subject, and going into
the Inn, fell fast asleep before a fire in one of the public rooms
opening from the yard. When he awoke, the people in the house were
all astir, so he washed and dressed himself; to his great
refreshment after the journey; and, it being by that time eight
o'clock, went forth at once to see his old friend John.

John Westlock lived in Furnival's Inn, High Holborn, which was
within a quarter of an hour's walk of Tom's starting-point, but
seemed a long way off, by reason of his going two or three miles out
of the straight road to make a short cut. When at last he arrived
outside John's door, two stories up, he stood faltering with his
hand upon the knocker, and trembled from head to foot. For he was
rendered very nervous by the thought of having to relate what had
fallen out between himself and Pecksniff; and he had a misgiving
that John would exult fearfully in the disclosure.

'But it must be made,' thought Tom, 'sooner or later; and I had
better get it over.'

Rat tat.

'I am afraid that's not a London knock,' thought Tom. 'It didn't
sound bold. Perhaps that's the reason why nobody answers the door.'

It is quite certain that nobody came, and that Tom stood looking at
the knocker; wondering whereabouts in the neighbourhood a certain
gentleman resided, who was roaring out to somebody 'Come in!' with
all his might.

'Bless my soul!' thought Tom at last. 'Perhaps he lives here, and
is calling to me. I never thought of that. Can I open the door
from the outside, I wonder. Yes, to be sure I can.'

To be sure he could, by turning the handle; and to be sure when he
did turn it the same voice came rushing out, crying 'Why don't you
come in? Come in, do you hear? What are you standing there for?'-quite
violently.

Tom stepped from the little passage into the room from which these
sounds proceeded, and had barely caught a glimpse of a gentleman in
a dressing-gown and slippers (with his boots beside him ready to put
on), sitting at his breakfast with a newspaper in his hand, when the
said gentleman, at the imminent hazard of oversetting his tea-table,
made a plunge at Tom, and hugged him.

'Why, Tom, my boy!' cried the gentleman. 'Tom!'

'How glad I am to see you, Mr Westlock!' said Tom Pinch, shaking
both his hands, and trembling more than ever. 'How kind you are!'

'Mr Westlock!' repeated John, 'what do you mean by that, Pinch? You
have not forgotten my Christian name, I suppose?'

'No, John, no. I have not forgotten,' said Thomas Pinch. 'Good
gracious me, how kind you are!'


'I never saw such a fellow in all my life!' cried John. 'What do
you mean by saying THAT over and over again? What did you expect me
to be, I wonder! Here, sit down, Tom, and be a reasonable creature.
How are you, my boy? I am delighted to see you!'

'And I am delighted to see YOU,' said Tom.

'It's mutual, of course,' returned John. 'It always was, I hope.
If I had known you had been coming, Tom, I would have had something
for breakfast. I would rather have such a surprise than the best
breakfast in the world, myself; but yours is another case, and I
have no doubt you are as hungry as a hunter. You must make out as
well as you can, Tom, and we'll recompense ourselves at dinner-time.
You take sugar, I know; I recollect the sugar at Pecksniff's. Ha,
ha, ha! How IS Pecksniff? When did you come to town? DO begin at
something or other, Tom. There are only scraps here, but they are
not at all bad. Boar's Head potted. Try it, Tom. Make a beginning
whatever you do. What an old Blade you are! I am delighted to see
you.'

While he delivered himself of these words in a state of great
commotion, John was constantly running backwards and forwards to and
from the closet, bringing out all sorts of things in pots, scooping
extraordinary quantities of tea out of the caddy, dropping French
rolls into his boots, pouring hot water over the butter, and making
a variety of similar mistakes without disconcerting himself in the
least.

'There!' said John, sitting down for the fiftieth time, and
instantly starting up again to make some other addition to the
breakfast. 'Now we are as well off as we are likely to be till
dinner. And now let us have the news, Tom. Imprimis, how's
Pecksniff?'

'I don't know how he is,' was Tom's grave answer.

John Westlock put the teapot down, and looked at him, in
astonishment.

'I don't know how he is,' said Thomas Pinch; 'and, saving that I
wish him no ill, I don't care. I have left him, John. I have left
him for ever.'

'Voluntarily?'

'Why, no, for he dismissed me. But I had first found out that I was
mistaken in him; and I could not have remained with him under any
circumstances. I grieve to say that you were right in your estimate
of his character. It may be a ridiculous weakness, John, but it has
been very painful and bitter to me to find this out, I do assure
you.'

Tom had no need to direct that appealing look towards his friend, in
mild and gentle deprecation of his answering with a laugh. John
Westlock would as soon have thought of striking him down upon the
floor.

'It was all a dream of mine,' said Tom, 'and it is over. I'll tell
you how it happened, at some other time. Bear with my folly, John.
I do not, just now, like to think or speak about it.'

'I swear to you, Tom,' returned his friend, with great earnestness
of manner, after remaining silent for a few moments, 'that when I
see, as I do now, how deeply you feel this, I don't know whether to


be glad or sorry that you have made the discovery at last. I
reproach myself with the thought that I ever jested on the subject;
I ought to have known better.'

'My dear friend,' said Tom, extending his hand, 'it is very generous
and gallant in you to receive me and my disclosure in this spirit;
it makes me blush to think that I should have felt a moment's
uneasiness as I came along. You can't think what a weight is lifted
off my mind,' said Tom, taking up his knife and fork again, and
looking very cheerful. 'I shall punish the Boar's Head dreadfully.'

The host, thus reminded of his duties, instantly betook himself to
piling up all kinds of irreconcilable and contradictory viands in
Tom's plate, and a very capital breakfast Tom made, and very much
the better for it Tom felt.

'That's all right,' said John, after contemplating his visitor's
proceedings with infinite satisfaction. 'Now, about our plans. You
are going to stay with me, of course. Where's your box?'

'It's at the Inn,' said Tom. 'I didn't intend--'

'Never mind what you didn't intend,' John Westlock interposed.
'What you DID intend is more to the purpose. You intended, in
coming here, to ask my advice, did you not, Tom?'

'Certainly.'

'And to take it when I gave it to you?'

'Yes,' rejoined Tom, smiling, 'if it were good advice, which, being
yours, I have no doubt it will be.'

'Very well. Then don't be an obstinate old humbug in the outset,
Tom, or I shall shut up shop and dispense none of that invaluable
commodity. You are on a visit to me. I wish I had an organ for
you, Tom!'

'So do the gentlemen downstairs, and the gentlemen overhead I have
no doubt,' was Tom's reply.

'Let me see. In the first place, you will wish to see your sister
this morning,' pursued his friend, 'and of course you will like to
go there alone. I'll walk part of the way with you; and see about a
little business of my own, and meet you here again in the afternoon.
Put that in your pocket, Tom. It's only the key of the door. If
you come home first you'll want it.'

'Really,' said Tom, 'quartering one's self upon a friend in this
way--'

'Why, there are two keys,' interposed John Westlock. 'I can't open
the door with them both at once, can I? What a ridiculous fellow
you are, Tom? Nothing particular you'd like for dinner, is there?'

'Oh dear no,' said Tom.

'Very well, then you may as well leave it to me. Have a glass of
cherry brandy, Tom?'

'Not a drop! What remarkable chambers these are!' said Pinch
'there's everything in 'em!'

'Bless your soul, Tom, nothing but a few little bachelor


contrivances! the sort of impromptu arrangements that might have
suggested themselves to Philip Quarll or Robinson Crusoe, that's
all. What do you say? Shall we walk?'

'By all means,' cried Tom. 'As soon as you like.'

Accordingly John Westlock took the French rolls out of his boots,
and put his boots on, and dressed himself; giving Tom the paper to
read in the meanwhile. When he returned, equipped for walking, he
found Tom in a brown study, with the paper in his hand.

'Dreaming, Tom?'

'No,' said Mr Pinch, 'No. I have been looking over the advertising
sheet, thinking there might be something in it which would be likely
to suit me. But, as I often think, the strange thing seems to be
that nobody is suited. Here are all kinds of employers wanting all
sorts of servants, and all sorts of servants wanting all kinds of
employers, and they never seem to come together. Here is a
gentleman in a public office in a position of temporary difficulty,
who wants to borrow five hundred pounds; and in the very next
advertisement here is another gentleman who has got exactly that sum
to lend. But he'll never lend it to him, John, you'll find! Here is
a lady possessing a moderate independence, who wants to board and
lodge with a quiet, cheerful family; and here is a family describing
themselves in those very words, a quietcheerful family who want
exactly such a lady to come and live with them. But she'll never
go, John! Neither do any of these single gentlemen who want an airy
bedroom, with the occasional use of a parlour, ever appear to come
to terms with these other people who live in a rural situation
remarkable for its bracing atmosphere, within five minutes' walk of
the Royal Exchange. Even those letters of the alphabet who are
always running away from their friends and being entreated at the
tops of columns to come back, never DO come back, if we may judge
from the number of times they are asked to do it and don't. It
really seems,' said Tom, relinquishing the paper with a thoughtful
sigh, 'as if people had the same gratification in printing their
complaints as in making them known by word of mouth; as if they
found it a comfort and consolation to proclaim I want such and such
a thingand I can't get itand I don't expect I ever shall!"'

John Westlock laughed at the ideaand they went out together. So
many years had passed since Tom was last in Londonand he had known
so little of it thenthat his interest in all he saw was very
great. He was particularly anxiousamong other notorious
localitiesto have those streets pointed out to him which were
appropriated to the slaughter of countrymen; and was quite
disappointed to findafter half-an-hour's walkingthat he hadn't
had his pocket picked. But on John Westlock's inventing a
pickpocket for his gratificationand pointing out a highly
respectable stranger as one of that fraternityhe was much
delighted.

His friend accompanied him to within a short distance of Camberwell
and having put him beyond the possibility of mistaking the wealthy
brass-and-copper founder'sleft him to make his visit. Arriving
before the great bell-handleTom gave it a gentle pull. The porter
appeared.

'Pray does Miss Pinch live here?' said Tom.

'Miss Pinch is governess here' replied the porter.

At the same time he looked at Tom from head to footas if he would


have said'You are a nice manYOU are; where did YOU come from?'

'It's the same young lady' said Tom. 'It's quite right. Is she at
home?'

'I don't knowI'm sure' rejoined the porter.

'Do you think you could have the goodness to ascertain?' said Tom.
He had quite a delicacy in offering the suggestionfor the
possibility of such a step did not appear to present itself to the
porter's mind at all.

The fact was that the porter in answering the gate-bell had
according to usagerung the house-bell (for it is as well to do
these things in the Baronial style while you are about it)and that
there the functions of his office had ceased. Being hired to open
and shut the gateand not to explain himself to strangershe left
this little incident to be developed by the footman with the tags
whoat this juncturecalled out from the door steps:

'Hollothere! wot are you up to? This wayyoung man!'

'Oh!' said Tomhurrying towards him. 'I didn't observe that there
was anybody else. Pray is Miss Pinch at home?'

'She's IN' replied the footman. As much as to say to Tom: 'But if
you think she has anything to do with the proprietorship of this
place you had better abandon that idea.'

'I wish to see herif you please' said Tom.

The footmanbeing a lively young manhappened to have his
attention caught at that moment by the flight of a pigeonin which
he took so warm an interest that his gaze was rivetted on the bird
until it was quite out of sight. He then invited Tom to come in
and showed him into a parlour.

'Hany neem?' said the young manpausing languidly at the door.

It was a good thought; because without providing the strangerin
case he should happen to be of a warm temperwith a sufficient
excuse for knocking him downit implied this young man's estimate
of his qualityand relieved his breast of the oppressive burden of
rating him in secret as a nameless and obscure individual.

'Say her brotherif you please' said Tom.

'Mother?' drawled the footman.

'Brother' repeated Tomslightly raising his voice. 'And if you
will sayin the first instancea gentlemanand then say her
brotherI shall be obliged to youas she does not expect me or
know I am in Londonand I do not wish to startle her.'

The young man's interest in Tom's observations had ceased long
before this timebut he kindly waited until now; whenshutting the
doorhe withdrew.

'Dear me!' said Tom. 'This is very disrespectful and uncivil
behaviour. I hope these are new servants hereand that Ruth is
very differently treated.'

His cogitations were interrupted by the sound of voices in the
adjoining room. They seemed to be engaged in high disputeor in


indignant reprimand of some offender; and gathering strength
occasionallybroke out into a perfect whirlwind. It was in one of
these gustsas it appeared to Tomthat the footman announced him;
for an abrupt and unnatural calm took placeand then a dead
silence. He was standing before the windowwondering what domestic
quarrel might have caused these soundsand hoping Ruth had nothing
to do with itwhen the door openedand his sister ran into his
arms.

'Whybless my soul!' said Tomlooking at her with great pride
when they had tenderly embraced each other'how altered you are
Ruth! I should scarcely have known youmy loveif I had seen you
anywhere elseI declare! You are so improved' said Tomwith
inexpressible delight; 'you are so womanly; you are so--positively
you knowyou are so handsome!'

'If YOU think so Tom--'

'Ohbut everybody must think soyou know' said Tomgently
smoothing down her hair. 'It's matter of fact; not opinion. But
what's the matter?' said Tomlooking at her more intently'how
flushed you are! and you have been crying.'

'NoI have notTom.'

'Nonsense' said her brother stoutly. 'That's a story. Don't tell
me! I know better. What is itdear? I'm not with Mr Pecksniff
now. I am going to try and settle myself in London; and if you are
not happy here (as I very much fear you are notfor I begin to
think you have been deceiving me with the kindest and most
affectionate intention) you shall not remain here.'

Oh! Tom's blood was rising; mind that! Perhaps the Boar's Head had
something to do with itbut certainly the footman had. So had the
sight of his pretty sister--a great deal to do with it. Tom could
bear a good deal himselfbut he was proud of herand pride is a
sensitive thing. He began to think'there are more Pecksniffs than
oneperhaps' and by all the pins and needles that run up and down
in angry veinsTom was in a most unusual tingle all at once!

'We will talk about itTom' said Ruthgiving him another kiss to
pacify him. 'I am afraid I cannot stay here.'

'Cannot!' replied Tom. 'Why thenyou shall notmy love. Heyday!
You are not an object of charity! Upon my word!'

Tom was stopped in these exclamations by the footmanwho brought a
message from his masterimporting that he wished to speak with him
before he wentand with Miss Pinch also.

'Show the way' said Tom. 'I'll wait upon him at once.'

Accordingly they entered the adjoining room from which the noise of
altercation had proceeded; and there they found a middle-aged
gentlemanwith a pompous voice and mannerand a middle-aged lady
with what may be termed an excisable faceor one in which starch
and vinegar were decidedly employed. There was likewise present
that eldest pupil of Miss Pinchwhom Mrs Todgerson a previous
occasionhad called a syrupand who was now weeping and sobbing
spitefully.

'My brothersir' said Ruth Pinchtimidly presenting Tom.

'Oh!' cried the gentlemansurveying Tom attentively. 'You really


are Miss Pinch's brotherI presume? You will excuse my asking. I
don't observe any resemblance.'

'Miss Pinch has a brotherI know' observed the lady.

'Miss Pinch is always talking about her brotherwhen she ought to
be engaged upon my education' sobbed the pupil.

'Sophia! Hold your tongue!' observed the gentleman. 'Sit downif
you please' addressing Tom.

Tom sat downlooking from one face to anotherin mute surprise.

'Remain hereif you pleaseMiss Pinch' pursued the gentleman
looking slightly over his shoulder.

Tom interrupted him hereby rising to place a chair for his sister.
Having done which he sat down again.

'I am glad you chance to have called to see your sister to-day
sir' resumed the brass-and-copper founder. 'For although I do not
approveas a principleof any young person engaged in my family in
the capacity of a governessreceiving visitorsit happens in this
case to be well timed. I am sorry to inform you that we are not at
all satisfied with your sister.'

'We are very much DISsatisfied with her' observed the lady.

'I'd never say another lesson to Miss Pinch if I was to be beat to
death for it!' sobbed the pupil.

'Sophia!' cried her father. 'Hold your tongue!'

'Will you allow me to inquire what your ground of dissatisfaction
is?' asked Tom.

'Yes' said the gentleman'I will. I don't recognize it as a
right; but I will. Your sister has not the slightest innate power
of commanding respect. It has been a constant source of difference
between us. Although she has been in this family for some timeand
although the young lady who is now present has almostas it were
grown up under her tuitionthat young lady has no respect for her.
Miss Pinch has been perfectly unable to command my daughter's
respector to win my daughter's confidence. Now' said the
gentlemanallowing the palm of his hand to fall gravely down upon
the table: 'I maintain that there is something radically wrong in
that! Youas her brothermay be disposed to deny it--'

'I beg your pardonsir' said Tom. 'I am not at all disposed to
deny it. I am sure that there is something radically wrong;
radically monstrousin that.'

'Good Heavens!' cried the gentlemanlooking round the room with
dignity'what do I find to be the case! what results obtrude
themselves upon me as flowing from this weakness of character on the
part of Miss Pinch! What are my feelings as a fatherwhenafter my
desire (repeatedly expressed to Miss Pinchas I think she will not
venture to deny) that my daughter should be choice in her
expressionsgenteel in her deportmentas becomes her station in
lifeand politely distant to her inferiors in societyI find her
only this very morningaddressing Miss Pinch herself as a beggar!'

'A beggarly thing' observed the ladyin correction.


'Which is worse' said the gentlemantriumphantly; 'which is worse.
A beggarly thing. A lowcoarsedespicable expression!'

'Most despicable' cried Tom. 'I am glad to find that there is a
just appreciation of it here.'

'So justsir' said the gentlemanlowering his voice to be the
more impressive. 'So justthatbut for my knowing Miss Pinch to
be an unprotected young personan orphanand without friendsI
wouldas I assured Miss Pinchupon my veracity and personal
charactera few minutes agoI would have severed the connection
between us at that moment and from that time.'

'Bless my soulsir!' cried Tomrising from his seat; for he was
now unable to contain himself any longer; 'don't allow such
considerations as those to influence youpray. They don't exist
sir. She is not unprotected. She is ready to depart this instant.
Ruthmy dearget your bonnet on!'

'Oha pretty family!' cried the lady. 'Ohhe's her brother!
There's no doubt about that!'

'As little doubtmadam' said Tom'as that the young lady yonder
is the child of your teachingand not my sister's. Ruthmy dear
get your bonnet on!'

'When you sayyoung man' interposed the brass-and-copper founder
haughtily'with that impertinence which is natural to youand
which I therefore do not condescend to notice furtherthat the
young ladymy eldest daughterhas been educated by any one but
Miss Pinchyou--I needn't proceed. You comprehend me fully. I
have no doubt you are used to it.'

'Sir!' cried Tomafter regarding him in silence for some little
time. 'If you do not understand what I meanI will tell you. If
you do understand what I meanI beg you not to repeat that mode of
expressing yourself in answer to it. My meaning isthat no man can
expect his children to respect what he degrades.'

'Hahaha!' laughed the gentleman. 'Cant! cant! The common cant!'

'The common storysir!' said Tom; 'the story of a common mind.
Your governess cannot win the confidence and respect of your
childrenforsooth! Let her begin by winning yoursand see what
happens then.'

'Miss Pinch is getting her bonnet onI trustmy dear?' said the
gentleman.

'I trust she is' said Tomforestalling the reply. 'I have no
doubt she is. In the meantime I address myself to yousir. You
made your statement to mesir; you required to see me for that
purpose; and I have a right to answer it. I am not loud or
turbulent' said Tomwhich was quite true'though I can scarcely
say as much for youin your manner of addressing yourself to me.
And I wishon my sister's behalfto state the simple truth.'

'You may state anything you likeyoung man' returned the
gentlemanaffecting to yawn. 'My dearMiss Pinch's money.'

'When you tell me' resumed Tomwho was not the less indignant for
keeping himself quiet'that my sister has no innate power of
commanding the respect of your childrenI must tell you it is not
so; and that she has. She is as well bredas well taughtas well


qualified by nature to command respectas any hirer of a governess
you know. But when you place her at a disadvantage in reference to
every servant in your househow can you supposeif you have the
gift of common sensethat she is not in a tenfold worse position in
reference to your daughters?'

'Pretty well! Upon my word' exclaimed the gentleman'this is
pretty well!'

'It is very illsir' said Tom. 'It is very bad and meanand
wrong and cruel. Respect! I believe young people are quick enough
to observe and imitate; and why or how should they respect whom no
one else respectsand everybody slights? And very partial they
must grow--ohvery partial!--to their studieswhen they see to
what a pass proficiency in those same tasks has brought their
governess! Respect! Put anything the most deserving of respect
before your daughters in the light in which you place herand you
will bring it down as lowno matter what it is!'

'You speak with extreme impertinenceyoung man' observed the
gentleman.

'I speak without passionbut with extreme indignation and contempt
for such a course of treatmentand for all who practice it' said
Tom. 'Whyhow can youas an honest gentlemanprofess displeasure
or surprise at your daughter telling my sister she is something
beggarly and humblewhen you are for ever telling her the same
thing yourself in fifty plainoutspeaking waysthough not in
words; and when your very porter and footman make the same delicate
announcement to all comers? As to your suspicion and distrust of
her; even of her word; if she is not above their reachyou have no
right to employ her.'

'No right!' cried the brass-and-copper founder.

'Distinctly not' Tom answered. 'If you imagine that the payment of
an annual sum of money gives it to youyou immensely exaggerate its
power and value. Your money is the least part of your bargain in
such a case. You may be punctual in that to half a second on the
clockand yet be Bankrupt. I have nothing more to say' said Tom
much flushed and flusterednow that it was over'except to crave
permission to stand in your garden until my sister is ready.'

Not waiting to obtain itTom walked out.

Before he had well begun to coolhis sister joined him. She was
crying; and Tom could not bear that any one about the house should
see her doing that.

'They will think you are sorry to go' said Tom. 'You are not sorry
to go?'

'NoTomno. I have been anxious to go for a very long time.'

'Very wellthen! Don't cry!' said Tom.

'I am so sorry for YOUdear' sobbed Tom's sister.

'But you ought to be glad on my account' said Tom. 'I shall be
twice as happy with you for a companion. Hold up your head. There!
Now we go out as we ought. Not blusteringyou knowbut firm and
confident in ourselves.'

The idea of Tom and his sister blusteringunder any circumstances


was a splendid absurdity. But Tom was very far from feeling it to
be soin his excitement; and passed out at the gate with such
severe determination written in his face that the porter hardly knew
him again.

It was not until they had walked some short distanceand Tom found
himself getting cooler and more collectedthat he was quite
restored to himself by an inquiry from his sisterwho said in her
pleasant little voice:

'Where are we goingTom?'

'Dear me!' said Tomstopping'I don't know.'

'Don't you--don't you live anywheredear?' asked Tom's sister
looking wistfully in his face.

'No' said Tom. 'Not at present. Not exactly. I only arrived this
morning. We must have some lodgings.'

He didn't tell her that he had been going to stay with his friend
Johnand could on no account think of billeting two inmates upon
himof whom one was a young lady; for he knew that would make her
uncomfortableand would cause her to regard herself as being an
inconvenience to him. Neither did he like to leave her anywhere
while he called on Johnand told him of this change in his
arrangements; for he was delicate of seeming to encroach upon the
generous and hospitable nature of his friend. Therefore he said
again'We must have some lodgingsof course;' and said it as
stoutly as if he had been a perfect Directory and Guide-Book to all
the lodgings in London.

'Where shall we go and look for 'em?' said Tom. 'What do you
think?'

Tom's sister was not much wiser on such a topic than he was. So she
squeezed her little purse into his coat-pocketand folding the
little hand with which she did so on the other little hand with
which she clasped his armsaid nothing.

'It ought to be a cheap neighbourhood' said Tom'and not too far
from London. Let me see. Should you think Islington a good place?'

'I should think it was an excellent placeTom.'

'It used to be called Merry Islingtononce upon a time' said Tom.
'Perhaps it's merry now; if soit's all the better. Eh?'

'If it's not too dear' said Tom's sister.

'Of courseif it's not too dear' assented Tom. 'Wellwhere IS
Islington? We can't do better than go thereI should think. Let's
go.'

Tom's sister would have gone anywhere with him; so they walked off
arm in armas comfortably as possible. Findingpresentlythat
Islington was not in that neighbourhoodTom made inquiries
respecting a public conveyance thither; which they soon obtained.
As they rode along they were very full of conversation indeedTom
relating what had happened to himand Tom's sister relating what
had happened to herand both finding a great deal more to say than
time to say it in; for they had only just begun to talkin
comparison with what they had to tell each otherwhen they reached
their journey's end.


'Now' said Tom'we must first look out for some very unpretending
streetsand then look out for bills in the windows.'

So they walked off againquite as happily as if they had just
stepped out of a snug little house of their ownto look for
lodgings on account of somebody else. Tom's simplicity was
unabatedHeaven knows; but now that he had somebody to rely upon
himhe was stimulated to rely a little more upon himselfand was
in his own opinionquite a desperate fellow.

After roaming up and down for hourslooking at some scores of
lodgingsthey began to find it rather fatiguingespecially as they
saw none which were at all adapted to their purpose. At length
howeverin a singular little old-fashioned houseup a blind
streetthey discovered two small bedrooms and a triangular parlour
which promised to suit them well enough. Their desiring to take
possession immediately was a suspicious circumstancebut even this
was surmounted by the payment of their first week's rentand a
reference to John WestlockEsquireFurnival's InnHigh Holborn.

Ah! It was a goodly sightwhen this important point was settledto
behold Tom and his sister trotting round to the baker'sand the
butcher'sand the grocer'swith a kind of dreadful delight in the
unaccustomed cares of housekeeping; taking secret counsel together
as they gave their small ordersand distracted by the least
suggestion on the part of the shopkeeper! When they got back to the
triangular parlourand Tom's sisterbustling to and frobusy
about a thousand pleasant nothingsstopped every now and then to
give old Tom a kiss or smile upon himTom rubbed his hands as if
all Islington were his.

It was late in the afternoon nowthoughand high time for Tom to
keep his appointment. Soafter agreeing with his sister that in
consideration of not having dinedthey would venture on the
extravagance of chops for supper at ninehe walked out again to
narrate these marvellous occurrences to John.

'I am quite a family man all at once' thought Tom. 'If I can only
get something to dohow comfortable Ruth and I may be! Ahthat if!
But it's of no use to despond. I can but do thatwhen I have tried
everything and failed; and even then it won't serve me much. Upon
my word' thought Tomquickening his pace'I don't know what John
will think has become of me. He'll begin to be afraid I have
strayed into one of those streets where the countrymen are murdered;
and that I have been made meat pies ofor some such horrible
thing.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

TOM PINCHGOING ASTRAYFINDS THAT HE IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN
THAT PREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A FALLEN FOE

Tom's evil genius did not lead him into the dens of any of those
preparers of cannibalic pastrywho are represented in many standard
country legends as doing a lively retail business in the Metropolis;
nor did it mark him out as the prey of ring-dropperspea and
thimble-riggersdufferstoutersor any of those bloodless
sharperswho areperhapsa little better known to the Police. He
fell into conversation with no gentleman who took him into a publichouse
where there happened to be another gentleman who swore he had


more money than any gentlemanand very soon proved he had more
money than one gentleman by taking his away from him; neither did he
fall into any other of the numerous man-traps which are set up
without noticein the public grounds of this city. But he lost his
way. He very soon did that; and in trying to find it again he lost
it more and more.

NowTomin his guileless distrust of Londonthought himself very
knowing in coming to the determination that he would not ask to be
directed to Furnival's Innif he could help it; unlessindeedhe
should happen to find himself near the Mintor the Bank of England;
in which case he would step inand ask a civil question or two
confiding in the perfect respectability of the concern. So on he
wentlooking up all the streets he came nearand going up half of
them; and thusby dint of not being true to Goswell Streetand
filing off into Aldermanburyand bewildering himself in Barbican
and being constant to the wrong point of the compass in London Wall
and then getting himself crosswise into Thames Streetby an
instinct that would have been marvellous if he had had the least
desire or reason to go therehe found himselfat lasthard by the
Monument.

The Man in the Monument was quite as mysterious a being to Tom as
the Man in the Moon. It immediately occurred to him that the lonely
creature who held himself aloof from all mankind in that pillar like
some old hermit was the very man of whom to ask his way. Coldhe
might be; little sympathy he hadperhapswith human passion--the
column seemed too tall for that; but if Truth didn't live in the
base of the Monumentnotwithstanding Pope's couplet about the
outside of itwhere in London (thought Tom) was she likely to be
found!

Coming close below the pillarit was a great encouragement to Tom
to find that the Man in the Monument had simple tastes; that stony
and artificial as his residence washe still preserved some rustic
recollections; that he liked plantshung up bird-cageswas not
wholly cut off from fresh groundseland kept young trees in tubs.
The Man in the Monumenthimselfwas sitting outside the door--his
own door: the Monument-door: what a grand idea!--and was actually
yawningas if there were no Monument to stop his mouthand give
him a perpetual interest in his own existence.

Tom was advancing towards this remarkable creatureto inquire the
way to Furnival's Innwhen two people came to see the Monument.
They were a gentleman and a lady; and the gentleman said'How much
a-piece?'

The Man in the Monument replied'A Tanner.'

It seemed a low expressioncompared with the Monument.

The gentleman put a shilling into his handand the Man in the
Monument opened a dark little door. When the gentleman and lady had
passed out of viewhe shut it againand came slowly back to his
chair.

He sat down and laughed.

'They don't know what a many steps there is!' he said. 'It's worth
twice the money to stop here. Ohmy eye!'

The Man in the Monument was a Cynic; a worldly man! Tom couldn't ask
his way of HIM. He was prepared to put no confidence in anything he
said.


'My gracious!' cried a well-known voice behind Mr Pinch. 'Whyto
be sure it is!'

At the same time he was poked in the back by a parasol. Turning
round to inquire into this salutehe beheld the eldest daughter of
his late patron.

'Miss Pecksniff!' said Tom.

'Whymy goodnessMr Pinch!' cried Cherry. 'What are you doing
here?'

'I have rather wandered from my way' said Tom. 'I--'

'I hope you have run away' said Charity. 'It would be quite
spirited and proper if you hadwhen my Papa so far forgets
himself.'

'I have left him' returned Tom. 'But it was perfectly understood
on both sides. It was not done clandestinely.'

'Is he married?' asked Cherrywith a spasmodic shake of her chin.

'Nonot yet' said Tomcolouring; 'to tell you the truthI don't
think he is likely to beif--if Miss Graham is the object of his
passion.'

'TchaMr Pinch!' cried Charitywith sharp impatience'you're very
easily deceived. You don't know the arts of which such a creature
is capable. Oh! it's a wicked world.'

'You are not married?' Tom hintedto divert the conversation.

'N--no!' said Cherrytracing out one particular paving-stone in
Monument Yard with the end of her parasol. 'I--but really it's
quite impossible to explain. Won't you walk in?'

'You live herethen?' said Tom

'Yes' returned Miss Pecksniffpointing with her parasol to
Todgers's; 'I reside with this ladyAT PRESENT.'

The great stress on the two last words suggested to Tom that he was
expected to say something in reference to them. So he said.

'Only at present! Are you going home again soon?'

'NoMr Pinch' returned Charity. 'Nothank you. No! A mother-inlaw
who is younger than--I mean to saywho is as nearly as possible
about the same age as one's selfwould not quite suit my spirit.
Not quite!' said Cherrywith a spiteful shiver.

'I thought from your saying "at present"'--Tom observed.

'Reallyupon my word! I had no idea you would press me so very
closely on the subjectMr Pinch' said Charityblushing'or I
should not have been so foolish as to allude to--oh really!--won't
you walk in?'

Tom mentionedto excuse himselfthat he had an appointment in
Furnival's Innand that coming from Islington he had taken a few
wrong turningsand arrived at the Monument instead. Miss Pecksniff
simpered very much when he asked her if she knew the way to


Furnival's Innand at length found courage to reply.

'A gentleman who is a friend of mineor at least who is not exactly
a friend so much as a sort of acquaintance--Oh upon my wordI
hardly know what I sayMr Pinch; you mustn't suppose there is any
engagement between us; or at least if there isthat it is at all a
settled thing as yet--is going to Furnival's Inn immediatelyI
believe upon a little businessand I am sure he would be very glad
to accompany youso as to prevent your going wrong again. You had
better walk in. You will very likely find my sister Merry here'
she said with a curious toss of her headand anything but an
agreeable smile.

'ThenI thinkI'll endeavour to find my way alone' said Tom'for
I fear she would not be very glad to see me. That unfortunate
occurrencein relation to which you and I had some amicable words
togetherin privateis not likely to have impressed her with any
friendly feeling towards me. Though it really was not my fault.'

'She has never heard of thatyou may depend' said Cherry
gathering up the corners of her mouthand nodding at Tom. 'I am
far from sure that she would bear you any mighty ill will for itif
she had.'

'You don't say so?' cried Tomwho was really concerned by this
insinuation.

'I say nothing' said Charity. 'If I had not already known what
shocking things treachery and deceit are in themselvesMr PinchI
might perhaps have learnt it from the success they meet with--from
the success they meet with.' Here she smiled as before. 'But I
don't say anything. On the contraryI should scorn it. You had
better walk in!'

There was something hidden herewhich piqued Tom's interest and
troubled his tender heart. Whenin a moment's irresolutionhe
looked at Charityhe could not but observe a struggle in her face
between a sense of triumph and a sense of shame; nor could he but
remark howmeeting even his eyeswhich she cared so little for
she turned away her ownfor all the splenetic defiance in her
manner.

An uneasy thought entered Tom's head; a shadowy misgiving that the
altered relations between himself and Pecksniff were somehow to
involve an altered knowledge on his part of other peopleand were
to give him an insight into much of which he had had no previous
suspicion. And yet he put no definite construction upon Charity's
proceedings. He certainly had no idea that as he had been the
audience and spectator of her mortificationshe grasped with eager
delight at any opportunity of reproaching her sister with his
presence in HER far deeper misery; for he knew nothing of itand
only pictured that sister as the same giddycarelesstrivial
creature she always had beenwith the same slight estimation of
himself which she had never been at the least pains to conceal. In
shorthe had merely a confused impression that Miss Pecksniff was
not quite sisterly or kind; and being curious to set it right
accompanied her as she desired.

The house-door being openedshe went in before Tomrequesting him
to follow her; and led the way to the parlour door.

'OhMerry!' she saidlooking in'I am so glad you have not gone
home. Who do you think I have met in the streetand brought to see
you! Mr Pinch! There. Now you ARE surprisedI am sure!'


Not more surprised than Tom waswhen he looked upon her. Not so
much. Not half so much.

'Mr Pinch has left Papamy dear' said Cherry'and his prospects
are quite flourishing. I have promised that Augustuswho is going
that wayshall escort him to the place he wants. Augustusmy
childwhere are you?'

With these words Miss Pecksniff screamed her way out of the parlour
calling on Augustus Moddle to appear; and left Tom Pinch alone with
her sister.

If she had always been his kindest friend; if she had treated him
through all his servitude with such consideration as was never yet
received by struggling man; if she had lightened every moment of
those many yearsand had ever spared and never wounded him; his
honest heart could not have swelled before her with a deeper pity
or a purer freedom from all base remembrance than it did then.

'My gracious me! You are really the last person in the world I
should have thought of seeingI am sure!'

Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old manner. He had not
expected that. Yet he did not feel it a contradiction that he
should be sorry to see her so unlike her old selfand sorry at the
same time to hear her speaking in her old manner. The two things
seemed quite natural.

'I wonder you find any gratification in coming to see me. I can't
think what put it in your head. I never had much in seeing you.
There was no love lost between usMr Pinchat any timeI think.'

Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofaand she was very busy with
the ribbons as she spoke. Much too busy to be conscious of the work
her fingers did.

'We never quarrelled' said Tom.--Tom was right in thatfor one
person can no more quarrel without an adversarythan one person can
play at chessor fight a duel. 'I hoped you would be glad to shake
hands with an old friend. Don't let us rake up bygones' said Tom.
'If I ever offended youforgive me.'

She looked at him for a moment; dropped her bonnet from her hands;
spread them before her altered faceand burst into tears.

'OhMr Pinch!' she said'although I never used you wellI did
believe your nature was forgiving. I did not think you could be
cruel.'

She spoke as little like her old self nowfor certainas Tom could
possibly have wished. But she seemed to be appealing to him
reproachfullyand he did not understand her.

'I seldom showed it--never--I know that. But I had that belief in
youthat if I had been asked to name the person in the world least
likely to retort upon meI would have named youconfidently.'

'Would have named me!' Tom repeated.

'Yes' she said with energy'and I have often thought so.'

After a moment's reflectionTom sat himself upon a chair beside
her.


'Do you believe' said Tom'ohcan you thinkthat what I said
just nowI said with any but the true and plain intention which my
words professed? I mean itin the spirit and the letter. If I
ever offended youforgive me; I may have done somany times. You
never injured or offended me. Howthencould I possibly retort
if even I were stern and bad enough to wish to do it!'

After a little while she thanked himthrough her tears and sobs
and told him she had never been at once so sorry and so comforted
since she left home. Still she wept bitterly; and it was the
greater pain to Tom to see her weepingfrom her standing in
especial needjust thenof sympathy and tenderness.

'Comecome!' said Tom'you used to be as cheerful as the day was
long.'

'Ah! used!' she criedin such a tone as rent Tom's heart.

'And will be again' said Tom.

'Nonever more. Nonevernever more. If you should talk with
old Mr Chuzzlewitat any time' she addedlooking hurriedly into
his face--'I sometimes thought he liked youbut suppressed it--will
you promise me to tell him that you saw me hereand that I said I
bore in mind the time we talked together in the churchyard?'

Tom promised that he would.

'Many times since thenwhen I have wished I had been carried there
before that dayI have recalled his words. I wish that he should
know how true they werealthough the least acknowledgment to that
effect has never passed my lips and never will.'

Tom promised thisconditionally too. He did not tell her how
improbable it was that he and the old man would ever meet again
because he thought it might disturb her more.

'If he should ever know thisthrough your meansdear Mr Pinch'
said Mercy'tell him that I sent the messagenot for myselfbut
that he might be more forbearing and more patientand more trustful
to some other personin some other time of need. Tell him that if
he could know how my heart trembled in the balance that dayand
what a very little would have turned the scalehis own would bleed
with pity for me.'

'Yesyes' said Tom'I will.'

'When I appeared to him the most unworthy of his helpI was--I know
I wasfor I have oftenoftenthought about it since--the most
inclined to yield to what he showed me. Oh! if he had relented but
a little more; if he had thrown himself in my way for but one other
quarter of an hour; if he had extended his compassion for a vain
unthinkingmiserable girlin but the least degree; he mightand I
believe he wouldhave saved her! Tell him that I don't blame him
but am grateful for the effort that he made; but ask him for the
love of Godand youthand in merciful consideration for the
struggle which an ill-advised and unwakened nature makes to hide the
strength it thinks its weakness--ask him neverneverto forget
thiswhen he deals with one again!'

Although Tom did not hold the clue to her full meaninghe could
guess it pretty nearly. Touched to the quickhe took her hand and
saidor meant to saysome words of consolation. She felt and


understood themwhether they were spoken or no. He was not quite
certainafterwardsbut that she had tried to kneel down at his
feetand bless him.

He found that he was not alone in the room when she had left it.
Mrs Todgers was thereshaking her head. Tom had never seen Mrs
Todgersit is needless to saybut he had a perception of her being
the lady of the house; and he saw some genuine compassion in her
eyesthat won his good opinion.

'Ahsir! You are an old friendI see' said Mrs Todgers.

'Yes' said Tom.

'And yet' quoth Mrs Todgersshutting the door softly'she hasn't
told you what her troubles areI'm certain.'

Tom was struck by these wordsfor they were quite true. 'Indeed'
he said'she has not.'

'And never would' said Mrs Todgers'if you saw her daily. She
never makes the least complaint to meor utters a single word of
explanation or reproach. But I know' said Mrs Todgersdrawing in
her breath'I know!'

Tom nodded sorrowfully'So do I.'

'I fully believe' said Mrs Todgerstaking her pocket-handkerchief
from the flat reticule'that nobody can tell one half of what that
poor young creature has to undergo. But though she comes here
constantlyto ease her poor full heart without his knowing it; and
sayingMrs Todgers, I am very low to-day; I think that I shall
soon be dead,sits crying in my room until the fit is past; I know
no more from her. AndI believe' said Mrs Todgersputting back
her handkerchief again'that she considers me a good friend too.'

Mrs Todgers might have said her best friend. Commercial gentlemen
and gravy had tried Mrs Todgers's temper; the main chance--it was
such a very small one in her casethat she might have been excused
for looking sharp after itlest it should entirely vanish from her
sight--had taken a firm hold on Mrs Todgers's attention. But in
some odd nook in Mrs Todgers's breastup a great many stepsand in
a corner easy to be overlookedthere was a secret doorwith
'Woman' written on the springwhichat a touch from Mercy's hand
had flown wide openand admitted her for shelter.

When boarding-house accounts are balanced with all other ledgers
and the books of the Recording Angel are made up for everperhaps
there may be seen an entry to thy creditlean Mrs Todgerswhich
shall make thee beautiful!

She was growing beautiful so rapidly in Tom's eyes; for he saw that
she was poorand that this good had sprung up in her from among the
sordid strivings of her life; that she might have been a very Venus
in a minute moreif Miss Pecksniff had not entered with her friend.

'Mr Thomas Pinch!' said Charityperforming the ceremony of
introduction with evident pride. 'Mr Moddle. Where's my sister?'

'GoneMiss Pecksniff' Mrs Todgers answered. 'She had appointed to
be home.'

'Ah!' said Charitylooking at Tom. 'Ohdear me!'


'She's greatly altered since she's been Anoth--since she's been
marriedMrs Todgers!' observed Moddle.

'My dear Augustus!' said Miss Pecksniffin a low voice. 'I verily
believe you have said that fifty thousand timesin my hearing.
What a Prose you are!'

This was succeeded by some trifling love passageswhich appeared to
originate withif not to be wholly carried on by Miss Pecksniff.
At any rateMr Moddle was much slower in his responses than is
customary with young loversand exhibited a lowness of spirits
which was quite oppressive.

He did not improve at all when Tom and he were in the streetsbut
sighed so dismally that it was dreadful to hear him. As a means of
cheering him upTom told him that he wished him joy.

'Joy!' cried Moddle. 'Haha!'

'What an extraordinary young man!' thought Tom.

'The Scorner has not set his seal upon you. YOU care what becomes
of you?' said Moddle.

Tom admitted that it was a subject in which he certainly felt some
interest.

'I don't' said Mr Moddle. 'The Elements may have me when they
please. I'm ready.'

Tom inferred from theseand other expressions of the same nature
that he was jealous. Therefore he allowed him to take his own
course; which was such a gloomy onethat he felt a load removed
from his mind when they parted company at the gate of Furnival's
Inn.

It was now a couple of hours past John Westlock's dinner-time; and
he was walking up and down the roomquite anxious for Tom's safety.
The table was spread; the wine was carefully decanted; and the
dinner smelt delicious.

'WhyTomold boywhere on earth have you been? Your box is here.
Get your boots off instantlyand sit down!'

'I am sorry to say I can't stayJohn' replied Tom Pinchwho was
breathless with the haste he had made in running up the stairs.

'Can't stay!'

'If you'll go on with your dinner' said Tom'I'll tell you my
reason the while. I mustn't eat myselfor I shall have no appetite
for the chops.'

'There are no chops heremy food fellow.'

'No. But there are at Islington' said Tom.

John Westlock was perfectly confounded by this replyand vowed he
would not touch a morsel until Tom had explained himself fully. So
Tom sat downand told him all; to which he listened with the
greatest interest.

He knew Tom too welland respected his delicacy too muchto ask
him why he had taken these measures without communicating with him


first. He quite concurred in the expediency of Tom's immediately
returning to his sisteras he knew so little of the place in
which he had left herand good-humouredly proposed to ride back
with him in a cabin which he might convey his box. Tom's
proposition that he should sup with them that nighthe flatly
rejectedbut made an appointment with him for the morrow. 'And now
Tom' he saidas they rode along'I have a question to ask you to
which I expect a manly and straightforward answer. Do you want any
money? I am pretty sure you do.'

'I don't indeed' said Tom.

'I believe you are deceiving me.'

'No. With many thanks to youI am quite in earnest' Tom replied.
'My sister has some moneyand so have I. If I had nothing else
JohnI have a five-pound notewhich that good creatureMrs Lupin
of the Dragonhanded up to me outside the coachin a letter
begging me to borrow it; and then drove off as hard as she could
go.'

'And a blessing on every dimple in her handsome facesay I!' cried
John'though why you should give her the preference over meI
don't know. Never mind. I bide my timeTom.'

'And I hope you'll continue to bide it' returned Tomgayly. 'For
I owe you morealreadyin a hundred other waysthan I can ever
hope to pay.'

They parted at the door of Tom's new residence. John Westlock
sitting in the cabandcatching a glimpse of a blooming little
busy creature darting out to kiss Tom and to help him with his box
would not have had the least objection to change places with him.

Well! she WAS a cheerful little thing; and had a quaintbright
quietness about her that was infinitely pleasant. Surely she was
the best sauce for chops ever invented. The potatoes seemed to take
a pleasure in sending up their grateful steam before her; the froth
upon the pint of porter pouted to attract her notice. But it was
all in vain. She saw nothing but Tom. Tom was the first and last
thing in the world.

As she sat opposite to Tom at supperfingering one of Tom's pet
tunes upon the table-clothand smiling in his facehe had never
been so happy in his life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

SECRET SERVICE

In walking from the city with his sentimental friendTom Pinch had
looked into the faceand brushed against the threadbare sleeveof
Mr Nadgettman of mystery to the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan
and Life Assurance Company. Mr Nadgett naturally passed away from
Tom's remembrance as he passed out of his view; for he didn't know
himand had never heard his name.

As there are a vast number of people in the huge metropolis of
England who rise up every morning not knowing where their heads will
rest at nightso there are a multitude who shooting arrows over
houses as their daily businessnever know on whom they fall. Mr


Nadgett might have passed Tom Pinch ten thousand times; might even
have been quite familiar with his facehis namepursuitsand
character; yet never once have dreamed that Tom had any interest in
any act or mystery of his. Tom might have done the like by him of
course. But the same private man out of all the men alivewas in
the mind of each at the same moment; was prominently connected
though in a different mannerwith the day's adventures of both; and
formedwhen they passed each other in the streetthe one absorbing
topic of their thoughts.

Why Tom had Jonas Chuzzlewit in his mind requires no explanation.
Why Mr Nadgett should have had Jonas Chuzzlewit in hisis quite
another thing.

Butsomehow or otherthat amiable and worthy orphan had become a
part of the mystery of Mr Nadgett's existence. Mr Nadgett took an
interest in his lightest proceedings; and it never flagged or
wavered. He watched him in and out of the Assurance Officewhere
he was now formally installed as a Director; he dogged his footsteps
in the streets; he stood listening when he talked; he sat in coffeerooms
entering his name in the great pocket-bookover and over
again; he wrote letters to himself about him constantly; andwhen
he found them in his pocketput them in the firewith such
distrust and caution that he would bend down to watch the crumpled
tinder while it floated upwardsas if his mind misgave himthat
the mystery it had contained might come out at the chimney-pot.

And yet all this was quite a secret. Mr Nadgett kept it to himself
and kept it close. Jonas had no more idea that Mr Nadgett's eyes
were fixed on himthan he had that he was living under the daily
inspection and report of a whole order of Jesuits. Indeed Mr
Nadgett's eyes were seldom fixed on any other objects than the
groundthe clockor the fire; but every button on his coat might
have been an eyehe saw so much.

The secret manner of the man disarmed suspicion in this wise;
suggestingnot that he was watching any onebut that he thought
some other man was watching him. He went about so stealthilyand
kept himself so wrapped up in himselfthat the whole object of his
life appeared to beto avoid notice and preserve his own mystery.
Jonas sometimes saw him in the streethovering in the outer office
waiting at the door for the man who never cameor slinking off with
his immovable face and drooping headand the one beaver glove
dangling before him; but he would as soon have thought of the cross
upon the top of St. Paul's Cathedral taking note of what he didor
slowly winding a great net about his feetas of Nadgett's being
engaged in such an occupation.

Mr Nadgett made a mysterious change about this time in his
mysterious life: for whereas he haduntil nowbeen first seen
every morning coming down Cornhillso exactly like the Nadgett of
the day before as to occasion a popular belief that he never went to
bed or took his clothes offhe was now first seen in Holborn
coming out of Kingsgate Street; and it was soon discovered that he
actually went every morning to a barber's shop in that street to get
shaved; and that the barber's name was Sweedlepipe. He seemed to
make appointments with the man who never cameto meet him at this
barber's; for he would frequently take long spells of waiting in the
shopand would ask for pen and inkand pull out his pocket-book
and be very busy over it for an hour at a time. Mrs Gamp and Mr
Sweedlepipe had many deep discoursings on the subject of this
mysterious customer; but they usually agreed that he had speculated
too much and was keeping out of the way.


He must have appointed the man who never kept his wordto meet him
at another new place too; for one day he was foundfor the first
timeby the waiter at the Mourning Coach-Horsethe House-of-call
for Undertakersdown in the City theremaking figures with a pipestem
in the sawdust of a clean spittoon; and declining to call for
anythingon the ground of expecting a gentleman presently. As the
gentleman was not honourable enough to keep his engagementhe came
again next daywith his pocket-book in such a state of distention
that he was regarded in the bar as a man of large property. After
thathe repeated his visits every dayand had so much writing to
dothat he made nothing of emptying a capacious leaden inkstand in
two sittings. Although he never talked muchstillby being there
among the regular customershe made their acquaintance. and in
course of time became quite intimate with Mr TackerMr Mould's
foreman; and even with Mr Mould himselfwho openly said he was a
long-headed mana dry onea salt fisha deep filea rasper; and
made him the subject of many other flattering encomiums.

At the same timetoohe told the people at the Assurance Office
in his own mysterious waythat there was something wrong (secretly
wrongof course) in his liverand that he feared he must put
himself under the doctor's hands. He was delivered over to Jobling
upon this representation; and though Jobling could not find out
where his liver was wrongwrong Mr Nadgett said it was; observing
that it was his own liverand he hoped he ought to know.
Accordinglyhe became Mr Jobling's patient; and detailing his
symptoms in his slow and secret waywas in and out of that
gentleman's room a dozen times a day.

As he pursued all these occupations at once; and all steadily; and
all secretly; and never slackened in his watchfulness of everything
that Mr Jonas said and didand left unsaid and undone; it is not
improbable that they weresecretlyessential parts of some great
scheme which Mr Nadgett had on foot.

It was on the morning of this very day on which so much had happened
to Tom Pinchthat Nadgett suddenly appeared before Mr Montague's
house in Pall Mall--he always made his appearance as if he had that
moment come up a trap--when the clocks were striking nine. He rang
the bell in a covert under-handed wayas though it were a
treasonable act; and passed in at the doorthe moment it was opened
wide enough to receive his body. That donehe shut it immediately
with his own hands.

Mr Baileytaking up his name without delayreturned with a request
that he would follow him into his master's chamber. The chairman of
the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Board was
dressingand received him as a business person who was often
backwards and forwardsand was received at all times for his
business' sake.

'WellMr Nadgett?'

Mr Nadgett put his hat upon the ground and coughed. The boy having
withdrawn and shut the doorhe went to it softlyexamined the
handleand returned to within a pace or two of the chair in which
Mr Montague sat.

'Any newsMr Nadgett?'

'I think we have some news at lastsir.'

'I am happy to hear it. I began to fear you were off the scentMr
Nadgett.'


'Nosir. It grows cold occasionally. It will sometimes. We can't
help that.'

'You are truth itselfMr Nadgett. Do you report a great success?'

'That depends upon your judgment and construction of it' was his
answeras he put on his spectacles.

'What do you think of it yourself? Have you pleased yourself?'

Mr Nadgett rubbed his hands slowlystroked his chinlooked round
the roomand said'YesyesI think it's a good case. I am
disposed to think it's a good case. Will you go into it at once?'

'By all means.'

Mr Nadgett picked out a certain chair from among the restand
having planted it in a particular spotas carefully as if he had
been going to vault over itplaced another chair in front of it;
leaving room for his own legs between them. He then sat down in
chair number twoand laid his pocket-bookvery carefullyon chair
number one. He then untied the pocket-bookand hung the string
over the back of chair number one. He then drew both the chairs a
little nearer Mr Montagueand opening the pocket-book spread out
its contents. Finally he selected a certain memorandum from the
restand held it out to his employerwhoduring the whole of
these preliminary ceremonieshad been making violent efforts to
conceal his impatience.

'I wish you wouldn't be so fond of making notesmy excellent
friend' said Tigg Montague with a ghastly smile. 'I wish you would
consent to give me their purport by word of mouth.'

'I don't like word of mouth' said Mr Nadgett gravely. 'We never
know who's listening.'

Mr Montague was going to retortwhen Nadgett handed him the paper
and saidwith quiet exultation in his tone'We'll begin at the
beginningand take that one firstif you pleasesir.'

The chairman cast his eyes upon itcoldlyand with a smile which
did not render any great homage to the slow and methodical habits of
his spy. But he had not read half-a-dozen lines when the expression
of his face began to changeand before he had finished the perusal
of the paperit was full of grave and serious attention.

'Number Two' said Mr Nadgetthanding him anotherand receiving
back the first. 'Read Number Twosirif you please. There is
more interest as you go on.'

Tigg Montague leaned backward in his chairand cast upon his
emissary such a look of vacant wonder (not unmingled with alarm)
that Mr Nadgett considered it necessary to repeat the request he had
already twice preferred; with the view to recalling his attention to
the point in hand. Profiting by the hintMr Montague went on with
Number Twoand afterwards with Numbers Threeand Fourand Five
and so on.

These documents were all in Mr Nadgett's writingand were
apparently a series of memorandajotted down from time to time upon
the backs of old lettersor any scrap of paper that came first to
hand. Loose straggling scrawls they wereand of very uninviting
exterior; but they had weighty purpose in themif the chairman's


face were any index to the character of their contents.

The progress of Mr Nadgett's secret satisfaction arising out of the
effect they madekept pace with the emotions of the reader. At
firstMr Nadgett sat with his spectacles low down upon his nose
looking over them at his employerand nervously rubbing his hands.
After a little whilehe changed his posture in his chair for one of
greater easeand leisurely perused the next document he held ready
as if an occasional glance at his employer's face were now enough
and all occasion for anxiety or doubt were gone. And finally he
rose and looked out of the windowwhere he stood with a triumphant
air until Tigg Montague had finished.

'And this is the lastMr Nadgett!' said that gentlemandrawing a
long breath.

'Thatsiris the last.'

'You are a wonderful manMr Nadgett!'

'I think it is a pretty good case' he returned as he gathered up
his papers. 'It cost some troublesir.'

'The trouble shall be well rewardedMr Nadgett.' Nadgett bowed.
'There is a deeper impression of Somebody's Hoof herethan I had
expectedMr Nadgett. I may congratulate myself upon your being
such a good hand at a secret.'

'Oh! nothing has an interest to me that's not a secret' replied
Nadgettas he tied the string about his pocket-bookand put it up.
'It always takes away any pleasure I may have had in this inquiry
even to make it known to you.'

'A most invaluable constitution' Tigg retorted. 'A great gift for
a gentleman employed as you areMr Nadgett. Much better than
discretion; though you possess that quality also in an eminent
degree. I think I heard a double knock. Will you put your head out
of windowand tell me whether there is anybody at the door?'

Mr Nadgett softly raised the sashand peered out from the very
corneras a man might who was looking down into a street from
whence a brisk discharge of musketry might be expected at any
moment. Drawing in his head with equal cautionhe observednot
altering his voice or manner:

'Mr Jonas Chuzzlewit!'

'I thought so' Tigg retorted.

'Shall I go?'

'I think you had better. Stay though! No! remain hereMr Nadgett
if you please.'

It was remarkable how pale and flurried he had become in an instant.
There was nothing to account for it. His eye had fallen on his
razors; but what of them!

Mr Chuzzlewit was announced.

'Show him up directly. Nadgett! don't you leave us alone together.
Mind you don'tnow! By the Lord!' he added in a whisper to himself:
'We don't know what may happen.'


Saying thishe hurriedly took up a couple of hair-brushesand
began to exercise them on his own headas if his toilet had not
been interrupted. Mr Nadgett withdrew to the stovein which there
was a small fire for the convenience of heating curling-irons; and
taking advantage of so favourable an opportunity for drying his
pocket-handkerchiefproduced it without loss of time. There he
stoodduring the whole interviewholding it before the barsand
sometimesbut not oftenglancing over his shoulder.

'My dear Chuzzlewit!' cried Montagueas Jonas entered. 'You rise
with the lark. Though you go to bed with the nightingaleyou rise
with the lark. You have superhuman energymy dear Chuzzlewit!'

'Ecod!' said Jonaswith an air of langour and ill-humouras he
took a chair'I should be very glad not to get up with the larkif
I could help it. But I am a light sleeper; and it's better to be up
than lying awakecounting the dismal old church-clocksin bed.'

'A light sleeper!' cried his friend. 'Nowwhat is a light sleeper?
I often hear the expressionbut upon my life I have not the least
conception what a light sleeper is.'

'Hallo!' said Jonas'Who's that? Ohold what's-his-name: looking
(as usual) as if he wanted to skulk up the chimney.'

'Haha! I have no doubt he does.'

'Well! He's not wanted hereI suppose' said Jonas. 'He may go
mayn't he?'

'Ohlet him staylet him stay!' said Tigg. 'He's a mere piece of
furniture. He has been making his reportand is waiting for
further orders. He has been told' said Tiggraising his voice
'not to lose sight of certain friends of oursor to think that he
has done with them by any means. He understands his business.'

'He need' replied Jonas; 'for of all the precious old dummies in
appearance that I ever sawhe's about the worst. He's afraid of
meI think.'

'It's my belief' said Tigg'that you are Poison to him. Nadgett!
give me that towel!'

He had as little occasion for a towel as Jonas had for a start. But
Nadgett brought it quickly; andhaving lingered for a momentfell
back upon his old post by the fire.

'You seemy dear fellow' resumed Tigg'you are too--what's the
matter with your lips? How white they are!'

'I took some vinegar just now' said Jonas. 'I had oysters for my
breakfast. Where are they white?' he addedmuttering an oathand
rubbing them upon his handkerchief. 'I don't believe they ARE
white.'

'Now I look againthey are not' replied his friend. 'They are
coming right again.'

'Say what you were going to say' cried Jonas angrily'and let my
face be! As long as I can show my teeth when I want to (and I can do
that pretty well)the colour of my lips is not material.'

'Quite true' said Tigg. 'I was only going to say that you are too
quick and active for our friend. He is too shy to cope with such a


man as youbut does his duty well. Ohvery well! But what is a
light sleeper?'


'Hang a light sleeper!' exclaimed Jonas pettishly.


'Nono' interrupted Tigg. 'No. We'll not do that.'


'A light sleeper ain't a heavy one' said Jonas in his sulky way;
'don't sleep muchand don't sleep welland don't sleep sound.'


'And dreams' said Tigg'and cries out in an ugly manner; and when
the candle burns down in the nightis in an agony; and all that
sort of thing. I see!'


They were silent for a little time. Then Jonas spoke:


'Now we've done with child's talkI want to have a word with you.
I want to have a word with you before we meet up yonder to-day.
I am not satisfied with the state of affairs.'


'Not satisfied!' cried Tigg. 'The money comes in well.'


'The money comes in well enough' retorted Jonas'but it don't come
out well enough. It can't be got at easily enough. I haven't
sufficient power; it is all in your hands. Ecod! what with one of
your by-lawsand another of your by-lawsand your votes in this
capacityand your votes in that capacityand your official rights
and your individual rightsand other people's rights who are only
you againthere are no rights left for me. Everybody else's rights
are my wrongs. What's the use of my having a voice if it's always
drowned? I might as well be dumband it would be much less
aggravating. I'm not a-going to stand thatyou know.'


'No!' said Tigg in an insinuating tone.


'No!' returned Jonas'I'm not indeed. I'll play old Gooseberry
with the officeand make you glad to buy me out at a good high
figureif you try any of your tricks with me.'


'I give you my honour--' Montague began.


'Oh! confound your honour' interrupted Jonaswho became more
coarse and quarrelsome as the other remonstratedwhich may have
been a part of Mr Montague's intention; 'I want a little more
control over the money. You may have all the honourif you like;
I'll never bring you to book for that. But I'm not a-going to stand
itas it is now. If you should take it into your honourable head
to go abroad with the bankI don't see much to prevent you. Well!
That won't do. I've had some very good dinners herebut they'd
come too dear on such terms; and thereforethat won't do.'


'I am unfortunate to find you in this humour' said Tiggwith a
remarkable kind of smile; 'for I was going to propose to you--for
your own advantage; solely for your own advantage--that you should
venture a little more with us.'


'Was youby G--?' said Jonaswith a short laugh.


'Yes. And to suggest' pursued Montague'that surely you have
friends; indeedI know you have; who would answer our purpose
admirablyand whom we should be delighted to receive.'


'How kind of you! You'd be delighted to receive 'emwould you?'
said Jonasbantering.



'I give you my sacred honourquite transported. As your friends
observe!'

'Exactly' said Jonas; 'as my friendsof course. You'll be very
much delighted when you get 'emI have no doubt. And it'll be all
to my advantagewon't it?'

'It will be very much to your advantage' answered Montague poising
a brush in each handand looking steadily upon him. 'It will be
very much to your advantageI assure you.'

'And you can tell me how' said Jonas'can't you?'

'SHALL I tell you how?' returned the other.

'I think you had better' said Jonas. 'Strange things have been
done in the Assurance way before nowby strange sorts of men
and I mean to take care of myself.'

'Chuzzlewit!' replied Montagueleaning forwardwith his arms upon
his kneesand looking full into his face. 'Strange things have
been doneand are done every day; not only in our waybut in a
variety of other ways; and no one suspects them. But oursas you
saymy good friendis a strange way; and we strangely happen
sometimesto come into the knowledge of very strange events.'

He beckoned to Jonas to bring his chair nearer; and looking slightly
roundas if to remind him of the presence of Nadgettwhispered in
his ear.

From red to white; from white to red again; from red to yellow; then
to a colddullawfulsweat-bedabbled blue. In that short
whisperall these changes fell upon the face of Jonas Chuzzlewit;
and when at last he laid his hand upon the whisperer's mouth
appalledlest any syllable of what he said should reach the ears of
the third person presentit was as bloodless and as heavy as the
hand of Death.

He drew his chair awayand sat a spectacle of terrormiseryand
rage. He was afraid to speakor lookor moveor sit still.
Abjectcrouchingand miserablehe was a greater degradation to
the form he borethan if he had been a loathsome wound from head to
heel.

His companion leisurely resumed his dressingand completed it
glancing sometimes with a smile at the transformation he had
effectedbut never speaking once.

'You'll not object' he saidwhen he was quite equipped'to
venture further with usChuzzlewitmy friend?'

His pale lips faintly stammered out a 'No.'

'Well said! That's like yourself. Do you know I was thinking
yesterday that your father-in-lawrelying on your advice as a man
of great sagacity in money mattersas no doubt you arewould join
usif the thing were well presented to him. He has money?'

'Yeshe has money.'

'Shall I leave Mr Pecksniff to you? Will you undertake for Mr
Pecksniff.'


'I'll try. I'll do my best.'

'A thousand thanks' replied the otherclapping him upon the
shoulder. 'Shall we walk downstairs? Mr Nadgett! Follow usif
you please.'

They went down in that order. Whatever Jonas felt in reference to
Montague; whatever sense he had of being cagedand barredand
trappedand having fallen down into a pit of deepest ruin;
whatever thoughts came crowding on his mind even at that early time
of one terrible chance of escapeof one red glimmer in a sky of
blackness; he no more thought that the slinking figure half-a-dozen
stairs behind him was his pursuing Fatethan that the other figure
at his side was his Good Angel.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CONTAINING SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE DOMESTIC ECONOMY OF THE
PINCHES; WITH STRANGE NEWS FROM THE CITYNARROWLY CONCERNING TOM

Pleasant little Ruth! Cheerfultidybustlingquiet little Ruth!
No doll's house ever yielded greater delight to its young mistress
than little Ruth derived from her glorious dominion over the
triangular parlour and the two small bedrooms.

To be Tom's housekeeper. What dignity! Housekeepingupon the
commonest termsassociated itself with elevated responsibilities of
all sorts and kinds; but housekeeping for Tom implied the utmost
complication of grave trusts and mighty charges. Well might she
take the keys out of the little chiffonier which held the tea and
sugar; and out of the two little damp cupboards down by the
fireplacewhere the very black beetles got mouldyand had the
shine taken out of their backs by envious mildew; and jingle them
upon a ring before Tom's eyes when he came down to breakfast! Well
might shelaughing musicallyput them up in that blessed little
pocket of hers with a merry pride! For it was such a grand novelty
to be mistress of anythingthat if she had been the most relentless
and despotic of all little housekeepersshe might have pleaded just
that much for her excuseand have been honourably acquitted.

So far from being despotichoweverthere was a coyness about her
very way of pouring out the teawhich Tom quite revelled in. And
when she asked him what he would like to have for dinnerand
faltered out 'chops' as a reasonably good suggestion after their
last night's successful supperTom grew quite facetiousand
rallied her desperately.

'I don't knowTom' said his sisterblushing'I am not quite
confidentbut I think I could make a beef-steak puddingif I
triedTom.'

'In the whole catalogue of cookerythere is nothing I should like
so much as a beef-steak pudding!' cried Tomslapping his leg to
give the greater force to this reply.

'Yesdearthat's excellent! But if it should happen not to come
quite right the first time' his sister faltered; 'if it should
happen not to be a pudding exactlybut should turn out a stewor a
soupor something of that sortyou'll not be vexedTomwill
you?'


The serious way in which she looked at Tom; the way in which Tom
looked at her; and the way in which she gradually broke into a merry
laugh at her own expensewould have enchanted you.

'Why' said Tom 'this is capital. It gives us a newand quite an
uncommon interest in the dinner. We put into a lottery for a
beefsteak puddingand it is impossible to say what we may get. We
may make some wonderful discoveryperhapsand produce such a dish
as never was known before.'

'I shall not be at all surprised if we doTom' returned his
sisterstill laughing merrily'or if it should prove to be such a
dish as we shall not feel very anxious to produce again; but the
meat must come out of the saucepan at lastsomehow or otheryou
know. We can't cook it into nothing at all; that's a great comfort.
So if you like to ventureI will.'

'I have not the least doubt' rejoined Tom'that it will come out
an excellent puddingor at all eventsI am sure that I shall think
it so. There is naturally something so handy and brisk about you
Ruththat if you said you could make a bowl of faultless turtle
soupI should believe you.'

And Tom was right. She was precisely that sort of person. Nobody
ought to have been able to resist her coaxing manner; and nobody had
any business to try. Yet she never seemed to know it was her manner
at all. That was the best of it.

Well! she washed up the breakfast cupschatting away the whole
timeand telling Tom all sorts of anecdotes about the brass-andcopper
founder; put everything in its place; made the room as neat
as herself;--you must not suppose its shape was half as neat as hers
thoughor anything like it--and brushed Tom's old hat round and
round and round againuntil it was as sleek as Mr Pecksniff. Then
she discoveredall in a momentthat Tom's shirt-collar was frayed
at the edge; and flying upstairs for a needle and threadcame
flying down again with her thimble onand set it right with
wonderful expertness; never once sticking the needle into his face
although she was humming his pet tune from first to lastand
beating time with the fingers of her left hand upon his neckcloth.
She had no sooner done thisthan off she was again; and there she
stood once moreas brisk and busy as a beetying that compact
little chin of hers into an equally compact little bonnet; intent
on bustling out to the butcher'swithout a minute's loss of time;
and inviting Tom to come and see the steak cutwith his own eyes.
As to Tomhe was ready to go anywhere; so off they trottedarm-inarm
as nimbly as you please; saying to each other what a quiet
street it was to lodge inand how very cheapand what an airy
situation.

To see the butcher slap the steakbefore he laid it on the block
and give his knife a sharpeningwas to forget breakfast instantly.
It was agreeabletoo--it really was--to see him cut it offso
smooth and juicy. There was nothing savage in the actalthough the
knife was large and keen; it was a piece of arthigh art; there was
delicacy of touchclearness of toneskillful handling of the
subjectfine shading. It was the triumph of mind over matter;
quite.

Perhaps the greenest cabbage-leaf ever grown in a garden was wrapped
about this steakbefore it was delivered over to Tom. But the
butcher had a sentiment for his businessand knew how to refine
upon it. When he saw Tom putting the cabbage-leaf into his pocket
awkwardlyhe begged to be allowed to do it for him; 'for meat' he


said with some emotion'must be humourednot drove.'

Back they went to the lodgings againafter they had bought some
eggsand flourand such small matters; and Tom sat gravely down to
write at one end of the parlour tablewhile Ruth prepared to make
the pudding at the other end; for there was nobody in the house but
an old woman (the landlord being a mysterious sort of manwho went
out early in the morningand was scarcely ever seen); and saving in
mere household drudgerythey waited on themselves.

'What are you writingTom?' inquired his sisterlaying her hand
upon his shoulder.

'Whyyou seemy dear' said Tomleaning back in his chairand
looking up in her face'I am very anxiousof courseto obtain
some suitable employment; and before Mr Westlock comes this
afternoonI think I may as well prepare a little description of
myself and my qualifications; such as he could show to any friend of
his.'

'You had better do the same for meTomalso' said his sister
casting down her eyes. 'I should dearly like to keep house for you
and take care of you alwaysTom; but we are not rich enough for
that.'

'We are not rich' returned Tom'certainly; and we may be much
poorer. But we will not part if we can help it. Nono; we will
make up our minds Ruththat unless we are so very unfortunate as to
render me quite sure that you would be better off away from me than
with mewe will battle it out together. I am certain we shall be
happier if we can battle it out together. Don't you think we
shall?'

'ThinkTom!'

'Ohtuttut!' interposed Tomtenderly. 'You mustn't cry.'

'Nono; I won'tTom. But you can't afford itdear. You can't
indeed.'

'We don't know that' said Tom. 'How are we to know thatyet
awhileand without trying? Lord bless my soul!'--Tom's energy
became quite grand--'there is no knowing what may happenif we try
hard. And I am sure we can live contentedly upon a very little--if
we can only get it.'

'Yes; that I am sure we canTom.'

'Whythen' said Tom'we must try for it. My friendJohn
Westlockis a capital fellowand very shrewd and intelligent.
I'll take his advice. We'll talk it over with him--both of us
together. You'll like John very muchwhen you come to know himI
am certain. Don't crydon't cry. YOU make a beef-steak pudding
indeed!' said Tomgiving her a gentle push. 'Whyyou haven't
boldness enough for a dumpling!'

'You WILL call it a puddingTom. Mind! I told you not!'

'I may as well call it thattill it proves to be something else'
said Tom. 'Ohyou are going to work in earnestare you?'

Ayeaye! That she was. And in such pleasant earnestmoreover
that Tom's attention wandered from his writing every moment. First
she tripped downstairs into the kitchen for the flourthen for the


pie-boardthen for the eggsthen for the butterthen for a jug of
waterthen for the rolling-pinthen for a pudding-basinthen for
the pepperthen for the salt; making a separate journey for
everythingand laughing every time she started off afresh. When
all the materials were collected she was horrified to find she had
no apron onand so ran UPstairs by way of varietyto fetch it.
She didn't put it on upstairsbut came dancing down with it in her
hand; and being one of those little women to whom an apron is a most
becoming little vanityit took an immense time to arrange; having
to be carefully smoothed down beneath--Ohheavenwhat a wicked
little stomacher!--and to be gathered up into little plaits by the
strings before it could be tiedand to be tappedrebukedand
wheedledat the pocketsbefore it would set rightwhich at last
it didand when it did--but never mind; this is a sober chronicle.
And thenthere were her cuffs to be tucked upfor fear of flour;
and she had a little ring to pull off her fingerwhich wouldn't
come off (foolish little ring!); and during the whole of these
preparations she looked demurely every now and then at Tomfrom
under her dark eyelashesas if they were all a part of the pudding
and indispensable to its composition.

For the life and soul of himTom could get no further in his writing
than'A respectable young managed thirty-five' and this
notwithstanding the show she made of being supernaturally quietand
going about on tiptoelest she should disturb him; which only
served as an additional means of distracting his attentionand
keeping it upon her.

'Tom' she said at lastin high glee. 'Tom!'

'What now?' said Tomrepeating to himself'aged thirty-five!'

'Will you look here a momentplease?'

As if he hadn't been looking all the time!

'I am going to beginTom. Don't you wonder why I butter the inside
of the basin?' said his busy little sister.

'Not more than you doI dare say' replied Tomlaughing. 'For I
believe you don't know anything about it.'

'What an infidel you areTom! How else do you think it would turn
out easily when it was done! For a civil-engineer and land-surveyor
not to know that! My goodnessTom!'

It was wholly out of the question to try to write. Tom lined out
'respectable young managed thirty-five;' and sat looking onpen
in handwith one of the most loving smiles imaginable.

Such a busy little woman as she was! So full of self-importance and
trying so hard not to smileor seem uncertain about anything! It
was a perfect treat to Tom to see her with her brows knitand her
rosy lips pursed upkneading away at the crustrolling it out
cutting it up into stripslining the basin with itshaving it off
fine round the rimchopping up the steak into small piecesraining
down pepper and salt upon thempacking them into the basinpouring
in cold water for gravyand never venturing to steal a look in his
directionlest her gravity should be disturbed; untilat lastthe
basin being quite full and only wanting the top crustshe clapped
her hands all covered with paste and flourat Tomand burst out
heartily into such a charming little laugh of triumphthat the
pudding need have had no other seasoning to commend it to the taste
of any reasonable man on earth.


'Where's the pudding?' said Tom. For he was cutting his jokesTom
was.

'Where!' she answeredholding it up with both hands. 'Look at it!'

'THAT a pudding!' said Tom.

'It WILL beyou stupid fellowwhen it's covered in' returned his
sister. Tom still pretending to look incredulousshe gave him a
tap on the head with the rolling-pinand still laughing merrily
had returned to the composition of the top crustwhen she started
and turned very red. Tom startedtoofor following her eyeshe
saw John Westlock in the room.

'Whymy goodnessJohn! How did YOU come in?'

'I beg pardon' said John--' your sister's pardon especially--but I
met an old lady at the street doorwho requested me to enter here;
and as you didn't hear me knockand the door was openI made bold
to do so. I hardly know' said Johnwith a smile'why any of us
should be disconcerted at my having accidentally intruded upon such
an agreeable domestic occupationso very agreeably and skillfully
pursued; but I must confess that I am. Tomwill you kindly come to
my relief?'

'Mr John Westlock' said Tom. 'My sister.'

'I hope thatas the sister of so old a friend' said Johnlaughing
'you will have the goodness to detach your first impressions of me
from my unfortunate entrance.'

'My sister is not indisposed perhaps to say the same to you on her
own behalf' retorted Tom.

John saidof coursethat this was quite unnecessaryfor he had
been transfixed in silent admiration; and he held out his hand to
Miss Pinch; who couldn't take ithoweverby reason of the flour
and paste upon her own. Thiswhich might seem calculated to
increase the general confusion and render matters worsehad in
reality the best effect in the worldfor neither of them could help
laughing; and so they both found themselves on easy terms
immediately.

'I am delighted to see you' said Tom. 'Sit down.'

'I can only think of sitting down on one condition' returned his
friend; 'and that isthat your sister goes on with the puddingas
if you were still alone.'

'That I am sure she will' said Tom. 'On one other conditionand
that isthat you stay and help us to eat it.'

Poor little Ruth was seized with a palpitation of the heart when Tom
committed this appalling indiscretionfor she felt that if the dish
turned out a failureshe never would be able to hold up her head
before John Westlock again. Quite unconscious of her state of mind
John accepted the invitation with all imaginable heartiness; and
after a little more pleasantry concerning this same puddingand the
tremendous expectations he made believe to entertain of itshe
blushingly resumed her occupationand he took a chair.

'I am here much earlier than I intendedTom; but I will tell you
what brings meand I think I can answer for your being glad to hear


it. Is that anything you wish to show me?'

'Oh dear no!' cried Tomwho had forgotten the blotted scrap of
paper in his handuntil this inquiry brought it to his
recollection. '"A respectable young managed thirty-five"--The
beginning of a description of myself. That's all.'

'I don't think you will have occasion to finish itTom. But how is
it you never told me you had friends in London?'

Tom looked at his sister with all his might; and certainly his
sister looked with all her might at him.

'Friends in London!' echoed Tom.

'Ah!' said Westlock'to be sure.'

'Have YOU any friends in LondonRuthmy dear!' asked Tom.

'NoTom.'

'I am very happy to hear that I have' said Tom'but it's news to
me. I never knew it. They must be capital people to keep a secret
John.'

'You shall judge for yourself' returned the other. 'Seriously
Tomhere is the plain state of the case. As I was sitting at
breakfast this morningthere comes a knock at my door.'

'On which you cried outvery loudCome in!' suggested Tom.

'So I did. And the person who knockednot being a respectable
young managed thirty-fivefrom the countrycame in when he was
invitedinstead of standing gaping and staring about him on the
landing. Well! When he came inI found he was a stranger; a grave
business-likesedate-lookingstranger. "Mr Westlock?" said he.
That is my name,said I. "The favour of a few words with you?"
said he. "Pray be seatedsir said I.'

Here John stopped for an instant, to glance towards the table, where
Tom's sister, listening attentively, was still busy with the basin,
which by this time made a noble appearance. Then he resumed:

'The pudding having taken a chair, Tom--'

'What!' cried Tom.

'Having taken a chair.'

'You said a pudding.'

'No, no,' replied John, colouring rather; 'a chair. The idea of a
stranger coming into my rooms at half-past eight o'clock in the
morning, and taking a pudding! Having taken a chair, Tom, a chair-amazed
me by opening the conversation thus: I believe you are
acquaintedsirwith Mr Thomas Pinch?"

'No!' cried Tom.

'His very wordsI assure you. I told him I was. Did I know where
you were at present residing? Yes. In London? Yes. He had
casually heardin a roundabout waythat you had left your
situation with Mr Pecksniff. Was that the fact? Yesit was. Did
you want another? Yesyou did.'


'Certainly' said Tomnodding his head.

'Just what I impressed upon him. You may rest assured that I set
that point beyond the possibility of any mistakeand gave him
distinctly to understand that he might make up his mind about it.
Very well.'

Then,said heI think I can accommodate him.'

Tom's sister stopped short.

'Lord bless me!' cried Tom. 'Ruthmy dearthink I can
accommodate him.'

'Of course I begged him' pursued John Westlockglancing at Tom's
sisterwho was not less eager in her interest than Tom himself'to
proceedand said that I would undertake to see you immediately. He
replied that he had very little to saybeing a man of few words
but such as it wasit was to the purpose--and soindeedit turned
out--for he immediately went on to tell me that a friend of his was
in want of a kind of secretary and librarian; and that although the
salary was smallbeing only a hundred pounds a yearwith neither
board nor lodgingstill the duties were not heavyand there the
post was. Vacantand ready for your acceptance.'

'Good gracious me!' cried Tom; 'a hundred pounds a year! My dear
John! Ruthmy love! A hundred pounds a year!'

'But the strangest part of the story' resumed John Westlocklaying
his hand on Tom's wristto bespeak his attentionand repress his
ecstasies for the moment; 'the strangest part of the storyMiss
Pinchis this. I don't know this man from Adam; neither does this
man know Tom.'

'He can't' said Tomin great perplexity'if he's a Londoner.
don't know any one in London.'

'And on my observing' John resumedstill keeping his hand upon
Tom's wrist'that I had no doubt he would excuse the freedom I took
in inquiring who directed him to me; how he came to know of the
change which had taken place in my friend's position; and how he
came to be acquainted with my friend's peculiar fitness for such an
office as he had described; he drily said that he was not at liberty
to enter into any explanations.'

'Not at liberty to enter into any explanations!' repeated Tom
drawing a long breath.

'"I must be perfectly aware he said,' John added, 'that to any
person who had ever been in Mr Pecksniff's neighbourhoodMr Thomas
Pinch and his acquirements were as well known as the Church steeple
or the Blue Dragon."'

'The Blue Dragon!' repeated Tomstaring alternately at his friend
and his sister.

'Ayethink of that! He spoke as familiarly of the Blue DragonI
give you my wordas if he had been Mark Tapley. I opened my eyes
I can tell youwhen he did so; but I could not fancy I had ever
seen the man beforealthough he said with a smileYou know the
Blue Dragon, Mr Westlock; you kept it up there, once or twice,
yourself.Kept it up there! So I did. You rememberTom?'


Tom nodded with great significanceandfalling into a state of
deeper perplexity than beforeobserved that this was the most
unaccountable and extraordinary circumstance he had ever heard of
in his life.

'Unaccountable?' his friend repeated. 'I became afraid of the man.
Though it was broad dayand bright sunshineI was positively
afraid of him. I declare I half suspected him to be a supernatural
visitorand not a mortaluntil he took out a common-place
description of pocket-bookand handed me this card.'

'Mr Fips' said Tomreading it aloud. 'Austin Friars. Austin
Friars sounds ghostlyJohn.'

'Fips don'tI think' was John's reply. 'But there he livesTom
and there he expects us to call this morning. And now you know as
much of this strange incident as I doupon my honour.'

Tom's facebetween his exultation in the hundred pounds a yearand
his wonder at this narrationwas only to be equalled by the face of
his sisteron which there sat the very best expression of blooming
surprise that any painter could have wished to see. What the beefsteak
pudding would have come toif it had not been by this time
finishedastrology itself could hardly determine.

'Tom' said Ruthafter a little hesitation'perhaps Mr Westlock
in his friendship for youknows more of this than he chooses to
tell.'

'Noindeed!' cried Johneagerly. 'It is not soI assure you. I
wish it were. I cannot take credit to myselfMiss Pinchfor any
such thing. All that I knoworso far as I can judgeam likely
to knowI have told you.'

'Couldn't you know moreif you thought proper?' said Ruthscraping
the pie-board industriously.

'No' retorted John. 'Indeedno. It is very ungenerous in you to
be so suspicious of me when I repose implicit faith in you. I have
unbounded confidence in the puddingMiss Pinch.'

She laughed at thisbut they soon got back into a serious veinand
discussed the subject with profound gravity. Whatever else was
obscure in the businessit appeared to be quite plain that Tom was
offered a salary of one hundred pounds a year; and this being the
main pointthe surrounding obscurity rather set it off than
otherwise.

Tombeing in a great flutterwished to start for Austin Friars
instantlybut they waited nearly an hourby John's advicebefore
they departed. Tom made himself as spruce as he could before
leaving homeand when John Westlockthrough the half-opened
parlour doorhad glimpses of that brave little sister brushing the
collar of his coat in the passagetaking up loose stitches in his
gloves and hovering lightly about and about himtouching him up
here and there in the height of her quaintlittleold-fashioned
tidinesshe called to mind the fancy-portraits of her on the wall
of the Pecksniffian workroomand decided with uncommon indignation
that they were gross libelsand not half pretty enough; thoughas
hath been mentioned in its placethe artists always made those
sketches beautifuland he had drawn at least a score of them with
his own hands.

'Tom' he saidas they were walking along'I begin to think you


must be somebody's son.'

'I suppose I am' Tom answered in his quiet way.

'But I mean somebody's of consequence.'

'Bless your heart' replied Tom'my poor father was of no
consequencenor my mother either.'

'You remember them perfectlythen?'

'Remember them? oh dear yes. My poor mother was the last. She
died when Ruth was a mere babyand then we both became a charge
upon the savings of that good old grandmother I used to tell you of.
You remember! Oh! There's nothing romantic in our historyJohn.'

'Very well' said John in quiet despair. 'Then there is no way of
accounting for my visitor of this morning. So we'll not tryTom.'

They did trynotwithstandingand never left off trying until they
got to Austin Friarswherein a very dark passage on the first
flooroddly situated at the back of a houseacross some leads
they found a little blear-eyed glass door up in one cornerwith MR.
FIPS painted on it in characters which were meant to be transparent.
There was also a wicked old sideboard hiding in the gloom hard by
meditating designs upon the ribs of visitors; and an old matworn
into lattice workwhichbeing useless as a mat (even if anybody
could have seen itwhich was impossible)had for many years
directed its industry into another channeland regularly tripped up
every one of Mr Fips's clients.

Mr Fipshearing a violent concussion between a human hat and his
office doorwas apprisedby the usual means of communicationthat
somebody had come to call upon himand giving that somebody
admissionobserved that it was 'rather dark.'

'Dark indeed' John whispered in Tom Pinch's ear. 'Not a bad place
to dispose of a countryman inI should thinkTom.'

Tom had been already turning over in his mind the possibility of
their having been tempted into that region to furnish forth a pie;
but the sight of Mr Fipswho was small and spareand looked
peaceableand wore black shorts and powderdispelled his doubts.

'Walk in' said Mr Fips.

They walked in. And a mighty yellow-jaundiced little office Mr Fips
had of it; with a greatblacksprawling splash upon the floor in
one corneras if some old clerk had cut his throat thereyears
agoand had let out ink instead of blood.

'I have brought my friend Mr Pinchsir' said John Westlock.

'Be pleased to sit' said Mr Fips.

They occupied the two chairsand Mr Fips took the office stool from
the stuffing whereof he drew forth a piece of horse-hair of immense
lengthwhich he put into his mouth with a great appearance of
appetite.

He looked at Tom Pinch curiouslybut with an entire freedom from
any such expression as could be reasonably construed into an unusual
display of interest. After a short silenceduring which Mr Fips
was so perfectly unembarrassed as to render it manifest that he


could have broken it sooner without hesitationif he had felt
inclined to do sohe asked if Mr Westlock had made his offer fully
known to Mr Pinch.

John answered in the affirmative.

'And you think it worth your whilesirdo you?' Mr Fips inquired
of Tom.

'I think it a piece of great good fortunesir' said Tom. 'I am
exceedingly obliged to you for the offer.'

'Not to me' said Mr Fips. 'I act upon instructions.'

'To your friendsirthen' said Tom. 'To the gentleman with whom
I am to engageand whose confidence I shall endeavour to deserve.
When he knows me bettersirI hope he will not lose his good
opinion of me. He will find me punctual and vigilantand anxious
to do what is right. That I think I can answer forand so'
looking towards him'can Mr Westlock.'

'Most assuredly' said John.

Mr Fips appeared to have some little difficulty in resuming the
conversation. To relieve himselfhe took up the wafer-stampand
began stamping capital F's all over his legs.

'The fact is' said Mr Fips'that my friend is notat this present
momentin town.'

Tom's countenance fell; for he thought this equivalent to telling
him that his appearance did not answer; and that Fips must look out
for somebody else.

'When do you think he will be in townsir?' he asked.

'I can't say; it's impossible to tell. I really have no idea.
But' said Fipstaking off a very deep impression of the waferstamp
upon the calf of his left legand looking steadily at Tom'I
don't know that it's a matter of much consequence.'

Poor Tom inclined his head deferentiallybut appeared to doubt
that.

'I say' repeated Mr Fips'that I don't know it's a matter of much
consequence. The business lies entirely between yourself and meMr
Pinch. With reference to your dutiesI can set you going; and with
reference to your salaryI can pay it. Weekly' said Mr Fips
putting down the wafer-stampand looking at John Westlock and Tom
Pinch by turns'weekly; in this office; at any time between the
hours of four and five o'clock in the afternoon.' As Mr Fips said
thishe made up his face as if he were going to whistle. But he
didn't.

'You are very good' said Tomwhose countenance was now suffused
with pleasure; 'and nothing can be more satisfactory or
straightforward. My attendance will be required--'

'From half-past nine to four o'clock or soI should say'
interrupted Mr Fips. 'About that.'

'I did not mean the hours of attendance' retorted Tom'which are
light and easyI am sure; but the place.'


'Ohthe place! The place is in the Temple.'

Tom was delighted.

'Perhaps' said Mr Fips'you would like to see the place?'

'Ohdear!' cried Tom. 'I shall only be too glad to consider myself
engagedif you will allow me; without any further reference to the
place.'

'You may consider yourself engagedby all means' said Mr Fips;
'you couldn't meet me at the Temple Gate in Fleet Streetin an hour
from this timeI supposecould you?'

Certainly Tom could.

'Good' said Mr Fipsrising. 'Then I will show you the place; and
you can begin your attendance to-morrow morning. In an hour
thereforeI shall see you. You tooMr Westlock? Very good. Take
care how you go. It's rather dark.'

With this remarkwhich seemed superfluoushe shut them out upon
the staircaseand they groped their way into the street again.
The interview had done so little to remove the mystery in which
Tom's new engagement was involvedand had done so much to thicken
itthat neither could help smiling at the puzzled looks of the
other. They agreedhoweverthat the introduction of Tom to his
new office and office companions could hardly fail to throw a light
upon the subject; and therefore postponed its further consideration
until after the fulfillment of the appointment they had made with Mr
Fips.

After looking at John Westlock's chambersand devoting a few spare
minutes to the Boar's Headthey issued forth again to the place of
meeting. The time agreed upon had not quite come; but Mr Fips was
already at the Temple Gateand expressed his satisfaction at their
punctuality.

He led the way through sundry lanes and courtsinto one more quiet
and more gloomy than the restandsingling out a certain house
ascended a common staircase; taking from his pocketas he wenta
bunch of rusty keys. Stopping before a door upon an upper story
which had nothing but a yellow smear of paint where custom would
have placed the tenant's namehe began to beat the dust out of one
of these keysvery deliberatelyupon the great broad handrail of
the balustrade.

'You had better have a little plug made' he saidlooking round at
Tomafter blowing a shrill whistle into the barrel of the key.
'It's the only way of preventing them from getting stopped up.
You'll find the lock go the bettertooI dare sayfor a little
oil.'

Tom thanked him; but was too much occupied with his own
speculationsand John Westlock's looksto be very talkative. In
the meantime Mr Fips opened the doorwhich yielded to his hand very
unwillinglyand with a horribly discordant sound. He took the key
outwhen he had done soand gave it to Tom.

'Ayeaye!' said Mr Fips. 'The dust lies rather thick here.'

Trulyit did. Mr Fips might have gone so far as to sayvery
thick. It had accumulated everywhere; lay deep on everythingand
in one partwhere a ray of sun shone through a crevice in the


shutter and struck upon the opposite wallit went twirling round
and roundlike a gigantic squirrel-cage.

Dust was the only thing in the place that had any motion about it.
When their conductor admitted the light freelyand lifting up the
heavy window-sashlet in the summer airhe showed the mouldering
furniturediscoloured wainscoting and ceilingrusty stoveand
ashy hearthin all their inert neglect. Close to the door there
stood a candlestickwith an extinguisher upon it; as if the last
man who had been there had pausedafter securing a retreatto take
a parting look at the dreariness he left behindand then had shut
out light and life togetherand closed the place up like a tomb.

There were two rooms on that floor; and in the first or outer one a
narrow staircaseleading to two more above. These last were fitted
up as bed-chambers. Neither in themnor in the rooms belowwas
any scarcity of convenient furniture observablealthough the
fittings were of a bygone fashion; but solitude and want of use
seemed to have rendered it unfit for any purposes of comfortand to
have given it a grislyhaunted air.

Movables of every kind lay strewn aboutwithout the least attempt
at orderand were intermixed with boxeshampersand all sorts of
lumber. On all the floors were piles of booksto the amount
perhapsof some thousands of volumes: thesestill in bales; those
wrapped in paperas they had been purchased; others scattered
singly or in heaps; not one upon the shelves which lined the walls.
To these Mr Fips called Tom's attention.

'Before anything else can be donewe must have them put in order
cataloguedand ranged upon the book-shelvesMr Pinch. That will
do to begin withI thinksir.'

Tom rubbed his hands in the pleasant anticipation of a task so
congenial to his tasteand said:

'An occupation full of interest for meI assure you. It will
occupy meperhapsuntil Mr.--'

'Until Mr.--' repeated Fips; as much as to ask Tom what he was
stopping for.

'I forgot that you had not mentioned the gentleman's name' said
Tom.

'Oh!' cried Mr Fipspulling on his glove'didn't I? Noby-thebye
I don't think I did. Ah! I dare say he'll be here soon. You
will get on very well togetherI have no doubt. I wish you success
I am sure. You won't forget to shut the door? It'll lock of itself
if you slam it. Half-past nineyou know. Let us say from halfpast
nine to fouror half-past fouror thereabouts; one day
perhapsa little earlieranother dayperhapsa little later
according as you feel disposedand as you arrange your work. Mr
FipsAustin Friars of course you'll remember? And you won't forget
to slam the doorif you please!'

He said all this in such a comfortableeasy mannerthat Tom could
only rub his handsand nod his headand smile in acquiescence
which he was still doingwhen Mr Fips walked coolly out.

'Whyhe's gone!' cried Tom.

'And what's moreTom' said John Westlockseating himself upon a
pile of booksand looking up at his astonished friend'he is


evidently not coming back again; so here you areinstalled. Under
rather singular circumstancesTom!'

It was such an odd affair throughoutand Tom standing there among
the books with his hat in one hand and the key in the otherlooked
so prodigiously confoundedthat his friend could not help laughing
heartily. Tom himself was tickled; no less by the hilarity of his
friend than by the recollection of the sudden manner in which he had
been brought to a stopin the very height of his urbane conference
with Mr Fips; so by degrees Tom burst out laughing too; and each
making the other laugh morethey fairly roared.

When they had had their laugh outwhich did not happen very soon
for give John an inch that way and he was sure to take several ells
being a jovialgood-tempered fellowthey looked about them more
closelygroping among the lumber for any stray means of
enlightenment that might turn up. But no scrap or shred of
information could they find. The books were marked with a variety
of owner's nameshavingno doubtbeen bought at salesand
collected here and there at different times; but whether any one of
these names belonged to Tom's employerandif sowhich of them
they had no means whatever of determining. It occurred to John as a
very bright thought to make inquiry at the steward's officeto whom
the chambers belongedor by whom they were held; but he came back
no wiser than he wentthe answer being'Mr Fipsof Austin
Friars.'

'After allTomI begin to think it lies no deeper than this. Fips
is an eccentric man; has some knowledge of Pecksniff; despises him
of course; has heard or seen enough of you to know that you are the
man he wants; and engages you in his own whimsical manner.'

'But why in his own whimsical manner?' asked Tom.

'Oh! why does any man entertain his own whimsical taste? Why does
Mr Fips wear shorts and powderand Mr Fips's next-door neighbour
boots and a wig?'

Tombeing in that state of mind in which any explanation is a great
reliefadopted this last one (which indeed was quite as feasible as
any other) readilyand said he had no doubt of it. Nor was his
faith at all shaken by his having said exactly the same thing to
each suggestion of his friend's in turnand being perfectly ready
to say it again if he had any new solution to propose.

As he had notTom drew down the window-sashand folded the
shutter; and they left the rooms. He closed the door heavilyas Mr
Fips had desired him; tried itfound it all safeand put the key
in his pocket.

They made a pretty wide circuit in going back to Islingtonas they
had time to spareand Tom was never tired of looking about him. It
was well he had John Westlock for his companionfor most people
would have been weary of his perpetual stoppages at shop-windows
and his frequent dashes into the crowded carriage-way at the peril
of his lifeto get the better view of church steeplesand other
public buildings. But John was charmed to see him so much
interestedand every time Tom came back with a beaming face from
among the wheels of carts and hackney-coacheswholly unconscious of
the personal congratulations addressed to him by the driversJohn
seemed to like him better than before.

There was no flour on Ruth's hands when she received them in the
triangular parlourbut there were pleasant smiles upon her face


and a crowd of welcomes shining out of every smileand gleaming in
her bright eyes. By the byehow bright they were! Looking into
them for but a momentwhen you took her handyou sawin each
such a capital miniature of yourselfrepresenting you as such a
restlessflashingeagerbrilliant little fellow-


Ah! if you could only have kept them for your own miniature! But
wickedrovingrestlesstoo impartial eyesit was enough for any
one to stand before themandstraightwaythere he danced and
sparkled quite as merrily as you!

The table was already spread for dinner; and though it was spread
with nothing very choice in the way of glass or linenand with
green-handled knivesand very mountebanks of two-pronged forks
which seemed to be trying how far asunder they could possibly
stretch their legs without converting themselves into double the
number of iron toothpicksit wanted neither damasksilvergold
nor china; nonor any other garniture at all. There it was; and
being therenothing else would have done as well.

The success of that initiative dish; that first experiment of hers
in cookery; was so entireso unalloyed and perfectthat John
Westlock and Tom agreed she must have been studying the art in
secret for a long time past; and urged her to make a full confession
of the fact. They were exceedingly merry over this jestand many
smart things were said concerning it; but John was not as fair in
his behaviour as might have been expectedforafter luring Tom
Pinch on for a long timehe suddenly went over to the enemyand
swore to everything his sister said. Howeveras Tom observed the
same night before going to bedit was only in jokeand John had
always been famous for being polite to ladieseven when he was
quite a boy. Ruth said'Oh! indeed!' She didn't say anything else.

It is astonishing how much three people may find to talk about.
They scarcely left off talking once. And it was not all lively chat
which occupied them; for when Tom related how he had seen Mr
Pecksniff's daughtersand what a change had fallen on the younger
they were very serious.

John Westlock became quite absorbed in her fortunes; asking many
questions of Tom Pinch about her marriageinquiring whether her
husband was the gentleman whom Tom had brought to dine with him at
Salisbury; in what degree of relationship they stood towards each
otherbeing different persons; and takingin shortthe greatest
interest in the subject. Tom then went into itat full length; he
told how Martin had gone abroadand had not been heard of for a
long time; how Dragon Mark had borne him company; how Mr Pecksniff
had got the poor old doting grandfather into his power; and how he
basely sought the hand of Mary Graham. But not a word said Tom of
what lay hidden in his heart; his heartso deepand trueand full
of honourand yet with so much room for every gentle and unselfish
thought; not a word.

TomTom! The man in all this world most confident in his sagacity
and shrewdness; the man in all this world most proud of his distrust
of other menand having most to show in gold and silver as the
gains belonging to his creed; the meekest favourer of that wise
doctrineEvery man for himselfand God for us all (there being
high wisdom in the thought that the Eternal Majesty of Heaven ever
wasor can beon the side of selfish lust and love!); shall never
findohnever findbe sure of thatthe time come home to him
when all his wisdom is an idiot's follyweighed against a simple
heart!


WellwellTomit was simple toothough simple in a different
wayto be so eager touching that same theatreof which John said
when tea was donehe had the absolute commandso far as taking
parties in without the payment of a sixpence was concerned; and
simpler yetperhapsnever to suspect that when he went in first
alonehe paid the money! Simple in theedear Tomto laugh and cry
so heartily at such a sorry showso poorly shown; simple to be so
happy and loquacious trudging home with Ruth; simple to be so
surprised to find that merry present of a cookery-book awaiting her
in the parlour next morningwith the beef-steak-pudding-leaf turned
down and blotted out. There! Let the record stand! Thy quality of
soul was simplesimplequite contemptibleTom Pinch!

CHAPTER FORTY

THE PINCHES MAKE A NEW ACQUAINTANCEAND HAVE FRESH OCCASION FOR
SURPRISE AND WONDER

There was a ghostly air about these uninhabited chambers in the
Templeand attending every circumstance of Tom's employment there
which had a strange charm in it. Every morning when he shut his
door at Islingtonhe turned his face towards an atmosphere of
unaccountable fascinationas surely as he turned it to the London
smoke; and from that moment it thickened round and round him all day
longuntil the time arrived for going home againand leaving it
like a motionless cloudbehind.

It seemed to Tomevery morningthat he approached this ghostly
mistand became enveloped in itby the easiest succession of
degrees imaginable. Passing from the roar and rattle of the streets
into the quiet court-yards of the Templewas the first preparation.
Every echo of his footsteps sounded to him like a sound from the old
walls and pavementswanting language to relate the histories of the
dimdismal rooms; to tell him what lost documents were decaying in
forgotten corners of the shut-up cellarsfrom whose lattices such
mouldy sighs came breathing forth as he went past; to whisper of
dark bins of rare old winebricked up in vaults among the old
foundations of the Halls; or mutter in a lower tone yet darker
legends of the cross-legged knightswhose marble effigies were in
the church. With the first planting of his foot upon the staircase
of his dusty officeall these mysteries increased; untilascending
step by stepas Tom ascendedthey attained their full growth in
the solitary labours of the day.

Every day brought one recurringnever-failing source of
speculation. This employer; would he come to-dayand what would he
be like? For Tom could not stop short at Mr Fips; he quite believed
that Mr Fips had spoken trulywhen he said he acted for another;
and what manner of man that other wasbecame a full-blown flower of
wonder in the garden of Tom's fancywhich never faded or got
trodden down.

At one timehe conceived that Mr Pecksniffrepenting of his
falsehoodmightby exertion of his influence with some third
person have devised these means of giving him employment. He found
this idea so insupportable after what had taken place between that
good man and himselfthat he confided it to John Westlock on the
very same day; informing John that he would rather ply for hire as a
porterthan fall so low in his own esteem as to accept the smallest
obligation from the hands of Mr Pecksniff. But John assured him
that he (Tom Pinch) was far from doing justice to the character of


Mr Pecksniff yetif he supposed that gentleman capable of
performing a generous action; and that he might make his mind quite
easy on that head until he saw the sun turn green and the moon
blackand at the same time distinctly perceived with the naked eye
twelve first-rate comets careering round those planets. In which
unusual state of thingshe said (and not before)it might become
not absolutely lunatic to suspect Mr Pecksniff of anything so
monstrous. In short he laughed the idea down completely; and Tom
abandoning itwas thrown upon his beam-ends againfor some other
solution.

In the meantime Tom attended to his duties dailyand made
considerable progress with the books; which were already reduced to
some sort of orderand made a great appearance in his fairlywritten
catalogue. During his business hourshe indulged himself
occasionally with snatches of reading; which were oftenindeeda
necessary part of his pursuit; and as he usually made bold to carry
one of these goblin volumes home at night (always bringing it back
again next morningin case his strange employer should appear and
ask what had become of it)he led a happyquietstudious kind of
lifeafter his own heart.

But though the books were never so interestingand never so full of
novelty to Tomthey could not so enchain himin those mysterious
chambersas to render him unconsciousfor a momentof the
lightest sound. Any footstep on the flags without set him listening
attentively and when it turned into that houseand came upupup
the stairshe always thought with a beating heart'Now I am coming
face to face with him at last!' But no footstep ever passed the
floor immediately below: except his own.

This mystery and loneliness engendered fancies in Tom's mindthe
folly of which his common sense could readily discoverbut which
his common sense was quite unable to keep awaynotwithstanding;
that quality being with most of usin such a caselike the old
French Police--quick at detectionbut very weak as a preventive
power. Misgivingsundefinedabsurdinexplicablethat there was
some one hiding in the inner room--walking softly overheadpeeping
in through the door-chinkdoing something stealthyanywhere where
he was not--came over him a hundred times a daymaking it pleasant
to throw up the sashand hold communication even with the sparrows
who had built in the roof and water-spoutand were twittering about
the windows all day long.

He sat with the outer door wide openat all timesthat he might
hear the footsteps as they enteredand turned off into the chambers
on the lower floor. He formed odd prepossessions tooregarding
strangers in the streets; and would say within himself of such or
such a manwho struck him as having anything uncommon in his dress
or aspect'I shouldn't wondernowif that were he!' But it never
was. And though he actually turned back and followed more than one
of these suspected individualsin a singular belief that they were
going to the place he was then upon his way fromhe never got any
other satisfaction by itthan the satisfaction of knowing it was
not the case.

Mr Fipsof Austin Friarsrather deepened than illumined the
obscurity of his position; for on the first occasion of Tom's
waiting on him to receive his weekly payhe said:

'Oh! by the byeMr Pinchyou needn't mention itif you please!'

Tom thought he was going to tell him a secret; so he said that he
wouldn't on any accountand that Mr Fips might entirely depend upon


him. But as Mr Fips said 'Very good' in replyand nothing more
Tom prompted him:

'Not on any account' repeated Tom.

Mr Fips repeated: 'Very good.'

'You were going to say'--Tom hinted.

'Oh dear no!' cried Fips. 'Not at all.' Howeverseeing Tom
confusedhe added'I mean that you needn't mention any particulars
about your place of employmentto people generally. You'll find it
better not.'

'I have not had the pleasure of seeing my employer yetsir'
observed Tomputting his week's salary in his pocket.

'Haven't you?' said Fips. 'NoI don't suppose you have though.'

'I should like to thank himand to know that what I have done so
faris done to his satisfaction' faltered Tom.

'Quite right' said Mr Fipswith a yawn. 'Highly creditable. Very
proper.'

Tom hastily resolved to try him on another tack.

'I shall soon have finished with the books' he said. 'I hope that
will not terminate my engagementsiror render me useless?'

'Oh dear no!' retorted Fips. 'Plenty to do; plen-ty to do! Be
careful how you go. It's rather dark.'

This was the very utmost extent of information Tom could ever get
out of HIM. So it was dark enough in all conscience; and if Mr Fips
expressed himself with a double meaninghe had good reason for
doing so.

But now a circumstance occurredwhich helped to divert Tom's
thoughts from even this mysteryand to divide them between it and a
new channelwhich was a very Nile in itself.

The way it came about was this. Having always been an early riser
and having now no organ to engage him in sweet converse every
morningit was his habit to take a long walk before going to the
Temple; and naturally incliningas a strangertowards those parts
of the town which were conspicuous for the life and animation
pervading themhe became a great frequenter of the market-places
bridgesquaysand especially the steam-boat wharves; for it was
very lively and fresh to see the people hurrying away upon their
many schemes of business or pleasureand it made Tom glad to think
that there was that much change and freedom in the monotonous
routine of city lives.

In most of these morning excursions Ruth accompanied him. As their
landlord was always up and away at his business (whatever that might
beno one seemed to know) at a very early hourthe habits of the
people of the house in which they lodged corresponded with their
own. Thus they had often finished their breakfastand were out in
the summer airby seven o'clock. After a two hours' stroll they
parted at some convenient point; Tom going to the Templeand his
sister returning homeas methodically as you please.

Many and many a pleasant stroll they had in Covent Garden Market;


snuffing up the perfume of the fruits and flowerswondering at the
magnificence of the pineapples and melons; catching glimpses down
side avenuesof rows and rows of old womenseated on inverted
basketsshelling peas; looking unutterable things at the fat bundles
of asparagus with which the dainty shops were fortified as with a
breastwork; andat the herbalist's doorsgratefully inhaling
scents as of veal-stuffing yet uncookeddreamily mixed up with
capsicumsbrown-paperseedseven with hints of lusty snails and
fine young curly leeches. Many and many a pleasant stroll they had
among the poultry marketswhere ducks and fowlswith necks
unnaturally longlay stretched out in pairsready for cooking;
where there were speckled eggs in mossy basketswhite country
sausages beyond impeachment by surviving cat or dogor horse or
donkey; new cheeses to any wild extentlive birds in coops and
cageslooking much too big to be naturalin consequence of those
receptacles being much too little; rabbitsalive and dead
innumerable. Many a pleasant stroll they had among the cool
refreshingsilvery fish-stallswith a kind of moonlight effect
about their stock-in-tradeexcepting always for the ruddy lobsters.
Many a pleasant stroll among the waggon-loads of fragrant hay
beneath which dogs and tired waggoners lay fast asleepoblivious of
the pieman and the public-house. But never half so good a stroll as
down among the steamboats on a bright morning.

There they layalongside of each other; hard and fast for everto
all appearancebut designing to get out somehowand quite
confident of doing it; and in that faith shoals of passengersand
heaps of luggagewere proceeding hurriedly on board. Little steamboats
dashed up and down the stream incessantly. Tiers upon tiers
of vesselsscores of mastslabyrinths of tackleidle sails
splashing oarsgliding row-boatslumbering bargessunken piles
with ugly lodgings for the water-rat within their mud-discoloured
nooks; church steepleswarehouseshouse-roofsarchesbridges
men and womenchildrencaskscranesboxes horsescoaches
idlersand hard-labourers; there they wereall jumbled up
togetherany summer morningfar beyond Tom's power of separation.

In the midst of all this turmoil there was an incessant roar from
every packet's funnelwhich quite expressed and carried out the
uppermost emotion of the scene. They all appeared to be perspiring
and bothering themselvesexactly as their passengers did; they
never left off fretting and chafingin their own hoarse manner
once; but were always panting outwithout any stops'Come along do
make haste I'm very nervous come along oh good gracious we shall
never get there how late you are do make haste I'm off directly come
along!'

Even when they had left offand had got safely out into the
currenton the smallest provocation they began again; for the
bravest packet of them allbeing stopped by some entanglement in
the riverwould immediately begin to fume and pant afresh'oh
here's a stoppage what's the matter do go on there I'm in a hurry
it's done on purpose did you ever oh my goodness DO go on here!' and
soin a state of mind bordering on distractionwould be last seen
drifting slowly through the mist into the summer light beyondthat
made it red.

Tom's shiphowever; orat leastthe packet-boat in which Tom and
his sister took the greatest interest on one particular occasion;
was not off yetby any means; but was at the height of its
disorder. The press of passengers was very great; another steamboat
lay on each side of her; the gangways were choked up;
distracted womenobviously bound for Gravesendbut turning a deaf
ear to all representations that this particular vessel was about to


sail for Antwerppersisted in secreting baskets of refreshments
behind bulk-headsand water-casksand under seats; and very great
confusion prevailed.

It was so amusingthat Tomwith Ruth upon his armstood looking
down from the wharfas nearly regardless as it was in the nature of
flesh and blood to beof an elderly lady behind himwho had
brought a large umbrella with herand didn't know what to do with
it. This tremendous instrument had a hooked handle; and its
vicinity was first made known to him by a painful pressure on the
windpipeconsequent upon its having caught him round the throat.
Soon after disengaging himself with perfect good humourhe had a
sensation of the ferule in his back; immediately afterwardsof the
hook entangling his ankles; then of the umbrella generally
wandering about his hatand flapping at it like a great bird; and
lastlyof a poke or thrust below the ribswhich give him such
exceeding anguishthat he could not refrain from turning round to
offer a mild remonstrance.

Upon his turning roundhe found the owner of the umbrella
struggling on tip-toewith a countenance expressive of violent
animosityto look down upon the steam-boats; from which he inferred
that she had attacked himstanding in the front rowby designand
as her natural enemy.

'What a very ill-natured person you must be!' said Tom.

The lady cried out fiercely'Where's the pelisse!'--meaning the
constabulary--and went on to sayshaking the handle of the umbrella
at Tomthat but for them fellers never being in the way when they
was wantedshe'd have given him in chargeshe would.

'If they greased their whiskers lessand minded the duties which
they're paid so heavy fora little more' she observed'no one
needn't be drove mad by scrouding so!'

She had been grievously knocked aboutno doubtfor her bonnet was
bent into the shape of a cocked hat. Being a fat little womantoo
she was in a state of great exhaustion and intense heat. Instead of
pursuing the altercationthereforeTom civilly inquired what boat
she wanted to go on board of?

'I suppose' returned the lady'as nobody but yourself can want to
look at a steam packagewithout wanting to go a-boarding of itcan
they! Booby!'

'Which one do you want to look at then?' said Tom. 'We'll make room
for you if we can. Don't be so ill-tempered.'

'No blessed creetur as ever I was with in trying times' returned
the ladysomewhat softened'and they're a many in their numbers
ever brought it as a charge again myself that I was anythin' but
mild and equal in my spirits. Never mind a contradicting of meif
you seem to feel it does you goodma'amI often saysfor well you
know that Sairey may be trusted not to give it back again. But I
will not denige that I am worrited and wexed this dayand with good
reagionLord forbid!'

By this timeMrs Gamp (for it was no other than that experienced
practitioner) hadwith Tom's assistancesqueezed and worked
herself into a small corner between Ruth and the rail; whereafter
breathing very hard for some little timeand performing a short
series of dangerous evolutions with her umbrellashe managed to
establish herself pretty comfortably.


'And which of all them smoking monsters is the Ankworks boatI
wonder. Goodness me!' cried Mrs Gamp.

'What boat did you want?' asked Ruth.

'The Ankworks package' Mrs Gamp replied. 'I will not deceive you
my sweet. Why should I?'

'That is the Antwerp packet in the middle' said Ruth.

'And I wish it was in Jonadge's bellyI do' cried Mrs Gamp;
appearing to confound the prophet with the whale in this miraculous
aspiration.

Ruth said nothing in reply; butas Mrs Gamplaying her chin
against the cool iron of the railcontinued to look intently at the
Antwerp boatand every now and then to give a little groanshe
inquired whether any child of hers was going aboard that morning?
Or perhaps her husbandshe said kindly.

'Which shows' said Mrs Gampcasting up her eyes'what a little
way you've travelled into this wale of lifemy dear young creetur!
As a good friend of mine has frequent made remark to mewhich her
namemy loveis HarrisMrs Harris through the square and up the
steps a-turnin' round by the tobacker shopOh Sairey, Sairey,
little do we know wot lays afore us!Mrs Harris, ma'am,I says
not much, it's true, but more than you suppoge. Our calcilations,
ma'am,I saysrespectin' wot the number of a family will be,
comes most times within one, and oftener than you would suppoge,
exact.Sairey,says Mrs Harrisin a awful wayTell me wot is
my indiwidgle number.No, Mrs Harris,I says to herex-cuge me,
if you please. My own,I sayshas fallen out of three-pair
backs, and had damp doorsteps settled on their lungs, and one was
turned up smilin' in a bedstead unbeknown. Therefore, ma'am,I
saysseek not to proticipate, but take 'em as they come and as
they go.Mine' says Mrs Gamp'mine is all gonemy dear young
chick. And as to husbandsthere's a wooden leg gone likeways home
to its accountwhich in its constancy of walkin' into wine vaults
and never comin' out again 'till fetched by forcewas quite as weak
as fleshif not weaker.'

When she had delivered this orationMrs Gamp leaned her chin upon
the cool iron again; and looking intently at the Antwerp packet
shook her head and groaned.

'I wouldn't' said Mrs Gamp'I wouldn't be a man and have such a
think upon my mind!--but nobody as owned the name of mancould do
it!'

Tom and his sister glanced at each other; and Ruthafter a moment's
hesitationasked Mrs Gamp what troubled her so much.

'My dear' returned that ladydropping her voice'you are single
ain't you?'

Ruth laughed blushedand said 'Yes.'

'Worse luck' proceeded Mrs Gamp'for all parties! But others is
marriedand in the marriage state; and there is a dear young
creetur a-comin' down this mornin' to that very packagewhich is no
more fit to trust herself to seathan nothin' is!'

She paused here to look over the deck of the packet in questionand


on the steps leading down to itand on the gangways. Seeming to
have thus assured herself that the object of her commiseration had
not yet arrivedshe raised her eyes gradually up to the top of the
escape-pipeand indignantly apostrophised the vessel:

'Ohdrat you!' said Mrs Gampshaking her umbrella at it'you're a
nice spluttering nisy monster for a delicate young creetur to go and
be a passinger by; ain't you! YOU never do no harm in that waydo
you? With your hammeringand roaringand hissingand lamp-iling
you brute! Them Confugion steamers' said Mrs Gampshaking her
umbrella again'has done more to throw us out of our reg'lar work
and bring ewents on at times when nobody counted on 'em (especially
them screeching railroad ones)than all the other frights that ever
was took. I have heerd of one young mana guard upon a railway
only three years opened--well does Mrs Harris know himwhich indeed
he is her own relation by her sister's marriage with a master
sawyer--as is godfather at this present time to six-and-twenty
blessed little strangersequally unexpectedand all on 'um named
after the Ingeines as was the cause. Ugh!' said Mrs Gampresuming
her apostrophe'one might easy know you was a man's inwention
from your disregardlessness of the weakness of our natursso
one mightyou brute!'

It would not have been unnatural to supposefrom the first part of
Mrs Gamp's lamentationsthat she was connected with the
stage-coaching or post-horsing trade. She had no means of judging of
the effect of her concluding remarks upon her young companion; for
she interrupted herself at this pointand exclaimed:

'There she identically goes! Poor sweet young creeturthere she
goeslike a lamb to the sacrifige! If there's any illness when that
wessel gets to sea' said Mrs Gampprophetically'it's murderand
I'm the witness for the persecution.'

She was so very earnest on the subjectthat Tom's sister (being as
kind as Tom himself) could not help saying something to her in
reply.

'Praywhich is the lady' she inquired'in whom you are so much
interested?'

'There!' groaned Mrs Gamp. 'There she goes! A-crossin' the little
wooden bridge at this minute. She's a-slippin' on a bit of
orangepeel!' tightly clutching her umbrella. 'What a turn it give
me.'

'Do you mean the lady who is with that man wrapped up from head to
foot in a large cloakso that his face is almost hidden?'

'Well he may hide it!' Mrs Gamp replied. 'He's good call to be
ashamed of himself. Did you see him a-jerking of her wristthen?'

'He seems to be hasty with herindeed.'

'Now he's a-taking of her down into the close cabin!' said Mrs Gamp
impatiently. 'What's the man about! The deuce is in himI think.
Why can't he leave her in the open air?'

He did notwhatever his reason wasbut led her quickly down and
disappeared himselfwithout loosening his cloakor pausing on the
crowded deck one moment longer than was necessary to clear their way
to that part of the vessel.

Tom had not heard this little dialogue; for his attention had been


engaged in an unexpected manner. A hand upon his sleeve had caused
him to look roundjust when Mrs Gamp concluded her apostrophe to
the steam-engine; and on his right armRuth being on his lefthe
found their landlordto his great surprise.

He was not so much surprised at the man's being thereas at his
having got close to him so quietly and swiftly; for another person
had been at his elbow one instant before; and he had not in the
meantime been conscious of any change or pressure in the knot of
people among whom he stood. He and Ruth had frequently remarked how
noiselessly this landlord of theirs came into and went out of his
own house; but Tom was not the less amazed to see him at his elbow
now.

'I beg your pardonMr Pinch' he said in his ear. 'I am rather
infirmand out of breathand my eyes are not very good. I am not
as young as I wassir. You don't see a gentleman in a large cloak
down yonderwith a lady on his arm; a lady in a veil and a black
shawl; do you?'

If HE did notit was curious that in speaking he should have
singled out from all the crowd the very people whom he described;
and should have glanced hastily from them to Tomas if he were
burning to direct his wandering eyes.

'A gentleman in a large cloak!' said Tom'and a lady in a black
shawl! Let me see!'

'Yesyes!' replied the otherwith keen impatience. 'A gentleman
muffled up from head to foot--strangely muffled up for such a
morning as this--like an invalidwith his hand to his face at this
minuteperhaps. Nonono! not there' he addedfollowing Tom's
gaze; 'the other way; in that direction; down yonder.' Again he
indicatedbut this time in his hurrywith his outstretched finger
the very spot on which the progress of these persons was checked at
that moment.

'There are so many peopleand so much motionand so many objects'
said Tom'that I find it difficult to--noI really don't see
a gentleman in a large cloakand a lady in a black shawl.
There's a lady in a red shawl over there!'

'Nonono!' cried his landlordpointing eagerly again'not
there. The other way; the other way. Look at the cabin steps. To
the left. They must be near the cabin steps. Do you see the cabin
steps? There's the bell ringing already! DO you see the steps?'

'Stay!' said Tom'you're right. Look! there they go now. Is that
the gentleman you mean? Descending at this minutewith the folds
of a great cloak trailing down after him?'

'The very man!' returned the othernot looking at what Tom pointed
outhoweverbut at Tom's own face. 'Will you do me a kindness
sira great kindness? Will you put that letter in his hand? Only
give him that! He expects it. I am charged to do it by my
employersbut I am late in finding himandnot being as young as
I have beenshould never be able to make my way on board and off
the deck again in time. Will you pardon my boldnessand do me that
great kindness?'

His hands shookand his face bespoke the utmost interest and
agitationas he pressed the letter upon Tomand pointed to its
destinationlike the Tempter in some grim old carving.


To hesitate in the performance of a good-natured or compassionate
office was not in Tom's way. He took the letter; whispered Ruth to
wait till he returnedwhich would be immediately; and ran down the
steps with all the expedition he could make. There were so many
people going downso many others coming upsuch heavy goods in
course of transit to and frosuch a ringing of bellblowing-off of
steamand shouting of men's voicesthat he had much ado to force
his wayor keep in mind to which boat he was going. But he reached
the right one with good speedand going down the cabin-stairs
immediatelydescribed the object of his search standing at the
upper end of the saloonwith his back towards himreading some
notice which was hung against the wall. As Tom advanced to give him
the letterhe startedhearing footstepsand turned round.

What was Tom's astonishment to find in him the man with whom he had
had the conflict in the field--poor Mercy's husband. Jonas!

Tom understood him to saywhat the devil did he want; but it was
not easy to make out what he said; he spoke so indistinctly.

'I want nothing with you for myself' said Tom; 'I was askeda
moment sinceto give you this letter. You were pointed out to me
but I didn't know you in your strange dress. Take it!'

He did soopened itand read the writing on the inside. The
contents were evidently very brief; not more perhaps than one line;
but they struck upon him like a stone from a sling. He reeled back
as he read.

His emotion was so different from any Tom had ever seen before that
he stopped involuntarily. Momentary as his state of indecision was
the bell ceased while he stood thereand a hoarse voice calling
down the stepsinquired if there was any to go ashore?

'Yes' cried Jonas'I--I am coming. Give me time. Where's that
woman! Come back; come back here.'

He threw open another door as he spokeand draggedrather than
ledher forth. She was pale and frightenedand amazed to see her
old acquaintance; but had no time to speakfor they were making a
great stir above; and Jonas drew her rapidly towards the deck.

'Where are we going? What is the matter?'

'We are going back' said Jonas. 'I have changed my mind. I can't
go. Don't question meor I shall be the death of youor some one
else. Stop there! Stop! We're for the shore. Do you hear? We're
for the shore!'

He turnedeven in the madness of his hurryand scowling darkly
back at Tomshook his clenched hand at him. There are not many
human faces capable of the expression with which he accompanied that
gesture.

He dragged her upand Tom followed them. Across the deckover the
sidealong the crazy plankand up the stepshe dragged her
fiercely; not bestowing any look on herbut gazing upwards all the
while among the faces on the wharf. Suddenly he turned againand
said to Tom with a tremendous oath:

'Where is he?'

Before Tomin his indignation and amazementcould return an answer
to a question he so little understooda gentleman approached Tom


behindand saluted Jonas Chuzzlewit by name. He has a gentleman of
foreign appearancewith a black moustache and whiskers; and
addressed him with a polite composurestrangely different from his
own distracted and desperate manner.

'Chuzzlewitmy good fellow!' said the gentlemanraising his hat in
compliment to Mrs Chuzzlewit'I ask your pardon twenty thousand
times. I am most unwilling to interfere between you and a domestic
trip of this nature (always so very charming and refreshingI know
although I have not the happiness to be a domestic man myselfwhich
is the great infelicity of my existence); but the beehivemy dear
friendthe beehive--will you introduce me?'

'This is Mr Montague' said Jonaswhom the words appeared to choke.

'The most unhappy and most penitent of menMrs Chuzzlewit' pursued
that gentleman'for having been the means of spoiling this
excursion; but as I tell my friendthe beehivethe beehive. You
projected a short little continental tripmy dear friendof
course?'

Jonas maintained a dogged silence.

'May I die' cried Montague'but I am shocked! Upon my soul I am
shocked. But that confounded beehive of ours in the city must be
paramount to every other considerationwhen there is honey to be
made; and that is my best excuse. Here is a very singular old
female dropping curtseys on my right' said Montaguebreaking off
in his discourseand looking at Mrs Gamp'who is not a friend of
mine. Does anybody know her?'

'Ah! Well they knows mebless their precious hearts!' said Mrs
Gamp'not forgettin' your own merry onesirand long may it be
so! Wishin' as every one' (she delivered this in the form of a toast
or sentiment) 'was as merryand as handsome-lookin'as a little
bird has whispered me a certain gent iswhich I will not name for
fear I give offence where none is doo! My precious lady' here she
stopped short in her merrimentfor she had until now affected to be
vastly entertained'you're too pale by half!'

'YOU are here tooare you?' muttered Jonas. 'Ecodthere are
enough of you.'

'I hopesir' returned Mrs Gampdropping an indignant curtsey'as
no bones is broke by me and Mrs Harris a-walkin' down upon a public
wharf. Which was the very words she says to me (although they was
the last I ever had to speak) was these: "Sairey she says, is it
a public wharf?" Mrs Harris I makes answer, can you doubt it?
You have know'd me nowma'ameight and thirty year; and did you
ever know me goor wish to gowhere I was not made welcomesay
the words." "NoSairey Mrs Harris says, contrairy quite." And
well she knows it too. I am but a poor womanbut I've been sought
aftersirthough you may not think it. I've been knocked up at
all hours of the nightand warned out by a many landlordsin
consequence of being mistook for Fire. I goes out workin' for my
bread'tis truebut I maintains my independencywith your kind
leaveand which I will till death. I has my feelins as a woman
sirand I have been a mother likeways; but touch a pipkin as
belongs to meor make the least remarks on what I eats or drinks
and though you was the favouritest young for'ard hussy of a servantgal
as ever come into a houseeither you leaves the placeor me.
My earnins is not greatsirbut I will not be impoged upon. Bless
the babeand save the motheris my mortarsir; but I makes so
free as add to thatDon't try no impogician with the Nussfor she


will not abear it!'

Mrs Gamp concluded by drawing her shawl tightly over herself with
both handsandas usualreferring to Mrs Harris for full
corroboration of these particulars. She had that peculiar trembling
of the head whichin ladies of her excitable naturemay be taken
as a sure indication of their breaking out again very shortly; when
Jonas made a timely interposition.

'As you ARE here' he said'you had better see to herand take her
home. I am otherwise engaged.' He said nothing more; but looked at
Montague as if to give him notice that he was ready to attend him.

'I am sorry to take you away' said Montague.

Jonas gave him a sinister lookwhich long lived in Tom's memory
and which he often recalled afterwards.

'I amupon my life' said Montague. 'Why did you make it
necessary?'

With the same dark glance as beforeJonas repliedafter a moment's
silence:

'The necessity is none of my making. You have brought it about
yourself.'

He said nothing more. He said even this as if he were boundand in
the other's powerbut had a sullen and suppressed devil within him
which he could not quite resist. His very gaitas they walked away
togetherwas like that of a fettered man; butstriving to work out
at his clenched handsknitted browsand fast-set lipswas the
same imprisoned devil still.

They got into a handsome cabriolet which was waiting for them and
drove away.

The whole of this extraordinary scene had passed so rapidly and the
tumult which prevailed around as so unconscious of any impression
from itthatalthough Tom had been one of the chief actorsit was
like a dream. No one had noticed him after they had left the
packet. He had stood behind Jonasand so near himthat he could
not help hearing all that passed. He had stood therewith his
sister on his armexpecting and hoping to have an opportunity of
explaining his strange share in this yet stranger business. But
Jonas had not raised his eyes from the ground; no one else had even
looked towards him; and before he could resolve on any course of
actionthey were all gone.

He gazed round for his landlord. But he had done that more than
once alreadyand no such man was to be seen. He was still pursuing
this search with his eyeswhen he saw a hand beckoning to him from
a hackney-coach; and hurrying towards itfound it was Merry's. She
addressed him hurriedlybut bent out of the windowthat she might
not be overheard by her companionMrs Gamp.

'What is it?' she said. 'Good heavenwhat is it? Why did he tell
me last night to prepare for a long journeyand why have you
brought us back like criminals? Dear Mr Pinch!' she clasped her
hands distractedly'be merciful to us. Whatever this dreadful
secret isbe mercifuland God will bless you!'

'If any power of mercy lay with me' cried Tom'trust meyou
shouldn't ask in vain. But I am far more ignorant and weak than


you.'

She withdrew into the coach againand he saw the hand waving
towards him for a moment; but whether in reproachfulness or
incredulity or miseryor griefor sad adieuor what elsehe
could notbeing so hurriedunderstand. SHE was gone now; and Ruth
and he were left to walk awayand wonder.

Had Mr Nadgett appointed the man who never cameto meet him upon
London Bridge that morning? He was certainly looking over the
parapetand down upon the steamboat-wharf at that moment. It could
not have been for pleasure; he never took pleasure. No. He must
have had some business there.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

MR JONAS AND HIS FRIENDARRIVING AT A PLEASANT UNDERSTANDINGSET
FORTH UPON AN ENTERPRISE

The office of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life
Assurance Company being near at handand Mr Montague driving Jonas
straight therethey had very little way to go. But the journey
might have been one of several hours' durationwithout provoking a
remark from either; for it was clear that Jonas did not mean to break
the silence which prevailed between themand that it was notas
yethis dear friend's cue to tempt them into conversation.

He had thrown aside his cloakas having now no motive for
concealmentand with that garment huddled on his kneessat as far
removed from his companion as the limited space in such a carriage
would allow. There was a striking difference in his manner
compared with what it had beenwithin a few minuteswhen Tom
encountered him so unexpectedly on board the packetor when the
ugly change had fallen on him in Mr Montague's dressing-room. He
had the aspect of a man found out and held at bay; of being baffled
huntedand beset; but there was now a dawning and increasing
purpose in his facewhich changed it very much. It was gloomy
distrustfullowering; pale with anger and defeat; it still was
humbledabjectcowardly and mean; butlet the conflict go on
as it wouldthere was one strong purpose wrestling with every
emotion of his mindand casting the whole series down as they arose.

Not prepossessing in appearance at the best of timesit may be
readily supposed that he was not so now. He had left deep marks of
his front teeth in his nether lip; and those tokens of the agitation
he had lately undergone improved his looks as little as the heavy
corrugations in his forehead. But he was self-possessed now;
unnaturally self-possessedindeedas men quite otherwise than
brave are known to be in desperate extremities; and when the carriage
stoppedhe waited for no invitationbut leapt hardily outand
went upstairs.

The chairman followed him; and closing the board-room door as soon
as they had enteredthrew himself upon a sofa. Jonas stood before
the windowlooking down into the street; and leaned against the
sashresting his head upon his arms.

'This is not handsomeChuzzlewit!' said Montague at length. 'Not
handsome upon my soul!'

'What would you have me do?' he answeredlooking round abruptly;


'What do you expect?'

'Confidencemy good fellow. Some confidence!' said Montague in an
injured tone.

'Ecod! You show great confidence in me' retorted Jonas. 'Don't
you?'

'Do I not?' said his companionraising his headand looking at
himbut he had turned again. 'Do I not? Have I not confided to
you the easy schemes I have formed for our advantage; OUR advantage
mind; not mine alone; and what is my return? Attempted flight!'

'How do you know that? Who said I meant to fly?'

'Who said? Comecome. A foreign boatmy friendan early houra
figure wrapped up for disguise! Who said? If you didn't mean to
jilt mewhy were you there? If you didn't mean to jilt mewhy did
you come back?'

'I came back' said Jonas'to avoid disturbance.'

'You were wise' rejoined his friend.

Jonas stood quite silent; still looking down into the streetand
resting his head upon his arms.

'NowChuzzlewit' said Montague'notwithstanding what has passed I
will be plain with you. Are you attending to me there? I only see
your back.'

'I hear you. Go on!'

'I say that notwithstanding what has passedI will be plain with
you.'

'You said that before. And I have told you once I heard you say it.
Go on.'

'You are a little chafedbut I can make allowance for thatand am
fortunatelymyself in the very best of tempers. Nowlet us see
how circumstances stand. A day or two agoI mentioned to youmy
dear fellowthat I thought I had discovered--'

'Will you hold your tongue?' said Jonaslooking fiercely roundand
glancing at the door.

'Wellwell!' said Montague. 'Judicious! Quite correct! My
discoveries being publishedwould be like many other men's
discoveries in this honest world; of no further use to me. You see
Chuzzlewithow ingenuous and frank I am in showing you the weakness
of my own position! To return. I makeor think I makea certain
discovery which I take an early opportunity of mentioning in your
earin that spirit of confidence which I really hoped did prevail
between usand was reciprocated by you. Perhaps there is something
in it; perhaps there is nothing. I have my knowledge and opinion on
the subject. You have yours. We will not discuss the question.
Butmy good fellowyou have been weak; what I wish to point out to
you isthat you have been weak. I may desire to turn this little
incident to my account (indeedI do--I'll not deny it)but my
account does not lie in probing itor using it against you.'

'What do you call using it against me?' asked Jonaswho had not yet
changed his attitude.


'Oh!' said Montaguewith a laugh. 'We'll not enter into that.'

'Using it to make a beggar of me. Is that the use you mean?'

'No.'

'Ecod' muttered Jonasbitterly. 'That's the use in which your
account DOES lie. You speak the truth there.'

'I wish you to venture (it's a very safe venture) a little more with
uscertainlyand to keep quiet' said Montague. 'You promised me
you would; and you must. I say it plainlyChuzzlewityou MUST.
Reason the matter. If you don'tmy secret is worthless to me: and
being soit may as well become the public property as mine; better
for I shall gain some creditbringing it to light. I want you
besidesto act as a decoy in a case I have already told you of.
You don't mind thatI know. You care nothing for the man (you care
nothing for any man; you are too sharp; so am II hope); and could
bear any loss of his with pious fortitude. Hahaha! You have
tried to escape from the first consequence. You cannot escape itI
assure you. I have shown you that to-day. NowI am not a moral
manyou know. I am not the least in the world affected by anything
you may have done; by any little indiscretion you may have
committed; but I wish to profit by it if I can; and to a man of your
intelligence I make that free confession. I am not at all singular
in that infirmity. Everybody profits by the indiscretion of his
neighbour; and the people in the best reputethe most. Why do you
give me this trouble? It must come to a friendly agreementor an
unfriendly crash. It must. If the formeryou are very little
hurt. If the latter--well! you know best what is likely to happen
then.'

Jonas left the windowand walked up close to him. He did not look
him in the face; it was not his habit to do that; but he kept his
eyes towards him--on his breastor thereabouts--and was at great
pains to speak slowly and distinctly in reply. Just as a man in a
state of conscious drunkenness might be.

'Lying is of no use now' he said. 'I DID think of getting away
this morningand making better terms with you from a distance.'

'To be sure! to be sure!' replied Montague. 'Nothing more natural.
I foresaw thatand provided against it. But I am afraid I am
interrupting you.'

'How the devil' pursued Jonaswith a still greater effort'you
made choice of your messengerand where you found himI'll not ask
you. I owed him one good turn before to-day. If you are so
careless of men in generalas you said you were just nowyou are
quite indifferent to what becomes of such a crop-tailed cur as that
and will leave me to settle my account with him in my own manner.'

If he had raised his eyes to his companion's facehe would have
seen that Montague was evidently unable to comprehend his meaning.
But continuing to stand before himwith his furtive gaze directed
as beforeand pausing here only to moisten his dry lips with his
tonguethe fact was lost upon him. It might have struck a close
observer that this fixed and steady glance of Jonas's was a part of
the alteration which had taken place in his demeanour. He kept it
riveted on one spotwith which his thoughts had manifestly nothing
to do; like as a juggler walking on a cord or wire to any dangerous
endholds some object in his sight to steady himand never wanders
from itlest he trip.


Montague was quick in his rejoinderthough he made it at a
venture. There was no difference of opinion between him and his
friend on THAT point. Not the least.

'Your great discovery' Jonas proceededwith a savage sneer that
got the better of him for the moment'may be trueand may be
false. Whichever it isI dare say I'm no worse than other men.'

'Not a bit' said Tigg. 'Not a bit. We're all alike--or nearly
so.'

'I want to know this' Jonas went on to say; 'is it your own?
You'll not wonder at my asking the question.'

'My own!' repeated Montague.

'Aye!' returned the othergruffly. 'Is it known to anybody else?
Come! Don't waver about that.'

'No!' said Montaguewithout the smallest hesitation. 'What would
it be worthdo you thinkunless I had the keeping of it?'

Nowfor the first timeJonas looked at him. After a pausehe put
out his handand saidwith a laugh:

'Come! make things easy to meand I'm yours. I don't know that I
may not be better off hereafter allthan if I had gone away this
morning. But here I amand here I'll stay now. Take your oath!'

He cleared his throatfor he was speaking hoarsely and said in a
lighter tone:

'Shall I go to Pecksniff? When? Say when!'

'Immediately!' cried Montague. 'He cannot be enticed too soon.'

'Ecod!' cried Jonaswith a wild laugh. 'There's some fun in
catching that old hypocrite. I hate him. Shall I go to-night?'

'Aye! This' said Montagueecstatically'is like business! We
understand each other now! To-nightmy good fellowby all means.'

'Come with me' cried Jonas. 'We must make a dash; go down in
stateand carry documentsfor he's a deep file to deal withand
must be drawn on with an artful handor he'll not follow. I know
him. As I can't take your lodgings or your dinners downI must
take you. Will you come to-night?'

His friend appeared to hesitate; and neither to have anticipated
this proposalnor to relish it very much.

'We can concert our plans upon the road' said Jonas. 'We must not
go direct to himbut cross over from some other placeand turn out
of our way to see him. I may not want to introduce youbut I must
have you on the spot. I know the manI tell you.'

'But what if the man knows me?' said Montagueshrugging his
shoulders.

'He know!' cried Jonas. 'Don't you run that risk with fifty men a
day! Would your father know you? Did I know you? Ecod! You were
another figure when I saw you first. Hahaha! I see the rents
and patches now! No false hair thenno black dye! You were another


sort of joker in those daysyou were! You even spoke different
then. You've acted the gentleman so seriously sincethat you've
taken in yourself. If he should know youwhat does it matter?
Such a change is a proof of your success. You know thator you
would not have made yourself known to me. Will you come?'

'My good fellow' said Montaguestill hesitating'I can trust you
alone.'

'Trust me! Ecodyou may trust me nowfar enough. I'll try to go
away no more--no more!' He stoppedand added in a more sober tone
'I can't get on without you. Will you come?'

'I will' said Montague'if that's your opinion.' And they shook
hands upon it.

The boisterous manner which Jonas had exhibited during the latter
part of this conversationand which had gone on rapidly increasing
with almost every word he had spokenfrom the time when he looked
his honourable friend in the face until nowdid not now subside
butremaining at its heightabided by him. Most unusual with him
at any period; most inconsistent with his temper and constitution;
especially unnatural it would appear in one so darkly circumstanced;
it abided by him. It was not like the effect of wineor any ardent
drinkfor he was perfectly coherent. It even made him proof
against the usual influence of such means of excitement; for
although he drank deeply several times that daywith no reserve or
cautionhe remained exactly the same manand his spirits neither
rose nor fell in the least observable degree.

Decidingafter some discussionto travel at nightin order that
the day's business might not be broken in uponthey took counsel
together in reference to the means. Mr Montague being of opinion
that four horses were advisableat all events for the first stage
as throwing a great deal of dust into people's eyesin more senses
than onea travelling chariot and four lay under orders for nine
o'clock. Jonas did not go home; observingthat his being obliged
to leave town on business in so great a hurrywould be a good
excuse for having turned back so unexpectedly in the morning. So he
wrote a note for his portmanteauand sent it by a messengerwho
duly brought his luggage backwith a short note from that other
piece of luggagehis wifeexpressive of her wish to be allowed to
come and see him for a moment. To this request he sent for answer
'she had better;' and one such threatening affirmative being
sufficientin defiance of the English grammarto express a
negativeshe kept away.

Mr Montague being much engaged in the course of the dayJonas
bestowed his spirits chiefly on the doctorwith whom he lunched in
the medical officer's own room. On his way thitherencountering Mr
Nadgett in the outer roomhe bantered that stealthy gentleman on
always appearing anxious to avoid himand inquired if he were
afraid of him. Mr Nadgett slyly answered'Nobut he believed it
must be his way as he had been charged with much the same kind of
thing before.'

Mr Montague was listening toorto speak with greater elegancehe
overheardthis dialogue. As soon as Jonas was gone he beckoned
Nadgett to him with the feather of his penand whispered in his
ear.

'Who gave him my letter this morning?'

'My lodgersir' said Nadgettbehind the palm of his hand.


'How came that about?'

'I found him on the wharfsir. Being so much hurriedand you not
arrivedit was necessary to do something. It fortunately occurred
to methat if I gave it him myself I could be of no further use. I
should have been blown upon immediately.'

'Mr Nadgettyou are a jewel' said Montaguepatting him on the
back. 'What's your lodger's name?'

'Pinchsir. Thomas Pinch.'

Montague reflected for a little whileand then asked:

'From the countrydo you know?'

'From Wiltshiresirhe told me.'

They parted without another word. To see Mr Nadgett's bow when
Montague and he next metand to see Mr Montague acknowledge it
anybody might have undertaken to swear that they had never spoken to
each other confidentially in all their lives.

In the meanwhileMr Jonas and the doctor made themselves very
comfortable upstairsover a bottle of the old Madeira and some
sandwiches; for the doctor having been already invited to dine below
at six o'clockpreferred a light repast for lunch. It was
advisablehe saidin two points of view: Firstas being healthy
in itself. Secondly as being the better preparation for dinner.

'And you are bound for all our sakes to take particular care of your
digestionMr Chuzzlewitmy dear sir' said the doctor smacking his
lips after a glass of wine; 'for depend upon itit is worth
preserving. It must be in admirable conditionsir; perfect
chronometer-work. Otherwise your spirits could not be so
remarkable. Your bosom's lord sits lightly on its throneMr
Chuzzlewitas what's-his-name says in the play. I wish he said it
in a play which did anything like common justice to our profession
by the bye. There is an apothecary in that dramasirwhich is a
low thing; vulgarsir; out of nature altogether.'

Mr Jobling pulled out his shirt-frill of fine linenas though he
would have said'This is what I call nature in a medical mansir;'
and looked at Jonas for an observation.

Jonas not being in a condition to pursue the subjecttook up a case
of lancets that was lying on the tableand opened it.

'Ah!' said the doctorleaning back in his chair'I always take 'em
out of my pocket before I eat. My pockets are rather tight. Ha
haha!'

Jonas had opened one of the shining little instruments; and was
scrutinizing it with a look as sharp and eager as its own bright
edge.

'Good steeldoctor. Good steel! Eh!'

'Ye-es' replied the doctorwith the faltering modesty of
ownership. 'One might open a vein pretty dexterously with thatMr
Chuzzlewit.'

'It has opened a good many in its timeI suppose?' said Jonas


looking at it with a growing interest.

'Not a fewmy dear sirnot a few. It has been engaged in a--in a
pretty good practiceI believe I may say' replied the doctor
coughing as if the matter-of-fact were so very dry and literal that
he couldn't help it. 'In a pretty good practice' repeated the
doctorputting another glass of wine to his lips.

'Nowcould you cut a man's throat with such a thing as this?'
demanded Jonas.

'Oh certainlycertainlyif you took him in the right place'
returned the doctor. 'It all depends upon that.'

'Where you have your hand nowhey?' cried Jonasbending forward
to look at it.

'Yes' said the doctor; 'that's the jugular.'

Jonasin his vivacitymade a sudden sawing in the airso close
behind the doctor's jugular that he turned quite red. Then Jonas
(in the same strange spirit of vivacity) burst into a loud
discordant laugh.

'Nono' said the doctorshaking his head; 'edge toolsedge
tools; never play with 'em. A very remarkable instance of the
skillful use of edge-toolsby the wayoccurs to me at this moment.
It was a case of murder. I am afraid it was a case of murder
committed by a member of our profession; it was so artistically
done.'

'Aye!' said Jonas. 'How was that?'

'Whysir' returned Jobling'the thing lies in a nutshell. A
certain gentleman was foundone morningin an obscure street
lying in an angle of a doorway--I should rather sayleaningin an
upright positionin the angle of a doorwayand supported
consequently by the doorway. Upon his waistcoat there was one
solitary drop of blood. He was dead and cold; and had been
murderedsir.'

'Only one drop of blood!' said Jonas.

'Sirthat man' replied the doctor'had been stabbed to the heart.
Had been stabbed to the heart with such dexteritysirthat he had
died instantlyand had bled internally. It was supposed that a
medical friend of his (to whom suspicion attached) had engaged him
in conversation on some pretence; had taken himvery likelyby the
button in a conversational manner; had examined his ground at
leisure with his other hand; had marked the exact spot; drawn out
the instrumentwhatever it waswhen he was quite prepared; and--'

'And done the trick' suggested Jonas.

'Exactly so' replied the doctor. 'It was quite an operation in its
wayand very neat. The medical friend never turned up; andas I
tell youhe had the credit of it. Whether he did it or not I can't
say. Buthaving had the honour to be called in with two or three
of my professional brethren on the occasionand having assisted to
make a careful examination of the woundI have no hesitation in
saying that it would have reflected credit on any medical man; and
that in an unprofessional person it could not but be considered
either as an extraordinary work of artor the result of a still
more extraordinaryhappyand favourable conjunction of


circumstances.'

His hearer was so much interested in this casethat the doctor went
on to elucidate it with the assistance of his own finger and thumb
and waistcoat; and at Jonas's requesthe took the further trouble
of going into a corner of the roomand alternately representing the
murdered man and the murderer; which he did with great effect. The
bottle being emptied and the story doneJonas was in precisely the
same boisterous and unusual state as when they had sat down. Ifas
Jobling theorizedhis good digestion were the causehe must have
been a very ostrich.

At dinner it was just the same; and after dinner too; though wine
was drunk in abundanceand various rich meats eaten. At nine
o'clock it was still the same. There being a lamp in the carriage
he swore they would take a pack of cardsand a bottle of wine; and
with these things under his cloakwent down to the door.

'Out of the wayTom Thumband get to bed!'

This was the salutation he bestowed on Mr Baileywhobooted and
wrapped upstood at the carriage door to help him in.

'To bedsir! I'm a-goingtoo' said Bailey.

He alighted quicklyand walked back into the hallwhere Montague
was lighting a cigar; conducting Mr Bailey with himby the collar.

'You are not a-going to take this monkey of a boyare you?'

'Yes' said Montague.

He gave the boy a shakeand threw him roughly aside. There was
more of his familiar self in the actionthan in anything he had
done that day; but he broke out laughing immediately afterwardsand
making a thrust at the doctor with his handin imitation of his
representation of the medical friendwent out to the carriage
againand took his seat. His companion followed immediately. Mr
Bailey climbed into the rumble. 'It will be a stormy night!'
exclaimed the doctoras they started.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR JONAS AND HIS FRIEND

The doctor's prognostication in reference to the weather was
speedily verified. Although the weather was not a patient of his
and no third party had required him to give an opinion on the case
the quick fulfilment of his prophecy may be taken as an instance of
his professional tact; forunless the threatening aspect of the
night had been perfectly plain and unmistakableMr Jobling would
never have compromised his reputation by delivering any sentiments
on the subject. He used this principle in Medicine with too much
success to be unmindful of it in his commonest transactions.

It was one of those hotsilent nightswhen people sit at windows
listening for the thunder which they know will shortly break; when
they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes; and of
lonely travellers on open plainsand lonely ships at seastruck by
lightning. Lightning flashed and quivered on the black horizon even
now; and hollow murmurings were in the windas though it had been


blowing where the thunder rolledand still was charged with its
exhausted echoes. But the stormthough gathering swiftlyhad not
yet come up; and the prevailing stillness was the more solemnfrom
the dull intelligence that seemed to hover in the airof noise and
conflict afar off.

It was very dark; but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud
which shone with a lurid lightlike monstrous heaps of copper that
had been heated in a furnaceand were growing cold. These had been
advancing steadily and slowlybut they were now motionlessor
nearly so. As the carriage clattered round the corners of the
streetsit passed at every one a knot of persons who had come
there--many from their houses close at handwithout hats--to look
up at that quarter of the sky. And now a very few large drops of
rain began to falland thunder rumbled in the distance.

Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage with his bottle resting on his
kneeand gripped as tightly in his hand as if he would have ground
its neck to powder if he could. Instinctively attracted by the
nighthe had laid aside the pack of cards upon the cushion; and
with the same involuntary impulseso intelligible to both of them
as not to occasion a remark on either sidehis companion had
extinguished the lamp. The front glasses were down; and they sat
looking silently out upon the gloomy scene before them.

They were clear of Londonor as clear of it as travellers can be
whose way lies on the Western Roadwithin a stage of that enormous
city. Occasionally they encountered a foot-passengerhurrying to
the nearest place of shelter; or some unwieldy cart proceeding
onward at a heavy trotwith the same end in view. Little clusters
of such vehicles were gathered round the stable-yard or baitingplace
of every wayside tavern; while their drivers watched the
weather from the doors and open windowsor made merry within.
Everywhere the people were disposed to bear each other company
rather than sit alone; so that groups of watchful faces seemed to be
looking out upon the night AND THEMfrom almost every house they
passed.

It may appear strange that this should have disturbed Jonasor
rendered him uneasy; but it did. After muttering to himselfand
often changing his positionhe drew up the blind on his side of the
carriageand turned his shoulder sulkily towards it. But he
neither looked at his companionnor broke the silence which
prevailed between themand which had fallen so suddenly upon
himselfby addressing a word to him.

The thunder rolledthe lightning flashed; the rain poured down like
Heaven's wrath. Surrounded at one moment by intolerable lightand
at the next by pitchy darknessthey still pressed forward on their
journey. Even when they arrived at the end of the stageand might
have tarriedthey did not; but ordered horses out immediately. Nor
had this any reference to some five minutes' lullwhich at that
time seemed to promise a cessation of the storm. They held their
course as if they were impelled and driven by its fury. Although
they had not exchanged a dozen wordsand might have tarried very
wellthey seemed to feelby joint consentthat onward they must
go.

Louder and louder the deep thunder rolledas through the myriad
halls of some vast temple in the sky; fiercer and brighter became
the lightningmore and more heavily the rain poured down. The
horses (they were travelling now with a single pair) plunged and
started from the rills of quivering fire that seemed to wind along
the ground before them; but there these two men satand forward


they went as if they were led on by an invisible attraction.

The eyepartaking of the quickness of the flashing lightsaw in
its every gleam a multitude of objects which it could not see at
steady noon in fifty times that period. Bells in steepleswith the
rope and wheel that moved them; ragged nests of birds in cornices
and nooks; faces full of consternation in the tilted waggons that
came tearing past; their frightened teams ringing out a warning
which the thunder drowned; harrows and ploughs left out in fields;
miles upon miles of hedge-divided countrywith the distant fringe
of trees as obvious as the scarecrow in the bean-field close at hand;
in a tremblingvividflickering instanteverything was clear and
plain; then came a flush of red into the yellow light; a change to
blue; a brightness so intense that there was nothing else but light;
and then the deepest and profoundest darkness.

The lightning being very crooked and very dazzling may have
presented or assisted a curious optical illusionwhich suddenly
rose before the startled eyes of Montague in the carriageand as
rapidly disappeared. He thought he saw Jonas with his hand lifted
and the bottle clenched in it like a hammermaking as if he would
aim a blow at his head. At the same time he observed (or so
believed) an expression in his face--a combination of the unnatural
excitement he had shown all daywith a wild hatred and fear--which
might have rendered a wolf a less terrible companion.

He uttered an involuntary exclamationand called to the driverwho
brought his horses to a stop with all speed.

It could hardly have been as he supposedfor although he had not
taken his eyes off his companionand had not seen him movehe sat
reclining in his corner as before.

'What's the matter?' said Jonas. 'Is that your general way of
waking out of your sleep?'

'I could swear' returned the other'that I have not closed my
eyes!'

'When you have sworn it' said Jonascomposedly'we had better go
on againif you have only stopped for that.'

He uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth; and putting it to
his lipstook a long draught.

'I wish we had never started on this journey. This is not' said
Montaguerecoiling instinctivelyand speaking in a voice that
betrayed his agitation; 'this is not a night to travel in.'

'Ecod! you're right there' returned Jonas'and we shouldn't be out
in it but for you. If you hadn't kept me waiting all daywe might
have been at Salisbury by this time; snug abed and fast asleep.
What are we stopping for?'

His companion put his head out of window for a momentand drawing
it in againobserved (as if that were his cause of anxiety)that
the boy was drenched to the skin.

'Serve him right' said Jonas. 'I'm glad of it. What the devil are
we stopping for? Are you going to spread him out to dry?'

'I have half a mind to take him inside' observed the other with
some hesitation.


'Oh! thankee!' said Jonas. 'We don't want any damp boys here;
especially a young imp like him. Let him be where he is. He ain't
afraid of a little thunder and lightningI dare say; whoever else
is. Go ondriver. We had better have HIM inside perhaps' he
muttered with a laugh; 'and the horses!'

'Don't go too fast' cried Montague to the postillion; 'and take
care how you go. You were nearly in the ditch when I called to
you.'

This was not true; and Jonas bluntly said soas they moved forward
again. Montague took little or no heed of what he saidbut
repeated that it was not a night for travellingand showed himself
both then and afterwardsunusually anxious.

From this time Jonas recovered his former spiritsif such a term
may be employed to express the state in which he had left the city.
He had his bottle often at his mouth; roared out snatches of songs
without the least regard to time or tune or voiceor anything but
loud discordance; and urged his silent friend to be merry with him.

'You're the best company in the worldmy good fellow' said
Montague with an effort'and in general irresistible; but to-night
--do you hear it?'

'Ecod! I hear and see it too' cried Jonasshading his eyesfor
the momentfrom the lightning which was flashingnot in any one
directionbut all around them. 'What of that? It don't change
younor menor our affairs. Choruschorus

It may lighten and storm

Till it hunt the red worm

From the grass where the gibbet is driven;

But it can't hurt the dead

And it won't save the head

That is doom'd to be rifled and riven.

That must be a precious old song' he added with an oathas he
stopped short in a kind of wonder at himself. 'I haven't heard it
since I was a boyand how it comes into my head nowunless the
lightning put it thereI don't know. "Can't hurt the dead"! No
no. "And won't save the head"! Nono. No! Hahaha!'

His mirth was of such a savage and extraordinary characterand was
in an inexplicable wayat once so suited to the nightand yet such
a coarse intrusion on its terrorsthat his fellow-travelleralways
a cowardshrunk from him in positive fear. Instead of Jonas being
his tool and instrumenttheir places seemed to be reversed. But
there was reason for this tooMontague thought; since the sense of
his debasement might naturally inspire such a man with the wish to
assert a noisy independenceand in that licence to forget his real
condition. Being quick enoughin reference to such subjects of
contemplationhe was not long in taking this argument into account
and giving it its full weight. But stillhe felt a vague sense of
alarmand was depressed and uneasy.

He was certain he had not been asleep; but his eyes might have
deceived him; forlooking at Jonas now in any interval of darkness
he could represent his figure to himself in any attitude his state
of mind suggested. On the other handhe knew full well that Jonas
had no reason to love him; and even taking the piece of pantomime
which had so impressed his mind to be a real gestureand not the


working of his fancythe most that could be said of it wasthat it
was quite in keeping with the rest of his diabolical funand had
the same impotent expression of truth in it. 'If he could kill me
with a wish' thought the swindler'I should not live long.'

He resolved that when he should have had his use of Jonashe would
restrain him with an iron curb; in the meantimethat he could not
do better than leave him to take his own wayand preserve his own
peculiar description of good-humourafter his own uncommon manner.
It was no great sacrifice to bear with him; 'for when all is got
that can be got' thought Montague'I shall decamp across the
waterand have the laugh on my side--and the gains.'

Such were his reflections from hour to hour; his state of mind being
one in which the same thoughts constantly present themselves over
and over again in wearisome repetition; while Jonaswho appeared to
have dismissed reflection altogetherentertained himself as before.
They agreed that they would go to Salisburyand would cross to Mr
Pecksniff's in the morning; and at the prospect of deluding that
worthy gentlemanthe spirits of his amiable son-in-law became more
boisterous than ever.

As the night wore onthe thunder died awaybut still rolled
gloomily and mournfully in the distance. The lightning toothough
now comparatively harmlesswas yet bright and frequent. The rain
was quite as violent as it had ever been.

It was their ill-fortuneat about the time of dawn and in the last
stage of their journeyto have a restive pair of horses. These
animals had been greatly terrified in their stable by the tempest;
and coming out into the dreary interval between night and morning
when the glare of the lightning was yet unsubdued by dayand the
various objects in their view were presented in indistinct and
exaggerated shapes which they would not have worn by nightthey
gradually became less and less capable of control; untiltaking a
sudden fright at something by the roadsidethey dashed off wildly
down a steep hillflung the driver from his saddledrew the
carriage to the brink of a ditchstumbled headlong downand threw
it crashing over.

The travellers had opened the carriage doorand had either jumped
or fallen out. Jonas was the first to stagger to his feet. He felt
sick and weakand very giddyand reeling to a five-barred gate
stood holding by it; looking drowsily about as the whole landscape
swam before his eyes. Butby degreeshe grew more consciousand
presently observed that Montague was lying senseless in the road
within a few feet of the horses.

In an instantas if his own faint body were suddenly animated by a
demonhe ran to the horses' heads; and pulling at their bridles
with all his forceset them struggling and plunging with such mad
violence as brought their hoofs at every effort nearer to the skull
of the prostrate man; and must have led in half a minute to his
brains being dashed out on the highway.

As he did thishe fought and contended with them like a man
possessedmaking them wilder by his cries.

'Whoop!' cried Jonas. 'Whoop! again! another! A little morea
little more! Upye devils! Hillo!'

As he heard the driverwho had risen and was hurrying upcrying to
him to desisthis violence increased.


'Hiilo! Hillo!' cried Jonas.

'For God's sake!' cried the driver. 'The gentleman--in the road-he'll
be killed!'

The same shouts and the same struggles were his only answer. But
the man darting in at the peril of his own lifesaved Montague's
by dragging him through the mire and water out of the reach of
present harm. That donehe ran to Jonas; and with the aid of his
knife they very shortly disengaged the horses from the broken
chariotand got themcut and bleedingon their legs again. The
postillion and Jonas had now leisure to look at each otherwhich
they had not had yet.

'Presence of mindpresence of mind!' cried Jonasthrowing up his
hands wildly. 'What would you have done without me?'

'The other gentleman would have done badly without ME' returned the
manshaking his head. 'You should have moved him first. I gave
him up for dead.'

'Presence of mindyou croakerpresence of mind' cried Jonas with a
harsh loud laugh. 'Was he struckdo you think?'

They both turned to look at him. Jonas muttered something to
himselfwhen he saw him sitting up beneath the hedgelooking
vacantly around.

'What's the matter?' asked Montague. 'Is anybody hurt?'

'Ecod!' said Jonas'it don't seem so. There are no bones broken
after all.'

They raised himand he tried to walk. He was a good deal shaken
and trembled very much. But with the exception of a few cuts and
bruises this was all the damage he had sustained.

'Cuts and bruiseseh?' said Jonas. 'We've all got them. Only cuts
and bruiseseh?'

'I wouldn't have given sixpence for the gentleman's head in half-adozen
seconds morefor all he's only cut and bruised' observed the
post-boy. 'If ever you're in an accident of this sort againsir;
which I hope you won't be; never you pull at the bridle of a horse
that's downwhen there's a man's head in the way. That can't be
done twice without there being a dead man in the case; it would have
ended in thatthis timeas sure as ever you were bornif I hadn't
come up just when I did.'

Jonas replied by advising him with a curse to hold his tongueand
to go somewherewhither he was not very likely to go of his own
accord. But Montaguewho had listened eagerly to every word
himself diverted the subjectby exclaiming: 'Where's the boy?'

'Ecod! I forgot that monkey' said Jonas. 'What's become of him?' A
very brief search settled that question. The unfortunate Mr Bailey
had been thrown sheer over the hedge or the five-barred gate; and
was lying in the neighbouring fieldto all appearance dead.

'When I said to-nightthat I wished I had never started on this
journey' cried his master'I knew it was an ill-fated one. Look
at this boy!'

'Is that all?' growled Jonas. 'If you call THAT a sign of it--'


'Whywhat should I call a sign of it?' asked Montaguehurriedly.
'What do you mean?'

'I mean' said Jonasstooping down over the body'that I never
heard you were his fatheror had any particular reason to care much
about him. Halloa. Hold up there!'

But the boy was past holding upor being held upor giving any
other sign of life than a faint and fitful beating of the heart.
After some discussion the driver mounted the horse which had been
least injuredand took the lad in his arms as well as he could;
while Montague and Jonasleading the other horseand carrying a
trunk between themwalked by his side towards Salisbury.

'You'd get there in a few minutesand be able to send assistance to
meet usif you went forwardpost-boy' said Jonas. 'Trot on!'

'Nono' cried Montague; 'we'll keep together.'

'Whywhat a chicken you are! You are not afraid of being robbed;
are you?' said Jonas.

'I am not afraid of anything' replied the otherwhose looks and
manner were in flat contradiction to his words. 'But we'll keep
together.'

'You were mighty anxious about the boya minute ago' said Jonas.
'I suppose you know that he may die in the meantime?'

'Ayeaye. I know. But we'll keep together.'

As it was clear that he was not to be moved from this determination
Jonas made no other rejoinder than such as his face expressed; and
they proceeded in company. They had three or four good miles to
travel; and the way was not made easier by the state of the road
the burden by which they were embarrassedor their own stiff and
sore condition. After a sufficiently long and painful walkthey
arrived at the Inn; and having knocked the people up (it being yet
very early in the morning)sent out messengers to see to the
carriage and its contentsand roused a surgeon from his bed to tend
the chief sufferer. All the service he could renderhe rendered
promptly and skillfully. But he gave it as his opinion that the boy
was labouring under a severe concussion of the brainand that Mr
Bailey's mortal course was run.

If Montague's strong interest in the announcement could have been
considered as unselfish in any degreeit might have been a
redeeming trait in a character that had no such lineaments to spare.
But it was not difficult to see thatfor some unexpressed reason
best appreciated by himselfhe attached a strange value to the
company and presence of this mere child. Whenafter receiving some
assistance from the surgeon himselfhe retired to the bedroom
prepared for himand it was broad dayhis mind was still dwelling
on this theme

'I would rather have lost' he said'a thousand pounds than lost
the boy just now. But I'll return home alone. I am resolved upon
that. Chuzzlewit shall go forward firstand I will follow in my
own time. I'll have no more of this' he addedwiping his damp
forehead. 'Twenty-four hours of this would turn my hair grey!'

After examining his chamberand looking under the bedand in the
cupboardsand even behind the curtainswith unusual caution


(although it wasas has been saidbroad day)he double-locked the
door by which he had enteredand retired to rest. There was
another door in the roombut it was locked on the outer side; and
with what place it communicatedhe knew not.

His fears or evil conscience reproduced this door in all his dreams.
He dreamed that a dreadful secret was connected with it; a secret
which he knewand yet did not knowfor although he was heavily
responsible for itand a party to ithe was harassed even in his
vision by a distracting uncertainty in reference to its import.
Incoherently entwined with this dream was anotherwhich represented
it as the hiding-place of an enemya shadowa phantom; and made it
the business of his life to keep the terrible creature closed up
and prevent it from forcing its way in upon him. With this view
Nadgettand heand a strange man with a bloody smear upon his head
(who told him that he had been his playfellowand told himtoo
the real name of an old schoolmateforgotten until then)worked
with iron plates and nails to make the door secure; but though they
worked never so hardit was all in vainfor the nails brokeor
changed to soft twigsor what was worseto wormsbetween their
fingers; the wood of the door splintered and crumbledso that even
nails would not remain in it; and the iron plates curled up like hot
paper. All this time the creature on the other side--whether it was
in the shape of manor beasthe neither knew nor sought to know-was
gaining on them. But his greatest terror was when the man with
the bloody smear upon his head demanded of him if he knew this
creatures nameand said that he would whisper it. At this the
dreamer fell upon his kneeshis whole blood thrilling with
inexplicable fearand held his ears. But looking at the speaker's
lipshe saw that they formed the utterance of the letter 'J'; and
crying out aloud that the secret was discoveredand they were all
losthe awoke.

Awoke to find Jonas standing at his bedside watching him. And that
very door wide open.

As their eyes metJonas retreated a few pacesand Montague sprang
out of bed.

'Heyday!' said Jonas. 'You're all alive this morning.'

'Alive!' the other stammeredas he pulled the bell-rope violently.
'What are you doing here?'

'It's your room to be sure' said Jonas; 'but I'm almost inclined to
ask you what YOU are doing here? My room is on the other side of
that door. No one told me last night not to open it. I thought it
led into a passageand was coming out to order breakfast. There's
--there's no bell in my room.'

Montague had in the meantime admitted the man with his hot water and
bootswho hearing thissaidyesthere was; and passed into the
adjoining room to point it outat the head of the bed.

'I couldn't find itthen' said Jonas; 'it's all the same. Shall I
order breakfast?'

Montague answered in the affirmative. When Jonas had retired
whistlingthrough his own roomhe opened the door of
communicationto take out the key and fasten it on the inner side.
But it was taken out already.

He dragged a table against the doorand sat down to collect
himselfas if his dreams still had some influence upon his mind.


'An evil journey' he repeated several times. 'An evil journey.
But I'll travel home alone. I'll have no more of this.'

His presentimentor superstitionthat it was an evil journeydid
not at all deter him from doing the evil for which the journey was
undertaken. With this in viewhe dressed himself more carefully
than usual to make a favourable impression on Mr Pecksniff; and
reassured by his own appearancethe beauty of the morningand the
flashing of the wet boughs outside his window in the merry sunshine
was soon sufficiently inspirited to swear a few round oathsand hum
the fag-end of a song.

But he still muttered to himself at intervalsfor all that: 'I'll
travel home alone!'

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

HAS AN INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR PECKSNIFF IS
EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POWER; AND WIELDS THE SAME WITH
FORTITUDE AND MAGNANIMITY

On the night of the stormMrs Lupinhostess of the Blue Dragon
sat by herself in her little bar. Her solitary conditionor the
bad weatheror both unitedmade Mrs Lupin thoughtfulnot to say
sorrowful. As she sat with her chin upon her handlooking out
through a low back latticerendered dim in the brightest day-time
by clustering vine-leavesshe shook her head very oftenand said
'Dear me! Ohdeardear me!'

It was a melancholy timeeven in the snugness of the Dragon bar.
The rich expanse of corn-fieldpasture-landgreen slopeand
gentle undulationwith its sparkling brooksits many hedgerows
and its clumps of beautiful treeswas black and drearyfrom the
diamond panes of the lattice away to the far horizonwhere the
thunder seemed to roll along the hills. The heavy rain beat down
the tender branches of vine and jessamineand trampled on them in
its fury; and when the lightning gleamed it showed the tearful
leaves shivering and cowering together at the windowand tapping at
it urgentlyas if beseeching to be sheltered from the dismal night.

As a mark of her respect for the lightningMrs Lupin had removed
her candle to the chimney-piece. Her basket of needle-work stood
unheeded at her elbow; her supperspread on a round table not far
offwas untasted; and the knives had been removed for fear of
attraction. She had sat for a long time with her chin upon her
handsaying to herself at intervals'Dear me! Ahdeardear me!'

She was on the eve of saying soonce morewhen the latch of the
house-door (closed to keep the rain out)rattled on its well-worn
catchand a traveller came inwhoshutting it after himand
walking straight up to the half-door of the barsaidrather
gruffly:

'A pint of the best old beer here.'

He had some reason to be grufffor if he had passed the day in a
waterfallhe could scarcely have been wetter than he was. He was
wrapped up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coatand had an
oil-skin hat onfrom the capacious brim of which the rain fell
trickling down upon his breastand backand shoulders. Judging


from a certain liveliness of chin--he had so pulled down his hat
and pulled up his collarto defend himself from the weatherthat
she could only see his chinand even across that he drew the wet
sleeve of his shaggy coatas she looked at him--Mrs Lupin set him
down for a good-natured fellowtoo.

'A bad night!' observed the hostess cheerfully.

The traveller shook himself like a Newfoundland dogand said it
wasrather.

'There's a fire in the kitchen' said Mrs Lupin'and very good
company there. Hadn't you better go and dry yourself?'

'Nothankee' said the manglancing towards the kitchen as he
spoke; he seemed to know the way.

'It's enough to give you your death of cold' observed the hostess.

'I don't take my death easy' returned the traveller; 'or I should
most likely have took it afore to-night. Your healthma'am!'

Mrs Lupin thanked him; but in the act of lifting the tankard to his
mouthhe changed his mindand put it down again. Throwing his
body backand looking about him stifflyas a man does who is
wrapped upand has his hat low down over his eyeshe said:

'What do you call this house? Not the Dragondo you?'

Mrs Lupin complacently made answer'Yesthe Dragon.'

'Whythenyou've got a sort of a relation of mine herema'am'
said the traveller; 'a young man of the name of Tapley. What! Mark
my boy!' apostrophizing the premises'have I come upon you at last
old buck!'

This was touching Mrs Lupin on a tender point. She turned to trim
the candle on the chimney-pieceand saidwith her back towards the
traveller:

'Nobody should be made more welcome at the Dragonmasterthan any
one who brought me news of Mark. But it's many and many a long day
and month since he left here and England. And whether he's alive or
deadpoor fellowHeaven above us only knows!'

She shook her headand her voice trembled; her hand must have done
so toofor the light required a deal of trimming.

'Where did he goma'am?' asked the travellerin a gentler voice.

'He went' said Mrs Lupinwith increased distress'to America. He
was always tender-hearted and kindand perhaps at this moment may
be lying in prison under sentence of deathfor taking pity on some
miserable blackand helping the poor runaway creetur to escape.
How could he ever go to America! Why didn't he go to some of those
countries where the savages eat each other fairlyand give an equal
chance to every one!'

Quite subdued by this timeMrs Lupin sobbedand was retiring to a
chair to give her grief free ventwhen the traveller caught her in
his armsand she uttered a glad cry of recognition.

'YesI will!' cried Mark'another--one more--twenty more! You
didn't know me in that hat and coat? I thought you would have known


me anywheres! Ten more!'

'So I should have known youif I could have seen you; but I
couldn'tand you spoke so gruff. I didn't think you could speak
gruff to meMarkat first coming back.'

'Fifteen more!' said Mr Tapley. 'How handsome and how young you
look! Six more! The last half-dozen warn't a fair oneand must be
done over again. Lord bless youwhat a treat it is to see you! One
more! WellI never was so jolly. Just a few moreon account of
there not being any credit in it!'

When Mr Tapley stopped in these calculations in simple additionhe
did itnot because he was at all tired of the exercisebut because
he was out of breath. The pause reminded him of other duties.

'Mr Martin Chuzzlewit's outside' he said. 'I left him under the
cartshedwhile I came on to see if there was anybody here. We
want to keep quiet to-nighttill we know the news from youand
what it's best for us to do.'

'There's not a soul in the houseexcept the kitchen company'
returned the hostess. 'If they were to know you had come back
Markthey'd have a bonfire in the streetlate as it is.'

'But they mustn't know it to-nightmy precious soul' said Mark;
'so have the house shutand the kitchen fire made up; and when it's
all readyput a light in the winderand we'll come in. One more!
I long to hear about old friends. You'll tell me all about 'em
won't you; Mr Pinchand the butcher's dog down the streetand the
terrier over the wayand the wheelwright'sand every one of 'em.
When I first caught sight of the church to-nightI thought the
steeple would have choked meI did. One more! Won't you? Not a
very little one to finish off with?'

'You have had plentyI am sure' said the hostess. 'Go along with
your foreign manners!'

'That ain't foreignbless you!' cried Mark. 'Native as oysters
that is! One morebecause it's native! As a mark of respect for the
land we live in! This don't count as between you and meyou
understand' said Mr Tapley. 'I ain't a-kissing you nowyou'll
observe. I have been among the patriots; I'm a-kissin' my country.'

It would have been very unreasonable to complain of the exhibition
of his patriotism with which he followed up this explanationthat
it was at all lukewarm or indifferent. When he had given full
expression to his nationalityhe hurried off to Martin; while Mrs
Lupinin a state of great agitation and excitementprepared for
their reception.

The company soon came tumbling out; insisting to each other that the
Dragon clock was half an hour too fastand that the thunder must
have affected it. Impatientwetand weary though they were
Martin and Mark were overjoyed to see these old facesand watched
them with delighted interest as they departed from the houseand
passed close by them.

'There's the old tailorMark!' whispered Martin.

'There he goessir! A little bandier than he wasI thinksir
ain't he? His figure's so far alteredas it seems to methat you
might wheel a rather larger barrow between his legs as he walks
than you could have done conveniently when we know'd him. There's


Sam a-coming outsir.'

'Ahto be sure!' cried Martin; 'Samthe hostler. I wonder whether
that horse of Pecksniff's is alive still?'

'Not a doubt on itsir' returned Mark. 'That's a description of
animalsiras will go on in a bony way peculiar to himself for a
long timeand get into the newspapers at last under the title of
Sing'lar Tenacity of Life in a Quadruped.As if he had ever been
alive in all his lifeworth mentioning! There's the clerksir-wery
drunkas usual.'

'I see him!' said Martinlaughing. 'Butmy lifehow wet you are
Mark!'

'I am! What do you consider yourselfsir?'

'Ohnot half as bad' said his fellow-travellerwith an air of
great vexation. 'I told you not to keep on the windy sideMark
but to let us change and change about. The rain has been beating on
you ever since it began.'

'You don't know how it pleases mesir' said Markafter a short
silence'if I may make so bold as say soto hear you a-going on in
that there uncommon considerate way of yours; which I don't mean to
attend toneverbut whichever since that time when I was floored
in Edenyou have showed.'

'AhMark!' sighed Martin'the less we say of that the better. Do
I see the light yonder?'

'That's the light!' cried Mark. 'Lord bless herwhat briskness she
possesses! Now for itsir. Neat winesgood bedsand first-rate
entertainment for man or beast.'

The kitchen fire burnt clear and redthe table was spread outthe
kettle boiled; the slippers were therethe boot-jack toosheets of
ham were therecooking on the gridiron; half-a-dozen eggs were
therepoaching in the frying-pan; a plethoric cherry-brandy bottle
was therewinking at a foaming jug of beer upon the table; rare
provisions were theredangling from the rafters as if you had only
to open your mouthand something exquisitely ripe and good would be
glad of the excuse for tumbling into it. Mrs Lupinwho for their
sakes had dislodged the very cookhigh priestess of the temple
with her own genial hands was dressing their repast.

It was impossible to help it--a ghost must have hugged her. The
Atlantic Ocean and the Red Sea beingin that respectall one
Martin hugged her instantly. Mr Tapley (as if the idea were quite
noveland had never occurred to him before)followedwith much
gravityon the same side.

'Little did I ever think' said Mrs Lupinadjusting her cap and
laughing heartily; yesand blushing too; 'often as I have said that
Mr Pecksniff's young gentlemen were the life and soul of the Dragon
and that without them it would be too dull to live in--little did I
ever think I am surethat any one of them would ever make so free
as youMr Martin! And still less that I shouldn't be angry with
himbut should be glad with all my heart to be the first to welcome
him home from Americawith Mark Tapley for his--'

'For his friendMrs Lupin' interposed Martin.

'For his friend' said the hostessevidently gratified by this


distinctionbut at the same time admonishing Mr Tapley with a fork
to remain at a respectful distance. 'Little did I ever think that!
But still lessthat I should ever have the changes to relate that I
shall have to tell you ofwhen you have done your supper!'

'Good Heaven!' cried Martinchanging colour'what changes?'

'SHE' said the hostess'is quite welland now at Mr Pecksniff's.
Don't be at all alarmed about her. She is everything you could
wish. It's of no use mincing mattersor making secretsis it?'
added Mrs Lupin. 'I know all about ityou see!'

'My good creature' returned Martin'you are exactly the person who
ought to know all about it. I am delighted to think you DO know
about that! But what changes do you hint at? Has any death
occurred?'

'Nono!' said the hostess. 'Not as bad as that. But I declare now
that I will not be drawn into saying another word till you have had
your supper. If you ask me fifty questions in the meantimeI won't
answer one.'

She was so positivethat there was nothing for it but to get the
supper over as quickly as possible; and as they had been walking a
great many milesand had fasted since the middle of the daythey
did no great violence to their own inclinations in falling on it
tooth and nail. It took rather longer to get through than might
have been expected; forhalf-a-dozen timeswhen they thought they
had finishedMrs Lupin exposed the fallacy of that impression
triumphantly. But at lastin the course of time and naturethey
gave in. Thensitting with their slippered feet stretched out upon
the kitchen hearth (which was wonderfully comfortingfor the night
had grown by this time raw and chilly)and looking with involuntary
admiration at their dimpledbuxomblooming hostessas the
firelight sparkled in her eyes and glimmered in her raven hairthey
composed themselves to listen to her news.

Many were the exclamations of surprise which interrupted herwhen
she told them of the separation between Mr Pecksniff and his
daughtersand between the same good gentleman and Mr Pinch. But
these were nothing to the indignant demonstrations of Martinwhen
she relatedas the common talk of the neighbourhoodwhat entire
possession he had obtained over the mind and person of old Mr
Chuzzlewitand what high honour he designed for Mary. On receipt
of this intelligenceMartin's slippers flew off in a twinklingand
he began pulling on his wet boots with that indefinite intention of
going somewhere instantlyand doing something to somebodywhich is
the first safety-valve of a hot temper.

'He!' said Martin'smooth-tongued villain that he is! He! Give me
that other bootMark?'

'Where was you a-thinking of going tosir?' inquired Mr Tapley
drying the sole at the fireand looking coolly at it as he spoke
as if it were a slice of toast.

'Where!' repeated Martin. 'You don't suppose I am going to remain
heredo you?'

The imperturbable Mark confessed that he did.

You do!' retorted Martin angrily. 'I am much obliged to you. What
do you take me for?'


'I take you for what you aresir' said Mark; 'andconsequently
am quite sure that whatever you do will be right and sensible. The
bootsir.'

Martin darted an impatient look at himwithout taking itand
walked rapidly up and down the kitchen several timeswith one boot
and a stocking on. Butmindful of his Eden resolutionhe had
already gained many victories over himself when Mark was in the case
and he resolved to conquer now. So he came back to the book-jack
laid his hand on Mark's shoulder to steady himselfpulled the boot
offpicked up his slippersput them onand sat down again. He
could not help thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his
pocketsand muttering at intervals'Pecksniff too! That fellow!
Upon my soul! In-deed! What next?' and so forth; nor could he help
occasionally shaking his fist at the chimneywith a very
threatening countenance; but this did not last long; and he heard
Mrs Lupin outif not with composureat all events in silence.

'As to Mr Pecksniff himself' observed the hostess in conclusion
spreading out the skirts of her gown with both handsand nodding
her head a great many times as she did so'I don't know what to
say. Somebody must have poisoned his mindor influenced him in
some extraordinary way. I cannot believe that such a noble-spoken
gentleman would go and do wrong of his own accord!'

A noble-spoken gentleman! How many people are there in the world
whofor no better reasonuphold their Pecksniffs to the last and
abandon virtuous menwhen Pecksniffs breathe upon them!

'As to Mr Pinch' pursued the landlady'if ever there was a dear
goodpleasantworthy soul alivePinchand no otheris his name.
But how do we know that old Mr Chuzzlewit himself was not the cause
of difference arising between him and Mr Pecksniff? No one but
themselves can tell; for Mr Pinch has a proud spiritthough he has
such a quiet way; and when he left usand was so sorry to gohe
scorned to make his story goodeven to me.'

'Poor old Tom!' said Martinin a tone that sounded like remorse.

'It's a comfort to know' resumed the landlady'that he has his
sister living with himand is doing well. Only yesterday he sent
me backby posta little'--here the colour came into her cheeks-'
a little trifle I was bold enough to lend him when he went away;
sayingwith many thanksthat he had good employmentand didn't
want it. It was the same note; he hadn't broken it. I never
thought I could have been so little pleased to see a bank-note come
back to me as I was to see that.'

'Kindly saidand heartily!' said Martin. 'Is it notMark?'

'She can't say anything as does not possess them qualities'
returned Mr Tapley; 'which as much belongs to the Dragon as its
licence. And now that we have got quite cool and freshto the
subject againsir; what will you do? If you're not proudand can
make up your mind to go through with what you spoke ofcoming along
that's the course for you to take. If you started wrong with your
grandfather (whichyou'll excuse my taking the liberty of saying
appears to have been the case)up with yousirand tell him so
and make an appeal to his affections. Don't stand out. He's a
great deal older than youand if he was hastyyou was hasty too.
Give waysirgive way.'

The eloquence of Mr Tapley was not without its effect on Martin but
he still hesitatedand expressed his reason thus:


'That's all very trueand perfectly correctMark; and if it were
a mere question of humbling myself before HIMI would not consider
it twice. But don't you seethat being wholly under this
hypocrite's governmentand having (if what we hear be true) no mind
or will of his ownI throw myselfin factnot at his feetbut at
the feet of Mr Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and spurned away'
said Martinturning crimson at the thought'it is not by him; my
own blood stirred against me; but by Pecksniff--PecksniffMark!'

'Wellbut we know beforehand' returned the politic Mr Tapley
'that Pecksniff is a wagabonda scoundreland a willain.'

'A most pernicious villain!' said Martin.

'A most pernicious willain. We know that beforehandsir; and
consequentlyit's no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow
Pecksniff!' cried Mr Tapleyin the fervour of his eloquence.
'Who's he! It's not in the natur of Pecksniff to shame USunless he
agreed with usor done us a service; andin case he offered any
audacity of that descriptionwe could express our sentiments in the
English languageI hope. Pecksniff!' repeated Mr Tapleywith
ineffable disdain. 'What's Pecksniffwho's Pecksniffwhere's
Pecksniffthat he's to be so much considered? We're not acalculating
for ourselves;' he laid uncommon emphasis on the last
syllable of that wordand looked full in Martin's face; 'we're
making a effort for a young lady likewise as has undergone her
share; and whatever little hope we havethis here Pecksniff is not
to stand in its wayI expect. I never heard of any act of
Parliamentas was made by Pecksniff. Pecksniff! WhyI wouldn't
see the man myself; I wouldn't hear him; I wouldn't choose to know
he was in company. I'd scrape my shoes on the scraper of the door
and call that Pecksniffif you liked; but I wouldn't condescend no
further.'

The amazement of Mrs Lupinand indeed of Mr Tapley himself for that
matterat this impassioned flow of languagewas immense. But
Martinafter looking thoughtfully at the fire for a short time
said:

'You are rightMark. Right or wrongit shall be done. I'll do
it.'

'One word moresir' returned Mark. 'Only think of him so far as
not to give him a handle against you. Don't you do anything secret
that he can report before you get there. Don't you even see Miss
Mary in the morningbut let this here dear friend of ours'--Mr
Tapley bestowed a smile upon the hostess--'prepare her for what's agoing
to happenand carry any little message as may be agreeable.
She knows how. Don't you?' Mrs Lupin laughed and tossed her head.
'Then you go inbold and free as a gentleman should. "I haven't
done nothing under-handed says you. I haven't been skulking
about the premiseshere I amfor-give meI ask your pardonGod
Bless You!"'

Martin smiledbut felt that it was good advice notwithstandingand
resolved to act upon it. When they had ascertained from Mrs Lupin
that Pecksniff had already returned from the great ceremonial at
which they had beheld him in his glory; and when they had fully
arranged the order of their proceedings; they went to bedintent
upon the morrow.

In pursuance of their project as agreed upon at this discussionMr
Tapley issued forth next morningafter breakfastcharged with a


letter from Martin to his grandfatherrequesting leave to wait upon
him for a few minutes. And postponing as he went along the
congratulations of his numerous friends until a more convenient
seasonhe soon arrived at Mr Pecksniff's house. At that
gentleman's door; with a face so immovable that it would have been
next to an impossibility for the most acute physiognomist to
determine what he was thinking aboutor whether he was thinking at
all; he straightway knocked.

A person of Mr Tapley's observation could not long remain insensible
to the fact that Mr Pecksniff was making the end of his nose very
blunt against the glass of the parlour windowin an angular attempt
to discover who had knocked at the door. Nor was Mr Tapley slow to
baffle this movement on the part of the enemyby perching himself
on the top stepand presenting the crown of his hat in that
direction. But possibly Mr Pecksniff had already seen himfor Mark
soon heard his shoes creakingas he advanced to open the door with
his own hands.

Mr Pecksniff was as cheerful as everand sang a little song in the
passage.

'How d'ye dosir?' said Mark.

'Oh!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'TapleyI believe? The Prodigal
returned! We don't want any beermy friend.'

'Thankeesir' said Mark. 'I couldn't accommodate you if you did.
A lettersir. Wait for an answer.'

'For me?' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'And an answereh?'

'Not for youI thinksir' said Markpointing out the direction.
'ChuzzlewitI believe the name issir.'

'Oh!' returned Mr Pecksniff. 'Thank you. Yes. Who's it frommy
good young man?'

'The gentleman it comes from wrote his name insidesir' returned
Mr Tapley with extreme politeness. 'I see him a-signing of it at
the endwhile I was a-waitin'.'

'And he said he wanted an answerdid he?' asked Mr Pecksniff in his
most persuasive manner.

Mark replied in the affirmative.

'He shall have an answer. Certainly' said Mr Pecksnifftearing
the letter into small piecesas mildly as if that were the most
flattering attention a correspondent could receive. 'Have the
goodness to give him thatwith my complimentsif you please. Good
morning!' Whereupon he handed Mark the scraps; retiredand shut the
door.

Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotionsand return
to Martin at the Dragon. They were not unprepared for such a
receptionand suffered an hour or so to elapse before making
another attempt. When this interval had gone bythey returned to
Mr Pecksniff's house in company. Martin knocked this timewhile Mr
Tapley prepared himself to keep the door open with his foot and
shoulderwhen anybody cameand by that means secure an enforced
parley. But this precaution was needlessfor the servant-girl
appeared almost immediately. Brushing quickly past her as he had
resolved in such a case to doMartin (closely followed by his


faithful ally) opened the door of that parlour in which he knew a
visitor was most likely to be found; passed at once into the room;
and stoodwithout a word of notice or announcementin the presence
of his grandfather.

Mr Pecksniff also was in the room; and Mary. In the swift instant
of their mutual recognitionMartin saw the old man droop his grey
headand hide his face in his hands.

It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most careless
daythis lingering remnant of the old man's ancient lovethis
buttress of a ruined tower he had built up in the time gone bywith
so much pride and hopewould have caused a pang in Martin's heart.
But nowchanged for the better in his worst respect; looking
through an altered medium on his former friendthe guardian of his
childhoodso broken and bowed down; resentmentsullenness
self-confidenceand pridewere all swept awaybefore the starting
tears upon the withered cheeks. He could not bear to see them. He
could not bear to think they fell at sight of him. He could not
bear to view reflected in themthe reproachful and irrevocable
Past.

He hurriedly advanced to seize the old man's hand in hiswhen Mr
Pecksniff interposed himself between them.

'Noyoung man!' said Mr Pecksniffstriking himself upon the
breastand stretching out his other arm towards his guest as if it
were a wing to shelter him. 'Nosir. None of that. Strike here
sirhere! Launch your arrows at mesirif you'll have the
goodness; not at Him!'

'Grandfather!' cried Martin. 'Hear me! I implore youlet me
speak!'

'Would yousir? Would you?' said Mr Pecksniffdodging aboutso
as to keep himself always between them. 'Is it not enoughsir
that you come into my house like a thief in the nightor I should
rather sayfor we can never be too particular on the subject of
Truthlike a thief in the day-time; bringing your dissolute
companions with youto plant themselves with their backs against
the insides of parlour doorsand prevent the entrance or issuing
forth of any of my household'--Mark had taken up this positionand
held it quite unmoved--'but would you also strike at venerable
Virtue? Would you? Know that it is not defenceless. I will be its
shieldyoung man. Assail me. Come onsir. Fire away!'

'Pecksniff' said the old manin a feeble voice. 'Calm yourself.
Be quiet.'

'I can't be calm' cried Mr Pecksniff'and I won't be quiet. My
benefactor and my friend! Shall even my house be no refuge for your
hoary pillow!'

'Stand aside!' said the old manstretching out his hand; 'and let
me see what it is I used to love so dearly.'

'It is right that you should see itmy friend' said Mr Pecksniff.
'It is well that you should see itmy noble sir. It is desirable
that you should contemplate it in its true proportions. Behold it!
There it issir. There it is!'

Martin could hardly be a mortal manand not express in his face
something of the anger and disdain with which Mr Pecksniff inspired
him. But beyond this he evinced no knowledge whatever of that


gentleman's presence or existence. Truehe had onceand that at
firstglanced at him involuntarilyand with supreme contempt; but
for any other heed he took of himthere might have been nothing in
his place save empty air.

As Mr Pecksniff withdrew from between themagreeably to the wish
just now expressed (which he did during the delivery of the
observations last recorded)old Martinwho had taken Mary Graham's
hand in hisand whispered kindly to heras telling her she had no
cause to be alarmedgently pushed her from himbehind his chair;
and looked steadily at his grandson.

'And that' he said'is he. Ah! that is he! Say what you wish to
say. But come no nearer'

'His sense of justice is so fine' said Mr Pecksniff'that he will
hear even himalthough he knows beforehand that nothing can come of
it. Ingenuous mind!' Mr Pecksniff did not address himself
immediately to any person in saying thisbut assuming the position
of the Chorus in a Greek Tragedydelivered his opinion as a
commentary on the proceedings.

'Grandfather!' said Martinwith great earnestness. 'From a painful
journeyfrom a hard lifefrom a sick-bedfrom privation and
distressfrom gloom and disappointmentfrom almost hopelessness
and despairI have come back to you.'

'Rovers of this sort' observed Mr Pecksniffas Chorus'very
commonly come back when they find they don't meet with the success
they expected in their marauding ravages.'

'But for this faithful man' said Martinturning towards Mark
'whom I first knew in this placeand who went away with me
voluntarilyas a servantbut has beenthroughoutmy zealous and
devoted friend; but for himI must have died abroad. Far from
homefar from any help or consolation; far from the probability
even of my wretched fate being ever known to any one who cared to
hear it--ohthat you would let me sayof being known to you!'

The old man looked at Mr Pecksniff. Mr Pecksniff looked at him.
'Did you speakmy worthy sir?' said Mr Pecksniffwith a smile.
The old man answered in the negative. 'I know what you thought'
said Mr Pecksniffwith another smile. 'Let him go on my friend.
The development of self-interest in the human mind is always a
curious study. Let him go onsir.'

'Go on!' observed the old man; in a mechanical obedienceit
appearedto Mr Pecksniff's suggestion.

'I have been so wretched and so poor' said Martin'that I am
indebted to the charitable help of a strangerin a land of
strangersfor the means of returning here. All this tells against
me in your mindI know. I have given you cause to think I have
been driven here wholly by wantand have not been led onin any
degreeby affection or regret. When I parted from you
GrandfatherI deserved that suspicionbut I do not now. I do not
now.'

The Chorus put its hand in its waistcoatand smiled. 'Let him go
onmy worthy sir' it said. 'I know what you are thinking ofbut
don't express it prematurely.'

Old Martin raised his eyes to Mr Pecksniff's faceand appearing to
derive renewed instruction from his looks and wordssaidonce


again:

'Go on!'

'I have little more to say' returned Martin. 'And as I say it now
with little or no hopeGrandfather; whatever dawn of hope I had on
entering the room; believe it to be true. At leastbelieve it to
be true.'

'Beautiful Truth!' exclaimed the Choruslooking upward. 'How is
your name profaned by vicious persons! You don't live in a wellmy
holy principlebut on the lips of false mankind. It is hard to
bear with mankinddear sir'--addressing the elder Mr Chuzzlewit;
'but let us do so meekly. It is our duty so to do. Let us be among
the Few who do their duty. If' pursued the Chorussoaring up into
a lofty flight'as the poet informs usEngland expects Every man
to do his dutyEngland is the most sanguine country on the face of
the earthand will find itself continually disappointed.'

'Upon that subject' said Martinlooking calmly at the old man as
he spokebut glancing once at Marywhose face was now buried in
her handsupon the back of his easy-chair; 'upon that subject which
first occasioned a division between usmy mind and heart are
incapable of change. Whatever influence they have undergonesince
that unhappy timehas not been one to weaken but to strengthen me.
I cannot profess sorrow for thatnor irresolution in thatnor
shame in that. Nor would you wish meI know. But that I might
have trusted to your loveif I had thrown myself manfully upon it;
that I might have won you over with easeif I had been more
yielding and more considerate; that I should have best remembered
myself in forgetting myselfand recollecting you; reflection
solitudeand miseryhave taught me. I came resolved to say this
and to ask your forgiveness; not so much in hope for the futureas
in regret for the past; for all that I would ask of you isthat you
would aid me to live. Help me to get honest work to doand I would
do it. My condition places me at the disadvantage of seeming to
have only my selfish ends to servebut try if that be so or not.
Try if I be self-willedobdurateand haughtyas I was; or have
been disciplined in a rough school. Let the voice of nature and
association plead between usGrandfather; and do notfor one
faulthowever thanklessquite reject me!'

As he ceasedthe grey head of the old man drooped again; and he
concealed his face behind his outspread fingers.

'My dear sir' cried Mr Pecksniffbending over him'you must not
give way to this. It is very naturaland very amiablebut you
must not allow the shameless conduct of one whom you long ago cast
offto move you so far. Rouse yourself. Think' said Pecksniff
'think of Memy friend.'

'I will' returned old Martinlooking up into his face. 'You
recall me to myself. I will.'

'Whywhat' said Mr Pecksniffsitting down beside him in a chair
which he drew up for the purposeand tapping him playfully on the
arm'what is the matter with my strong-minded compatriotif I may
venture to take the liberty of calling him by that endearing
expression? Shall I have to scold my coadjutoror to reason with
an intellect like this? I think not.'

'Nono. There is no occasion' said the old man. 'A momentary
feeling. Nothing more.'


'Indignation' observed Mr Pecksniff'WILL bring the scalding tear
into the honest eyeI know'--he wiped his own elaborately. 'But we
have highest duties to perform than that. Rouse yourselfMr
Chuzzlewit. Shall I give expression to your thoughtsmy friend?'

'Yes' said old Martinleaning back in his chairand looking at
himhalf in vacancy and half in admirationas if he were
fascinated by the man. 'Speak for mePecksniffThank you. You
are true to me. Thank you!'

'Do not unman mesir' said Mr Pecksniffshaking his hand
vigorously'or I shall be unequal to the task. It is not agreeable
to my feelingsmy good sirto address the person who is now before
usfor when I ejected him from this houseafter hearing of his
unnatural conduct from your lipsI renounced communication with him
for ever. But you desire it; and that is sufficient. Young man!
The door is immediately behind the companion of your infamy. Blush
if you can; begone without a blushif you can't.'

Martin looked as steadily at his grandfather as if there had been a
dead silence all this time. The old man looked no less steadily at
Mr Pecksniff.

'When I ordered you to leave this house upon the last occasion of
your being dismissed from it with disgrace' said Mr Pecksniff;
'whenstung and stimulated beyond endurance by your shameless
conduct to this extraordinarily noble-minded individualI exclaimed
Go forth!I told you that I wept for your depravity. Do not
suppose that the tear which stands in my eye at this momentis shed
for you. It is shed for himsir. It is shed for him.'

Here Mr Pecksniffaccidentally dropping the tear in question on a
bald part of Mr Chuzzlewit's headwiped the place with his pockethandkerchief
and begged pardon.

'It is shed for himsirwhom you seek to make the victim of your
arts' said Mr Pecksniff; 'whom you seek to plunderto deceiveand
to mislead. It is shed in sympathy with himand admiration of him;
not in pity for himfor happily he knows what you are. You shall
not wrong him furthersirin any way' said Mr Pecksniffquite
transported with enthusiasm'while I have life. You may bestride
my senseless corsesir. That is very likely. I can imagine a mind
like yours deriving great satisfaction from any measure of that
kind. But while I continue to be called upon to existsiryou
must strike at him through me. Awe!' said Mr Pecksniffshaking his
head at Martin with indignant jocularity; 'and in such a cause you
will find memy young siran Ugly Customer!'

Still Martin looked steadily and mildly at his grandfather. 'Will
you give me no answer' he saidat length'not a word?'

'You hear what has been said' replied the old manwithout averting
his eyes from the face of Mr Pecksniff; who nodded encouragingly.

'I have not heard your voice. I have not heard your spirit'
returned Martin.

'Tell him again' said the old manstill gazing up in Mr
Pecksniff's face.

'I only hear' replied Martinstrong in his purpose from the first
and stronger in it as he felt how Pecksniff winced and shrunk
beneath his contempt; 'I only hear what you say to megrandfather.'


Perhaps it was well for Mr Pecksniff that his venerable friend found
in his (Mr Pecksniff's) features an exclusive and engrossing object
of contemplationfor if his eyes had gone astrayand he had
compared young Martin's bearing with that of his zealous defender
the latter disinterested gentleman would scarcely have shown to
greater advantage than on the memorable afternoon when he took Tom
Pinch's last receipt in full of all demands. One really might have
thought there was some quality in Mr Pecksniff--an emanation from
the brightness and purity within him perhaps--which set off and
adorned his foes; they looked so gallant and so manly beside him.

'Not a word?' said Martinfor the second time.

'I remember that I have a word to sayPecksniff' observed the old
man. 'But a word. You spoke of being indebted to the charitable
help of some stranger for the means of returning to England. Who is
he? And what help in money did he render you?'

Although he asked this question of Martinhe did not look towards
himbut kept his eyes on Mr Pecksniff as before. It appeared to
have become a habit with himboth in a literal and figurative
senseto look to Mr Pecksniff alone.

Martin took out his penciltore a leaf from his pocket-bookand
hastily wrote down the particulars of his debt to Mr Bevan. The old
man stretched out his hand for the paperand took it; but his eyes
did not wander from Mr Pecksniff's face.

'It would be a poor pride and a false humility' said Martinin a
low voice'to sayI do not wish that to be paidor that I have
any present hope of being able to pay it. But I never felt my
poverty so deeply as I feel it now.'

'Read it to mePecksniff' said the old man.

Mr Pecksniffafter approaching the perusal of the paper as if it
were a manuscript confession of a murdercomplied.

'I thinkPecksniff' said old Martin'I could wish that to be
discharged. I should not like the lenderwho was abroadwho had
no opportunity of making inquiryand who did (as he thought) a kind
actionto suffer.'

'An honourable sentimentmy dear sir. Your own entirely. But a
dangerous precedent' said Mr Pecksniff'permit me to suggest.'

'It shall not be a precedent' returned the old man. 'It is the
only recognition of him. But we will talk of it again. You shall
advise me. There is nothing else?'

'Nothing else' said Mr Pecksniff buoyantly'but for you to recover
this intrusion--this cowardly and indefensible outrage on your
feelings--with all possible dispatchand smile again.'

'You have nothing more to say?' inquired the old manlaying his
hand with unusual earnestness on Mr Pecksniff's sleeve.

Mr Pecksniff would not say what rose to his lips. For reproaches he
observedwere useless.

'You have nothing at all to urge? You are sure of that! If you have
no matter what it isspeak freely. I will oppose nothing that you
ask of me' said the old man.


The tears rose in such abundance to Mr Pecksniff's eyes at this
proof of unlimited confidence on the part of his friendthat he was
fain to clasp the bridge of his nose convulsively before he could at
all compose himself. When he had the power of utterance againhe
said with great emotionthat he hoped he should live to deserve
this; and addedthat he had no other observation whatever to make.

For a few moments the old man sat looking at himwith that blank
and motionless expression which is not uncommon in the faces of
those whose faculties are on the wanein age. But he rose up
firmly tooand walked towards the doorfrom which Mark withdrew to
make way for him.

The obsequious Mr Pecksniff proffered his arm. The old man took it.
Turning at the doorhe said to Martinwaving him off with his
hand

'You have heard him. Go away. It is all over. Go!'

Mr Pecksniff murmured certain cheering expressions of sympathy and
encouragement as they retired; and Martinawakening from the stupor
into which the closing portion of this scene had plunged himto the
opportunity afforded by their departurecaught the innocent cause
of all in his embraceand pressed her to his heart.

'Dear girl!' said Martin. 'He has not changed you. Whywhat an
impotent and harmless knave the fellow is!'

'You have restrained yourself so nobly! You have borne so much!'

'Restrained myself!' cried Martincheerfully. 'You were byand
were unchangedI knew. What more advantage did I want? The sight
of me was such a bitterness to the dogthat I had my triumph in his
being forced to endure it. But tell melove--for the few hasty
words we can exchange now are precious--what is this which has been
rumoured to me? Is it true that you are persecuted by this knave's
addresses?'

'I wasdear Martinand to some extent am now; but my chief source
of unhappiness has been anxiety for you. Why did you leave us in
such terrible suspense?'

'Sicknessdistance; the dread of hinting at our real condition
the impossibility of concealing it except in perfect silence; the
knowledge that the truth would have pained you infinitely more than
uncertainty and doubt' said Martinhurriedly; as indeed everything
else was done and saidin those few hurried moments'were the
causes of my writing only once. But Pecksniff? You needn't fear to
tell me the whole tale; for you saw me with him face to face
hearing him speakand not taking him by the throat; what is the
history of his pursuit of you? Is it known to my grandfather?'

'Yes.'

'And he assists him in it?'

'No' she answered eagerly.

'Thank Heaven!' cried Martin'that it leaves his mind unclouded in
that one respect!'

'I do not think' said Mary'it was known to him at first. When
this man had sufficiently prepared his mindhe revealed it to him
by degrees. I think sobut I only know it from my own impression:


now from anything they told me. Then he spoke to me alone.'

'My grandfather did?' said Martin.

'Yes--spoke to me aloneand told me--'

'What the hound had said' cried Martin. 'Don't repeat it.'

'And said I knew well what qualities he possessed; that he was
moderately rich; in good repute; and high in his favour and
confidence. But seeing me very much distressedhe said that he
would not control or force my inclinationsbut would content
himself with telling me the fact. He would not pain me by dwelling
on itor reverting to it; nor has he ever done so sincebut has
truly kept his word.'

'The man himself?--' asked Martin.

'He has had few opportunities of pursuing his suit. I have never
walked out aloneor remained alone an instant in his presence.
Dear MartinI must tell you' she continued'that the kindness of
your grandfather to me remains unchanged. I am his companion still.
An indescribable tenderness and compassion seem to have mingled
themselves with his old regard; and if I were his only childI
could not have a gentler father. What former fancy or old habit
survives in thiswhen his heart has turned so cold to youis a
mystery I cannot penetrate; but it has beenand it isa happiness
to methat I remained true to him; that if he should wake from his
delusioneven at the point of deathI am hereloveto recall you
to his thoughts.'

Martin looked with admiration on her glowing faceand pressed his
lips to hers.

'I have sometimes heardand read' she said'that those whose
powers had been enfeebled long agoand whose lives had fadedas it
wereinto a dreamhave been known to rouse themselves before
deathand inquire for familiar faces once very dear to them; but
forgottenunrecognizedhated evenin the meantime. Thinkif
with his old impressions of this manhe should suddenly resume his
former selfand find in him his only friend!'

'I would not urge you to abandon himdearest' said Martin'though
I could count the years we are to wear out asunder. But the
influence this fellow exercises over him has steadily increasedI
fear.'

She could not help admitting that. Steadilyimperceptiblyand
surelyuntil it was paramount and supreme. She herself had none;
and yet he treated her with more affection than at any previous
time. Martin thought the inconsistency a part of his weakness and
decay.

'Does the influence extend to fear?' said Martin. 'Is he timid of
asserting his own opinion in the presence of this infatuation? I
fancied so just now.'

'I have thought sooften. Often when we are sitting alonealmost
as we used to doand I have been reading a favourite book to him or
he has been talking quite cheerfullyI have observed that the
entrance of Mr Pecksniff has changed his whole demeanour. He has
broken off immediatelyand become what you have seen to-day. When
we first came here he had his impetuous outbreaksin which it was
not easy for Mr Pecksniff with his utmost plausibility to appease


him. But these have long since dwindled away. He defers to him in
everythingand has no opinion upon any questionbut that which is
forced upon him by this treacherous man.'

Such was the accountrapidly furnished in whispersand
interruptedbrief as it wasby many false alarms of Mr Pecksniff's
return; which Martin received of his grandfather's declineand of
that good gentleman's ascendancy. He heard of Tom Pinch tooand
Jonas toowith not a little about himself into the bargain; for
though lovers are remarkable for leaving a great deal unsaid on all
occasionsand very properly desiring to come back and say itthey
are remarkable also for a wonderful power of condensationand can
in one way or othergive utterance to more language--eloquent
language--in any given short space of timethan all the six hundred
and fifty-eight members in the Commons House of Parliament of the
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland; who are strong lovers
no doubtbut of their country onlywhich makes all the difference;
for in a passion of that kind (which is not always returned)it is
the custom to use as many words as possibleand express nothing
whatever.

A caution from Mr Tapley; a hasty interchange of farewellsand of
something else which the proverb says must not be told of
afterwards; a white hand held out to Mr Tapley himselfwhich he
kissed with the devotion of a knight-errant; more farewellsmore
something else's; a parting word from Martin that he would write
from London and would do great things there yet (Heaven knows what
but he quite believed it); and Mark and he stood on the outside of
the Pecksniffian halls.

'A short interview after such an absence!' said Martinsorrowfully.
'But we are well out of the house. We might have placed ourselves
in a false position by remaining thereeven so longMark.'

'I don't know about ourselvessir' he returned; 'but somebody else
would have got into a false positionif he had happened to come
back againwhile we was there. I had the door all readysir. If
Pecksniff had showed his heador had only so much as listened
behind itI would have caught him like a walnut. He's the sort of
man' added Mr Tapleymusing'as would squeeze softI know.'

A person who was evidently going to Mr Pecksniff's housepassed
them at this moment. He raised his eyes at the mention of the
architect's name; and when he had gone on a few yardsstopped and
gazed at them. Mr Tapleyalsolooked over his shoulderand so
did Martin; for the strangeras he passedhad looked very sharply
at them.

'Who may that beI wonder!' said Martin. 'The face seems familiar
to mebut I don't know the man.'

'He seems to have a amiable desire that his face should be tolerable
familiar to us' said Mr Tapley'for he's a-staring pretty hard.
He'd better not waste his beautyfor he ain't got much to spare.'

Coming in sight of the Dragonthey saw a travelling carriage at the
door.

'And a Salisbury carriageeh?' said Mr Tapley. 'That's what he
came in depend upon it. What's in the wind now? A new pupilI
shouldn't wonder. P'raps it's a order for another grammar-school
of the same pattern as the last.'

Before they could enter at the doorMrs Lupin came running out; and


beckoning them to the carriage showed them a portmanteau with the
name of CHUZZLEWIT upon it.

'Miss Pecksniff's husband that was' said the good woman to Martin.
'I didn't know what terms you might be onand was quite in a worry
till you came back.'

'He and I have never interchanged a word yet' observed Martin; 'and
as I have no wish to be better or worse acquainted with himI will
not put myself in his way. We passed him on the roadI have no
doubt. I am glad he timed his coming as he did. Upon my word! Miss
Pecksniff's husband travels gayly!'

'A very fine-looking gentleman with him--in the best room now'
whispered Mrs Lupinglancing up at the window as they went into the
house. 'He has ordered everything that can be got for dinner; and
has the glossiest moustaches and whiskers ever you saw.'

'Has he?' cried Martin'why then we'll endeavour to avoid him too
in the hope that our self-denial may be strong enough for the
sacrifice. It is only for a few hours' said Martindropping
wearily into a chair behind the little screen in the bar. 'Our
visit has met with no successmy dear Mrs Lupinand I must go to
London.'

'Deardear!' cried the hostess.

'Yesone foul wind no more makes a winterthan one swallow makes a
summer. I'll try it again. Tom Pinch has succeeded. With his
advice to guide meI may do the same. I took Tom under my
protection onceGod save the mark!' said Martinwith a melancholy
smile; 'and promised I would make his fortune. Perhaps Tom will
take me under HIS protection nowand teach me how to earn my
bread.'

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

FURTHER CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR JONAS AND HIS FRIEND

It was a special qualityamong the many admirable qualities
possessed by Mr Pecksniffthat the more he was found outthe more
hypocrisy he practised. Let him be discomfited in one quarterand
he refreshed and recompensed himself by carrying the war into
another. If his workings and windings were detected by Aso much
the greater reason was there for practicing without loss of time on
Bif it were only to keep his hand in. He had never been such a
saintly and improving spectacle to all about himas after his
detection by Thomas Pinch. He had scarcely ever been at once so
tender in his humanityand so dignified and exalted in his virtue
as when young Martin's scorn was fresh and hot upon him.

Having this large stock of superfluous sentiment and morality on
hand which must positively be cleared off at any sacrificeMr
Pecksniff no sooner heard his son-in-law announcedthan he regarded
him as a kind of wholesale or general orderto be immediately
executed. Descendingthereforeswiftly to the parlourand
clasping the young man in his armshe exclaimedwith looks and
gestures that denoted the perturbation of his spirit:

'Jonas. My child--she is well! There is nothing the matter?'


'Whatyou're at it againare you?' replied his son-in-law. 'Even
with me? Get away with youwill you?'

'Tell me she is well then' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Tell me she is well
my boy!'

'She's well enough' retorted Jonasdisengaging himself. 'There's
nothing the matter with HER.'

'There is nothing the matter with her!' cried Mr Pecksniffsitting
down in the nearest chairand rubbing up his hair. 'Fie upon my
weakness! I cannot help itJonas. Thank you. I am better now.
How is my other child; my eldest; my Cherrywerrychigo?' said Mr
Pecksniffinventing a playful little name for herin the restored
lightness of his heart.

'She's much about the same as usual' returned Jonas. 'She sticks
pretty close to the vinegar-bottle. You know she's got a
sweetheartI suppose?'

'I have heard of it' said Mr Pecksniff'from headquarters; from my
child herself I will not deny that it moved me to contemplate the
loss of my remaining daughterJonas--I am afraid we parents are
selfishI am afraid we are--but it has ever been the study of my
life to qualify them for the domestic hearth; and it is a sphere
which Cherry will adorn.'

'She need adorn some sphere or other' observed the son-in-lawfor
she ain't very ornamental in general.'

'My girls are now provided for' said Mr Pecksniff. 'They are now
happily provided forand I have not laboured in vain!'

This is exactly what Mr Pecksniff would have saidif one of his
daughters had drawn a prize of thirty thousand pounds in the
lotteryor if the other had picked up a valuable purse in the
streetwhich nobody appeared to claim. In either of these cases he
would have invoked a patriarchal blessing on the fortunate head
with great solemnityand would have taken immense credit to
himselfas having meant it from the infant's cradle.

'Suppose we talk about something elsenow' observed Jonasdrily.
'just for a change. Are you quite agreeable?'

'Quite' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Ahyou wagyou naughty wag! You
laugh at poor old fond papa. Well! He deserves it. And he don't
mind it eitherfor his feelings are their own reward. You have
come to stay with meJonas?'

'No. I've got a friend with me' said Jonas.

'Bring your friend!' cried Mr Pecksniffin a gush of hospitality.
'Bring any number of your friends!'

'This ain't the sort of man to be brought' said Jonas
contemptuously. 'I think I see myself "bringing" him to your house
for a treat! Thank'ee all the same; but he's a little too near the
top of the tree for thatPecksniff.'

The good man pricked up his ears; his interest was awakened. A
position near the top of the tree was greatnessvirtuegoodness
sensegenius; orit should rather be saida dispensation from
alland in itself something immeasurably better than all; with Mr
Pecksniff. A man who was able to look down upon Mr Pecksniff could


not be looked up atby that gentlemanwith too great an amount of
deferenceor from a position of too much humility. So it always is
with great spirits.

'I'll tell you what you may doif you like' said Jonas; 'you may
come and dine with us at the Dragon. We were forced to come down to
Salisbury last nighton some businessand I got him to bring me
over here this morningin his carriage; at leastnot his own
carriagefor we had a breakdown in the nightbut one we hired
instead; it's all the same. Mind what you're aboutyou know. He's
not used to all sorts; he only mixes with the best!'

'Some young nobleman who has been borrowing money of you at good
interesteh?' said Mr Pecksniffshaking his forefinger facetiously.
'I shall be delighted to know the gay sprig.'

'Borrowing!' echoed Jonas. 'Borrowing! When you're a twentieth part
as rich as he isyou may shut up shop! We should be pretty well off
if we could buy his furnitureand plateand picturesby clubbing
together. A likely man to borrow: Mr Montague! Why since I was
lucky enough (come! and I'll saysharp enoughtoo) to get a share
in the Assurance office that he's President ofI've made--never
mind what I've made' said Jonasseeming to recover all at once his
usual caution. 'You know me pretty welland I don't blab about
such things. ButEcodI've made a trifle.'

'Reallymy dear Jonas' cried Mr Pecksniffwith much warmth'a
gentleman like this should receive some attention. Would he like to
see the church? or if he has a taste for the fine arts--which I
have no doubt he hasfrom the description you give of his
circumstances--I can send him down a few portfolios. Salisbury
Cathedralmy dear Jonas' said Mr Pecksniff; the mention of the
portfolios and his anxiety to display himself to advantage
suggesting his usual phraseology in that regard'is an edifice
replete with venerable associationsand strikingly suggestive of
the loftiest emotions. It is here we contemplate the work of bygone
ages. It is here we listen to the swelling organas we stroll
through the reverberating aisles. We have drawings of this
celebrated structure from the Northfrom the Southfrom the East
from the Westfrom the South-Eastfrom the Nor'West--'

During this digressionand indeed during the whole dialogueJonas
had been rocking on his chairwith his hands in his pockets and his
head thrown cunningly on one side. He looked at Mr Pecksniff now
with such shrewd meaning twinkling in his eyesthat Mr Pecksniff
stoppedand asked him what he was going to say.

'Ecod!' he answered. 'Pecksniff if I knew how you meant to leave
your moneyI could put you in the way of doubling it in no time.
It wouldn't be bad to keep a chance like this snug in the family.
But you're such a deep one!'

'Jonas!' cried Mr Pecksniffmuch affected'I am not a
diplomatical character; my heart is in my hand. By far the
greater part of the inconsiderable savings I have accumulated in the
course of--I hope--a not dishonourable or useless careeris already
givendevisedand bequeathed (correct memy dear Jonasif I am
technically wrong)with expressions of confidencewhich I will not
repeat; and in securities which it is unnecessary to mention to a
person whom I cannotwhom I will notwhom I need notname.' Here
he gave the hand of his son-in-law a fervent squeezeas if he would
have added'God bless you; be very careful of it when you get it!'

Mr Jonas only shook his head and laughedandseeming to think


better of what he had had in his mindsaid'No. He would keep his
own counsel.' But as he observed that he would take a walkMr
Pecksniff insisted on accompanying himremarking that he could
leave a card for Mr Montagueas they went alongby way of
gentleman-usher to himself at dinner-time. Which he did.

In the course of their walkMr Jonas affected to maintain that
close reserve which had operated as a timely check upon him during
the foregoing dialogue. And as he made no attempt to conciliate Mr
Pecksniffbuton the contrarywas more boorish and rude to him
than usualthat gentlemanso far from suspecting his real design
laid himself out to be attacked with advantage. For it is in the
nature of a knave to think the tools with which he works
indispensable to knavery; and knowing what he would do himself in
such a caseMr Pecksniff argued'if this young man wanted anything
of me for his own endshe would be polite and deferential.'

The more Jonas repelled him in his hints and inquiriesthe more
solicitousthereforeMr Pecksniff became to be initiated into the
golden mysteries at which he had obscurely glanced. Why should
there be cold and worldly secretshe observedbetween relations?
What was life without confidence? If the chosen husband of his
daughterthe man to whom he had delivered her with so much pride
and hopesuch bounding and such beaming joy; if he were not a green
spot in the barren waste of lifewhere was that oasis to be bound?

Little did Mr Pecksniff think on what a very green spot he planted
one foot at that moment! Little did he foresee when he said'All is
but dust!' how very shortly he would come down with his own!

Inch by inchin his grudging and ill-conditioned way; sustained to
the lifefor the hope of making Mr Pecksniff suffer in that tender
placethe pocketwhere Jonas smarted so terribly himselfgave him
an additional and malicious interest in the wiles he was set on to
practise; inch by inchand bit by bitJonas rather allowed the
dazzling prospects of the Anglo-Bengalee establishment to escape
himthan paraded them before his greedy listener. And in the same
niggardly spirithe left Mr Pecksniff to inferif he chose (which
he DID chooseof course)that a consciousness of not having any
great natural gifts of speech and manner himselfrendered him
desirous to have the credit of introducing to Mr Montague some one
who was well endowed in those respectsand so atone for his own
deficiencies. Otherwisehe muttered discontentedlyhe would have
seen his beloved father-in-law 'far enough off' before he would
have taken him into his confidence.

Primed in this artful mannerMr Pecksniff presented himself at
dinner-time in such a state of suavitybenevolencecheerfulness
politenessand cordialityas even he had perhaps never attained
before. The frankness of the country gentlemanthe refinement of
the artistthe good-humoured allowance of the man of the world;
philanthropyforbearancepietytolerationall blended together
in a flexible adaptability to anything and everything; were
expressed in Mr Pecksniffas he shook hands with the great
speculator and capitalist.

'Welcomerespected sir' said Mr Pecksniff'to our humble village!
We are a simple people; primitive clodsMr Montague; but we can
appreciate the honour of your visitas my dear son-in-law can
testify. It is very strange' said Mr Pecksniffpressing his hand
almost reverentially'but I seem to know you. That towering
foreheadmy dear Jonas' said Mr Pecksniff aside'and those
clustering masses of rich hair--I must have seen youmy dear sir
in the sparkling throng.'


Nothing was more probablethey all agreed.

'I could have wished' said Mr Pecksniff'to have had the honour of
introducing you to an elderly inmate of our house: to the uncle of
our friend. Mr Chuzzlewitsirwould have been proud indeed to
have taken you by the hand.'

'Is the gentleman here now?' asked Montagueturning deeply red.
'He is' said Mr Pecksniff.

'You said nothing about thatChuzzlewit.'

'I didn't suppose you'd care to hear of it' returned Jonas. 'You
wouldn't care to know himI can promise you.'

'Jonas! my dear Jonas!' remonstrated Mr Pecksniff. 'Really!'

'Oh! it's all very well for you to speak up for him' said Jonas.
'You have nailed him. You'll get a fortune by him.'

'Oho! Is the wind in that quarter?' cried Montague. 'Hahaha!'
and here they all laughed--especially Mr Pecksniff.

'Nono!' said that gentlemanclapping his son-in-law playfully
upon the shoulder. 'You must not believe all that my young relative
saysMr Montague. You may believe him in official businessand
trust him in official businessbut you must not attach importance
to his flights of fancy.'

'Upon my lifeMr Pecksniff' cried Montague'I attach the greatest
importance to that last observation of his. I trust and hope it's
true. Money cannot be turned and turned again quickly enough in the
ordinary courseMr Pecksniff. There is nothing like building our
fortune on the weaknesses of mankind.'

'Oh fie! oh fiefor shame!' cried Mr Pecksniff. But they all
laughed again--especially Mr Pecksniff.

'I give you my honour that WE do it' said Montague.

'Oh fiefie!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'You are very pleasant. That I
am sure you don't! That I am sure you don't! How CAN youyou know?'

Again they all laughed in concert; and again Mr Pecksniff laughed
especially.

This was very agreeable indeed. It was confidentialeasy
straight-forward; and still left Mr Pecksniff in the position of
being in a gentle way the Mentor of the party. The greatest
achievements in the article of cookery that the Dragon had ever
performedwere set before them; the oldest and best wines in the
Dragon's cellar saw the light on that occasion; a thousand bubbles
indicative of the wealth and station of Mr Montague in the depths of
his pursuitswere constantly rising to the surface of the
conversation; and they were as frank and merry as three honest men
could be. Mr Pecksniff thought it a pity (he said so) that Mr
Montague should think lightly of mankind and their weaknesses. He
was anxious upon this subject; his mind ran upon it; in one way or
another he was constantly coming back to it; he must make a convert
of himhe said. And as often as Mr Montague repeated his sentiment
about building fortunes on the weaknesses of mankindand added
frankly'WE do it!' just as often Mr Pecksniff repeated 'Oh fie! oh
fiefor shame! I am sure you don't. How CAN youyou know?' laying


a greater stress each time on those last words.

The frequent repetition of this playful inquiry on the part of Mr
Pecksniffled at last to playful answers on the part of Mr
Montague; but after some little sharp-shooting on both sidesMr
Pecksniff became gravealmost to tears; observing that if Mr
Montague would give him leavehe would drink the health of his
young kinsmanMr Jonas; congratulating him upon the valuable and
distinguished friendship he had formedbut envying himhe would
confesshis usefulness to his fellow-creatures. Forif he
understood the objects of that Institution with which he was newly
and advantageously connected--knowing them but imperfectly--they
were calculated to do Good; and for his (Mr Pecksniff's) partif he
could in any way promote themhe thought he would be able to lay
his head upon his pillow every nightwith an absolute certainty of
going to sleep at once.

The transition from this accidental remark (for it was quite
accidental and had fallen from Mr Pecksniff in the openness of his
soul)to the discussion of the subject as a matter of businesswas
easy. Bookspapersstatementstablescalculations of various
kindswere soon spread out before them; and as they were all framed
with one objectit is not surprising that they should all have
tended to one end. But stillwhenever Montague enlarged upon the
profits of the officeand said that as long as there were gulls
upon the wing it must succeedMr Pecksniff mildly said 'Oh fie!'-and
might indeed have remonstrated with himbut that he knew he was
joking. Mr Pecksniff did know he was joking; because he said so.

There never had been beforeand there never would be againsuch an
opportunity for the investment of a considerable sum (the rate of
advantage increased in proportion to the amount invested)as at
that moment. The only time that had at all approached itwas the
time when Jonas had come into the concern; which made him ill-natured
nowand inclined him to pick out a doubt in this placeand a flaw
in thatand grumbling to advise Mr Pecksniff to think better of it.
The sum which would complete the proprietorship in this snug
concernwas nearly equal to Mr Pecksniff's whole hoard; not
counting Mr Chuzzlewitthat is to saywhom he looked upon as money
in the Bankthe possession of which inclined him the more to make a
dash with his own private sprats for the capture of such a whale as
Mr Montague described. The returns began almost immediatelyand
were immense. The end of it wasthat Mr Pecksniff agreed to become
the last partner and proprietor in the Anglo-Bengaleeand made an
appointment to dine with Mr Montagueat Salisburyon the next day
but onethen and there to complete the negotiation.

It took so long to bring the subject to this headthat it was
nearly midnight when they parted. When Mr Pecksniff walked
downstairs to the doorhe found Mrs Lupin standing therelooking
out.

'Ahmy good friend!' he said; 'not a-bed yet! Contemplating the
starsMrs Lupin?'

'It's a beautiful starlight nightsir.'

'A beautiful starlight night' said Mr Pecksnifflooking up.
'Behold the planetshow they shine! Behold the--those two persons
who were here this morning have left your houseI hopeMrs Lupin?'

'Yessir. They are gone.'

'I am glad to hear it' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Behold the wonders of


the firmamentMrs Lupin! how glorious is the scene! When I look up
at those shining orbsI think that each of them is winking to the
other to take notice of the vanity of men's pursuits. My
fellowmen!' cried Mr Pecksniffshaking his head in pity; 'you are
much mistaken; my wormy relativesyou are much deceived! The stars
are perfectly contented (I suppose so) in their several spheres.
Why are not you? Oh! do not strive and struggle to enrich
yourselvesor to get the better of each othermy deluded friends
but look up therewith me!'

Mrs Lupin shook her headand heaved a sigh. It was very affecting.

'Look up therewith me!' repeated Mr Pecksniffstretching out his
hand; 'With mea humble individual who is also an insect like
yourselves. Can silvergoldor precious stonessparkle like
those constellations! I think not. Then do not thirst for silver
goldor precious stones; but look up therewith me!'

With those wordsthe good man patted Mrs Lupin's hand between his
ownas if he would have added 'think of thismy good woman!' and
walked away in a sort of ecstasy or rapturewith his hat under his
arm.

Jonas sat in the attitude in which Mr Pecksniff had left himgazing
moodily at his friend; whosurrounded by a heap of documentswas
writing something on an oblong slip of paper.

'You mean to wait at Salisbury over the day after to-morrowdo you
then?' said Jonas.

'You heard our appointment' returned Montaguewithout raising his
eyes. 'In any case I should have waited to see after the boy.'

They appeared to have changed places again; Montague being in high
spirits; Jonas gloomy and lowering.

'You don't want meI suppose?' said Jonas.

'I want you to put your name here' he returnedglancing at him
with a smile'as soon as I have filled up the stamp. I may as well
have your note of hand for that extra capital. That's all I want.
If you wish to go homeI can manage Mr Pecksniff nowalone. There
is a perfect understanding between us.'

Jonas sat scowling at him as he wrotein silence. When he had
finished his writingand had dried it on the blotting paper in his
travelling-desk; he looked upand tossed the pen towards him.

'Whatnot a day's gracenot a day's trusteh?' said Jonas
bitterly. 'Not after the pains I have taken with to-night's work?'

'To night's work was a part of our bargain' replied Montague; 'and
so was this.'

'You drive a hard bargain' said Jonasadvancing to the table.
'You know best. Give it here!'

Montague gave him the paper. After pausing as if he could not make
up his mind to put his name to itJonas dipped his pen hastily in
the nearest inkstandand began to write. But he had scarcely
marked the paper when he started backin a panic.

'Whywhat the devil's this?' he said. 'It's bloody!'


He had dipped the penas another moment showedinto red ink. But
he attached a strange degree of importance to the mistake. He asked
how it had come therewho had brought itwhy it had been brought;
and looked at Montagueat firstas if he thought he had put a
trick upon him. Even when he used a different penand the right
inkhe made some scratches on another paper firstas half
believing they would turn red also.

'Black enoughthis time' he saidhanding the note to Montague.
'Good-bye.'

'Going now! how do you mean to get away from here?'

'I shall cross early in the morning to the high roadbefore you are
out of bed; and catch the day-coachgoing up. Good-bye!'

'You are in a hurry!'

'I have something to do' said Jonas. 'Good-bye!'

His friend looked after him as he went outin surprisewhich
gradually gave place to an air of satisfaction and relief.

'It happens all the better. It brings about what I wantedwithout
any difficulty. I shall travel home alone.'

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

IN WHICH TOM PINCH AND HIS SISTER TAKE A LITTLE PLEASURE; BUT QUITE
IN A DOMESTIC WAYAND WITH NO CEREMONY ABOUT IT

Tom Pinch and his sister having to partfor the dispatch of the
morning's businessimmediately after the dispersion of the other
actors in the scene upon the wharf with which the reader has been
already made acquaintedhad no opportunity of discussing the
subject at that time. But Tomin his solitary officeand Ruthin
the triangular parlourthought about nothing else all day; and
when their hour of meeting in the afternoon approachedthey were
very full of itto be sure.

There was a little plot between themthat Tom should always come
out of the Temple by one way; and that was past the fountain.
Coming through Fountain Courthe was just to glance down the steps
leading into Garden Courtand to look once all round him; and if
Ruth had come to meet himthere he would see her; not sauntering
you understand (on account of the clerks)but coming briskly up
with the best little laugh upon her face that ever played in
opposition to the fountainand beat it all to nothing. Forfifty
to oneTom had been looking for her in the wrong directionand had
quite given her upwhile she had been tripping towards him from the
first; jingling that little reticule of hers (with all the keys in
it) to attract his wandering observation.

Whether there was life enough left in the slow vegetation of
Fountain Court for the smoky shrubs to have any consciousness of the
brightest and purest-hearted little woman in the worldis a
question for gardenersand those who are learned in the loves of
plants. Butthat it was a good thing for that same paved yard to
have such a delicate little figure flitting through it; that it
passed like a smile from the grimy old housesand the worn
flagstonesand left them dullerdarkersterner than before; there


is no sort of doubt. The Temple fountain might have leaped up
twenty feet to greet the spring of hopeful maidenhoodthat in her
person stole onsparklingthrough the dry and dusty channels of
the Law; the chirping sparrowsbred in Temple chinks and crannies
might have held their peace to listen to imaginary skylarksas so
fresh a little creature passed; the dingy boughsunused to droop
otherwise than in their puny growthmight have bent down in a
kindred gracefulness to shed their benedictions on her graceful
head; old love lettersshut up in iron boxes in the neighbouring
officesand made of no account among the heaps of family papers
into which they had strayedand of whichin their degeneracythey
formed a partmight have stirred and fluttered with a moment's
recollection of their ancient tendernessas she went lightly by.
Anything might have happened that did not happenand never will
for the love of Ruth.

Something happenedtooupon the afternoon of which the history
treats. Not for her love. Oh no! quite by accidentand without
the least reference to her at all.

Either she was a little too soonor Tom was a little too late--she
was so precise in generalthat she timed it to half a minute--but
no Tom was there. Well! But was anybody else therethat she
blushed so deeplyafter looking roundand tripped off down the
steps with such unusual expedition?

Whythe fact isthat Mr Westlock was passing at that moment. The
Temple is a public thoroughfare; they may write up on the gates that
it is notbut so long as the gates are left open it isand will
be; and Mr Westlock had as good a right to be there as anybody else.
But why did she run awaythen? Not being ill dressedfor she was
much too neat for thatwhy did she run away? The brown hair that
had fallen down beneath her bonnetand had one impertinent imp of a
false flower clinging to itboastful of its licence before all men
THAT could not have been the causefor it looked charming. Oh!
foolishpantingfrightened little heartwhy did she run away!

Merrily the tiny fountain playedand merrily the dimples sparkled
on its sunny face. John Westlock hurried after her. Softly the
whispering water broke and fell; as roguishly the dimples twinkled
as he stole upon her footsteps.

Ohfoolishpantingtimid little heartwhy did she feign to be
unconscious of his coming! Why wish herself so far awayyet be so
flutteringly happy there!

'I felt sure it was you' said Johnwhen he overtook her in the
sanctuary of Garden Court. 'I knew I couldn't be mistaken.'

She was SO surprised.

'You are waiting for your brother' said John. 'Let me bear you
company.'

So light was the touch of the coy little handthat he glanced down
to assure himself he had it on his arm. But his glancestopping
for an instant at the bright eyesforgot its first designand went
no farther.

They walked up and down three or four timesspeaking about Tom and
his mysterious employment. Now that was a very natural and innocent
subjectsurely. Then whywhenever Ruth lifted up her eyesdid
she let them fall again immediatelyand seek the uncongenial
pavement of the court? They were not such eyes as shun the light;


they were not such eyes as require to be hoarded to enhance their
value. They were much too precious and too genuine to stand in need
of arts like those. Somebody must have been looking at them!

They found out Tomthoughquickly enough. This pair of eyes
descried him in the distancethe moment he appeared. He was
staring about himas usualin all directions but the right one;
and was as obstinate in not looking towards themas if he had
intended it. As it was plain thatbeing left to himselfhe would
walk away homeJohn Westlock darted off to stop him.

This made the approach of poor little Ruthby herselfone of the
most embarrassing of circumstances. There was Tommanifesting
extreme surprise (he had no presence of mindthat Tomon small
occasions); there was Johnmaking as light of it as he couldbut
explaining at the same time with most unnecessary elaboration; and
here was shecoming towards themwith both of them looking at her
conscious of blushing to a terrible extentbut trying to throw up
her eyebrows carelesslyand pout her rosy lipsas if she were the
coolest and most unconcerned of little women.

Merrily the fountain plashed and plasheduntil the dimplesmerging
into one anotherswelled into a general smilethat covered the
whole surface of the basin.

'What an extraordinary meeting!' said Tom. 'I should never have
dreamed of seeing you two together here.'

'Quite accidental' John was heard to murmur.

'Exactly' cried Tom; 'that's what I meanyou know. If it wasn't
accidentalthere would be nothing remarkable in it.'

'To be sure' said John.

'Such an out-of-the-way place for you to have met in' pursued Tom
quite delighted. 'Such an unlikely spot!'

John rather disputed that. On the contraryhe considered it a very
likely spotindeed. He was constantly passing to and fro therehe
said. He shouldn't wonder if it were to happen again. His only
wonder wasthat it had never happened before.

By this time Ruth had got round on the farther side of her brother
and had taken his arm. She was squeezing it nowas much as to say
'Are you going to stop here all dayyou dearoldblundering Tom?'

Tom answered the squeeze as if it had been a speech. 'John' he
said'if you'll give my sister your armwe'll take her between us
and walk on. I have a curious circumstance to relate to you. Our
meeting could not have happened better.'

Merrily the fountain leaped and dancedand merrily the smiling
dimples twinkled and expanded more and moreuntil they broke into a
laugh against the basin's rimand vanished.

'Tom' said his friendas they turned into the noisy street'I
have a proposition to make. It isthat you and your sister--if she
will so far honour a poor bachelor's dwelling--give me a great
pleasureand come and dine with me.'

'Whatto-day?' cried Tom.

'Yesto-day. It's close byyou know. PrayMiss Pinchinsist


upon it. It will be very disinterestedfor I have nothing to give
you.'

'Oh! you must not believe thatRuth' said Tom. 'He is the most
tremendous fellowin his housekeepingthat I ever heard offor a
single man. He ought to be Lord Mayor. Well! what do you say?
Shall we go?'

'If you pleaseTom' rejoined his dutiful little sister.

'But I mean' said Tomregarding her with smiling admiration; 'is
there anything you ought to wearand haven't got? I am sure I
don't knowJohn; she may not be able to take her bonnet offfor
anything I can tell.'

There was a great deal of laughing at thisand there were divers
compliments from John Westlock--not compliments HE said at least
(and really he was right)but goodplainhonest truthswhich no
one could deny. Ruth laughedand all thatbut she made no
objection; so it was an engagement.

'If I had known it a little sooner' said John'I would have tried
another pudding. Not in rivalry; but merely to exalt that famous
one. I wouldn't on any account have had it made with suet.'

'Why not?' asked Tom.

'Because that cookery-book advises suet' said John Westlock; 'and
ours was made with flour and eggs.'

'Oh good gracious!' cried Tom. 'Ours was made with flour and eggs
was it? Hahaha! A beefsteak pudding made with flour and eggs!
Why anybody knows better than that. I know better than that! Ha
haha!'

It is unnecessary to say that Tom had been present at the making of
the puddingand had been a devoted believer in it all through. But
he was so delighted to have this joke against his busy little sister
and was tickled to that degree at having found her outthat he
stopped in Temple Bar to laugh; and it was no more to Tomthat he
was anathematized and knocked about by the surly passengersthan it
would have been to a post; for he continued to exclaim with unabated
good humour'flour and eggs! A beefsteak pudding made with flour
and eggs!' until John Westlock and his sister fairly ran away from
himand left him to have his laugh out by himself; which he had
and then came dodging across the crowded street to themwith such
sweet temper and tenderness (it was quite a tender joke of Tom's)
beaming in his faceGod bless itthat it might have purified the
airthough Temple Bar had beenas in the golden days gone by
embellished with a row of rotting human heads.

There are snug chambers in those Inns where the bachelors liveand
for the desolate fellows they pretend to beit is quite surprising
how well they get on. John was very pathetic on the subject of his
dreary lifeand the deplorable makeshifts and apologetic
contrivances it involvedbut he really seemed to make himself
pretty comfortable. His rooms were the perfection of neatness and
convenience at any rate; and if he were anything but comfortable
the fault was certainly not theirs.

He had no sooner ushered Tom and his sister into his best room
(where there was a beautiful little vase of fresh flowers on the
tableall ready for Ruth. Just as if he had expected herTom
said)thanseizing his hathe bustled out againin his most


energetically bustlingway; and presently came hurrying backas
they saw through the half-opened doorattended by a fiery-faced
matron attired in a crunched bonnetwith particularly long strings
to it hanging down her back; in conjunction with whom he instantly
began to lay the cloth for dinnerpolishing up the wine-glasses
with his own handsbrightening the silver top of the pepper-caster
on his coat-sleevedrawing corks and filling decanterswith a
skill and expedition that were quite dazzling. And as ifin the
course of this rubbing and polishinghe had rubbed an enchanted
lamp or a magic ringobedient to which there were twenty thousand
supernatural slaves at leastsuddenly there appeared a being in a
white waistcoatcarrying under his arm a napkinand attended by
another being with an oblong box upon his headfrom which a
banquetpiping hotwas taken out and set upon the table.

Salmonlambpeasinnocent young potatoesa cool saladsliced
cucumbera tender ducklingand a tart--all there. They all came at
the right time. Where they came fromdidn't appear; but the oblong
box was constantly going and comingand making its arrival known to
the man in the white waistcoat by bumping modestly against the
outside of the door; forafter its first appearanceit entered the
room no more. He was never surprisedthis man; he never seemed to
wonder at the extraordinary things he found in the boxbut took
them out with a face expressive of a steady purpose and impenetrable
characterand put them on the table. He was a kind man; gentle in
his mannersand much interested in what they ate and drank. He was
a learned manand knew the flavour of John Westlock's private
sauceswhich he softly and feelingly describedas he handed the
little bottles round. He was a grave manand a noiseless; for
dinner being doneand wine and fruit arranged upon the boardhe
vanishedbox and alllike something that had never been.

'Didn't I say he was a tremendous fellow in his housekeeping?' cried
Tom. 'Bless my soul! It's wonderful.'

'AhMiss Pinch' said John. 'This is the bright side of the life
we lead in such a place. It would be a dismal lifeindeedif it
didn't brighten up to-day'

'Don't believe a word he says' cried Tom. 'He lives here like a
monarchand wouldn't change his mode of life for any consideration.
He only pretends to grumble.'

NoJohn really did not appear to pretend; for he was uncommonly
earnest in his desire to have it understood that he was as dull
solitaryand uncomfortable on ordinary occasions as an unfortunate
young man couldin reasonbe. It was a wretched lifehe saida
miserable life. He thought of getting rid of the chambers as soon
as possible; and meantin factto put a bill up very shortly.

'Well' said Tom Pinch'I don't know where you can goJohnto be
more comfortable. That's all I can say. What do YOU sayRuth?'

Ruth trifled with the cherries on her plateand said that she
thought Mr Westlock ought to be quite happyand that she had no
doubt he was.

Ahfoolishpantingfrightened little hearthow timidly she said
it!

'But you are forgetting what you had to tellTom; what occurred
this morning' she added in the same breath.

'So I am' said Tom. 'We have been so talkative on other topics that


I declare I have not had time to think of it. I'll tell it you at
onceJohnin case I should forget it altogether.'

On Tom's relating what had passed upon the wharfhis friend was
very much surprisedand took such a great interest in the narrative
as Tom could not quite understand. He believed he knew the old lady
whose acquaintance they had madehe said; and that he might venture
to sayfrom their description of herthat her name was Gamp. But
of what nature the communication could have been which Tom had borne
so unexpectedly; why its delivery had been entrusted to him; how it
happened that the parties were involved together; and what secret
lay at the bottom of the whole affair; perplexed him very much. Tom
had been sure of his taking some interest in the matter; but was not
prepared for the strong interest he showed. It held John Westlock
to the subject even after Ruth had left the room; and evidently made
him anxious to pursue it further than as a mere subject of
conversation.

'I shall remonstrate with my landlordof course' said Tom; 'though
he is a very singular secret sort of manand not likely to afford
me much satisfaction; even if he knew what was in the letter.'

'Which you may swear he did' John interposed.

'You think so?'

'I am certain of it.'

'Well!' said Tom'I shall remonstrate with him when I see him (he
goes in and out in a strange waybut I will try to catch him
tomorrow morning)on his having asked me to execute such an
unpleasant commission. And I have been thinkingJohnthat if I
went down to Mrs What's-her-name's in the Citywhere I was before
you know--Mrs Todgers's--to-morrow morningI might find poor Mercy
Pecksniff thereperhapsand be able to explain to her how I came
to have any hand in the business.'

'You are perfectly rightTom' returned his friendafter a short
interval of reflection. 'You cannot do better. It is quite clear
to me that whatever the business isthere is little good in it; and
it is so desirable for you to disentangle yourself from any
appearance of willful connection with itthat I would counsel you to
see her husbandif you canand wash your hands of it by a plain
statement of the facts. I have a misgiving that there is something
dark at work hereTom. I will tell you whyat another time; when
I have made an inquiry or two myself.'

All this sounded very mysterious to Tom Pinch. But as he knew he
could rely upon his friendhe resolved to follow this advice.

Ahbut it would have been a good thing to have had a coat of
invisibilitywherein to have watched little Ruthwhen she was left
to herself in John Westlock's chambersand John and her brother
were talking thusover their wine! The gentle way in which she
tried to get up a little conversation with the fiery-faced matron in
the crunched bonnetwho was waiting to attend her; after making a
desperate rally in regard of her dressand attiring herself in a
washed-out yellow gown with sprigs of the same upon itso that it
looked like a tesselated work of pats of butter. That would have
been pleasant. The grim and griffin-like inflexibility with which
the fiery-faced matron repelled these engaging advancesas
proceeding from a hostile and dangerous powerwho could have no
business thereunless it were to deprive her of a customeror
suggest what became of the self-consuming tea and sugarand other


general trifles. That would have been agreeable. The bashful
winningglorious curiositywith which little Ruthwhen fiery-face
was gonepeeped into the books and nick-nacks that were lying
aboutand had a particular interest in some delicate paper-matches
on the chimney-piece; wondering who could have made them. That
would have been worth seeing. The faltering hand with which she
tied those flowers together; with whichalmost blushing at her own
fair self as imaged in the glassshe arranged them in her breast
and looking at them with her head asidenow half resolved to take
them out againnow half resolved to leave them where they were.
That would have been delightful!

John seemed to think it all delightful; for coming in with Tom to
teahe took his seat beside her like a man enchanted. And when the
tea-service had been removedand Tomsitting down at the piano
became absorbed in some of his old organ tuneshe was still beside
her at the open windowlooking out upon the twilight.

There is little enough to see in Furnival's Inn. It is a shady
quiet placeechoing to the footsteps of the stragglers who have
business there; and rather monotonous and gloomy on summer
evenings. What gave it such a charm to themthat they remained at
the window as unconscious of the flight of time as Tom himselfthe
dreamerwhile the melodies which had so often soothed his spirit
were hovering again about him! What power infused into the fading
lightthe gathering darkness; the stars that here and there
appeared; the evening airthe City's hum and stirthe very chiming
of the old church clocks; such exquisite enthrallmentthat the
divinest regions of the earth spread out before their eyes could not
have held them captive in a stronger chain?

The shadows deepeneddeepenedand the room became quite dark.
Still Tom's fingers wandered over the keys of the pianoand still
the window had its pair of tenants. At lengthher hand upon his
shoulderand her breath upon his foreheadroused Tom from his
reverie.

'Dear me!' he crieddesisting with a start. 'I am afraid I have
been very inconsiderate and unpolite.'

Tom little thought how much consideration and politeness he had
shown!

'Sing something to usmy dear' said Tom. 'let us hear your voice.
Come!'

John Westlock added his entreaties with such earnestness that a
flinty heart alone could have resisted them. Hers was not a flinty
heart. Ohdear no! Quite another thing.

So down she satand in a pleasant voice began to sing the ballads
Tom loved well. Old rhyming storieswith here and there a pause
for a few simple chordssuch as a harper might have sounded in the
ancient time while looking upward for the current of some halfremembered
legend; words of old poetswedded to such measures that
the strain of music might have been the poet's breathgiving
utterance and expression to his thoughts; and now a melody so joyous
and light-heartedthat the singer seemed incapable of sadness
until in her inconstancy (oh wicked little singer!) she relapsed
and broke the listeners' hearts again; these were the simple means
she used to please them. And that these simple means prevailedand
she DID please themlet the still darkened chamberand its longdeferred
illumination witness.


The candles came at lastand it was time for moving homeward.
Cutting paper carefullyand rolling it about the stalks of those
same flowersoccasioned some delay; but even this was done in time
and Ruth was ready.

'Good night!' said Tom. 'A memorable and delightful visitJohn!
Good night!'

John thought he would walk with them.

'Nono. Don't!' said Tom. 'What nonsense! We can get home very
well alone. I couldn't think of taking you out.'

But John said he would rather.

'Are you sure you would rather?' said Tom. 'I am afraid you only
say so out of politeness.'

John being quite suregave his arm to Ruthand led her out.
Fiery-facewho was again in attendanceacknowledged her departure
with so cold a curtsey that it was hardly visible; and cut Tomdead.

Their host was bent on walking the whole distanceand would not
listen to Tom's dissuasions. Happy timehappy walkhappy parting
happy dreams! But there are some sweet day-dreamsso there are that
put the visions of the night to shame.

Busily the Temple fountain murmured in the moonlightwhile Ruth lay
sleepingwith her flowers beside her; and John Westlock sketched a
portrait--whose?--from memory.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

IN WHICH MISS PECKSNIFF MAKES LOVEMR JONAS MAKES WRATHMRS GAMP
MAKES TEAAND MR CHUFFEY MAKES BUSINESS

On the next day's official duties coming to a closeTom hurried
home without losing any time by the way; and after dinner and a
short rest sallied out againaccompanied by Ruthto pay his
projected visit to Todgers's. Tom took Ruth with himnot only
because it was a great pleasure to him to have her for his companion
whenever he couldbut because he wished her to cherish and comfort
poor Merry; which shefor her own part (having heard the wretched
history of that young wife from Tom)was all eagerness to do.

'She was so glad to see me' said Tom'that I am sure she will be
glad to see you. Your sympathy is certain to be much more delicate
and acceptable than mine.'

'I am very far from being certain of thatTom' she replied; 'and
indeed you do yourself an injustice. Indeed you do. But I hope she
may like meTom.'

'Ohshe is sure to do that!' cried Tomconfidently.

'What a number of friends I should haveif everybody was of your
way of thinking. Shouldn't ITomdear?' said his little sister
pinching him upon the cheek.

Tom laughedand said that with reference to this particular case he
had no doubt at all of finding a disciple in Merry. 'For you


women' said Tom'you womenmy dearare so kindand in your
kindness have such nice perception; you know so well how to be
affectionate and full of solicitude without appearing to be; your
gentleness of feeling is like your touch so light and easythat the
one enables you to deal with wounds of the mind as tenderly as the
other enables you to deal with wounds of the body. You are such--'

'My goodnessTom!' his sister interposed. 'You ought to fall in
love immediately.'

Tom put this observation off good humouredlybut somewhat gravely
too; and they were soon very chatty again on some other subject.

As they were passing through a street in the Citynot very far from
Mrs Todgers's place of residenceRuth checked Tom before the window
of a large Upholstery and Furniture Warehouseto call his attention
to something very magnificent and ingeniousdisplayed there to the
best advantagefor the admiration and temptation of the public.
Tom had hazarded some most erroneous and extravagantly wrong guess
in relation to the price of this articleand had joined his sister
in laughing heartily at his mistakewhen he pressed her arm in his
and pointed to two persons at a little distancewho were looking in
at the same window with a deep interest in the chests of drawers and
tables.

'Hush!' Tom whispered. 'Miss Pecksniffand the young gentleman to
whom she is going to be married.'

'Why does he look as if he was going to be buriedTom?' inquired
his little sister.

'Whyhe is naturally a dismal young gentlemanI believe' said Tom
'but he is very civil and inoffensive.'

'I suppose they are furnishing their house' whispered Ruth.

'YesI suppose they are' replied Tom. 'We had better avoid
speaking to them.'

They could not very well avoid looking at themhoweverespecially
as some obstruction on the pavementat a little distancehappened
to detain them where they were for a few moments. Miss Pecksniff
had quite the air of having taken the unhappy Moddle captiveand
brought him up to the contemplation of the furniture like a lamb to
the altar. He offered no resistancebut was perfectly resigned and
quiet. The melancholy depicted in the turn of his languishing head
and in his dejected attitudewas extreme; and though there was a
full-sized four-post bedstead in the windowsuch a tear stood
trembling in his eye as seemed to blot it out.

'Augustusmy love' said Miss Pecksniff'ask the price of the
eight rosewood chairsand the loo table.'

'Perhaps they are ordered already' said Augustus. 'Perhaps they
are Another's.'

'They can make more like themif they are' rejoined Miss
Pecksniff.

'Nonothey can't' said Moddle. 'It's impossible!'

He appearedfor the momentto be quite overwhelmed and stupefied
by the prospect of his approaching happiness; but recovering
entered the shop. He returned immediatelysaying in a tone of


despair

'Twenty-four pound ten!'

Miss Pecksniffturning to receive this announcementbecame
conscious of the observation of Tom Pinch and his sister.

'Ohreally!' cried Miss Pecksniffglancing about heras if for
some convenient means of sinking into the earth. 'Upon my wordI-there
never was such a--to think that one should be so very--Mr
Augustus ModdleMiss Pinch!'

Miss Pecksniff was quite gracious to Miss Pinch in this triumphant
introduction; exceedingly gracious. She was more than gracious; she
was kind and cordial. Whether the recollection of the old service
Tom had rendered her in knocking Mr Jonas on the head had wrought
this change in her opinions; or whether her separation from her
parent had reconciled her to all human-kindor to all that
interesting portion of human-kind which was not friendly to him; or
whether the delight of having some new female acquaintance to whom
to communicate her interesting prospects was paramount to every
other consideration; cordial and kind Miss Pecksniff was. And twice
Miss Pecksniff kissed Miss Pinch upon the cheek.

'Augustus--Mr Pinchyou know. My dear girl!' said Miss Pecksniff
aside. 'I never was so ashamed in my life.'

Ruth begged her not to think of it.

'I mind your brother less than anybody else' simpered Miss
Pecksniff. 'But the indelicacy of meeting any gentleman under such
circumstances! Augustusmy childdid you--'

Here Miss Pecksniff whispered in his ear. The suffering Moddle
repeated:

'Twenty-four pound ten!'

'Ohyou silly man! I don't mean them' said Miss Pecksniff. 'I am
speaking of the--'

Here she whispered him again.

'If it's the same patterned chintz as that in the window; thirtytwo
twelvesix' said Moddlewith a sigh. 'And very dear.'

Miss Pecksniff stopped him from giving any further explanation by
laying her hand upon his lipsand betraying a soft embarrassment.
She then asked Tom Pinch which way he was going.

'I was going to see if I could find your sister' answered Tom'to
whom I wished to say a few words. We were going to Mrs Todgers's
where I had the pleasure of seeing her before.'

'It's of no use your going onthen' said Cherry'for we have not
long left there; and I know she is not at home. But I'll take you
to my sister's houseif you please. Augustus--Mr ModdleI mean-and
myselfare on our way to tea therenow. You needn't think of
HIM' she addednodding her head as she observed some hesitation on
Tom's part. 'He is not at home.'

'Are you sure?' asked Tom.

'OhI am quite sure of that. I don't want any MORE revenge' said


Miss Pecksniffexpressively. 'ButreallyI must beg you two
gentlemen to walk onand allow me to follow with Miss Pinch. My
dearI never was so taken by surprise!'

In furtherance of this bashful arrangementModdle gave his arm to
Tom; and Miss Pecksniff linked her own in Ruth's.

'Of coursemy love' said Miss Pecksniff'it would be useless for
me to disguiseafter what you have seenthat I am about to be
united to the gentleman who is walking with your brother. It would
be in vain to conceal it. What do you think of him? Praylet me
have your candid opinion.'

Ruth intimated thatas far as she could judgehe was a very
eligible swain.

'I am curious to know' said Miss Pecksniffwith loquacious
frankness'whether you have observedor fanciedin this very
short space of timethat he is of a rather melancholy turn?'

'So very short a time' Ruth pleaded.

'Nono; but don't let that interfere with your answer' returned
Miss Pecksniff. 'I am curious to hear what you say.'

Ruth acknowledged that he had impressed her at first sight as
looking 'rather low.'

'Noreally?' said Miss Pecksniff. 'Well! that is quite remarkable!
Everybody says the same. Mrs Todgers says the same; and Augustus
informs me that it is quite a joke among the gentlemen in the house.
Indeedbut for the positive commands I have laid upon himI
believe it would have been the occasion of loaded fire-arms being
resorted to more than once. What do you think is the cause of his
appearance of depression?'

Ruth thought of several things; such as his digestionhis tailor
his motherand the like. But hesitating to give utterance to any
one of themshe refrained from expressing an opinion.

'My dear' said Miss Pecksniff; 'I shouldn't wish it to be known
but I don't mind mentioning it to youhaving known your brother for
so many years--I refused Augustus three times. He is of a most
amiable and sensitive naturealways ready to shed tears if you look
at himwhich is extremely charming; and he has never recovered the
effect of that cruelty. For it WAS cruel' said Miss Pecksniff
with a self-conviction candour that might have adorned the diadem of
her own papa. 'There is no doubt of it. I look back upon my
conduct now with blushes. I always liked him. I felt that he was not
to me what the crowd of young men who had made proposals had been
but something very different. Then what right had I to refuse him
three times?'

'It was a severe trial of his fidelityno doubt' said Ruth.

'My dear' returned Miss Pecksniff. 'It was wrong. But such is the
caprice and thoughtlessness of our sex! Let me be a warning to you.
Don't try the feelings of any one who makes you an offeras I have
tried the feelings of Augustus; but if you ever feel towards a
person as I really felt towards himat the very time when I was
driving him to distractionlet that feeling find expressionif
that person throws himself at your feetas Augustus Moddle did at
mine. Think' said Miss Pecksniff'what my feelings would have
beenif I had goaded him to suicideand it had got into the


papers!'

Ruth observed that she would have been full of remorseno doubt.

'Remorse!' cried Miss Pecksniffin a sort of snug and comfortable
penitence. 'What my remorse is at this momenteven after making
reparation by accepting himit would be impossible to tell you!
Looking back upon my giddy selfmy dearnow that I am sobered down
and made thoughtfulby treading on the very brink of matrimony; and
contemplating myself as I was when I was like what you are now; I
shudder. I shudder. What is the consequence of my past conduct?
Until Augustus leads me to the altar he is not sure of me. I have
blighted and withered the affections of his heart to that extent
that he is not sure of me. I see that preying on his mind and
feeding on his vitals. What are the reproaches of my conscience
when I see this in the man I love!'

Ruth endeavoured to express some sense of her unbounded and
flattering confidence; and presumed that she was going to be married
soon.

'Very soon indeed' returned Miss Pecksniff. 'As soon as our house
is ready. We are furnishing now as fast as we can.'

In the same vein of confidence Miss Pecksniff ran through a general
inventory of the articles that were already bought with the articles
that remained to be purchased; what garments she intended to be
married inand where the ceremony was to be performed; and gave
Miss Pinchin short (as she told her)early and exclusive
information on all points of interest connected with the event.

While this was going forward in the rearTom and Mr Moddle walked
onarm in armin the frontin a state of profound silencewhich
Tom at last broke; after thinking for a long time what he could say
that should refer to an indifferent topicin respect of which he
might relywith some degree of certaintyon Mr Moddle's bosom
being unruffled.

'I wonder' said Tom'that in these crowded streets the footpassengers
are not oftener run over.'

Mr Moddlewith a dark lookreplied:

'The drivers won't do it.'

'Do you mean?' Tom began-


'That there are some men' interrupted Moddlewith a hollow laugh
'who can't get run over. They live a charmed life. Coal waggons
recoil from themand even cabs refuse to run them down. Ah!' said
Augustusmarking Tom's astonishment. 'There are such men. One of
'em is a friend of mine.'

'Upon my word and honour' thought Tom'this young gentleman is in
a state of mind which is very serious indeed!' Abandoning all idea
of conversationhe did not venture to say another wordbut he was
careful to keep a tight hold upon Augustus's armlest he should fly
into the roadand making another and a more successful attempt
should get up a private little Juggernaut before the eyes of his
betrothed. Tom was so afraid of his committing this rash actthat
he had scarcely ever experienced such mental relief as when they
arrived in safety at Mrs Jonas Chuzzlewit's house.

'Walk upprayMr Pinch' said Miss Pecksniff. For Tom halted


irresolutelyat the door.

'I am doubtful whether I should be welcome' replied Tom'orI
ought rather to sayI have no doubt about it. I will send up a
messageI think.'

'But what nonsense that is!' returned Miss Pecksniffspeaking apart
to Tom. 'He is not at homeI am certain. I know he is not; and
Merry hasn't the least idea that you ever--'

'No' interrupted Tom. 'Nor would I have her know iton any
account. I am not so proud of that scuffleI assure you.'

'Ahbut then you are so modestyou see' returned Miss Pecksniff
with a smile. 'But pray walk up. If you don't wish her to know it
and do wish to speak to herpray walk up. Pray walk upMiss
Pinch. Don't stand here.'

Tom still hesitated for he felt that he was in an awkward position.
But Cherry passing him at this junctureand leading his sister
upstairsand the house-door being at the same time shut behind
themhe followed without quite knowing whether it was well or illjudged
so to do.

'Merrymy darling!' said the fair Miss Pecksniffopening the door
of the usual sitting-room. 'Here are Mr Pinch and his sister come
to see you! I thought we should find you hereMrs Todgers! How do
you doMrs Gamp? And how do you doMr Chuffeythough it's of no
use asking you the questionI am well aware.'

Honouring each of these partiesas she severally addressed them
with an acid smileMiss Charity presented 'Mr Moddle.'

'I believe you have seen HIM before' she pleasantly observed.
'Augustusmy sweet childbring me a chair.'

The sweet child did as he was told; and was then about to retire
into a corner to mourn in secretwhen Miss Charitycalling him in
an audible whisper a 'little pet' gave him leave to come and sit
beside her. It is to be hopedfor the general cheerfulness of
mankindthat such a doleful little pet was never seen as Mr Moddle
looked when he complied. So despondent was his temperthat he
showed no outward thrill of ecstasy when Miss Pecksniff placed her
lily hand in hisand concealed this mark of her favour from the
vulgar gaze by covering it with a corner of her shawl. Indeedhe
was infinitely more rueful then than he had been before; and
sitting uncomfortably upright in his chairsurveyed the company
with watery eyeswhich seemed to saywithout the aid of language
'Ohgood gracious! look here! Won't some kind Christian help me!'

But the ecstasies of Mrs Gamp were sufficient to have furnished
forth a score of young lovers; and they were chiefly awakened by the
sight of Tom Pinch and his sister. Mrs Gamp was a lady of that
happy temperament which can be ecstatic without any other
stimulating cause than a general desire to establish a large and
profitable connection. She added daily so many strings to her bow
that she made a perfect harp of it; and upon that instrument she now
began to perform an extemporaneous concerto.

'Whygoodness me!' she said'Mrs Chuzzlewit! To think as I should
see beneath this blessed 'ousewhich well I know itMiss Pecksniff
my sweet young ladyto be a 'ouse as there is not a many likeworse
luckand wishin' it were not sowhich then this tearful walley
would be changed into a flowerin' guardianMr Chuffey; to think as


I should see beneath this indiwidgle roofidentically comin'Mr
Pinch (I take the libertythough almost unbeknown)and do assure
you of itsirthe smilinest and sweetest face as everMrs
ChuzzlewitI see exceptin' yournmy dear good ladyand YOUR good
lady's toosirMr Moddleif I may make so bold as speak so plain
of what is plain enough to them as needn't look through millstones
Mrs Todgersto find out wot is wrote upon the wall behind. Which
no offence is meantladies and gentlemen; none bein' tookI hope.
To think as I should see that smilinest and sweetest face which me
and another friend of minetook notice of among the packages down
London Bridgein this promiscous placeis a surprige in-deed!'

Having contrivedin this happy mannerto invest every member of
her audience with an individual share and immediate personal
interest in her addressMrs Gamp dropped several curtseys to Ruth
and smilingly shaking her head a great many timespursued the
thread of her discourse:

'Nowain't we rich in beauty this here joyful arternoonI'm sure.
I knows a ladywhich her nameI'll not deceive youMrs
Chuzzlewitis Harrisher husband's brother bein' six foot three
and marked with a mad bull in Wellington boots upon his left armon
account of his precious mother havin' been worrited by one into a
shoemaker's shopwhen in a sitiwation which blessed is the man as
has his quiver full of sechas many times I've said to Gamp when
words has roge betwixt us on account of the expense--and often have
I said to Mrs HarrisOh, Mrs Harris, ma'am! your countenance is
quite a angel's!Whichbut for Pimplesit would be. "NoSairey
Gamp says she, you best of hard-working and industrious creeturs
as ever was underpaid at any pricewhich underpaid you arequite
diff'rent. Harris had it done afore marriage at ten and six she
says, and wore it faithful next his heart "till the colour run
when the money was declined to be give backand no arrangement
could be come to. But he never said it was a angel'sSairey
wotever he might have thought." If Mrs Harris's husband was here
now' said Mrs Gamplooking roundand chuckling as she dropped a
general curtsey'he'd speak out plainhe wouldand his dear wife
would be the last to blame him! For if ever a woman lived as know'd
not wot it was to form a wish to pizon them as had good looksand
had no reagion give her by the best of husbandsMrs Harris is that
ev'nly dispogician!'

With these words the worthy womanwho appeared to have dropped in
to take tea as a delicate little attentionrather than to have any
engagement on the premises in an official capacitycrossed to Mr
Chuffeywho was seated in the same corner as of oldand shook him
by the shoulder.

'Rouge yourselfand look up! Come!' said Mrs Gamp. 'Here's
companyMr Chuffey.'

'I am sorry for it' cried the old manlooking humbly round the
room. 'I know I'm in the way. I ask pardonbut I've nowhere else
to go to. Where is she?'

Merry went to him.

'Ah!' said the old manpatting her on the check. 'Here she is.
Here she is! She's never hard on poor old Chuffey. Poor old Chuff!'

As she took her seat upon a low chair by the old man's sideand put
herself within the reach of his handshe looked up once at Tom. It
was a sad look that she cast upon himthough there was a faint
smile trembling on her face. It was a speaking lookand Tom knew


what it said. 'You see how misery has changed me. I can feel for a
dependant NOWand set some value on his attachment.'

'Ayeaye!' cried Chuffey in a soothing tone. 'Ayeayeaye! Never
mind him. It's hard to hearbut never mind him. He'll die one
day. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year--three
hundred and sixty-six in leap year--and he may die on any one of
'em.'

'You're a wearing old souland that's the sacred truth' said Mrs
Gampcontemplating him from a little distance with anything but
favouras he continued to mutter to himself. 'It's a pity that you
don't know wot you sayfor you'd tire your own patience out if you
didand fret yourself into a happy releage for all as knows you.'

'His son' murmured the old manlifting up his hand. 'His son!'

'WellI'm sure!' said Mrs Gamp'you're a-settlin' of itMr
Chuffey. To your satigefactionsirI hope. But I wouldn't lay a
new pincushion on it myselfsirthough you ARE so well informed.
Drat the old creeturhe's a-layin' down the law tolerable
confidenttoo! A deal he knows of sons! or darters either! Suppose
you was to favour us with some remarks on twinssirWOULD you be
so good!'

The bitter and indignant sarcasm which Mrs Gamp conveyed into these
taunts was altogether lost on the unconscious Chuffeywho appeared
to be as little cognizant of their delivery as of his having given
Mrs Gamp offence. But that high-minded woman being sensitively
alive to any invasion of her professional provinceand imagining
that Mr Chuffey had given utterance to some prediction on the
subject of sonswhich ought to have emanated in the first instance
from herself as the only lawful authorityor which should at least
have been on no account proclaimed without her sanction and
concurrencewas not so easily appeased. She continued to sidle at
Mr Chuffey with looks of sharp hostilityand to defy him with many
other ironical remarksuttered in that low key which commonly
denotes suppressed indignation; until the entrance of the teaboard
and a request from Mrs Jonas that she would make tea at a side-table
for the party that had unexpectedly assembledrestored her to
herself. She smiled againand entered on her ministration with her
own particular urbanity.

'And quite a family it is to make tea for' said Mrs Gamp; 'and wot
a happiness to do it! My good young 'ooman'--to the servant-girl-'
p'raps somebody would like to try a new-laid egg or twonot biled
too hard. Likewaysa few rounds o' buttered toastfirst cuttin'
off the crustin consequence of tender teethand not too many of
'em; which Gamp himselfMrs Chuzzlewitat one blowbeing in
liquorstruck out fourtwo singleand two doubleas was took by
Mrs Harris for a keepsakeand is carried in her pocket at this
present houralong with two cramp-bonesa bit o' gingerand a
grater like a blessed infant's shoein tinwith a little heel to
put the nutmeg in; as many times I've seen and saidand used for
candle when requiredwithin the month.'

As the privileges of the side-table--besides including the small
prerogatives of sitting next the toastand taking two cups of tea
to other people's oneand always taking them at a crisisthat is
to saybefore putting fresh water into the tea-potand after it
had been standing for some time--also comprehended a full view of
the companyand an opportunity of addressing them as from a
rostrumMrs Gamp discharged the functions entrusted to her with
extreme good-humour and affability. Sometimes resting her saucer on


the palm of her outspread handand supporting her elbow on the
tableshe stopped between her sips of tea to favour the circle with
a smilea winka roll of the heador some other mark of notice;
and at those periods her countenance was lighted up with a degree of
intelligence and vivacitywhich it was almost impossible to
separate from the benignant influence of distilled waters.

But for Mrs Gampit would have been a curiously silent party. Miss
Pecksniff only spoke to her Augustusand to him in whispers.
Augustus spoke to nobodybut sighed for every oneand occasionally
gave himself such a sounding slap upon the forehead as would make
Mrs Todgerswho was rather nervousstart in her chair with an
involuntary exclamation. Mrs Todgers was occupied in knittingand
seldom spoke. Poor Merry held the hand of cheerful little Ruth
between her ownand listening with evident pleasure to all she
saidbut rarely speaking herselfsometimes smiledand sometimes
kissed her on the cheekand sometimes turned aside to hide the
tears that trembled in her eyes. Tom felt this change in her so
muchand was so glad to see how tenderly Ruth dealt with herand
how she knew and answered to itthat he had not the heart to make
any movement towards their departurealthough he had long since
given utterance to all he came to say.

The old clerksubsiding into his usual stateremained profoundly
silentwhile the rest of the little assembly were thus occupied
intent upon the dreamswhatever they might bewhich hardly seemed
to stir the surface of his sluggish thoughts. The bent of these
dull fancies combining probably with the silent feasting that was
going on about himand some struggling recollection of the last
approach to revelry he had witnessedsuggested a strange question
to his mind. He looked round upon a suddenand said:

'Who's lying dead upstairs?'

'No one' said Merryturning to him. 'What is the matter? We are
all here.'

'All here!' cried the old man. 'All here! Where is he then--my old
masterMr Chuzzlewitwho had the only son? Where is he?'

'Hush! Hush!' said Merryspeaking kindly to him. 'That happened
long ago. Don't you recollect?'

'Recollect!' rejoined the old manwith a cry of grief. 'As if I
could forget! As if I ever could forget!'

He put his hand up to his face for a moment; and then repeated
turning round exactly as before:

'Who's lying dead upstairs?'

'No one!' said Merry.

At first he gazed angrily upon heras upon a stranger who
endeavoured to deceive him; but peering into her faceand seeing
that it was indeed shehe shook his head in sorrowful compassion.

'You think not. But they don't tell you. Nonopoor thing! They
don't tell you. Who are theseand why are they merry-making here
if there is no one dead? Foul play! Go see who it is!'

She made a sign to them not to speak to himwhich indeed they had
little inclination to do; and remained silent herself. So did he
for a short time; but then he repeated the same question with an


eagerness that had a peculiar terror in it.

'There's some one dead' he said'or dying; and I want to knows who
it is. Go seego see! Where's Jonas?'

'In the country' she replied.

The old man gazed at her as if he doubted what she saidor had not
heard her; andrising from his chairwalked across the room and
upstairswhispering as he went'Foul play!' They heard his
footsteps overheadgoing up into that corner of the room in which
the bed stood (it was there old Anthony had died); and then they
heard him coming down again immediately. His fancy was not so
strong or wild that it pictured to him anything in the deserted
bedchamber which was not there; for he returned much calmerand
appeared to have satisfied himself.

'They don't tell you' he said to Merry in his quavering voiceas
he sat down againand patted her upon the head. 'They don't tell
me either; but I'll watchI'll watch. They shall not hurt you;
don't be frightened. When you have sat up watchingI have sat up
watching too. AyeayeI have!' he piped outclenching his weak
shrivelled hand. 'Many a night I have been ready!'

He said this with such trembling gaps and pauses in his want of
breathand said it in his jealous secrecy so closely in her ear
that little or nothing of it was understood by the visitors. But
they had heard and seen enough of the old man to be disquietedand
to have left their seats and gathered about him; thereby affording
Mrs Gampwhose professional coolness was not so easily disturbed
an eligible opportunity for concentrating the whole resources of her
powerful mind and appetite upon the toast and buttertea and eggs.
She had brought them to bear upon those viands with such vigour that
her face was in the highest state of inflammationwhen she now
(there being nothing left to eat or drink) saw fit to interpose.

'Whyhighty tightysir!' cried Mrs Gamp'is these your manners?
You want a pitcher of cold water throw'd over you to bring you
round; that's my beliefand if you was under Betsey Prig you'd have
ittooI do assure youMr Chuffey. Spanish Flies is the only
thing to draw this nonsense out of you; and if anybody wanted to do
you a kindnessthey'd clap a blister of 'em on your headand put a
mustard poultige on your back. 'Who's deadindeed! It wouldn't be
no grievous loss if some one wasI think!'

'He's quiet nowMrs Gamp' said Merry. 'Don't disturb him.'

'Ohbother the old wictimMrs Chuzzlewit' replied that zealous
lady'I ain't no patience with him. You give him his own way too
much by half. A worritin' wexagious creetur!'

No doubt with the view of carrying out the precepts she enforced
and 'bothering the old wictim' in practice as well as in theoryMrs
Gamp took him by the collar of his coatand gave him some dozen or
two of hearty shakes backward and forward in his chair; that
exercise being considered by the disciples of the Prig school of
nursing (who are very numerous among professional ladies) as
exceedingly conducive to reposeand highly beneficial to the
performance of the nervous functions. Its effect in this instance
was to render the patient so giddy and addle-headedthat he could
say nothing more; which Mrs Gamp regarded as the triumph of her art.

'There!' she saidloosening the old man's cravatin consequence of
his being rather black in the faceafter this scientific treatment.


'NowI hopeyou're easy in your mind. If you should turn at all
faint we can soon rewive yousirI promige you. Bite a person's
thumbsor turn their fingers the wrong way' said Mrs Gampsmiling
with the consciousness of at once imparting pleasure and instruction
to her auditors'and they comes towonderfulLord bless you!'

As this excellent woman had been formerly entrusted with the care of
Mr Chuffey on a previous occasionneither Mrs Jonas nor anybody
else had the resolution to interfere directly with her mode of
treatment; though all present (Tom Pinch and his sister especially)
appeared to be disposed to differ from her views. For such is the
rash boldness of the uninitiatedthat they will frequently set up
some monstrous abstract principlesuch as humanityor tenderness
or the like idle follyin obstinate defiance of all precedent and
usage; and will even venture to maintain the same against the
persons who have made the precedents and established the usageand
who must therefore be the best and most impartial judges of the
subject.

'AhMr Pinch!' said Miss Pecksniff. 'It all comes of this
unfortunate marriage. If my sister had not been so precipitateand
had not united herself to a Wretchthere would have been no Mr
Chuffey in the house.'

'Hush!' cried Tom. 'She'll hear you.'

'I should be very sorry if she did hear meMr Pinch' said Cherry
raising her voice a little; 'for it is not in my nature to add to
the uneasiness of any person; far less of my own sister. I know
what a sister's duties areMr Pinchand I hope I always showed it
in my practice. Augustusmy dear childfind my pockethandkerchief
and give it to me.'

Augustus obeyedand took Mrs Todgers aside to pour his griefs into
her friendly bosom.

'I am sureMr Pinch' said Charitylooking after her betrothed and
glancing at her sister'that I ought to be very grateful for the
blessings I enjoyand those which are yet in store for me. When I
contrast Augustus'--here she was modest and embarrased--'whoI
don't mind saying to youis all softnessmildnessand devotion
with the detestable man who is my sister's husband; and when I
thinkMr Pinchthat in the dispensations of this worldour cases
might have been reversed; I have much to be thankful forindeed
and much to make me humble and contented.'

Contented she might have beenbut humble she assuredly was not.
Her face and manner experienced something so widely different from
humilitythat Tom could not help understanding and despising the
base motives that were working in her breast. He turned awayand
said to Ruththat it was time for them to go.

'I will write to your husband' said Tom to Merry'and explain to
himas I would have done if I had met him herethat if he has
sustained any inconvenience through my meansit is not my fault; a
postman not being more innocent of the news he bringsthan I was
when I handed him that letter.'

'I thank you!' said Merry. 'It may do some good.'

She parted tenderly from Ruthwho with her brother was in the act
of leaving the roomwhen a key was heard in the lock of the door
belowand immediately afterwards a quick footstep in the passage.
Tom stoppedand looked at Merry.


It was Jonasshe said timidly.

'I had better not meet him on the stairsperhaps' said Tom
drawing his sister's arm through hisand coming back a step or two.
'I'll wait for him herea moment.'

He had scarcely said it when the door openedand Jonas entered.
His wife came forward to receive him; but he put her aside with his
handand said in a surly tone:

'I didn't know you'd got a party.'

As he lookedat the same timeeither by accident or design
towards Miss Pecksniff; and as Miss Pecksniff was only too delighted
to quarrel with himshe instantly resented it.

'Oh dear!' she saidrising. 'Pray don't let us intrude upon your
domestic happiness! That would be a pity. We have taken tea here
sirin your absence; but if you will have the goodness to send us a
note of the expensereceiptedwe shall be happy to pay it.
Augustusmy lovewe will goif you please. Mrs Todgersunless
you wish to remain herewe shall be happy to take you with us. It
would be a pityindeedto spoil the bliss which this gentleman
always brings with himespecially into his own home.'

'Charity! Charity!' remonstrated her sisterin such a heartfelt
tone that she might have been imploring her to show the cardinal
virtue whose name she bore.

'Merrymy dearI am much obliged to you for your advice' returned
Miss Pecksniffwith a stately scorn--by the wayshe had not been
offered any--'but I am not his slave--'

'Nonor wouldn't have been if you could' interrupted Jonas. 'We
know all about it.'

'WHAT did you saysir?' cried Miss Pecksniffsharply.

'Didn't you hear?' retorted Jonaslounging down upon a chair. 'I
am not a-going to say it again. If you like to stayyou may stay.
If you like to goyou may go. But if you stayplease to be
civil.'

'Beast!' cried Miss Pecksniffsweeping past him. 'Augustus! He is
beneath your notice!' Augustus had been making some faint and sickly
demonstration of shaking his fist. 'Come awaychild' screamed
Miss Pecksniff'I command you!'

The scream was elicited from her by Augustus manifesting an
intention to return and grapple with him. But Miss Pecksniff giving
the fiery youth a pulland Mrs Todgers giving him a push they all
three tumbled out of the room togetherto the music of Miss
Pecksniff's shrill remonstrances.

All this time Jonas had seen nothing of Tom and his sister; for they
were almost behind the door when he opened itand he had sat down
with his back towards themand had purposely kept his eyes upon the
opposite side of the street during his altercation with Miss
Pecksniffin order that his seeming carelessness might increase the
exasperation of that wronged young damsel. His wife now faltered
out that Tom had been waiting to see him; and Tom advanced.

The instant he presented himselfJonas got up from his chairand


swearing a great oathcaught it in his graspas if he would have
felled Tom to the ground with it. As he most unquestionably would
have donebut that his very passion and surprise made him
irresoluteand gave Tomin his calmnessan opportunity of being
heard.

'You have no cause to be violentsir' said Tom. 'Though what I
wish to say relates to your own affairsI know nothing of themand
desire to know nothing of them.'

Jonas was too enraged to speak. He held the door open; and stamping
his foot upon the groundmotioned Tom away.

'As you cannot suppose' said Tom'that I am here with any view of
conciliating you or pleasing myselfI am quite indifferent to your
reception of meor your dismissal of me. Hear what I have to say
if you are not a madman! I gave you a letter the other daywhen you
were about to go abroad.'

'You Thiefyou did!' retorted Jonas. 'I'll pay you for the
carriage of it one dayand settle an old score besides. I will!'

'Tuttut' said Tom'you needn't waste words or threats. I wish
you to understand--plainly because I would rather keep clear of you
and everything that concerns you: not because I have the least
apprehension of your doing me any injury: which would be weak
indeed--that I am no party to the contents of that letter. That I
know nothing of it. That I was not even aware that it was to be
delivered to you; and that I had it from--'

'By the Lord!' cried Jonasfiercely catching up the chair'I'll
knock your brains outif you speak another word.'

Tomneverthelesspersisting in his intentionand opening his lips
to speak againJonas set upon him like a savage; and in the
quickness and ferocity of his attack would have surely done him some
grievous injurydefenceless as he wasand embarrassed by having
his frightened sister clinging to his armif Merry had not run
between themcrying to Tom for the love of Heaven to leave the
house. The agony of this poor creaturethe terror of his sister
the impossibility of making himself audibleand the equal
impossibility of bearing up against Mrs Gampwho threw herself upon
him like a feather-bedand forced him backwards down the stairs by
the mere oppression of her dead weightprevailed. Tom shook the
dust of that house off his feetwithout having mentioned Nadgett's
name.

If the name could have passed his lips; if Jonasin the insolence
of his vile naturehad never roused him to do that old act of
manlinessfor which (and not for his last offence) he hated him
with such malignity; if Jonas could have learnedas then he could
and would have learnedthrough Tom's meanswhat unsuspected spy
there was upon him; he would have been saved from the commission of
a Guilty Deedthen drawing on towards its black accomplishment.
But the fatality was of his own working; the pit was of his own
digging; the gloom that gathered round him was the shadow of his own
life.

His wife had closed the doorand thrown herself before iton the
groundupon her knees. She held up her hands to him nowand
besought him not to be harsh with herfor she had interposed in
fear of bloodshed.

'Soso!' said Jonaslooking down upon heras he fetched his


breath. 'These are your friendsare theywhen I am away? You
plot and tamper with this sort of peopledo you?'

'Noindeed! I have no knowledge of these secretsand no clue to
their meaning. I have never seen him since I left home but once-but
twice--before to-day.'

'Oh!' sneered Jonascatching at this correction. 'But oncebut
twiceeh? Which do you mean? Twice and onceperhaps. Three
times! How many moreyou lying jade?'

As he made an angry motion with his handshe shrunk down hastily.
A suggestive action! Full of a cruel truth!

'How many more times?' he repeated.

'No more. The other morningand to-dayand once besides.'

He was about to retort upon herwhen the clock struck. He started
stoppedand listened; appearing to revert to some engagementor to
some other subjecta secret within his own breastrecalled to him
by this record of the progress of the hours.

'Don't lie there! Get up!'

Having helped her to riseor rather hauled her up by the armhe
went on to say:

'Listen to meyoung lady; and don't whine when you have no
occasionor I may make some for you. If I find him in my house
againor find that you have seen him in anybody else's house
you'll repent it. If you are not deaf and dumb to everything that
concerns meunless you have my leave to hear and speakyou'll
repent it. If you don't obey exactly what I orderyou'll repent
it. Nowattend. What's the time?'

'It struck eight a minute ago.'

He looked towards her intently; and saidwith a laboured
distinctnessas if he had got the words off by heart:

'I have been travelling day and nightand am tired. I have lost
some moneyand that don't improve me. Put my supper in the little
off-room belowand have the truckle-bed made. I shall sleep there
to-nightand maybe to-morrow night; and if I can sleep all day tomorrow
so much the betterfor I've got trouble to sleep offif I
can. Keep the house quietand don't call me. Mind! Don't call me.
Don't let anybody call me. Let me lie there.'

She said it should be done. Was that all?

'All what? You must be prying and questioning!' he angrily
retorted. 'What more do you want to know?'

'I want to know nothingJonasbut what you tell me. All hope of
confidence between us has long deserted me!'

'EcodI should hope so!' he muttered.

'But if you will tell me what you wishI will be obedient and will
try to please you. I make no merit of thatfor I have no friend in
my father or my sisterbut am quite alone. I am very humble and
submissive. You told me you would break my spiritand you have
done so. Do not break my heart too!'


She venturedas she said these wordsto lay her hand upon his
shoulder. He suffered it to rest therein his exultation; and the
whole meanabjectsordidpitiful soul of the manlooked at her
for the momentthrough his wicked eyes.

For the moment only; forwith the same hurried return to something
within himselfhe bade herin a surly toneshow her obedience by
executing his commands without delay. When she had withdrawn he
paced up and down the room several times; but always with his right
hand clenchedas if it held something; which it did notbeing
empty. When he was tired of thishe threw himself into a chair
and thoughtfully turned up the sleeve of his right armas if he
were rather musing about its strength than examining it; buteven
thenhe kept the hand clenched.

He was brooding in this chairwith his eyes cast down upon the
groundwhen Mrs Gamp came in to tell him that the little room was
ready. Not being quite sure of her reception after interfering in
the quarrelMrs Gampas a means of interesting and propitiating
her patronaffected a deep solicitude in Mr Chuffey.

'How is he nowsir?' she said.

'Who?' cried Jonasraising his headand staring at her.

'To be sure!' returned the matron with a smile and a curtsey. 'What
am I thinking of! You wasn't heresirwhen he was took so strange.
I never see a poor dear creetur took so strange in all my life
except a patient much about the same ageas I once nussedwhich
his calling was the custom-'usand his name was Mrs Harris's own
fatheras pleasant a singerMr Chuzzlewitas ever you heerdwith
a voice like a Jew's-harp in the bass notesthat it took six men to
hold at sech timesfoaming frightful.'

'Chuffeyeh?' said Jonas carelesslyseeing that she went up to the
oldclerkand looked at him. 'Ha!'

'The creetur's head's so hot' said Mrs Gamp'that you might heat a
flat-iron at it. And no wonder I am sureconsiderin' the things he
said!'

'Said!' cried Jonas. 'What did he say?'

Mrs Gamp laid her hand upon her heartto put some check upon its
palpitationsand turning up her eyes replied in a faint voice:

'The awfulest thingsMr Chuzzlewitas ever I heerd! Which Mrs
Harris's father never spoke a word when took sosome does and some
don'texcept sayin' when he come roundWhere is Sairey Gamp?
But ralysirwhen Mr Chuffey comes to ask who's lyin' dead upstairs
and--'

'Who's lying dead upstairs!' repeated Jonasstanding aghast.

Mrs Gamp noddedmade as if she were swallowingand went on.

'Who's lying dead upstairs; sech was his Bible language; and where
was Mr Chuzzlewit as had the only son; and when he goes upstairs alooking
in the beds and wandering about the roomsand comes down
again a-whisperin' softly to his-self about foul play and that; it
gives me sech a turnI don't deny itMr Chuzzlewitthat I never
could have kep myself up but for a little drain o' spiritswhich I
seldom touchesbut could always wish to know where to findif so


dispogednever knowin' wot may happen nextthe world bein' so
uncertain.'

'Whythe old fool's mad!' cried Jonasmuch disturbed.

'That's my opinionsir' said Mrs Gamp'and I will not deceive
you. I believe as Mr Chuffeysirrekwires attention (if I may
make so bold)and should not have his liberty to wex and worrit
your sweet lady as he does.'

'Whywho minds what he says?' retorted Jonas.

'Still he is worritin' sir' said Mrs Gamp. 'No one don't mind him
but he IS a ill conwenience.'

'Ecod you're right' said Jonaslooking doubtfully at the subject
of this conversation. 'I have half a mind to shut him up.'

Mrs Gamp rubbed her handsand smiledand shook her headand
sniffed expressivelyas scenting a job.

'Could you--could you take care of such an idiotnowin some spare
room upstairs?' asked Jonas.

'Me and a friend of mineone offone oncould do itMr
Chuzzlewit' replied the nurse; 'our charges not bein' highbut
wishin' they was lowerand allowance made considerin' not
strangers. Me and Betsey Prigsirwould undertake Mr Chuffey
reasonable' said Mrs Gamplooking at him with her head on one
sideas if he had been a piece of goodsfor which she was driving
a bargain; 'and give every satigefaction. Betsey Prig has nussed a
many lunaciesand well she knows their wayswhich puttin' 'em
right close afore the firewhen fractiousis the certainest and
most compoging.'

While Mrs Gamp discoursed to this effectJonas was walking up and
down the room againglancing covertly at the old clerkas he did
so. He now made a stopand said:

'I must look after himI supposeor I may have him doing some
mischief. What say you?'

'Nothin' more likely!' Mrs Gamp replied. 'As well I have
experiengedI do assure yousir.'

'Well! Look after him for the presentand--let me see--three days
from this time let the other woman come hereand we'll see if we
can make a bargain of it. About nine or ten o'clock at nightsay.
Keep your eye upon him in the meanwhileand don't talk about it.
He's as mad as a March hare!'

'Madder!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'A deal madder!'

'See to himthen; take care that he does no harm; and recollect
what I have told you.'

Leaving Mrs Gamp in the act of repeating all she had been toldand
of producing in support of her memory and trustworthinessmany
commendations selected from among the most remarkable opinions of
the celebrated Mrs Harrishe descended to the little room prepared
for himand pulling off his coat and his bootsput them outside
the door before he locked it. In locking ithe was careful so to
adjust the key as to baffle any curious person who might try to peep
in through the key-hole; and when he had taken these precautionshe


sat down to his supper.

'Mr Chuff' he muttered'it'll be pretty easy to be even with YOU.
It's of no use doing things by halvesand as long as I stop here
I'll take good care of you. When I'm off you may say what you
please. But it's a d--d strange thing' he addedpushing away his
untouched plateand striding moodily to and fro'that his
drivellings should have taken this turn just now.'

After pacing the little room from end to end several timeshe sat
down in another chair.

'I say just nowbut for anything I knowhe may have been carrying
on the same game all along. Old dog! He shall be gagged!'

He paced the room again in the same restless and unsteady way; and
then sat down upon the bedsteadleaning his chin upon his handand
looking at the table. When he had looked at it for a long timehe
remembered his supper; and resuming the chair he had first occupied
began to eat with great rapacity; not like a hungry manbut as if
he were determined to do it. He drank tooroundly; sometimes
stopping in the middle of a draught to walkand change his seat and
walk againand dart back to the table and fall toin a ravenous
hurryas before.

It was now growing dark. As the gloom of eveningdeepening into
nightcame onanother dark shade emerging from within him seemed
to overspread his faceand slowly change it. Slowlyslowly;
darker and darker; more and more haggard; creeping over him by
little and littleuntil it was black night within him and without.

The room in which he had shut himself upwas on the ground floor
at the back of the house. It was lighted by a dirty skylightand
had a door in the wallopening into a narrow covered passage or
blind-alleyvery little frequented after five or six o'clock in the
eveningand not in much use as a thoroughfare at any hour. But it
had an outlet in a neighbouring street.

The ground on which this chamber stood hadat one timenot within
his recollectionbeen a yard; and had been converted to its present
purpose for use as an office. But the occasion for it died with the
man who built it; and saving that it had sometimes served as an
apology for a spare bedroomand that the old clerk had once held it
(but that was years ago) as his recognized apartmentit had been
little troubled by Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son. It was a blotched
stainedmouldering roomlike a vault; and there were water-pipes
running through itwhich at unexpected times in the nightwhen
other things were quietclicked and gurgled suddenlyas if they
were choking.

The door into the court had not been open for a longlong time; but
the key had always hung in one placeand there it hung now. He was
prepared for its being rusty; for he had a little bottle of oil in
his pocket and the feather of a penwith which he lubricated the
key and the lock toocarefully. All this while he had been without
his coatand had nothing on his feet but his stockings. He now got
softly into bed in the same stateand tossed from side to side to
tumble it. In his restless condition that was easily done.

When he arosehe took from his portmanteauwhich he had caused to
be carried into that place when he came homea pair of clumsy
shoesand put them on his feet; also a pair of leather leggings
such as countrymen are used to wearwith straps to fasten them to
the waistband. In these he dressed himself at leisure. Lastlyhe


took out a common frock of coarse dark jeanwhich he drew over his
own under-clothing; and a felt hat--he had purposely left his own
upstairs. He then sat himself down by the doorwith the key in his
handwaiting.

He had no light; the time was drearylongand awful. The ringers
were practicing in a neighbouring churchand the clashing of the
bells was almost maddening. Curse the clamouring bellsthey seemed
to know that he was listening at the doorand to proclaim it in a
crowd of voices to all the town! Would they never be still?

They ceased at lastand then the silence was so new and terrible
that it seemed the prelude to some dreadful noise. Footsteps in the
court! Two men. He fell back from the door on tiptoeas if they
could have seen him through its wooden panels.

They passed ontalking (he could make out) about a skeleton which
had been dug up yesterdayin some work of excavation near at hand
and was supposed to be that of a murdered man. 'So murder is not
always found outyou see' they said to one another as they turned
the corner.

Hush!

He put the key into the lockand turned it. The door resisted for
a whilebut soon came stiffly open; mingling with the sense of
fever in his moutha taste of rustand dustand earthand
rotting wood. He looked out; passed out; locked it after him.

All was clear and quietas he fled away.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CONCLUSION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR JONAS AND HIS FRIEND

Did no men passing through the dim streets shrink without knowing
whywhen he came stealing up behind them? As he glided onhad no
child in its sleep an indistinct perception of a guilty shadow
falling on its bedthat troubled its innocent rest? Did no dog
howland strive to break its rattling chainthat it might tear
him; no burrowing ratscenting the work he had in handessay to
gnaw a passage after himthat it might hold a greedy revel at the
feast of his providing? When he looked backacross his shoulder
was it to see if his quick footsteps still fell dry upon the dusty
pavementor were already moist and clogged with the red mire that
stained the naked feet of Cain!

He shaped his course for the main western roadand soon reached it;
riding a part of the waythen alighting and walking on again. He
travelled for a considerable distance upon the roof of a stagecoach
which came up while he was afoot; and when it turned out of
his roadbribed the driver of a return post-chaise to take him on
with him; and then made across the country at a runand saved a
mile or two before he struck again into the road. At lastas his
plan washe came up with a certain lumberingslownight-coach
which stopped wherever it couldand was stopping then at a publichouse
while the guard and coachman ate and drank within.

He bargained for a seat outside this coachand took it. And he
quitted it no more until it was within a few miles of its
destinationbut occupied the same place all night.


All night! It is a common fancy that nature seems to sleep by night.
It is a false fancyas who should know better than he?

The fishes slumbered in the coldbrightglistening streams and
riversperhaps; and the birds roosted on the branches of the trees;
and in their stalls and pastures beasts were quiet; and human
creatures slept. But what of thatwhen the solemn night was
watchingwhen it never winkedwhen its darkness watched no less
than its light! The stately treesthe moon and shining starsthe
softly stirring windthe over-shadowed lanethe broadbright
countrysidethey all kept watch. There was not a blade of growing
grass or cornbut watched; and the quieter it wasthe more intent
and fixed its watch upon him seemed to be.

And yet he slept. Riding on among those sentinels of Godhe slept
and did not change the purpose of his journey. If he forgot it in
his troubled dreamsit came up steadilyand woke him. But it
never woke him to remorseor to abandonment of his design.

He dreamed at one time that he was lying calmly in his bedthinking
of a moonlight night and the noise of wheelswhen the old clerk put
his head in at the doorand beckoned him. At this signal he arose
immediately--being already dressed in the clothes he actually wore
at that time--and accompanied him into a strange citywhere the
names of the streets were written on the walls in characters quite
new to him; which gave him no surprise or uneasinessfor he
remembered in his dream to have been there before. Although these
streets were very precipitousinsomuch that to get from one to
another it was necessary to descend great heights by ladders that
were too shortand ropes that moved deep bellsand swung and
swayed as they were clung tothe danger gave him little emotion
beyond the first thrill of terror; his anxieties being concentrated
on his dress which was quite unfitted for some festival that was
about to be holden thereand in which he had come to take a part.
Alreadygreat crowds began to fill the streetsand in one
direction myriads of people came rushing down an interminable
perspectivestrewing flowers and making way for others on white
horseswhen a terrible figure started from the throngand cried
out that it was the Last Day for all the world. The cry being
spreadthere was a wild hurrying on to Judgment; and the press
became so great that he and his companion (who was constantly
changingand was never the same man two minutes togetherthough he
never saw one man come or another go)stood aside in a porch
fearfully surveying the multitude; in which there were many faces
that he knewand many that he did not knowbut dreamed he did;
when all at once a struggling head rose up among the rest--livid and
deadlybut the same as he had known it--and denounced him as having
appointed that direful day to happen. They closed together. As he
strove to free the hand in which he held a cluband strike the blow
he had so often thought ofhe started to the knowledge of his
waking purpose and the rising of the sun.

The sun was welcome to him. There were life and motionand a world
astirto divide the attention of Day. It was the eye of Night--of
wakefulwatchfulsilentand attentive Nightwith so much leisure
for the observation of his wicked thoughts--that he dreaded most.
There is no glare in the night. Even Glory shows to small advantage
in the nightupon a crowded battle-field. How then shows Glory's
blood-relationbastard Murder!

Aye! He made no compromiseand held no secret with himself now.
Murder. He had come to do it.


'Let me get down here' he said

'Short of the towneh!' observed the coachman.

'I may get down where I pleaseI suppose?'

'You got up to please yourselfand may get down to please yourself.
It won't break our hearts to lose youand it wouldn't have broken
'em if we'd never found you. Be a little quicker. That's all.'

The guard had alightedand was waiting in the road to take his
money. In the jealousy and distrust of what he contemplatedhe
thought this man looked at him with more than common curiosity

'What are you staring at?' said Jonas.

'Not at a handsome man' returned the guard. 'If you want your
fortune toldI'll tell you a bit of it. You won't be drowned.
That's a consolation for you.'

Before he could retort or turn awaythe coachman put an end to the
dialogue by giving him a cut with his whipand biddig him get
out for a surly dog. The guard jumped up to his seat at the same
momentand they drove offlaughing; leaving him to stand in the
road and shake his fist at them. He was not displeased though
on second thoughtsto have been taken for an ill-conditioned
common country fellow; but rather congratulated himself upon it
as a proof that he was well disguised.

Wandering into a copse by the road-side--but not in that place; two
or three miles off--he tore out from a fence a thickhardknotted
stake; andsitting down beneath a hayrickspent some time in
shaping itin peeling off the barkand fashioning its jagged head
with his knife.

The day passed on. Noonafternoonevening. Sunset.

At that serene and peaceful time two menriding in a gigcame out
of the city by a road not much frequented. It was the day on which
Mr Pecksniff had agreed to dine with Montague. He had kept his
appointmentand was now going home. His host was riding with him
for a short distance; meaning to return by a pleasant trackwhich
Mr Pecksniff had engaged to show himthrough some fields. Jonas
knew their plans. He had hung about the inn-yard while they were at
dinner and had heard their orders given.

They were loud and merry in their conversationand might have been
heard at some distance; far above the sound of their carriage wheels
or horses' hoofs. They came on noisilyto where a stile and
footpath indicated their point of separation. Here they stopped.

'It's too soon. Much too soon' said Mr Pecksniff. 'But this is
the placemy dear sir. Keep the pathand go straight through the
little wood you'll come to. The path is narrower therebut you
can't miss it. When shall I see you again? Soon I hope?'

'I hope so' replied Montague.

'Good night!'

'Good night. And a pleasant ride!'

So long as Mr Pecksniff was in sightand turned his head at
intervals to salute himMontague stood in the road smilingand


waving his hand. But when his new partner had disappearedand this
show was no longer necessaryhe sat down on the stile with looks so
alteredthat he might have grown ten years older in the meantime.

He was flushed with winebut not gay. His scheme had succeeded
but he showed no triumph. The effort of sustaining his difficult
part before his late companion had fatigued himperhapsor it may
be that the evening whispered to his conscienceor it may be (as it
HAS been) that a shadowy veil was dropping round himclosing out
all thoughts but the presentiment and vague foreknowledge of
impending doom.

If there be fluidsas we know there arewhichconscious of a
coming windor rainor frostwill shrink and strive to hide
themselves in their glass arteries; may not that subtle liquor of
the blood perceiveby properties within itselfthat hands are
raised to waste and spill it; and in the veins of men run cold and
dull as his didin that hour!

So coldalthough the air was warm; so dullalthough the sky was
bright; that he rose up shivering from his seatand hastily resumed
his walk. He checked himself as hastily; undecided whether to
pursue the footpathwhich was lonely and retiredor to go back by
the road.

He took the footpath.

The glory of the departing sun was on his face. The music of the
birds was in his ears. Sweet wild flowers bloomed about him.
Thatched roofs of poor men's homes were in the distance; and an old
grey spiresurmounted by a Crossrose up between him and the
coming night.

He had never read the lesson which these things conveyed; he had
ever mocked and turned away from it; butbefore going down into a
hollow placehe looked roundonceupon the evening prospect
sorrowfully. Then he went downdowndowninto the dell.

It brought him to the wood; a closethickshadowy woodthrough
which the path went winding ondwindling away into a slender sheeptrack.
He paused before entering; for the stillness of this spot
almost daunted him.

The last rays of the sun were shining inaslantmaking a path of
golden light along the stems and branches in its rangewhicheven
as he lookedbegan to die awayyielding gently to the twilight
that came creeping on. It was so very quiet that the soft and
stealthy moss about the trunks of some old treesseemed to have
grown out of the silenceand to be its proper offspring. Those
other trees which were subdued by blasts of wind in winter timehad
not quite tumbled downbut being caught by otherslay all bare and
scathed across their leafy armsas if unwilling to disturb the
general repose by the crash of their fall. Vistas of silence opened
everywhereinto the heart and innermost recesses of the wood;
beginning with the likeness of an aislea cloisteror a ruin open
to the sky; then tangling off into a deep green rustling mystery
through which gnarled trunksand twisted boughsand ivy-covered
stemsand trembling leavesand bark-stripped bodies of old trees
stretched out at lengthwere faintly seen in beautiful confusion.

As the sunlight died awayand evening fell upon the woodhe
entered it. Movinghere and there a bramble or a drooping bough
which stretched across his pathhe slowly disappeared. At
intervals a narrow opening showed him passing onor the sharp


cracking of some tender branch denoted where he went; thenhe was
seen or heard no more.

Never more beheld by mortal eye or heard by mortal ear; one man
excepted. That manparting the leaves and branches on the other
sidenear where the path emerged againcame leaping out soon
afterwards.

What had he left within the woodthat he sprang out of it as if
it were a hell!

The body of a murdered man. In one thick solitary spotit lay
among the last year's leaves of oak and beechjust as it had fallen
headlong down. Sopping and soaking in among the leaves that formed
its pillow; oozing down into the boggy groundas if to cover itself
from human sight; forcing its way between and through the curling
leavesas if those senseless things rejected and forswore it and
were coiled up in abhorrence; went a darkdark stain that dyed the
whole summer night from earth to heaven.

The doer of this deed came leaping from the wood so fiercelythat
he cast into the air a shower of fragments of young boughstorn
away in his passageand fell with violence upon the grass. But he
quickly gained his feet againand keeping underneath a hedge with
his body bentwent running on towards the road. The road once
reachedhe fell into a rapid walkand set on toward London.

And he was not sorry for what he had done. He was frightened when
he thought of it--when did he not think of it!--but he was not
sorry. He had had a terror and dread of the wood when he was in it;
but being out of itand having committed the crimehis fears were
now divertedstrangelyto the dark room he had left shut up at
home. He had a greater horrorinfinitely greaterof that room
than of the wood. Now that he was on his return to itit seemed
beyond comparison more dismal and more dreadful than the wood. His
hideous secret was shut up in the roomand all its terrors were
there; to his thinking it was not in the wood at all.

He walked on for ten miles; and then stopped at an ale-house for a
coachwhich he knew would pass throughon its way to London
before long; and which he also knew was not the coach he had
travelled down byfor it came from another place. He sat down
outside the door hereon a benchbeside a man who was smoking his
pipe. Having called for some beerand drunkhe offered it to this
companionwho thanked himand took a draught. He could not help
thinking thatif the man had known allhe might scarcely have
relished drinking out of the same cup with him.

'A fine nightmaster!' said this person. 'And a rare sunset.'

'I didn't see it' was his hasty answer.

'Didn't see it?' returned the man.

'How the devil could I see itif I was asleep?'

'Asleep! Ayeaye.' The man appeared surprised by his unexpected
irritabilityand saying no moresmoked his pipe in silence. They
had not sat very longwhen there was a knocking within.

'What's that?' cried Jonas.

'Can't sayI'm sure' replied the man.


He made no further inquiryfor the last question had escaped him in
spite of himself. But he was thinkingat the momentof the
closed-up room; of the possibility of their knocking at the door on
some special occasion; of their being alarmed at receiving no
answer; of their bursting it open; of their finding the room empty;
of their fastening the door into the courtand rendering it
impossible for him to get into the house without showing himself in
the garb he worewhich would lead to rumourrumour to detection
detection to death. At that instantas if by some design and order
of circumstancesthe knocking had come.

It still continued; like a warning echo of the dread reality he had
conjured up. As he could not sit and hear ithe paid for his beer
and walked on again. And having slunk aboutin places unknown to
him all day; and being out at nightin a lonely roadin an unusual
dress and in that wandering and unsettled frame of mind; he stopped
more than once to look about himhoping he might be in a dream.

Still he was not sorry. No. He had hated the man too muchand had
been benttoo desperately and too longon setting himself free.
If the thing could have come over againhe would have done it
again. His malignant and revengeful passions were not so easily
laid. There was no more penitence or remorse within him now than
there had been while the deed was brewing.

Dread and fear were upon himto an extent he had never counted on
and could not manage in the least degree. He was so horribly afraid
of that infernal room at home. This made himin a gloomy
murderousmad waynot only fearful FOR himselfbut OF himself;
for beingas it werea part of the room: a something supposed to
be thereyet missing from it: he invested himself with its
mysterious terrors; and when he pictured in his mind the ugly
chamberfalse and quietfalse and quietthrough the dark hours of
two nights; and the tumbled bedand he not in itthough believed
to be; he became in a manner his own ghost and phantomand was at
once the haunting spirit and the haunted man.

When the coach came upwhich it soon didhe got a place outside
and was carried briskly onward towards home. Nowin taking his
seat among the people behindwho were chiefly country peoplehe
conceived a fear that they knew of the murderand would tell him
that the body had been found; whichconsidering the time and place
of the commission of the crimewere events almost impossible to
have happened yetas he very well knew. But although he did know
itand had therefore no reason to regard their ignorance as
anything but the natural sequence to the factsstill this very
ignorance of theirs encouraged him. So far encouraged himthat he
began to believe the body never would be foundand began to
speculate on that probability. Setting off from this pointand
measuring time by the rapid hurry of his guilty thoughtsand what
had gone before the bloodshedand the troops of incoherent and
disordered images of which he was the constant prey; he came by
daylight to regard the murder as an old murderand to think himself
comparatively safe because it had not been discovered yet. Yet!
When the sun which looked into the woodand gilded with its rising
light a dead man's lacehad seen that man aliveand sought to win
him to a thought of Heavenon its going down last night!

But here were London streets again. Hush!

It was but five o'clock. He had time enough to reach his own house
unobservedand before there were many people in the streetsif
nothing had happened so fartending to his discovery. He slipped
down from the coach without troubling the driver to stop his horses;


and hurrying across the roadand in and out of every by-way that
lay near his courseat length approached his own dwelling. He used
additional caution in his immediate neighbourhood; halting first to
look all down the street before him; then gliding swiftly through
that oneand stopping to survey the nextand so on.

The passage-way was empty when his murderer's face looked into it.
He stole onto the door on tiptoeas if he dreaded to disturb his
own imaginary rest.

He listened. Not a sound. As he turned the key with a trembling
handand pushed the door softly open with his kneea monstrous
fear beset his mind.

What if the murdered man were there before him!

He cast a fearful glance all round. But there was nothing there.

He went inlocked the doordrew the key through and through the
dust and damp in the fire-place to sully it againand hung it up as
of old. He took off his disguisetied it up in a bundle ready for
carrying away and sinking in the river before nightand locked it
up in a cupboard. These precautions takenhe undressed and went to
bed.

The raging thirstthe fire that burnt within him as he lay beneath
the clothesthe augmented horror of the room when they shut it out
from his view; the agony of listeningin which he paid enforced
regard to every soundand thought the most unlikely one the prelude
to that knocking which should bring the news; the starts with which
he left his couchand looking in the glassimagined that his deed
was broadly written in his faceand lying down and burying himself
once more beneath the blanketsheard his own heart beating Murder
MurderMurderin the bed; what words can paint tremendous truths
like these!

The morning advanced. There were footsteps in the house. He heard
the blinds drawn upand shutters opened; and now and then a
stealthy tread outside his own door. He tried to call outmore
than oncebut his mouth was dry as if it had been filled with sand.
At last he sat up in his bedand cried:

'Who's there?'

It was his wife.

He asked her what it was o'clock? Nine.

'Did--did no one knock at my door yesterday?' he faltered.
'Something disturbed me; but unless you had knocked the door down
you would have got no notice from me.'

'No one' she replied. That was well. He had waitedalmost
breathlessfor her answer. It was a relief to himif anything
could be.

'Mr Nadgett wanted to see you' she said'but I told him you were
tiredand had requested not to be disturbed. He said it was of
little consequenceand went away. As I was opening my window to
let in the cool airI saw him passing through the street this
morningvery early; but he hasn't been again.'

Passing through the street that morning? Very early! Jonas trembled
at the thought of having had a narrow chance of seeing him himself;


even himwho had no object but to avoid peopleand sneak on
unobservedand keep his own secrets; and who saw nothing.

He called to her to get his breakfast readyand prepared to go
upstairs; attiring himself in the clothes he had taken off when he
came into that roomwhich had beenever sinceoutside the door.
In his secret dread of meeting the household for the first time
after what he had donehe lingered at the door on slight pretexts
that they might see him without looking in his face; and left it
ajar while he dressed; and called out to have the windows opened
and the pavement wateredthat they might become accustomed to his
voice. Even when he had put off the timeby one means or otherso
that he had seen or spoken to them allhe could not muster courage
for a long while to go in among thembut stood at his own door
listening to the murmur of their distant conversation.

He could not stop there for everand so joined them. His last
glance at the glass had seen a tell-tale facebut that might have
been because of his anxious looking in it. He dared not look at
them to see if they observed himbut he thought them very silent.

And whatsoever guard he kept upon himselfhe could not help
listeningand showing that he listened. Whether he attended to
their talkor tried to think of other thingsor talked himselfor
held his peaceor resolutely counted the dull tickings of a hoarse
clock at his backhe always lapsedas if a spell were on himinto
eager listening. For he knew it must come. And his present
punishmentand torture and distractionwereto listen for its
coming.

Hush!

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

BEARS TIDINGS OF MARTIN AND OF MARKAS WELL AS OF A THIRD PERSON
NOT QUITE UNKNOWN TO THE READER. EXHIBITS FILIAL PIETY IN AN UGLY
ASPECT; AND CASTS A DOUBTFUL RAY OF LIGHT UPON A VERY DARK PLACE

Tom Pinch and Ruth were sitting at their early breakfastwith the
window openand a row of the freshest little plants ranged before
it on the inside by Ruth's own hands; and Ruth had fastened a sprig
of geranium in Tom's button-holeto make him very smart and summerlike
for the day (it was obliged to be fastened inor that dear old
Tom was certain to lose it); and people were crying flowers up and
down the street; and a blundering beewho had got himself in
between the two sashes of the windowwas bruising his head against
the glassendeavouring to force himself out into the fine morning
and considering himself enchanted because he couldn't do it; and the
morning was as fine a morning as ever was seen; and the fragrant air
was kissing Ruth and rustling about Tomas if it said'how are
youmy dears; I came all this way on purpose to salute you;' and it
was one of those glad times when we formor ought to formthe wish
that every one on earth were able to be happyand catching glimpses
of the summer of the heartto feel the beauty of the summer of the
year.

It was even a pleasanter breakfast than usual; and it was always a
pleasant one. For little Ruth had now two pupils to attendeach
three times a week; and each two hours at a time; and besides this
she had painted some screens and card-racksandunknown to Tom
(was there ever anything so delightful!)had walked into a certain


shop which dealt in such articlesafter often peeping through the
window; and had taken courage to ask the Mistress of that shop
whether she would buy them. And the mistress had not only bought
thembut had ordered moreand that very morning Ruth had made
confession of these facts to Tomand had handed him the money in a
little purse she had worked expressly for the purpose. They had
been in a flutter about thisand perhaps had shed a happy tear or
two for anything the history knows to the contrary; but it was all
over now; and a brighter face than Tom'sor a brighter face than
Ruth'sthe bright sun had not looked on since he went to bed last
night.

'My dear girl' said Tomcoming so abruptly on the subjectthat he
interrupted himself in the act of cutting a slice of breadand left
the knife sticking in the loaf'what a queer fellow our landlord
is! I don't believe he has been home once since he got me into that
unsatisfactory scrape. I begin to think he will never come home
again. What a mysterious life that man does leadto be sure!'

'Very strange. Is it notTom?'

'Really' said Tom'I hope it is only strange. I hope there may be
nothing wrong in it. Sometimes I begin to be doubtful of that. I
must have an explanation with him' said Tomshaking his head as if
this were a most tremendous threat'when I can catch him!'

A short double knock at the door put Tom's menacing looks to flight
and awakened an expression of surprise instead.

'Heyday!' said Tom. 'An early hour for visitors! It must be JohnI
suppose.'

'I--I--don't think it was his knockTom' observed his little
sister.

'No?' said Tom. 'It surely can't be my employer suddenly
arrived in town; directed here by Mr Fips; and come for the key of
the office. It's somebody inquiring for meI declare! Come inif
you please!'

But when the person came inTom Pinchinstead of saying'Did you
wish to speak with mesir?' or'My name is Pinchsir; what is
your businessmay I ask?' or addressing him in any such distant
terms; cried out'Good gracious Heaven!' and seized him by both
handswith the liveliest manifestations of astonishment and
pleasure.

The visitor was not less moved than Tom himselfand they shook
hands a great many timeswithout another word being spoken on
either side. Tom was the first to find his voice.

'Mark Tapleytoo!' said Tomrunning towards the doorand shaking
hands with somebody else. 'My dear Markcome in. How are you
Mark? He don't look a day older than he used to do at the Dragon.
How ARE youMark?'

'Uncommonly jollysirthank'ee' returned Mr Tapleyall smiles
and bows. 'I hope I see you wellsir.'

'Good gracious me!' cried Tompatting him tenderly on the back.
'How delightful it is to hear his old voice again! My dear Martin
sit down. My sisterMartin. Mr Chuzzlewitmy love. Mark Tapley
from the Dragonmy dear. Good gracious mewhat a surprise this
is! Sit down. Lordbless me!'


Tom was in such a state of excitement that he couldn't keep himself
still for a momentbut was constantly running between Mark and
Martinshaking hands with them alternatelyand presenting them
over and over again to his sister.

'I remember the day we partedMartinas well as if it were
yesterday' said Tom. 'What a day it was! and what a passion you
were in! And don't you remember my overtaking you in the road that
morningMarkwhen I was going to Salisbury in the gig to fetch him
and you were looking out for a situation? And don't you recollect
the dinner we had at SalisburyMartinwith John Westlockeh! Good
gracious me! Ruthmy dearMr Chuzzlewit. Mark Tapleymy love
from the Dragon. More cups and saucersif you please. Bless my
soulhow glad I am to see you both!'

And then Tom (as John Westlock had done on his arrival) ran off to
the loaf to cut some bread and butter for them; and before he had
spread a single sliceremembered something elseand came running
back again to tell it; and then he shook hands with them again; and
then he introduced his sister again; and then he did everything he
had done already all over again; and nothing Tom could doand
nothing Tom could saywas half sufficient to express his joy at
their safe return.

Mr Tapley was the first to resume his composure. In a very short
space of time he was discovered to have somehow installed himself in
office as waiteror attendant upon the party; a fact which was
first suggested to them by his temporary absence in the kitchenand
speedy return with a kettle of boiling waterfrom which he
replenished the tea-pot with a self-possession that was quite his
own.

'Sit downand take your breakfastMark' said Tom. 'Make him sit
down and take his breakfastMartin.'

'Oh! I gave him uplong agoas incorrigible' Martin replied. 'He
takes his own wayTom. You would excuse himMiss Pinchif you
knew his value.'

'She knows itbless you!' said Tom. 'I have told her all about
Mark Tapley. Have I notRuth?'

'YesTom.'

'Not all' returned Martinin a low voice. 'The best of Mark
Tapley is only known to one manTom; and but for Mark he would
hardly be alive to tell it!'

'Mark!' said Tom Pinch energetically; 'if you don't sit down this
minuteI'll swear at you!'

'Wellsir' returned Mr Tapley'sooner than you should do that
I'll com-ply. It's a considerable invasion of a man's jollity to be
made so partickler welcomebut a Werb is a word as signifies to be
to door to suffer (which is all the grammarand enough tooas
ever I wos taught); and if there's a Werb aliveI'm it. For I'm
always a-bein'sometimes a-doin'and continually a-sufferin'.'

'Not jolly yet?' asked Tomwith a smile.

'WhyI was rather soover the watersir' returned Mr Tapley;
'and not entirely without credit. But Human Natur' is in a
conspiracy again' me; I can't get on. I shall have to leave it in


my willsirto be wrote upon my tomb: "He was a man as might have
come out strong if he could have got a chance. But it was denied
him."'

Mr Tapley took this occasion of looking about him with a grinand
subsequently attacking the breakfastwith an appetite not at all
expressive of blighted hopesor insurmountable despondency.

In the meanwhileMartin drew his chair a little nearer to Tom and
his sisterand related to them what had passed at Mr Pecksniff's
house; adding in few words a general summary of the distresses and
disappointments he had undergone since he left England.

'For your faithful stewardship in the trust I left with youTom'
he said'and for all your goodness and disinterestednessI can
never thank you enough. When I add Mary's thanks to mine--'

AhTom! The blood retreated from his cheeksand came rushing back
so violentlythat it was pain to feel it; ease thoughease
compared with the aching of his wounded heart.

'When I add Mary's thanks to mine' said Martin'I have made the
only poor acknowledgment it is in our power to offer; but if you
knew how much we feelTomyou would set some store by itI am
sure.'

And if they had known how much Tom felt--but that no human creature
ever knew--they would have set some store by him. Indeed they
would.

Tom changed the topic of discourse. He was sorry he could not
pursue itas it gave Martin pleasure; but he was unableat that
moment. No drop of envy or bitterness was in his soul; but he could
not master the firm utterance of her name.

He inquired what Martin's projects were.

'No longer to make your fortuneTom' said Martin'but to try to
live. I tried that once in LondonTom; and failed. If you will
give me the benefit of your advice and friendly counselI may
succeed better under your guidance. I will do anything Tom
anythingto gain a livelihood by my own exertions. My hopes do not
soar above thatnow.'

High-heartednoble Tom! Sorry to find the pride of his old
companion humbledand to hear him speaking in this altered strain
at onceat oncehe drove from his breast the inability to contend
with its deep emotionsand spoke out bravely.

'Your hopes do not soar above that!' cried Tom. 'Yes they do. How
can you talk so! They soar up to the time when you will be happy
with herMartin. They soar up to the time when you will be able to
claim herMartin. They soar up to the time when you will not be
able to believe that you were ever cast down in spiritor poor in
pocketMartin. Adviceand friendly counsel! Whyof course. But
you shall have better advice and counsel (though you cannot have
more friendly) than mine. You shall consult John Westlock. We'll
go there immediately. It is yet so early that I shall have time to
take you to his chambers before I go to business; they are in my
way; and I can leave you thereto talk over your affairs with him.
So come along. Come along. I am a man of occupation nowyou
know' said Tomwith his pleasantest smile; 'and have no time to
lose. Your hopes don't soar higher than that? I dare say they
don't. I know youpretty well. They'll be soaring out of sight


soonMartinand leaving all the rest of us leagues behind.'

'Aye! But I may be a little changed' said Martin'since you knew
me pretty wellTom.'

'What nonsense!' exclaimed Tom. 'Why should you be changed? You
talk as if you were an old man. I never heard such a fellow! Come
to John Westlock'scome. Come alongMark Tapley. It's Mark's
doingI have no doubt; and it serves you right for having such a
grumbler for your companion.'

'There's no credit to be got through being jolly with YOUMr Pinch
anyways' said Markwith his face all wrinkled up with grins. 'A
parish doctor might be jolly with you. There's nothing short of
goin' to the U-nited States for a second tripas would make it at
all creditable to be jollyarter seein' you again!'

Tom laughedand taking leave of his sisterhurried Mark and Martin
out into the streetand away to John Westlock's by the nearest
road; for his hour of business was very near at handand he prided
himself on always being exact to his time.

John Westlock was at homebutstrange to saywas rather
embarrassed to see them; and when Tom was about to go into the room
where he was breakfastingsaid he had a stranger there. It
appeared to be a mysterious strangerfor John shut that door as he
said itand led them into the next room.

He was very much delightedthoughto see Mark Tapley; and received
Martin with his own frank courtesy. But Martin felt that he did not
inspire John Westlock with any unusual interest; and twice or thrice
observed that he looked at Tom Pinch doubtfully; not to say
compassionately. He thoughtand blushed to thinkthat he knew the
cause of this.

'I apprehend you are engaged' said Martinwhen Tom had announced
the purport of their visit. 'If you will allow me to come again at
your own timeI shall be glad to do so.'

'I AM engaged' replied Johnwith some reluctance; 'but the matter
on which I am engaged is oneto say the truthmore immediately
demanding your knowledge than mine.'

'Indeed!' cried Martin.

'It relates to a member of your familyand is of a serious nature.
If you will have the kindness to remain hereit will be a
satisfaction to me to have it privately communicated to youin
order that you may judge of its importance for yourself.'

'And in the meantime' said Tom'I must really take myself off
without any further ceremony.'

'Is your business so very particular' asked Martin'that you
cannot remain with us for half an hour? I wish you could. What IS
your businessTom?'

It was Tom's turn to be embarrassed now; but he plainly saidafter
a little hesitation:

'WhyI am not at liberty to say what it isMartin; though I hope
soon to be in a condition to do soand am aware of no other reason
to prevent my doing so nowthan the request of my employer. It's
an awkward position to be placed in' said Tomwith an uneasy sense


of seeming to doubt his friend'as I feel every day; but I really
cannot help itcan IJohn?'

John Westlock replied in the negative; and Martinexpressing
himself perfectly satisfiedbegged them not to say another word;
though he could not help wondering very much what curious office Tom
heldand why he was so secretand embarrassedand unlike himself
in reference to it. Nor could he help reverting to itin his own
mindseveral times after Tom went awaywhich he did as soon as
this conversation was endedtaking Mr Tapley with himwhoas he
laughingly saidmight accompany him as far as Fleet Street without
injury.

'And what do you mean to doMark?' asked Tomas they walked on
together.

'Mean to dosir?' returned Mr Tapley.

'Aye. What course of life do you mean to pursue?'

'Wellsir' said Mr Tapley. 'The fact isthat I have been
a-thinking rather of the matrimonial linesir.'

'You don't say soMark!' cried Tom.

'Yessir. I've been a-turnin' of it over.'

'And who is the ladyMark?'

'The whichsir?' said Mr Tapley.

'The lady. Come! You know what I said' replied Tomlaughing'as
well as I do!'

Mr Tapley suppressed his own inclination to laugh; and with one of
his most whimsically-twisted looksreplied:

'You couldn't guessI supposeMr Pinch?'

'How is it possible?' said Tom. 'I don't know any of your flames
Mark. Except Mrs Lupinindeed.'

'Wellsir!' retorted Mr Tapley. 'And supposing it was her!'

Tom stopping in the street to look at himMr Tapley for a moment
presented to his view an utterly stolid and expressionless face; a
perfect dead wall of countenance. But opening window after window
in it with astonishing rapidityand lighting them all up as for a
general illuminationhe repeated:

'Supposin'for the sake of argumentas it was hersir!'

'Why I thought such a connection wouldn't suit youMarkon any
terms!' cried Tom.

'Wellsir! I used to think so myselfonce' said Mark. 'But I
ain't so clear about it now. A dearsweet creetursir!'

'A dearsweet creature? To be sure she is' cried Tom. 'But she
always was a dearsweet creaturewas she not?'

'WAS she not!' assented Mr Tapley.

'Then why on earth didn't you marry her at firstMarkinstead of


wandering abroadand losing all this timeand leaving her alone by
herselfliable to be courted by other people?'

'Whysir' retorted Mr Tapleyin a spirit of unbounded confidence
'I'll tell you how it come about. You know meMr Pinchsir; there
ain't a gentleman alive as knows me better. You're acquainted with
my constitutionand you're acquainted with my weakness. My
constitution isto be jolly; and my weakness isto wish to find a
credit in it. Wery goodsir. In this state of mindI gets a
notion in my head that she looks on me with a eye of--with what you
may call a favourable sort of a eye in fact' said Mr Tapleywith
modest hesitation.

'No doubt' replied Tom. 'We knew that perfectly well when we spoke
on this subject long ago; before you left the Dragon.'

Mr Tapley nodded assent. 'Wellsir! But bein' at that time full of
hopeful wisionsI arrives at the conclusion that no credit is to be
got out of such a way of life as thatwhere everything agreeable
would be ready to one's hand. Lookin' on the bright side of human
life in shortone of my hopeful wisions isthat there's a deal of
misery awaitin' for me; in the midst of which I may come out
tolerable strongand be jolly under circumstances as reflects some
credit. I goes into the worldsirwery boyantand I tries this.
I goes aboard ship firstand wery soon discovers (by the ease with
which I'm jollymind you) as there's no credit to be got THERE. I
might have took warning by thisand gave it up; but I didn't. I
gets to the U-nited States; and then I DO beginI won't deny itto
feel some little credit in sustaining my spirits. What follows?
Jest as I'm a-beginning to come outand am a-treadin' on the werge
my master deceives me.'

'Deceives you!' cried Tom.

'Swindles me' retorted Mr Tapley with a beaming face. 'Turns his
back on everything as made his service a creditable oneand leaves
me high and drywithout a leg to stand upon. In which state I
returns home. Wery good. Then all my hopeful wisions bein'
crushed; and findin' that there ain't no credit for me nowhere; I
abandons myself to despairand saysLet me do that as has the
least credit in it of all; marry a dear, sweet creetur, as is wery
fond of me; me bein', at the same time, wery fond of her; lead a
happy life, and struggle no more again' the blight which settles on
my prospects.'

'If your philosophyMark' said Tomwho laughed heartily at this
speech'be the oddest I ever heard ofit is not the least wise.
Mrs Lupin has said "yes of course?'

'Why, no, sir,' replied Mr Tapley; 'she hasn't gone so far as that
yet. Which I attribute principally to my not havin' asked her. But
we was wery agreeable together--comfortable, I may say--the night I
come home. It's all right, sir.'

'Well!' said Tom, stopping at the Temple Gate. 'I wish you joy,
Mark, with all my heart. I shall see you again to-day, I dare say.
Good-bye for the present.'

'Good-bye, sir! Good-bye, Mr Pinch!' he added by way of soliloquy,
as he stood looking after him. 'Although you ARE a damper to a
honourable ambition. You little think it, but you was the first to
dash my hopes. Pecksniff would have built me up for life, but your
sweet temper pulled me down. Good-bye, Mr Pinch!'


While these confidences were interchanged between Tom Pinch and
Mark, Martin and John Westlock were very differently engaged. They
were no sooner left alone together than Martin said, with an effort
he could not disguise:

'Mr Westlock, we have met only once before, but you have known Tom a
long while, and that seems to render you familiar to me. I cannot
talk freely with you on any subject unless I relieve my mind of what
oppresses it just now. I see with pain that you so far mistrust me
that you think me likely to impose on Tom's regardlessness of
himself, or on his kind nature, or some of his good qualities.'

'I had no intention,' replied John, 'of conveying any such
impression to you, and am exceedingly sorry to have done so.'

'But you entertain it?' said Martin.

'You ask me so pointedly and directly,' returned the other, 'that I
cannot deny the having accustomed myself to regard you as one who,
not in wantonness but in mere thoughtlessness of character, did not
sufficiently consider his nature and did not quite treat it as it
deserves to be treated. It is much easier to slight than to
appreciate Tom Pinch.'

This was not said warmly, but was energetically spoken too; for
there was no subject in the world (but one) on which the speaker
felt so strongly.

'I grew into the knowledge of Tom,' he pursued, 'as I grew towards
manhood; and I have learned to love him as something, infinitely
better than myself. I did not think that you understood him when we
met before. I did not think that you greatly cared to understand
him. The instances of this which I observed in you were, like my
opportunities for observation, very trivial--and were very harmless,
I dare say. But they were not agreeable to me, and they forced
themselves upon me; for I was not upon the watch for them, believe
me. You will say,' added John, with a smile, as he subsided into
more of his accustomed manner, 'that I am not by any means agreeable
to you. I can only assure you, in reply, that I would not have
originated this topic on any account.'

'I originated it,' said Martin; 'and so far from having any
complaint to make against you, highly esteem the friendship you
entertain for Tom, and the very many proofs you have given him of
it. Why should I endeavour to conceal from you'--he coloured deeply
though--'that I neither understood him nor cared to understand him
when I was his companion; and that I am very truly sorry for it
now!'

It was so sincerely said, at once so modestly and manfully, that
John offered him his hand as if he had not done so before; and
Martin giving his in the same open spirit, all constraint between
the young men vanished.

'Now pray,' said John, 'when I tire your patience very much in what
I am going to say, recollect that it has an end to it, and that the
end is the point of the story.'

With this preface, he related all the circumstances connected with
his having presided over the illness and slow recovery of the
patient at the Bull; and tacked on to the skirts of that narrative
Tom's own account of the business on the wharf. Martin was not a
little puzzled when he came to an end, for the two stories seemed to
have no connection with each other, and to leave him, as the phrase


is, all abroad.

'If you will excuse me for one moment,' said John, rising, 'I will
beg you almost immediately to come into the next room.'

Upon that, he left Martin to himself, in a state of considerable
astonishment; and soon came back again to fulfil his promise.
Accompanying him into the next room, Martin found there a third
person; no doubt the stranger of whom his host had spoken when Tom
Pinch introduced him.

He was a young man; with deep black hair and eyes. He was gaunt and
pale; and evidently had not long recovered from a severe illness.
He stood as Martin entered, but sat again at John's desire. His
eyes were cast downward; and but for one glance at them both, half
in humiliation and half in entreaty, he kept them so, and sat quite
still and silent.

'This person's name is Lewsome,' said John Westlock, 'whom I have
mentioned to you as having been seized with an illness at the inn
near here, and undergone so much. He has had a very hard time of
it, ever since he began to recover; but, as you see, he is now doing
well.'

As he did not move or speak, and John Westlock made a pause, Martin,
not knowing what to say, said that he was glad to hear it.

'The short statement that I wish you to hear from his own lips, Mr
Chuzzlewit,' John pursued--looking attentively at him, and not at
Martin--'he made to me for the first time yesterday, and repeated to
me this morning, without the least variation of any essential
particular. I have already told you that he informed me before he
was removed from the Inn, that he had a secret to disclose to me
which lay heavy on his mind. But, fluctuating between sickness and
health and between his desire to relieve himself of it, and his
dread of involving himself by revealing it, he has, until yesterday,
avoided the disclosure. I never pressed him for it (having no idea
of its weight or import, or of my right to do so), until within a
few days past; when, understanding from him, on his own voluntary
avowal, in a letter from the country, that it related to a person
whose name was Jonas Chuzzlewit; and thinking that it might throw
some light on that little mystery which made Tom anxious now and
then; I urged the point upon him, and heard his statement, as you
will now, from his own lips. It is due to him to say, that in the
apprehension of death, he committed it to writing sometime since,
and folded it in a sealed paper, addressed to me; which he could not
resolve, however, to place of his own act in my hands. He has the
paper in his breast, I believe, at this moment.'

The young man touched it hastily; in corroboration of the fact.

'It will be well to leave that in our charge, perhaps,' said John.
'But do not mind it now.'

As he said this, he held up his hand to bespeak Martin's attention.
It was already fixed upon the man before him, who, after a short
silence said, in a low, weak, hollow voice:

'What relation was Mr Anthony Chuzzlewit, who--'

'--Who died--to me?' said Martin. 'He was my grandfather's brother.'

'I fear he was made away with. Murdered!'


'My God!' said Martin. 'By whom?'

The young man, Lewsome, looked up in his face, and casting down his
eyes again, replied:

'I fear, by me.'

'By you?' cried Martin.

'Not by my act, but I fear by my means.'

'Speak out!' said Martin, 'and speak the truth.'

'I fear this IS the truth.'

Martin was about to interrupt him again, but John Westlock saying
softly, 'Let him tell his story in his own way,' Lewsome went on
thus:

'I have been bred a surgeon, and for the last few years have served
a general practitioner in the City, as his assistant. While I was
in his employment I became acquainted with Jonas Chuzzlewit. He is
the principal in this deed.'

'What do you mean?' demanded Martin, sternly. 'Do you know he is
the son of the old man of whom you have spoken?'

'I do,' he answered.

He remained silent for some moments, when he resumed at the point
where he had left off.

'I have reason to know it; for I have often heard him wish his old
father dead, and complain of his being wearisome to him, and a drag
upon him. He was in the habit of doing so, at a place of meeting we
had--three or four of us--at night. There was no good in the place
you may suppose, when you hear that he was the chief of the party.
I wish I had died myself, and never seen it!'

He stopped again; and again resumed as before.

'We met to drink and game; not for large sums, but for sums that
were large to us. He generally won. Whether or no, he lent money
at interest to those who lost; and in this way, though I think we
all secretly hated him, he came to be the master of us. To
propitiate him we made a jest of his father; it began with his
debtors; I was one; and we used to toast a quicker journey to the
old man, and a swift inheritance to the young one.'

He paused again.

'One night he came there in a very bad humour. He had been greatly
tried, he said, by the old man that day. He and I were alone
together; and he angrily told me, that the old man was in his second
childhood; that he was weak, imbecile, and drivelling; as unbearable
to himself as he was to other people; and that it would be a charity
to put him out of the way. He swore that he had often thought of
mixing something with the stuff he took for his cough, which should
help him to die easily. People were sometimes smothered who were
bitten by mad dogs, he said; and why not help these lingering old
men out of their troubles too? He looked full at me as he said so,
and I looked full at him; but it went no farther that night.'

He stopped once more, and was silent for so long an interval that


John Westlock said 'Go on.' Martin had never removed his eyes from
his face, but was so absorbed in horror and astonishment that he
could not speak.

'It may have been a week after that, or it may have been less or
more--the matter was in my mind all the time, but I cannot recollect
the time, as I should any other period--when he spoke to me again.
We were alone then, too; being there before the usual hour of
assembling. There was no appointment between us; but I think I went
there to meet him, and I know he came there to meet me. He was
there first. He was reading a newspaper when I went in, and nodded
to me without looking up, or leaving off reading. I sat down
opposite and close to him. He said, immediately, that he wanted me
to get him some of two sorts of drugs. One that was instantaneous
in its effect; of which he wanted very little. One that was slow
and not suspicious in appearance; of which he wanted more. While he
was speaking to me he still read the newspaper. He said Drugs
and never used any other word. Neither did I.'

'This all agrees with what I have heard before,' observed John
Westlock.

'I asked him what he wanted the drugs for? He said for no harm; to
physic cats; what did it matter to me? I was going out to a distant
colony (I had recently got the appointment, which, as Mr Westlock
knows, I have since lost by my sickness, and which was my only hope
of salvation from ruin), and what did it matter to me? He could get
them without my aid at half a hundred places, but not so easily as
he could get them of me. This was true. He might not want them at
all, he said, and he had no present idea of using them; but he
wished to have them by him. All this time he still read the
newspaper. We talked about the price. He was to forgive me a small
debt--I was quite in his power--and to pay me five pounds; and there
the matter dropped, through others coming in. But, next night,
under exactly similar circumstances, I gave him the drugs, on his
saying I was a fool to think that he should ever use them for any
harm; and he gave me the money. We have never met since. I only
know that the poor old father died soon afterwards, just as he would
have died from this cause; and that I have undergone, and suffer
now, intolerable misery. Nothing' he added, stretching out his
hands, 'can paint my misery! It is well deserved, but nothing can
paint it.'

With that he hung his head, and said no more, wasted and wretched,
he was not a creature upon whom to heap reproaches that were
unavailing.

'Let him remain at hand,' said Martin, turning from him; 'but out of
sight, in Heaven's name!'

'He will remain here,' John whispered. 'Come with me!' Softly
turning the key upon him as they went out, he conducted Martin into
the adjoining room, in which they had been before.

Martin was so amazed, so shocked, and confounded by what he had
heard that it was some time before he could reduce it to any order
in his mind, or could sufficiently comprehend the bearing of one
part upon another, to take in all the details at one view. When he,
at length, had the whole narrative clearly before him, John Westlock
went on to point out the great probability of the guilt of Jonas
being known to other people, who traded in it for their own benefit,
and who were, by such means, able to exert that control over him
which Tom Pinch had accidentally witnessed, and unconsciously
assisted. This appeared so plain, that they agreed upon it without


difficulty; but instead of deriving the least assistance from this
source, they found that it embarrassed them the more.

They knew nothing of the real parties who possessed this power. The
only person before them was Tom's landlord. They had no right to
question Tom's landlord, even if they could find him, which,
according to Tom's account, it would not be easy to do. And
granting that they did question him, and he answered (which was
taking a good deal for granted), he had only to say, with reference
to the adventure on the wharf, that he had been sent from such and
such a place to summon Jonas back on urgent business, and there was
an end of it.

Besides, there was the great difficulty and responsibility of moving
at all in the matter. Lewsome's story might be false; in his
wretched state it might be greatly heightened by a diseased brain;
or admitting it to be entirely true, the old man might have died a
natural death. Mr Pecksniff had been there at the time; as Tom
immediately remembered, when he came back in the afternoon, and
shared their counsels; and there had been no secrecy about it.
Martin's grandfather was of right the person to decide upon the
course that should be taken; but to get at his views would be
impossible, for Mr Pecksniff's views were certain to be his.
And the nature of Mr Pecksniff's views in reference to his own
son-in-law might be easily reckoned upon.

Apart from these considerations, Martin could not endure the thought
of seeming to grasp at this unnatural charge against his relative,
and using it as a stepping-stone to his grandfather's favour. But
that he would seem to do so, if he presented himself before his
grandfather in Mr Pecksniff's house again, for the purpose of
declaring it; and that Mr Pecksniff, of all men, would represent his
conduct in that despicable light, he perfectly well knew. On the
other hand to be in possession of such a statement, and take no
measures of further inquiry in reference to it, was tantamount to
being a partner in the guilt it professed to disclose.

In a word, they were wholly unable to discover any outlet from this
maze of difficulty, which did not lie through some perplexed and
entangled thicket. And although Mr Tapley was promptly taken into
their confidence; and the fertile imagination of that gentleman
suggested many bold expedients, which, to do him justice, he was
quite ready to carry into instant operation on his own personal
responsibility; still 'bating the general zeal of Mr Tapley's
nature, nothing was made particularly clearer by these offers of
service.

It was in this position of affairs that Tom's account of the strange
behaviour of the decayed clerk, on the night of the tea-party,
became of great moment, and finally convinced them that to arrive at
a more accurate knowledge of the workings of that old man's mind and
memory, would be to take a most important stride in their pursuit of
the truth. So, having first satisfied themselves that no
communication had ever taken place between Lewsome and Mr Chuffey
(which would have accounted at once for any suspicions the latter
might entertain), they unanimously resolved that the old clerk was
the man they wanted.

But, like the unanimous resolution of a public meeting, which will
oftentimes declare that this or that grievance is not to be borne a
moment longer, which is nevertheless borne for a century or two
afterwards, without any modification, they only reached in this the
conclusion that they were all of one mind. For it was one thing to
want Mr Chuffey, and another thing to get at him; and to do that


without alarming him, or without alarming Jonas, or without being
discomfited by the difficulty of striking, in an instrument so out
of tune and so unused, the note they sought, was an end as far from
their reach as ever.

The question then became, who of those about the old clerk had had
most influence with him that night? Tom said his young mistress
clearly. But Tom and all of them shrunk from the thought of
entrapping her, and making her the innocent means of bringing
retribution on her cruel husband. Was there nobody else? Why yes.
In a very different way, Tom said, he was influenced by Mrs Gamp,
the nurse; who had once had the control of him, as he understood,
for some time.

They caught at this immediately. Here was a new way out, developed
in a quarter until then overlooked. John Westlock knew Mrs Gamp; he
had given her employment; he was acquainted with her place of
residence: for that good lady had obligingly furnished him, at
parting, with a pack of her professional cards for general
distribution. It was decided that Mrs Gamp should be approached
with caution, but approached without delay; and that the depths of
that discreet matron's knowledge of Mr Chuffey, and means of
bringing them, or one of them, into communication with him, should
be carefully sounded.

On this service, Martin and John Westlock determined to proceed that
night; waiting on Mrs Gamp first, at her lodgings; and taking their
chance of finding her in the repose of private life, or of having to
seek her out, elsewhere, in the exercise of her professional duties.
Tom returned home, that he might lose no opportunity of having an
interview with Nadgett, by being absent in the event of his
reappearance. And Mr Tapley remained (by his own particular desire)
for the time being in Furnival's Inn, to look after Lewsome; who
might safely have been left to himself, however, for any thought he
seemed to entertain of giving them the slip.

Before they parted on their several errands, they caused him to read
aloud, in the presence of them all, the paper which he had about
him, and the declaration he had attached to it, which was to the
effect that he had written it voluntarily, in the fear of death and
in the torture of his mind. And when he had done so, they all
signed it, and taking it from him, of his free will, locked it in a
place of safety.

Martin also wrote, by John's advice, a letter to the trustees of the
famous Grammar School, boldly claiming the successful design as his,
and charging Mr Pecksniff with the fraud he had committed. In this
proceeding also, John was hotly interested; observing, with his usual
irreverance, that Mr Pecksniff had been a successful rascal all his
life through, and that it would be a lasting source of happiness to
him (John) if he could help to do him justice in the smallest
particular.

A busy day! But Martin had no lodgings yet; so when these matters
were disposed of, he excused himself from dining with John Westlock
and was fain to wander out alone, and look for some. He succeeded,
after great trouble, in engaging two garrets for himself and Mark,
situated in a court in the Strand, not far from Temple Bar. Their
luggage, which was waiting for them at a coach-office, he conveyed
to this new place of refuge; and it was with a glow of satisfaction,
which as a selfish man he never could have known and never had,
that, thinking how much pains and trouble he had saved Mark, and how
pleased and astonished Mark would be, he afterwards walked up and
down, in the Temple, eating a meat-pie for his dinner.


CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

IN WHICH MRS HARRIS ASSISTED BY A TEAPOT, IS THE CAUSE OF A
DIVISION BETWEEN FRIENDS

Mrs Gamp's apartment in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn, wore,
metaphorically speaking, a robe of state. It was swept and
garnished for the reception of a visitor. That visitor was Betsey
Prig; Mrs Prig, of Bartlemy's; or as some said Barklemy's, or as
some said Bardlemy's; for by all these endearing and familiar
appellations, had the hospital of Saint Bartholomew become a
household word among the sisterhood which Betsey Prig adorned.

Mrs Gamp's apartment was not a spacious one, but, to a contented
mind, a closet is a palace; and the first-floor front at Mr
Sweedlepipe's may have been, in the imagination of Mrs Gamp, a
stately pile. If it were not exactly that, to restless intellects,
it at least comprised as much accommodation as any person, not
sanguine to insanity, could have looked for in a room of its
dimensions. For only keep the bedstead always in your mind; and you
were safe. That was the grand secret. Remembering the bedstead,
you might even stoop to look under the little round table for
anything you had dropped, without hurting yourself much against the
chest of drawers, or qualifying as a patient of Saint Bartholomew,
by falling into the fire.

Visitors were much assisted in their cautious efforts to preserve an
unflagging recollection of this piece of furniture, by its size;
which was great. It was not a turn-up bedstead, nor yet a French
bedstead, nor yet a four-post bedstead, but what is poetically called
a tent; the sacking whereof was low and bulgy, insomuch that Mrs
Gamp's box would not go under it, but stopped half-way, in a manner
which, while it did violence to the reason, likewise endangered the
legs of a stranger. The frame too, which would have supported the
canopy and hangings if there had been any, was ornamented with
divers pippins carved in timber, which on the slightest provocation,
and frequently on none at all, came tumbling down; harassing the
peaceful guest with inexplicable terrors.

The bed itself was decorated with a patchwork quilt of great
antiquity; and at the upper end, upon the side nearest to the door,
hung a scanty curtain of blue check, which prevented the Zephyrs
that were abroad in Kingsgate Street, from visiting Mrs Gamp's head
too roughly. Some rusty gowns and other articles of that lady's
wardrobe depended from the posts; and these had so adapted
themselves by long usage to her figure, that more than one impatient
husband coming in precipitately, at about the time of twilight, had
been for an instant stricken dumb by the supposed discovery that Mrs
Gamp had hanged herself. One gentleman, coming on the usual hasty
errand, had said indeed, that they looked like guardian angels
'watching of her in her sleep.' But that, as Mrs Gamp said, 'was
his first;' and he never repeated the sentiment, though he often
repeated his visit.

The chairs in Mrs Gamp's apartment were extremely large and broadbacked,
which was more than a sufficient reason for there being but
two in number. They were both elbow-chairs, of ancient mahogany;
and were chiefly valuable for the slippery nature of their seats,
which had been originally horsehair, but were now covered with a
shiny substance of a bluish tint, from which the visitor began to


slide away with a dismayed countenance, immediately after sitting
down. What Mrs Gamp wanted in chairs she made up in bandboxes; of
which she had a great collection, devoted to the reception of
various miscellaneous valuables, which were not, however, as well
protected as the good woman, by a pleasant fiction, seemed to think;
for, though every bandbox had a carefully closed lid, not one among
them had a bottom; owing to which cause the property within was
merely, as it were, extinguished. The chest of drawers having been
originally made to stand upon the top of another chest, had a
dwarfish, elfin look, alone; but in regard of its security it had a
great advantage over the bandboxes, for as all the handles had been
long ago pulled off, it was very difficult to get at its contents.
This indeed was only to be done by one or two devices; either by
tilting the whole structure forward until all the drawers fell out
together, or by opening them singly with knives, like oysters.

Mrs Gamp stored all her household matters in a little cupboard by
the fire-place; beginning below the surface (as in nature) with the
coals, and mounting gradually upwards to the spirits, which, from
motives of delicacy, she kept in a teapot. The chimney-piece was
ornamented with a small almanack, marked here and there in Mrs
Gamp's own hand with a memorandum of the date at which some lady was
expected to fall due. It was also embellished with three profiles:
one, in colours, of Mrs Gamp herself in early life; one, in bronze,
of a lady in feathers, supposed to be Mrs Harris, as she appeared
when dressed for a ball; and one, in black, of Mr Gamp, deceased.
The last was a full length, in order that the likeness might be
rendered more obvious and forcible by the introduction of the wooden
leg.

A pair of bellows, a pair of pattens, a toasting-fork, a kettle, a
pap-boat, a spoon for the administration of medicine to the
refractory, and lastly, Mrs Gamp's umbrella, which as something of
great price and rarity, was displayed with particular ostentation,
completed the decorations of the chimney-piece and adjacent wall.
Towards these objects Mrs Gamp raised her eyes in satisfaction when
she had arranged the tea-board, and had concluded her arrangements
for the reception of Betsey Prig, even unto the setting forth of two
pounds of Newcastle salmon, intensely pickled.

'There! Now drat you, Betsey, don't be long!' said Mrs Gamp,
apostrophizing her absent friend. 'For I can't abear to wait, I do
assure you. To wotever place I goes, I sticks to this one mortar,
I'm easy pleased; it is but little as I wants; but I must have that
little of the bestand to the minute when the clock strikeselse
we do not part as I could wishbut bearin' malice in our arts."'

Her own preparations were of the bestfor they comprehended a
delicate new loafa plate of fresh buttera basin of fine white
sugarand other arrangements on the same scale. Even the snuff
with which she now refreshed herselfwas so choice in quality that
she took a second pinch.

'There's the little bell a-ringing now' said Mrs Gamphurrying to
the stair-head and looking over. 'Betsey Prigmy--why it's that
there disapintin' SweedlepipesI do believe.'

'Yesit's me' said the barber in a faint voice; 'I've just come
in.'

'You're always a-comin' inI think' muttered Mrs Gamp to herself
'except wen you're a-goin' out. I ha'n't no patience with that
man!'


'Mrs Gamp' said the barber. 'I say! Mrs Gamp!'

'Well' cried Mrs Gampimpatientlyas she descended the stairs.
'What is it? Is the Thames a-fireand cooking its own fishMr
Sweedlepipes? Why wot's the man gone and been a-doin' of to
himself? He's as white as chalk!'

She added the latter clause of inquirywhen she got downstairsand
found him seated in the shaving-chairpale and disconsolate.

'You recollect' said Poll. 'You recollect young--'

'Not young Wilkins!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'Don't say young Wilkins
wotever you do. If young Wilkins's wife is took--'

'It isn't anybody's wife' exclaimed the little barber. 'Bailey
young Bailey!'

'Whywot do you mean to say that chit's been a-doin' of?' retorted
Mrs Gampsharply. 'Stuff and nonsenseMrs Sweedlepipes!'

'He hasn't been a-doing anything!' exclaimed poor Pollquite
desperate. 'What do you catch me up so short forwhen you see me
put out to that extent that I can hardly speak? He'll never do
anything again. He's done for. He's killed. The first time I ever
see that boy' said Poll'I charged him too much for a red-poll. I
asked him three-halfpence for a penny onebecause I was afraid he'd
beat me down. But he didn't. And now he's dead; and if you was to
crowd all the steam-engines and electric fluids that ever wasinto
this shopand set 'em every one to work their hardestthey
couldn't square the accountthough it's only a ha'penny!'

Mr Sweedlepipe turned aside to the toweland wiped his eyes with
it.

'And what a clever boy he was!' he said. 'What a surprising young
chap he was! How he talked! and what a deal he know'd! Shaved in
this very chair he was; only for fun; it was all his fun; he was
full of it. Ah! to think that he'll never be shaved in earnest! The
birds might every one have diedand welcome' cried the little
barberlooking round him at the cagesand again applying to the
towel'sooner than I'd have heard this news!'

'How did you ever come to hear it?' said Mrs Gamp. 'who told you?'

'I went out' returned the little barber'into the Cityto meet a
sporting gent upon the Stock Exchangethat wanted a few slow
pigeons to practice at; and when I'd done with himI went to get a
little drop of beerand there I heard everybody a-talking about it.
It's in the papers.'

'You are in a nice state of confugionMr Sweedlepipesyou are!'
said Mrs Gampshaking her head; 'and my opinion isas halfa-
dudgeon fresh young lively leeches on your templeswouldn't be too
much to clear your mindwhich so I tell you. Wot were they atalkin'
onand wot was in the papers?'

'All about it!' cried the barber. 'What else do you suppose? Him
and his master were upset on a journeyand he was carried to
Salisburyand was breathing his last when the account came away.
He never spoke afterwards. Not a single word. That's the worst of
it to me; but that ain't all. His master can't be found. The other
manager of their office in the cityCrimpleDavid Crimplehas
gone off with the moneyand is advertised forwith a rewardupon


the walls. Mr Montaguepoor young Bailey's master (what a boy he
was!) is advertised fortoo. Some say he's slipped offto join
his friend abroad; some say he mayn't have got away yet; and they're
looking for him high and low. Their office is a smash; a swindle
altogether. But what's a Life Assurance office to a Life! And what
a Life Young Bailey's was!'

'He was born into a wale' said Mrs Gampwith philosophical
coolness. 'and he lived in a wale; and he must take the
consequences of sech a sitiwation. But don't you hear nothink of Mr
Chuzzlewit in all this?'

'No' said Poll'nothing to speak of. His name wasn't printed as
one of the boardthough some people say it was just going to be.
Some believe he was took inand some believe he was one of the
takers-in; but however that may bethey can't prove nothing against
him. This morning he went up of his own accord afore the Lord Mayor
or some of them City big-wigsand complained that he'd been
swindledand that these two persons had gone off and cheated him
and that he had just found out that Montague's name wasn't even
Montaguebut something else. And they do say that he looked like
Deathowing to his losses. ButLord forgive me' cried the
barbercoming back again to the subject of his individual grief
'what's his looks to me! He might have died and welcomefifty
timesand not been such a loss as Bailey!'

At this juncture the little bell rangand the deep voice of Mrs
Prig struck into the conversation.

'Oh! You're a-talkin' about itare you!' observed that lady.
'WellI hope you've got it overfor I ain't interested in it
myself.'

'My precious Betsey' said Mrs Gamp'how late you are!'

The worthy Mrs Prig repliedwith some asperity'that if perwerse
people went off deadwhen they was least expectedit warn't no
fault of her'n.' And further'that it was quite aggrawation enough
to be made late when one was dropping for one's teawithout hearing
on it again.'

Mrs Gampderiving from this exhibition of repartee some clue to the
state of Mrs Prig's feelingsinstantly conducted her upstairs;
deeming that the sight of pickled salmon might work a softening
change.

But Betsey Prig expected pickled salmon. It was obvious that she
did; for her first wordsafter glancing at the tablewere:

'I know'd she wouldn't have a cowcumber!'

Mrs Gamp changed colourand sat down upon the bedstead.

'Lord bless youBetsey Prigyour words is true. I quite forgot
it!'

Mrs Priglooking steadfastly at her friendput her hand in her
pocketand with an air of surly triumph drew forth either the
oldest of lettuces or youngest of cabbagesbut at any ratea green
vegetable of an expansive natureand of such magnificent
proportions that she was obliged to shut it up like an umbrella
before she could pull it out. She also produced a handful of
mustard and cressa trifle of the herb called dandelionthree
bunches of radishesan onion rather larger than an average turnip


three substantial slices of beetrootand a short prong or antler of
celery; the whole of this garden-stuff having been publicly
exhibitedbut a short time beforeas a twopenny saladand
purchased by Mrs Prig on condition that the vendor could get it all
into her pocket. Which had been happily accomplishedin High
Holbornto the breathless interest of a hackney-coach stand. And
she laid so little stress on this surprising forethoughtthat she
did not even smilebut returning her pocket into its accustomed
spheremerely recommended that these productions of nature should
be sliced upfor immediate consumptionin plenty of vinegar.

'And don't go a-droppin' none of your snuff in it' said Mrs Prig.
'In gruelbarley-waterapple-teamutton-brothand thatit don't
signify. It stimulates a patient. But I don't relish it myself.'

'WhyBetsey Prig!' cried Mrs Gamp'how CAN you talk so!'

'Whyain't your patientswotever their diseases isalways
asneezin' their wery heads offalong of your snuff?' said Mrs Prig.

'And wot if they are!' said Mrs Gamp

'Nothing if they are' said Mrs Prig. 'But don't deny itSairah.'

'Who deniges of it?' Mrs Gamp inquired.

Mrs Prig returned no answer.

'WHO deniges of itBetsey?' Mrs Gamp inquired again. Then Mrs
Gampby reversing the questionimparted a deeper and more awful
character of solemnity to the same. 'Betseywho deniges of it?'

It was the nearest possible approach to a very decided difference of
opinion between these ladies; but Mrs Prig's impatience for the meal
being greater at the moment than her impatience of contradiction
she repliedfor the present'Nobodyif you don'tSairah' and
prepared herself for tea. For a quarrel can be taken up at any
timebut a limited quantity of salmon cannot.

Her toilet was simple. She had merely to 'chuck' her bonnet and
shawl upon the bed; give her hair two pullsone upon the right side
and one upon the leftas if she were ringing a couple of bells; and
all was done. The tea was already madeMrs Gamp was not long over
the saladand they were soon at the height of their repast.

The temper of both parties was improvedfor the time beingby the
enjoyments of the table. When the meal came to a termination (which
it was pretty long in doing)and Mrs Gamp having cleared away
produced the teapot from the top shelfsimultaneously with a couple
of wine-glassesthey were quite amiable.

'Betsey' said Mrs Gampfilling her own glass and passing the
teapot'I will now propoge a toast. My frequent pardnerBetsey
Prig!'

'Whichaltering the name to Sairah Gamp; I drink' said Mrs Prig
'with love and tenderness.'

From this moment symptoms of inflammation began to lurk in the nose
of each lady; and perhapsnotwithstanding all appearances to the
contraryin the temper also.

'NowSairah' said Mrs Prig'joining business with pleasurewot
is this case in which you wants me?'


Mrs Gamp betraying in her face some intention of returning an
evasive answerBetsey added:

'IS it Mrs Harris?'

'NoBetsey Prigit ain't' was Mrs Gamp's reply.

'Well!' said Mrs Prigwith a short laugh. 'I'm glad of thatat
any rate.'

'Why should you be glad of thatBetsey?' Mrs Gamp retortedwarmly.
'She is unbeknown to you except by hearsaywhy should you be glad?
If you have anythink to say contrairy to the character of Mrs
Harriswhich well I knows behind her backafore her faceor
anywheresis not to be impeagedout with itBetsey. I have
know'd that sweetest and best of women' said Mrs Gampshaking her
headand shedding tears'ever since afore her Firstwhich Mr
Harris who was dreadful timid went and stopped his ears in a empty
dog-kenneland never took his hands away or come out once till he
was showed the babywen bein' took with fitsthe doctor collared
him and laid him on his back upon the airy stonesand she was told
to ease her mindhis owls was organs. And I have know'd her
Betsey Prigwhen he has hurt her feelin' art by sayin' of his Ninth
that it was one too manyif not twowhile that dear innocent was
cooin' in his facewhich thrive it did though bandybut I have
never know'd as you had occagion to be gladBetseyon accounts of
Mrs Harris not requiring you. Require she never willdepend upon
itfor her constant words in sickness isand will beSend for
Sairey?'

During this touching addressMrs Prig adroitly feigning to be the
victim of that absence of mind which has its origin in excessive
attention to one topichelped herself from the teapot without
appearing to observe it. Mrs Gamp observed ithoweverand came to
a premature close in consequence.

'Wellit ain't herit seems' said Mrs Prigcoldly; 'who is it
then?'

'You have heerd me mentionBetsey' Mrs Gamp repliedafter
glancing in an expressive and marked manner at the tea-pot'a
person as I took care on at the time as you and me was pardners off
and onin that there fever at the Bull?'

'Old Snuffey' Mrs Prig observed.

Sarah Gamp looked at her with an eye of firefor she saw in this
mistake of Mrs Priganother willful and malignant stab at that same
weakness or custom of hersan ungenerous allusion to whichon the
part of Betseyhad first disturbed their harmony that evening. And
she saw it still more clearlywhenpolitely but firmly correcting
that lady by the distinct enunciation of the word 'Chuffey' Mrs
Prig received the correction with a diabolical laugh.

The best among us have their failingsand it must be conceded of
Mrs Prigthat if there were a blemish in the goodness of her
dispositionit was a habit she had of not bestowing all its sharp
and acid properties upon her patients (as a thoroughly amiable woman
would have done)but of keeping a considerable remainder for the
service of her friends. Highly pickled salmonand lettuces chopped
up in vinegarmayas viands possessing some acidity of their own
have encouraged and increased this failing in Mrs Prig; and every
application to the teapot certainly did; for it was often remarked


of her by her friendsthat she was most contradictory when most
elevated. It is certain that her countenance became about this time
derisive and defiantand that she sat with her arms foldedand one
eye shut upin a somewhat offensivebecause obstrusively
intelligentmanner.

Mrs Gamp observing thisfelt it the more necessary that Mrs Prig
should know her placeand be made sensible of her exact station in
societyas well as of her obligations to herself. She therefore
assumed an air of greater patronage and importanceas she went on
to answer Mrs Prig a little more in detail.

'Mr ChuffeyBetsey' said Mrs Gamp'is weak in his mind. Excuge
me if I makes remarkthat he may neither be so weak as people
thinksnor people may not think he is so weak as they pretendsand
what I knowsI knows; and what you don'tyou don't; so do not ask
meBetsey. But Mr Chuffey's friends has made propojals for his
bein' took care onand has said to meMrs Gamp, WILL you
undertake it? We couldn't think,they saysof trusting him to
nobody but you, for, Sairey, you are gold as has passed the furnage.
Will you undertake it, at your own price, day and night, and by your
own self?No,I saysI will not. Do not reckon on it. There
is,I saysbut one creetur in the world as I would undertake on
sech termsand her name is Harris. But I says, I am acquainted
with a friendwhose name is Betsey Prigthat I can recommendand
will assist me. Betsey I says, is always to be trusted under
meand will be guided as I could desire."'

Here Mrs Prigwithout any abatement of her offensive manner again
counterfeited abstraction of mindand stretched out her hand to the
teapot. It was more than Mrs Gamp could bear. She stopped the hand
of Mrs Prig with her ownand saidwith great feeling:

'NoBetsey! Drink fairwotever you do!'

Mrs Prigthus baffledthrew herself back in her chairand closing
the same eye more emphaticallyand folding her arms tighter
suffered her head to roll slowly from side to sidewhile she
surveyed her friend with a contemptuous smile.

Mrs Gamp resumed:

'Mrs HarrisBetsey--'

'Bother Mrs Harris!' said Betsey Prig.

Mrs Gamp looked at her with amazementincredulityand indignation;
when Mrs Prigshutting her eye still closerand folding her arms
still tighteruttered these memorable and tremendous words:

'I don't believe there's no sich a person!'

After the utterance of which expressionsshe leaned forwardand
snapped her fingers oncetwicethrice; each time nearer to the
face of Mrs Gampand then rose to put on her bonnetas one who
felt that there was now a gulf between themwhich nothing could
ever bridge across.

The shock of this blow was so violent and suddenthat Mrs Gamp sat
staring at nothing with uplifted eyesand her mouth open as if she
were gasping for breathuntil Betsey Prig had put on her bonnet and
her shawland was gathering the latter about her throat. Then Mrs
Gamp rose--morally and physically rose--and denounced her.


'What!' said Mrs Gamp'you bage creeturhave I know'd Mrs Harris
five and thirty yearto be told at last that there ain't no sech a
person livin'! Have I stood her friend in all her troublesgreat
and smallfor it to come at last to sech a end as thiswhich her
own sweet picter hanging up afore you all the timeto shame your
Bragian words! But well you mayn't believe there's no sech a
creeturfor she wouldn't demean herself to look at youand often
has she saidwhen I have made mention of your namewhichto my
sinful sorrowI have doneWhat, Sairey Gamp! debage yourself to
HER!Go along with you!'

'I'm a-goin'ma'amain't I?' said Mrs Prigstopping as she said
it.

'You had betterma'am' said Mrs Gamp.

'Do you know who you're talking toma'am?' inquired her visitor.

'Aperiently' said Mrs Gampsurveying her with scorn from head to
foot'to Betsey Prig. Aperiently so. I know her. No one better.
Go along with you!'

'And YOU was a-goin' to take me under you!' cried Mrs Prig
surveying Mrs Gamp from head to foot in her turn. 'YOU waswas
you? Ohhow kind! Whydeuce take your imperence' said Mrs Prig
with a rapid change from banter to ferocity'what do you mean?'

'Go along with you!' said Mrs Gamp. 'I blush for you.'

'You had better blush a little for yourselfwhile you ARE about
it!' said Mrs Prig. 'You and your Chuffeys! Whatthe poor old
creetur isn't mad enoughisn't he? Aha!'

'He'd very soon be mad enoughif you had anything to do with him'
said Mrs Gamp.

'And that's what I was wanted foris it?' cried Mrs Prig
triumphantly. 'Yes. But you'll find yourself deceived. I won't go
near him. We shall see how you get on without me. I won't have
nothink to do with him.'

'You never spoke a truer word than that!' said Mrs Gamp. 'Go along
with you!'

She was prevented from witnessing the actual retirement of Mrs Prig
from the roomnotwithstanding the great desire she had expressed to
behold itby that ladyin her angry withdrawalcoming into
contact with the bedsteadand bringing down the previously
mentioned pippins; three or four of which came rattling on the head
of Mrs Gamp so smartlythat when she recovered from this wooden
shower-bathMrs Prig was gone.

She had the satisfactionhoweverof hearing the deep voice of
Betseyproclaiming her injuries and her determination to have
nothing to do with Mr Chuffeydown the stairsand along the
passageand even out in Kingsgate Street. Likewise of seeing in
her own apartmentin the place of Mrs PrigMr Sweedlepipe and two
gentlemen.

'Whybless my life!' exclaimed the little barber'what's amiss?
The noise you ladies have been makingMrs Gamp! Whythese two
gentlemen have been standing on the stairsoutside the doornearly
all the timetrying to make you hearwhile you were pelting away
hammer and tongs! It'll be the death of the little bullfinch in the


shopthat draws his own water. In his frighthe's been astraining
himself all to bitsdrawing more water than he could
drink in a twelvemonth. He must have thought it was Fire!'

Mrs Gamp had in the meanwhile sunk into her chairfrom whence
turning up her overflowing eyesand clasping her handsshe
delivered the following lamentation:

'OhMr Sweedlepipeswhich Mr Westlock alsoif my eyes do not
deceiveand a friend not havin' the pleasure of bein' beknownwot
I have took from Betsey Prig this blessed nightno mortial creetur
knows! If she had abuged mebein' in liquorwhich I thought I
smelt her wen she comebut could not so believenot bein' used
myself'--Mrs Gampby the waywas pretty far goneand the
fragrance of the teapot was strong in the room--'I could have bore
it with a thankful art. But the words she spoke of Mrs Harris
lambs could not forgive. NoBetsey!' said Mrs Gampin a violent
burst of feeling'nor worms forget!'

The little barber scratched his headand shook itand looked at
the teapotand gradually got out of the room. John Westlock
taking a chairsat down on one side of Mrs Gamp. Martintaking
the foot of the bedsupported her on the other.

'You wonder what we wantI daresay' observed John. 'I'll tell
you presentlywhen you have recovered. It's not pressingfor a
few minutes or so. How do you find yourself? Better?'

Mrs Gamp shed more tearsshook her head and feebly pronounced Mrs
Harris's name.

'Have a little--' John was at a loss what to call it.

'Tea' suggested Martin.

'It ain't tea' said Mrs Gamp.

'Physic of some sortI suppose' cried John. 'Have a little.'

Mrs Gamp was prevailed upon to take a glassful. 'On condition' she
passionately observed'as Betsey never has another stroke of work
from me.'

'Certainly not' said John. 'She shall never help to nurse ME.'

'To think' said Mrs Gamp'as she should ever have helped to nuss
that friend of yournand been so near of hearing things that--Ah!'

John looked at Martin.

'Yes' he said. 'That was a narrow escapeMrs Gamp.'

'Narrerin-deed!' she returned. 'It was only my having the night
and hearin' of him in his wanderins; and her the daythat saved it.
Wot would she have said and doneif she had know'd what I know;
that perfeejus wretch! Yetoh good gracious me!' cried Mrs Gamp
trampling on the floorin the absence of Mrs Prig'that I should
hear from that same woman's lips what I have heerd her speak of Mrs
Harris!'

'Never mind' said John. 'You know it is not true.'

'Isn't true!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'True! Don't I know as that dear
woman is expecting of me at this minnitMr Westlockand is a



lookin' out of window down the streetwith little Tommy Harris in
her armsas calls me his own Gammyand truly callsfor bless the
mottled little legs of that there precious child (like Canterbury
Brawn his own dear father sayswhich so they are) his own I have
beenever since I found himMr Westlockwith his small red
worsted shoe a-gurglin' in his throatwhere he had put it in his
playa chickwile they was leavin' of him on the floor a-lookin'
for it through the ouse and him a-choakin' sweetly in the parlour!
OhBetsey Prigwhat wickedness you've showed this nightbut never
shall you darken Sairey's doors agenyou twining serpiant!'

'You were always so kind to hertoo!' said Johnconsolingly.

'That's the cutting part. That's where it hurts meMr Westlock'
Mrs Gamp replied; holding out her glass unconsciouslywhile Martin
filled it.

'Chosen to help you with Mr Lewsome!' said John. 'Chosen to help
you with Mr Chuffey!'

'Chose oncebut chose no more' cried Mrs Gamp. 'No pardnership
with Betsey Prig agensir!'

'Nono' said John. 'That would never do.'

'I don't know as it ever would have donesir' Mrs Gamp replied
with a solemnity peculiar to a certain stage of intoxication. 'Now
that the marks' by which Mrs Gamp is supposed to have meant mask
'is off that creetur's faceI do not think it ever would have done.
There are reagions in families for keeping things a secretMr
Westlockand havin' only them about you as you knows you can repoge
in. Who could repoge in Betsey Prigarter her words of Mrs Harris
setting in that chair afore my eyes!'

'Quite true' said John; 'quite. I hope you have time to find
another assistantMrs Gamp?'

Between her indignation and the teapother powers of comprehending
what was said to her began to fail. She looked at John with tearful
eyesand murmuring the well-remembered name which Mrs Prig had
challenged--as if it were a talisman against all earthly sorrows-seemed
to wander in her mind.

'I hope' repeated John'that you have time to find another
assistant?'

'Which short it isindeed' cried Mrs Gampturning up her languid
eyesand clasping Mr Westlock's wrist with matronly affection.
'To-morrow evenin'sirI waits upon his friends. Mr Chuzzlewit
apinted it from nine to ten.'

'From nine to ten' said Johnwith a significant glance at Martin.
'and then Mr Chuffey retires into safe keepingdoes he?'

'He needs to be kep safeI do assure you' Mrs Gamp replied with a
mysterious air. 'Other people besides me has had a happy
deliverance from Betsey Prig. I little know'd that woman. She'd
have let it out!'

'Let HIM outyou mean' said John.

'Do I!' retorted Mrs Gamp. 'Oh!'

The severely ironical character of this reply was strengthened by a


very slow nodand a still slower drawing down of the corners of Mrs
Gamp's mouth. She added with extreme stateliness of manner after
indulging in a short doze:

'But I am a-keepin' of you gentlemenand time is precious.'

Mingling with that delusion of the teapot which inspired her with
the belief that they wanted her to go somewhere immediatelya shrewd
avoidance of any further reference to the topics into which she had
lately strayedMrs Gamp rose; and putting away the teapot in its
accustomed placeand locking the cupboard with much gravity
proceeded to attire herself for a professional visit.

This preparation was easily madeas it required nothing more than
the snuffy black bonnetthe snuffy black shawlthe pattens and the
indispensable umbrellawithout which neither a lying-in nor a
laying-out could by any possibility be attempted. When Mrs Gamp had
invested herself with these appendages she returned to her chair
and sitting down againdeclared herself quite ready.

'It's a 'appiness to know as one can benefit the poor sweet creetur'
she observed'I'm sure. It isn't all as can. The torters Betsey
Prig inflicts is frightful!'

Closing her eyes as she made this remarkin the acuteness of her
commiseration for Betsey's patientsshe forgot to open them again
until she dropped a patten. Her nap was also broken at intervals
like the fabled slumbers of Friar Baconby the dropping of the
other pattenand of the umbrella. But when she had got rid of
those incumbrancesher sleep was peaceful.

The two young men looked at each otherludicrously enough; and
Martinstifling his disposition to laughwhispered in John
Westlock's ear

'What shall we do now?'

'Stay here' he replied.

Mrs Gamp was heard to murmur 'Mrs Harris' in her sleep.

'Rely upon it' whispered Johnlooking cautiously towards her
'that you shall question this old clerkthough you go as Mrs Harris
herself. We know quite enough to carry her our own way nowat all
events; thanks to this quarrelwhich confirms the old saying that
when rogues fall outhonest people get what they want. Let Jonas
Chuzzlewit look to himself; and let her sleep as long as she likes.
We shall gain our end in good time.'

CHAPTER FIFTY

SURPRISES TOM PINCH VERY MUCHAND SHOWS HOW CERTAIN CONFIDENCES
PASSED BETWEEN HIM AND HIS SISTER

It was the next evening; and Tom and his sister were sitting
together before teatalkingin their usual quiet wayabout a
great many thingsbut not at all about Lewsome's story or anything
connected with it; for John Westlock--really Johnfor so young a
manwas one of the most considerate fellows in the world--had
particularly advised Tom not to mention it to his sister just yet
in case it should disquiet her. 'And I wouldn'tTom' he said


with a little hesitation'I wouldn't have a shadow on her happy
faceor an uneasy thought in her gentle heartfor all the wealth
and honours of the universe!' Really John was uncommonly kind;
extraordinarily kind. If he had been her fatherTom saidhe could
not have taken a greater interest in her.

But although Tom and his sister were extremely conversationalthey
were less livelyand less cheerfulthan usual. Tom had no idea
that this originated with Ruthbut took it for granted that he was
rather dull himself. In truth he was; for the lightest cloud upon
the Heaven of her quiet mindcast its shadow upon Tom.

And there was a cloud on little Ruth that evening. Yesindeed.
When Tom was looking in another directionher bright eyesstealing
on towards his facewould sparkle still more brightly than their
custom wasand then grow dim. When Tom was silentlooking out
upon the summer weathershe would sometimes make a hasty movement
as if she were about to throw herself upon his neck; then check the
impulseand when he looked roundshow a laughing faceand speak
to him very merrily; when she had anything to give Tomor had any
excuse for coming near himshe would flutter about himand lay her
bashful hand upon his shoulderand not be willing to withdraw it;
and would show by all such means that there was something on her
heart which in her great love she longed to say to himbut had not
the courage to utter.

So they were sittingshe with her work before herbut not working
and Tom with his book beside himbut not readingwhen Martin
knocked at the door. Anticipating who it wasTom went to open it;
and he and Martin came back into the room together. Tom looked
surprisedfor in answer to his cordial greeting Martin had hardly
spoken a word.

Ruth also saw that there was something strange in the manner of
their visitorand raised her eyes inquiringly to Tom's faceas if
she were seeking an explanation there. Tom shook his headand made
the same mute appeal to Martin.

Martin did not sit down but walked up to the windowand stood there
looking out. He turned round after a few moments to speakbut
hastily averted his head againwithout doing so.

'What has happenedMartin?' Tom anxiously inquired. 'My dear
fellowwhat bad news do you bring?'

'OhTom!' replied Martinin a tone of deep reproach. 'To hear you
feign that interest in anything that happens to mehurts me even
more than your ungenerous dealing.'

'My ungenerous dealing! Martin! My--' Tom could say no more.

'How could youTomhow could you suffer me to thank you so
fervently and sincerely for your friendship; and not tell melike a
manthat you had deserted me! Was it trueTom! Was it honest! Was
it worthy of what you used to be--of what I am sure you used to be-to
tempt mewhen you had turned against meinto pouring out my
heart! OhTom!'

His tone was one of such strong injury and yet of so much grief for
the loss of a friend he had trusted in--it expressed such high past
love for Tomand so much sorrow and compassion for his supposed
unworthiness--that Tomfor a momentput his hand before his face
and had no more power of justifying himselfthan if he had been a
monster of deceit and falsehood.


'I protestas I must die' said Martin'that I grieve over the
loss of what I thought you; and have no anger in the recollection of
my own injuries. It is only at such a timeand after such a
discoverythat we know the full measure of our old regard for the
subject of it. I swearlittle as I showed it--little as I know I
showed it--that when I had the least consideration for youTomI
loved you like a brother.'

Tom was composed by this timeand might have been the Spirit of
Truthin a homely dress--it very often wears a homely dressthank
God!--when he replied to him.

'Martin' he said'I don't know what is in your mindor who has
abused itor by what extraordinary means. But the means are false.
There is no truth whatever in the impression under which you labour.
It is a delusion from first to last; and I warn you that you will
deeply regret the wrong you do me. I can honestly say that I have
been true to youand to myself. You will be very sorry for this.
Indeedyou will be very sorry for itMartin.'

'I AM sorry' returned Martinshaking his head. 'I think I never
knew what it was to be sorry in my heartuntil now.'

'At least' said Tom'if I had always been what you charge me with
being nowand had never had a place in your regardbut had always
been despised by youand had always deserved ityou should tell me
in what you have found me to be treacherous; and on what grounds you
proceed. I do not intreat youthereforeto give me that
satisfaction as a favourMartinbut I ask it of you as a right.'

'My own eyes are my witnesses' returned Martin. 'Am I to believe
them?'

'No' said Tomcalmly. 'Not if they accuse me.'

'Your own words. Your own manner' pursued Martin. 'Am I to
believe THEM?'

'No' replied Tomcalmly. 'Not if they accuse me. But they never
have accused me. Whoever has perverted them to such a purposehas
wronged me almost as cruelly'--his calmness rather failed him here-'
as you have done.'

'I came here' said Martin; 'and I appeal to your good sister to
hear me--'

'Not to her' interrupted Tom. 'Praydo not appeal to her. She
will never believe you.'

He drew her arm through his ownas he said it.

'I believe itTom!'

'Nono' cried Tom'of course not. I said so. Whytuttut
tut. What a silly little thing you are!'

'I never meant' said Martinhastily'to appeal to you against
your brother. Do not think me so unmanly and unkind. I merely
appealed to you to hear my declarationthat I came here for no
purpose of reproach--I have not one reproach to vent--but in deep
regret. You could not know in what bitterness of regretunless you
knew how often I have thought of Tom; how long in almost hopeless
circumstancesI have looked forward to the better estimation of his


friendship; and how steadfastly I have believed and trusted in him.'

'Tuttut' said Tomstopping her as she was about to speak. 'He
is mistaken. He is deceived. Why should you mind? He is sure to
be set right at last.'

'Heaven bless the day that sets me right!' cried Martin'if it
could ever come!'

'Amen!' said Tom. 'And it will!'

Martin pausedand then said in a still milder voice:

'You have chosen for yourselfTomand will be relieved by our
parting. It is not an angry one. There is no anger on my side--'

'There is none on mine' said Tom.

'--It is merely what you have brought aboutand worked to bring
about. I say againyou have chosen for yourself. You have made
the choice that might have been expected in most people situated as
you arebut which I did not expect in you. For thatperhapsI
should blame my own judgment more than you. There is wealth and
favour worth havingon one side; and there is the worthless
friendship of an abandonedstruggling fellowon the other. You
were free to make your electionand you made it; and the choice was
not difficult. But those who have not the courage to resist such
temptationsshould have the courage to avow what they have yielded
to them; and I DO blame you for thisTom: that you received me with
a show of warmthencouraged me to be frank and plain-spoken
tempted me to confide in youand professed that you were able to be
mine; when you had sold yourself to others. I do not believe' said
Martinwith emotion--'hear me say it from my heart--I CANNOT
believeTomnow that I am standing face to face with youthat it
would have been in your nature to do me any serious harmeven
though I had not discoveredby chancein whose employment you
were. But I should have encumbered you; I should have led you into
more double-dealing; I should have hazarded your retaining the
favour for which you have paid so high a pricebartering away your
former self; and it is best for both of us that I have found out
what you so much desired to keep secret.'

'Be just' said Tom; whohad not removed his mild gaze from
Martin's face since the commencement of this last address; 'be just
even in your injusticeMartin. You forget. You have not yet told
me what your accusation is!'

'Why should I?' returned Martinwaving his handand moving towards
the door. 'You could not know it the better for my dwelling on it
and though it would be really none the worseit might seem to me to
be. NoTom. Bygones shall be bygones between us. I can take
leave of you at this momentand in this place--in which you are so
amiable and so good--as heartilyif not as cheerfullyas ever I
have done since we first met. All good go with youTom!--I--'

'You leave me so? You can leave me socan you?' said Tom.

'I--you--you have chosen for yourselfTom! I--I hope it was a rash
choice' Martin faltered. 'I think it was. I am sure it was! Goodbye!'


And he was gone.

Tom led his little sister to her chairand sat down in his own. He


took his bookand reador seemed to read. Presently he said
aloudturning a leaf as he spoke: 'He will be very sorry for this.'
And a tear stole down his faceand dropped upon the page.

Ruth nestled down beside him on her kneesand clasped her arms
about his neck.

'NoTom! Nono! Be comforted! Dear Tom!'

'I am quite--comforted' said Tom. 'It will be set right.'

'Such a cruelbad return!' cried Ruth.

'Nono' said Tom. 'He believes it. I cannot imagine why. But it
will be set right.'

More closely yetshe nestled down about him; and wept as if her
heart would break.

'Don't. Don't' said Tom. 'Why do you hide your facemy dear!'

Then in a burst of tearsit all broke out at last.

'Oh Tomdear TomI know your secret heart. I have found it out;
you couldn't hide the truth from me. Why didn't you tell me? I am
sure I could have made you happierif you had! You love herTom
so dearly!'

Tom made a motion with his hand as if he would have put his sister
hurriedly away; but it clasped upon hersand all his little history
was written in the action. All its pathetic eloquence was in the
silent touch.

'In spite of that' said Ruth'you have been so faithful and so
gooddear; in spite of thatyou have been so true and selfdenying
and have struggled with yourself; in spite of thatyou
have been so gentleand so kindand even-temperedthat I have
never seen you give a hasty lookor heard you say one irritable
word. In spite of allyou have been so cruelly mistaken. Oh Tom
dear Tomwill THIS be set right too! Will itTom? Will you always
have this sorrow in your breast; you who deserve to be so happy; or
is there any hope?'

And still she hid her face from Tomand clasped him round the neck
and wept for himand poured out all her woman's heart and soul in
the relief and pain of this disclosure.

It was not very long before she and Tom were sitting side by side
and she was looking with an earnest quietness in Tom's face. Then
Tom spoke to her thuscheerilythough gravely:

'I am very gladmy dearthat this has passed between us. Not
because it assures me of your tender affection (for I was well
assured of that before)but because it relieves my mind of a great
weight.'

Tom's eyes glistened when he spoke of her affection; and he kissed
her on the cheek.

'My dear girl' said Tom; 'with whatever feeling I regard her'--they
seemed to avoid the name by mutual consent--'I have long ago--I am
sure I may say from the very first--looked upon it as a dream. As
something that might possibly have happened under very different
circumstancesbut which can never be. Nowtell me. What would


you have set right?'

She gave Tom such a significant little lookthat he was obliged to
take it for an answer whether he would or no; and to go on.

'By her own choice and free consentmy loveshe is betrothed to
Martin; and waslong before either of them knew of my existence.
You would have her betrothed to me?'

'Yes' she said directly.

'Yes' rejoined Tom'but that might be setting it wronginstead of
right. Do you think' said Tomwith a grave smile'that even if
she had never seen himit is very likely she would have fallen in
love with Me?'

'Why notdear Tom?'

Tom shook his headand smiled again.

'You think of meRuth' said Tom'and it is very natural that you
shouldas if I were a character in a book; and you make it a sort
of poetical justice that I shouldby some impossible means or
othercomeat lastto marry the person I love. But there is a
much higher justice than poetical justicemy dearand it does not
order events upon the same principle. Accordinglypeople who read
about heroes in booksand choose to make heroes of themselves out
of booksconsider it a very fine thing to be discontented and
gloomyand misanthropicaland perhaps a little blasphemous
because they cannot have everything ordered for their individual
accommodation. Would you like me to become one of that sort of
people?'

'NoTom. But still I know' she added timidly'that this is a
sorrow to you in your own better way.'

Tom thought of disputing the position. But it would have been mere
follyand he gave it up.

'My dear' said Tom'I will repay your affection with the Truth and
all the Truth. It is a sorrow to me. I have proved it to be so
sometimesthough I have always striven against it. But somebody
who is precious to you may dieand you may dream that you are in
heaven with the departed spiritand you may find it a sorrow to
wake to the life on earthwhich is no harder to be borne than when
you fell asleep. It is sorrowful to me to contemplate my dream
which I always knew was a dreameven when it first presented
itself; but the realities about me are not to blame. They are the
same as they were. My sistermy sweet companionwho makes this
place so dearis she less devoted to meRuththan she would have
beenif this vision had never troubled me? My old friend Johnwho
might so easily have treated me with coldness and neglectis he
less cordial to me? The world about meis there less good in that?
Are my words to be harsh and my looks to be sourand is my heart to
grow coldbecause there has fallen in my way a good and beautiful
creaturewho but for the selfish regret that I cannot call her my
ownwouldlike all other good and beautiful creaturesmake me
happier and better! Nomy dear sister. No' said Tom stoutly.
'Remembering all my means of happinessI hardly dare to call this
lurking something a sorrow; but whatever name it may justly bearI
thank Heaven that it renders me more sensible of affection and
attachmentand softens me in fifty ways. Not less happy. Not less
happyRuth!'


She could not speak to himbut she loved himas he well deserved.
Even as he deservedshe loved him.

'She will open Martin's eyes' said Tomwith a glow of pride'and
that (which is indeed wrong) will be set right. Nothing will
persuade herI knowthat I have betrayed him. It will be set
right through herand he will be very sorry for it. Our secret
Ruthis our ownand lives and dies with us. I don't believe I
ever could have told it you' said Tomwith a smile'but how glad
I am to think you have found it out!'

They had never taken such a pleasant walk as they took that night.
Tom told her all so freely and so simplyand was so desirous to
return her tenderness with his fullest confidencethat they
prolonged it far beyond their usual hourand sat up late when they
came home. And when they parted for the night there was such a
tranquilbeautiful expression in Tom's facethat she could not
bear to shut it outbut going back on tiptoe to his chamber-door
looked in and stood there till he saw herand then embracing him
againwithdrew. And in her prayers and in her sleep--good times to
be remembered with such fervourTom!--his name was uppermost.

When he was left aloneTom pondered very much on this discovery of
hersand greatly wondered what had led her to it. 'Because'
thought Tom'I have been so very careful. It was foolish and
unnecessary in meas I clearly see nowwhen I am so relieved by
her knowing it; but I have been so very careful to conceal it from
her. Of course I knew that she was intelligent and quickand for
that reason was more upon my guard; but I was not in the least
prepared for this. I am sure her discovery has been sudden too.
Dear me!' said Tom. 'It's a most singular instance of penetration!'

Tom could not get it out of his head. There it waswhen his head
was on his pillow.

'How she trembled when she began to tell me she knew it!' thought
Tomrecalling all the little incidents and circumstances; 'and how
her face flushed! But that was natural! Ohquite natural! That
needs no accounting for.'

Tom little thought how natural it was. Tom little knew that there
was that in Ruth's own heartbut newly set therewhich had helped
her to the reading of his mystery. AhTom! He didn't understand
the whispers of the Temple Fountainthough he passed it every day.

Who so lively and cheerful as busy Ruth next morning! Her early tap
at Tom's doorand her light foot outsidewould have been music to
him though she had not spoken. But she said it was the brightest
morning ever seen; and so it was; and if it had been otherwiseshe
would have made it so to Tom.

She was ready with his neat breakfast when he went downstairsand
had her bonnet ready for the early walkand was so full of news
that Tom was lost in wonder. She might have been up all night
collecting it for his entertainment. There was Mr Nadgett not come
home yetand there was bread down a penny a loafand there was
twice as much strength in this tea as in the lastand the milkwoman's
husband had come out of the hospital curedand the curlyheaded
child over the way had been lost all yesterdayand she was
going to make all sorts of preserves in a desperate hurryand there
happened to be a saucepan in the house which was the very saucepan
for the purpose; and she knew all about the last book Tom had
brought homeall throughthough it was a teaser to read; and she
had so much to tell him that she had finished breakfast first. Then


she had her little bonnet onand the tea and sugar locked upand
the keys in her reticuleand the floweras usualin Tom's coat
and was in all respects quite ready to accompany himbefore Tom
knew she had begun to prepare. And in shortas Tom saidwith a
confidence in his own assertion which amounted to a defiance of the
public in generalthere never was such a little woman.

She made Tom talkative. It was impossible to resist her. She put
such enticing questions to him; about booksand about dates of
churchesand about organs and about the Templeand about all kinds
of things. Indeedshe lightened the way (and Tom's heart with it)
to that degreethat the Temple looked quite blank and solitary when
he parted from her at the gate.

'No Mr Fips's friend to-dayI suppose' thought Tomas he ascended
the stairs.

Not yetat any ratefor the door was closed as usualand Tom
opened it with his key. He had got the books into perfect order
nowand had mended the torn leavesand had pasted up the broken
backsand substituted neat labels for the worn-out letterings. It
looked a different placeit was so orderly and neat. Tom felt some
pride in comtemplating the change he had wroughtthough there was
no one to approve or disapprove of it.

He was at present occupied in making a fair copy of his draught of
the catalogue; on whichas there was no hurryhe was painfully
concentrating all the ingenious and laborious neatness he had ever
expended on map or plan in Mr Pecksniff's workroom. It was a very
marvel of a catalogue; for Tom sometimes thought he was really
getting his money too easilyand he had determined within himself
that this document should take a little of his superfluous leisure
out of him.

So with pens and rulerand compasses and india-rubberand pencil
and black inkand red inkTom worked away all the morning. He
thought a good deal about Martinand their interview of yesterday
and would have been far easier in his mind if he could have resolved
to confide it to his friend Johnand to have taken his opinion on
the subject. But besides that he knew what John's boiling
indignation would behe bethought himself that he was helping
Martin now in a matter of great momentand that to deprive the
latter of his assistance at such a crisis of affairswould be to
inflict a serious injury upon him.

'So I'll keep it to myself' said Tomwith a sigh. 'I'll keep it
to myself.'

And to work he went againmore assiduously than everwith the
pensand the rulerand the india-rubberand the pencilsand the
red inkthat he might forget it.

He had laboured away another hour or morewhen he heard a footstep
in the entrydown below.

'Ah!' said Tomlooking towards the door; 'time wasnot long ago
eitherwhen that would have set me wondering and expecting. But I
have left off now.'

The footstep came onup the stairs.

'Thirty-sixthirty-seventhirty-eight' said Tomcounting. 'Now
you'll stop. Nobody ever comes past the thirty-eighth stair.'


The person didcertainlybut only to take breath; for up the
footstep came again. Fortyforty-oneforty-twoand so on.

The door stood open. As the tread advancedTom looked impatiently
and eagerly towards it. When a figure came upon the landingand
arriving in the doorwaystopped and gazed at himhe rose up from
his chairand half believed he saw a spirit.

Old Martin Chuzzlewit! The same whom he had left at Mr Pecksniff's
weak and sinking!

The same? Nonot the samefor this old manthough oldwas
strongand leaned upon his stick with a vigorous handwhile with
the other he signed to Tom to make no noise. One glance at the
resolute facethe watchful eyethe vigorous hand upon the staff
the triumphant purpose in the figureand such a light broke in on
Tom as blinded him.

'You have expected me' said Martin'a long time.'

'I was told that my employer would arrive soon' said Tom; 'but--'

'I know. You were ignorant who he was. It was my desire. I am
glad it has been so well observed. I intended to have been with you
much sooner. I thought the time had come. I thought I could know
no moreand no worseof himthan I did on that day when I saw you
last. But I was wrong.'

He had by this time come up to Tomand now he grasped his hand.

'I have lived in his housePinchand had him fawning on me days
and weeks and months. You know it. I have suffered him to treat me
like his tool and instrument. You know it; you have seen me there.
I have undergone ten thousand times as much as I could have endured
if I had been the miserable weak old man he took me for. You know
it. I have seen him offer love to Mary. You know it; who better-who
bettermy true heart! I have had his base soul bare before me
day by dayand have not betrayed myself once. I never could have
undergone such torture but for looking forward to this time.'

He stoppedeven in the passion of his speech--if that can be called
passion which was so resolute and steady--to press Tom's hand again.
Then he saidin great excitement:

'Close the doorclose the door. He will not be long after mebut
may come too soon. The time now drawing on' said the old man
hurriedly--his eyes and whole face brightening as he spoke--'will
make amends for all. I wouldn't have him die or hang himselffor
millions of golden pieces! Close the door!'

Tom did so; hardly knowing yet whether he was awake or in a dream.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

SHEDS NEW AND BRIGHTER LIGHT UPON THE VERY DARK PLACE; AND CONTAINS
THE SEQUEL OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR JONAS AND HIS FRIEND

The night had now comewhen the old clerk was to be delivered over
to his keepers. In the midst of his guilty distractionsJonas had
not forgotten it.


It was a part of his guilty state of mind to remember it; for on his
persistence in the scheme depended one of his precautions for his
own safety. A hinta wordfrom the old manuttered at such a
moment in attentive earsmight fire the train of suspicionand
destroy him. His watchfulness of every avenue by which the
discovery of his guilt might be approachedsharpened with his sense
of the danger by which he was encompassed. With murder on his soul
and its innumerable alarms and terrors dragging at him night and
dayhe would have repeated the crimeif he had seen a path of
safety stretching out beyond. It was in his punishment; it was in
his guilty condition. The very deed which his fears rendered
insupportablehis fears would have impelled him to commit again.

But keeping the old man closeaccording to his designwould serve
his turn. His purpose was to escapewhen the first alarm and
wonder had subsided; and when he could make the attempt without
awakening instant suspicion. In the meanwhile these women would
keep him quiet; and if the talking humour came upon himwould not
be easily startled. He knew their trade.

Nor had he spoken idly when he said the old man should be gagged.
He had resolved to ensure his silence; and he looked to the endnot
the means. He had been rough and rude and cruel to the old man all
his life; and violence was natural to his mind in connection with
him. 'He shall be gagged if he speaksand pinioned if he writes'
said Jonaslooking at him; for they sat alone together. 'He is mad
enough for that; I'll go through with it!'

Hush!

Still listening! To every sound. He had listened ever sinceand it
had not come yet. The exposure of the Assurance office; the flight
of Crimple and Bullamy with the plunderand among the restas he
fearedwith his own billwhich he had not found in the pocket-book
of the murdered manand which with Mr Pecksniff's money had
probably been remitted to one or other of those trusty friends for
safe deposit at the banker's; his immense lossesand peril of being
still called to account as a partner in the broken firm; all these
things rose in his mind at one time and alwaysbut he could not
contemplate them. He was aware of their presenceand of the rage
discomfitureand despairthey brought along with them; but he
thought--of his own controlling power and direction he thought--of
the one dread question only. When they would find the body in the
wood.

He tried--he had never left off trying--not to forget it was there
for that was impossiblebut to forget to weary himself by drawing
vivid pictures of it in his fancy; by going softly about it and
about it among the leavesapproaching it nearer and nearer through
a gap in the boughsand startling the very flies that were thickly
sprinkled all over itlike heaps of dried currants. His mind was
fixed and fastened on the discoveryfor intelligence of which he
listened intently to every cry and shout; listened when any one came
in or went out; watched from the window the people who passed up
and down the street; mistrusted his own looks and words. And the
more his thoughts were set upon the discoverythe stronger was the
fascination which attracted them to the thing itself; lying alone in
the wood. He was for ever showing and presenting itas it wereto
every creature whom he saw. 'Look here! Do you know of this? Is it
found? Do you suspect ME?' If he had been condemned to bear the
body in his armsand lay it down for recognition at the feet of
every one he metit could not have been more constantly with him
or a cause of more monotonous and dismal occupation than it was in
this state of his mind.


Still he was not sorry. It was no contrition or remorse for what he
had done that moved him; it was nothing but alarm for his own
security. The vague consciousness he possessed of having wrecked
his fortune in the murderous ventureintensified his hatred and
revengeand made him set the greater store by what he had gained
The man was dead; nothing could undo that. He felt a triumph yet
in the reflection.

He had kept a jealous watch on Chuffey ever since the deed; seldom
leaving him but on compulsionand then for as short intervals as
possible. They were alone together now. It was twilightand the
appointed time drew near at hand. Jonas walked up and down the
room. The old man sat in his accustomed corner.

The slightest circumstance was matter of disquiet to the murderer
and he was made uneasy at this time by the absence of his wifewho
had left home early in the afternoonand had not returned yet. No
tenderness for her was at the bottom of this; but he had a misgiving
that she might have been waylaidand tempted into saying something
that would criminate him when the news came. For anything he knew
she might have knocked at the door of his roomwhile he was away
and discovered his plot. Confound herit was like her pale face to
be wandering up and down the house! Where was she now?

'She went to her good friendMrs Todgers' said the old manwhen
he asked the question with an angry oath.

Aye! To be sure! Always stealing away into the company of that
woman. She was no friend of his. Who could tell what devil's
mischief they might hatch together! Let her be fetched home
directly.

The old manmuttering some words softlyrose as if he would have
gone himselfbut Jonas thrust him back into his chair with an
impatient imprecationand sent a servant-girl to fetch her. When
he had charged her with her errand he walked to and fro againand
never stopped till she came backwhich she did pretty soon; the way
being shortand the woman having made good haste.

Well! Where was she? Had she come?

No. She had left therefull three hours.

'Left there! Alone?'

The messenger had not asked; taking that for granted.

'Curse you for a fool. Bring candles!'

She had scarcely left the room when the old clerkwho had been
unusually observant of him ever since he had asked about his wife
came suddenly upon him.

'Give her up!' cried the old man. 'Come! Give her up to me! Tell me
what you have done with her. Quick! I have made no promises on that
score. Tell me what you have done with her.'

He laid his hands upon his collar as he spokeand grasped it;
tightly too.

'You shall not leave me!' cried the old man. 'I am strong enough to
cry out to the neighboursand I willunless you give her up. Give
her up to me!'


Jonas was so dismayed and conscience-strickenthat he had not even
hardihood enough to unclench the old man's hands with his own; but
stood looking at him as well as he could in the darknesswithout
moving a finger. It was as much as he could do to ask him what he
meant.

'I will know what you have done with her!' retorted Chuffey. 'If
you hurt a hair of her headyou shall answer it. Poor thing! Poor
thing! Where is she?'

'Whyyou old madman!' said Jonasin a low voiceand with
trembling lips. 'What Bedlam fit has come upon you now?'

'It is enough to make me madseeing what I have seen in this
house!' cried Chuffey. 'Where is my dear old master! Where is his
only son that I have nursed upon my kneea child! Where is sheshe
who was the last; she that I've seen pining day by dayand heard
weeping in the dead of night! She was the lastthe last of all my
friends! Heaven help meshe was the very last!'

Seeing that the tears were stealing down his faceJonas mustered
courage to unclench his handsand push him off before he answered:

'Did you hear me ask for her? Did you hear me send for her? How
can I give you up what I haven't gotidiot! EcodI'd give her up
to you and welcomeif I could; and a precious pair you'd be!'

'If she has come to any harm' cried Chuffey'mind! I'm old and
silly; but I have my memory sometimes; and if she has come to any
harm--'

'Devil take you' interrupted Jonasbut in a suppressed voice
still; 'what harm do you suppose she has come to? I know no more
where she is than you do; I wish I did. Wait till she comes home
and see; she can't be long. Will that content you?'

'Mind!' exclaimed the old man. 'Not a hair of her head! not a hair
of her head ill-used! I won't bear it. I--I--have borne it too long
Jonas. I am silentbut I--I--I can speak. I--I--I can speak--' he
stammeredas he crept back to his chairand turned a threatening
though a feeblelook upon him.

'You can speakcan you!' thought Jonas. 'Sosowe'll stop your
speaking. It's well I knew of this in good time. Prevention is
better than cure.'

He had made a poor show of playing the bully and evincing a desire
to conciliate at the same timebut was so afraid of the old man
that great drops had started out upon his brow; and they stood there
yet. His unusual tone of voice and agitated manner had sufficiently
expressed his fear; but his face would have done so nowwithout
that aidas he again walked to and froglancing at him by the
candelight.

He stopped at the window to think. An opposite shop was lighted up;
and the tradesman and a customer were reading some printed bill
together across the counter. The sight brought him backinstantly
to the occupation he had forgotten. 'Look here! Do you know of
this? Is it found? Do you suspect ME?'

A hand upon the door. 'What's that!'

'A pleasant evenin'' said the voice of Mrs Gamp'though warm


whichbless youMr Chuzzlewitwe must expect when cowcumbers is
three for twopence. How does Mr Chuffey find his self to-night
sir?'

Mrs Gamp kept particularly close to the door in saying thisand
curtseyed more than usual. She did not appear to be quite so much
at her ease as she generally was.

'Get him to his room' said Jonaswalking up to herand speaking
in her ear. 'He has been raving to-night--stark mad. Don't talk
while he's herebut come down again.'

'Poor sweet dear!' cried Mrs Gampwith uncommon tenderness. 'He's
all of a tremble.'

'Well he may be' said Jonas'after the mad fit he has had. Get
him upstairs.'

She was by this time assisting him to rise.

'There's my blessed old chick!' cried Mrs Gampin a tone that was
at once soothing and encouraging. 'There's my darlin' Mr Chuffey!
Now come up to your own roomsirand lay down on your bed a bit;
for you're a-shakin' all overas if your precious jints was hung
upon wires. That's a good creetur! Come with Sairey!'

'Is she come home?' inquired the old man.

'She'll be here directly minit' returned Mrs Gamp. 'Come with
SaireyMr Chuffey. Come with your own Sairey!'

The good woman had no reference to any female in the world in
promising this speedy advent of the person for whom Mr Chuffey
inquiredbut merely threw it out as a means of pacifying the old
man. It had its effectfor he permitted her to lead him away; and
they quitted the room together.

Jonas looked out of the window again. They were still reading the
printed paper in the shop oppositeand a third man had joined in
the perusal. What could it beto interest them so?'

A dispute or discussion seemed to arise among themfor they all
looked up from their reading togetherand one of the threewho had
been glancing over the shoulder of anotherstepped back to explain
or illustrate some action by his gestures.

Horror! How like the blow he had struck in the wood!

It beat him from the window as if it had lighted on himself. As he
staggered into a chairhe thought of the change in Mrs Gamp
exhibited in her new-born tenderness to her charge. Was that
because it was found?--because she knew of it?--because she
suspected him?

'Mr Chuffey is a-lyin' down' said Mrs Gampreturning'and much
good may it do himMr Chuzzlewitwhich harm it can't and good it
may; be joyful!'

'Sit down' said Jonashoarsely'and let us get this business
done. Where is the other woman?'

'The other person's with him now' she answered.

'That's right' said Jonas. 'He is not fit to be left to himself.


Whyhe fastened on me to-night; hereupon my coat; like a savage
dog. Old as he isand feeble as he is usuallyI had some trouble
to shake him off. You--Hush!--It's nothing. You told me the other
woman's name. I forget it.'

'I mentioned Betsey Prig' said Mrs Gamp.

'She is to be trustedis she?'

'That she ain't!' said Mrs Gamp; 'nor have I brought herMr
Chuzzlewit. I've brought anotherwhich engages to give every
satigefaction.'

'What is her name?' asked Jonas.

Mrs Gamp looked at him in an odd way without returning any answer
but appeared to understand the question too.

'What is her name?' repeated Jonas.

'Her name' said Mrs Gamp'is Harris.'

It was extraordinary how much effort it cost Mrs Gamp to pronounce
the name she was commonly so ready with. She made some three or
four gasps before she could get it out; andwhen she had uttered
itpressed her hand upon her sideand turned up her eyesas if
she were going to faint away. Butknowing her to labour under a
complication of internal disorderswhich rendered a few drops of
spirits indispensable at certain times to her existenceand which
came on very strong when that remedy was not at handJonas merely
supposed her to be the victim of one of these attacks.

'Well!' he saidhastilyfor he felt how incapable he was of
confining his wandering attention to the subject. 'You and she have
arranged to take care of himhave you?'

Mrs Gamp replied in the affirmativeand softly discharged herself
of her familiar phrase'Turn and turn about; one offone on.' But
she spoke so tremulously that she felt called upon to add'which
fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this night!'

Jonas stopped to listen. Then saidhurriedly:

'We shall not quarrel about terms. Let them be the same as they
were before. Keep him closeand keep him quiet. He must be
restrained. He has got it in his head to-night that my wife's dead
and has been attacking me as if I had killed her. It's--it's common
with mad people to take the worst fancies of those they like best.
Isn't it?'

Mrs Gamp assented with a short groan.

'Keep him closethenor in one of his fits he'll be doing me a
mischief. And don't trust him at any time; for when he seems most
rationalhe's wildest in his talk. But that you know already. Let
me see the other.'

'The t'other personsir?' said Mrs Gamp.

'Aye! Go you to him and send the other. Quick! I'm busy.'

Mrs Gamp took two or three backward steps towards the doorand
stopped there.


'It is your wishesMr Chuzzlewit' she saidin a sort of quavering
croak'to see the t'other person. Is it?'

But the ghastly change in Jonas told her that the other person was
already seen. Before she could look round towards the doorshe was
put aside by old Martin's hand; and Chuffey and John Westlock
entered with him.

'Let no one leave the house' said Martin. 'This man is my
brother's son. Ill-metill-trainedill-begotten. If he moves
from the spot on which he standsor speaks a word above his breath
to any person hereopen the windowand call for help!'

'What right have you to give such directions in this house?' asked
Jonas faintly.

'The right of your wrong-doing. Come in there!'

An irrepressible exclamation burst from the lips of Jonasas
Lewsome entered at the door. It was not a groanor a shriekor a
wordbut was wholly unlike any sound that had ever fallen on the
ears of those who heard itwhile at the same time it was the most
sharp and terrible expression of what was working in his guilty
breastthat nature could have invented.

He had done murder for this! He had girdled himself about with
perilsagonies of mindinnumerable fearsfor this! He had hidden
his secret in the wood; pressed and stamped it down into the bloody
ground; and here it started up when least expectedmiles upon miles
away; known to many; proclaiming itself from the lips of an old man
who had renewed his strength and vigour as by a miracleto give it
voice against him!

He leaned his hand on the back of a chairand looked at them. It
was in vain to try to do so scornfullyor with his usual insolence.
He required the chair for his support. But he made a struggle for
it.

'I know that fellow' he saidfetching his breath at every word
and pointing his trembling finger towards Lewsome. 'He's the
greatest liar alive. What's his last tale? Haha! You're rare
fellowstoo! Whythat uncle of mine is childish; he's even a
greater child than his brothermy fatherwasin his old age; or
than Chuffey is. What the devil do you mean' he addedlooking
fiercely at John Westlock and Mark Tapley (the latter had entered
with Lewsome)'by coming hereand bringing two idiots and a knave
with you to take my house by storm? Hallothere! Open the door!
Turn these strangers out!'

'I tell you what' cried Mr Tapleycoming forward'if it wasn't
for your nameI'd drag you through the streets of my own accord
and single-handed I would! AhI would! Don't try and look bold at
me. You can't do it! Now go onsir' this was to old Martin.
'Bring the murderin' wagabond upon his knees! If he wants noisehe
shall have enough of it; for as sure as he's a shiverin' from head
to foot I'll raise a uproar at this winder that shall bring half
London in. Go onsir! Let him try me onceand see whether I'm a
man of my word or not.'

With thatMark folded his armsand took his seat upon the windowledge
with an air of general preparation for anythingwhich seemed
to imply that he was equally ready to jump out himselfor to throw
Jonas outupon receiving the slightest hint that it would be
agreeable to the company.


Old Martin turned to Lewsome:

'This is the man' he saidextending his hand towards Jonas. 'Is
it?'

'You need do no more than look at him to be sure of thator of the
truth of what I have said' was the reply. 'He is my witness.'

'Ohbrother!' cried old Martinclasping his hands and lifting up
his eyes. 'Ohbrotherbrother! Were we strangers half our lives
that you might breed a wretch like thisand I make life a desert by
withering every flower that grew about me! Is it the natural end of
your precepts and minethat this should be the creature of your
rearingtrainingteachinghoardingstriving for; and I the means
of bringing him to punishmentwhen nothing can repair the wasted
past!'

He sat down upon a chair as he spokeand turning away his facewas
silent for a few moments. Then with recovered energy he proceeded:

'But the accursed harvest of our mistaken lives shall be trodden
down. It is not too late for that. You are confronted with this
manyou monster there; not to be sparedbut to be dealt with
justly. Hear what he says! Replybe silentcontradictrepeat
defydo what you please. My course will be the same. Go on! And
you' he said to Chuffey'for the love of your old friendspeak
outgood fellow!'

'I have been silent for his love!' cried the old man. 'He urged me
to it. He made me promise it upon his dying bed. I never would
have spokenbut for your finding out so much. I have thought about
it ever since; I couldn't help that; and sometimes I have had it all
before me in a dream; but in the day-timenot in sleep. Is there
such a kind of dream?' said Chuffeylooking anxiously in old
Martin's face.

As Martin made him an encouraging replyhe listened attentively to
his voiceand smiled.

'Ahaye!' he cried. 'He often spoke to me like that. We were at
school togetherhe and I. I couldn't turn against his sonyou
know--his only sonMr Chuzzlewit!'

'I would to Heaven you had been his son!' said Martin.

'You speak so like my dear old master' cried the old man with a
childish delight'that I almost think I hear him. I can hear you
quite as well as I used to hear him. It makes me young again. He
never spoke unkindly to meand I always understood him. I could
always see him toothough my sight was dim. Wellwell! He's dead
he's dead. He was very good to memy dear old master!'

He shook his head mournfully over the brother's hand. At this
moment Markwho had been glancing out of the windowleft the room.

'I couldn't turn against his only sonyou know' said Chuffey. 'He
has nearly driven me to do it sometimes; he very nearly did tonight.
Ah!' cried the old manwith a sudden recollection of the cause.
'Where is she? She's not come home!'

'Do you mean his wife?' said Mr Chuzzlewit.

'Yes.'


'I have removed her. She is in my careand will be spared the
present knowledge of what is passing here. She has known misery
enoughwithout that addition.'

Jonas heard this with a sinking heart. He knew that they were on
his heelsand felt that they were resolute to run him to
destruction. Inch by inch the ground beneath him was sliding from
his feet; faster and faster the encircling ruin contracted and
contracted towards himselfits wicked centreuntil it should close
in and crush him.

And now he heard the voice of his accomplice stating to his face
with every circumstance of time and place and incident; and openly
proclaimingwith no reservesuppressionpassionor concealment;
all the truth. The truthwhich nothing would keep down; which
blood would not smotherand earth would not hide; the truthwhose
terrible inspiration seemed to change dotards into strong men; and
on whose avenging wingsone whom he had supposed to be at the
extremest corner of the earth came swooping down upon him.

He tried to deny itbut his tongue would not move. He conceived
some desperate thought of rushing awayand tearing through the
streets; but his limbs would as little answer to his will as his
starkstiff staring face. All this time the voice went slowly on
denouncing him. It was as if every drop of blood in the wood had
found a voice to jeer him with.

When it ceasedanother voice took up the talebut strangely; for
the old clerkwho had watchedand listened to the wholeand had
wrung his hands from time to timeas if he knew its truth and could
confirm itbroke in with these words:

'Nonono! you're wrong; you're wrong--all wrong together! Have
patiencefor the truth is only known to me!'

'How can that be' said his old master's brother'after what you
have heard? Besidesyou said just nowabove-stairswhen I told
you of the accusation against himthat you knew he was his father's
murderer.'

'Ayeyes! and so he was!' cried Chuffeywildly. 'But not as you
suppose--not as you suppose. Stay! Give me a moment's time. I have
it all here--all here! It was foulfoulcruelbad; but not as you
suppose. Staystay!'

He put his hands up to his headas if it throbbed or pained him.
After looking about him in a wandering and vacant manner for some
momentshis eyes rested upon Jonaswhen they kindled up with
sudden recollection and intelligence.

'Yes!' cried old Chuffey'yes! That's how it was. It's all upon me
now. He--he got up from his bed before he diedto be sureto say
that he forgave him; and he came down with me into this room; and
when he saw him--his only sonthe son he loved--his speech forsook
him; he had no speech for what he knew--and no one understood him
except me. But I did--I did!'

Old Martin regarded him in amazement; so did his companions. Mrs
Gampwho had said nothing yet; but had kept two-thirds of herself
behind the doorready for escapeand one-third in the roomready
for siding with the strongest party; came a little further in and
remarkedwith a sobthat Mr Chuffey was 'the sweetest old creetur
goin'.'


'He bought the stuff' said Chuffeystretching out his arm towards
Jonas while an unwonted fire shone in his eyeand lightened up his
face; 'he bought the stuffno doubtas you have heardand brought
it home. He mixed the stuff--look at him!--with some sweetmeat in a
jarexactly as the medicine for his father's cough was mixedand
put it in a drawer; in that drawer yonder in the desk; he knows
which drawer I mean! He kept it there locked up. But his courage
failed him or his heart was touched--my God! I hope it was his
heart! He was his only son!--and he did not put it in the usual
placewhere my old master would have taken it twenty times a day.'

The trembling figure of the old man shook with the strong emotions
that possessed him. Butwith the same light in his eyeand with
his arm outstretchedand with his grey hair stirring on his head
he seemed to grow in sizeand was like a man inspired. Jonas
shrunk from looking at himand cowered down into the chair by which
he had held. It seemed as if this tremendous Truth could make the
dumb speak.

'I know it every word now!' cried Chuffey. 'Every word! He put it
in that draweras I have said. He went so often thereand was so
secretthat his father took notice of it; and when he was outhad
it opened. We were there togetherand we found the mixture--Mr
Chuzzlewit and I. He took it into his possessionand made light of
it at the time; but in the night he came to my bedsideweepingand
told me that his own son had it in his mind to poison him. "Oh
Chuff he said, ohdear old Chuff! a voice came into my room
to-nightand told me that this crime began with me. It began when I
taught him to be too covetous of what I have to leaveand made the
expectation of it his great business!" Those were his words; aye
they are his very words! If he was a hard man now and thenit was
for his only son. He loved his only sonand he was always good to
me!'

Jonas listened with increased attention. Hope was breaking in upon
him.

'"He shall not weary for my deathChuff;" that was what he said
next' pursued the old clerkas he wiped his eyes; 'that was what
he said nextcrying like a little child: "He shall not weary for my
deathChuff. He shall have it now; he shall marry where he has a
fancyChuffalthough it don't please me; and you and I will go
away and live upon a little. I always loved him; perhaps he'll love
me then. It's a dreadful thing to have my own child thirsting for
my death. But I might have known it. I have sownand I must reap.
He shall believe that I am taking this; and when I see that he is
sorryand has all he wantsI'll tell him that I found it outand
I'll forgive him. He'll make a better man of his own sonand be a
better man himselfperhapsChuff!"'

Poor Chuffey paused to dry his eyes again. Old Martin's face was
hidden in his hands. Jonas listened still more keenlyand his
breast heaved like a swollen waterbut with hope. With growing
hope.

'My dear old master made believe next day' said Chuffey'that he
had opened the drawer by mistake with a key from the bunchwhich
happened to fit it (we had one made and hung upon it); and that he
had been surprised to find his fresh supply of cough medicine in
such a placebut supposed it had been put there in a hurry when the
drawer stood open. We burnt it; but his son believed that he was
taking it--he knows he did. Once Mr Chuzzlewitto try himtook
heart to say it had a strange taste; and he got up directlyand


went out.'

Jonas gave a shortdry cough; andchanging his position for an
easier onefolded his arms without looking at themthough they
could now see his face.

'Mr Chuzzlewit wrote to her father; I mean the father of the poor
thing who's his wife' said Chuffey; 'and got him to come up
intending to hasten on the marriage. But his mindlike minewent
a little wrong through griefand then his heart broke. He sank and
altered from the time when he came to me in the night; and never
held up his head again. It was only a few daysbut he had never
changed so much in twice the years. "Spare himChuff!" he said
before he died. They were the only words he could speak. "Spare
himChuff!" I promised him I would. I've tried to do it. He's
his only son.'

On his recollection of the last scene in his old friend's lifepoor
Chuffey's voicewhich had grown weaker and weakerquite deserted
him. Making a motion with his handas if he would have said that
Anthony had taken itand had died with it in hishe retreated to
the corner where he usually concealed his sorrows; and was silent.

Jonas could look at his company nowand vauntingly too. 'Well!' he
saidafter a pause. 'Are you satisfied? or have you any more of
your plots to broach? Why that fellowLewsomecan invent 'em for
you by the score. Is this all? Have you nothing else?'

Old Martin looked at him steadily.

'Whether you are what you seemed to be at Pecksniff'sor are
something else and a mountebankI don't know and I don't care'
said Jonaslooking downward with a smile'but I don't want you
here. You were here so often when your brother was aliveand were
always so fond of him (your deardear brotherand you would have
been cuffing one another before thisecod!)that I am not
surprised at your being attached to the place; but the place is not
attached to youand you can't leave it too soonthough you may
leave it too late. And for my wifeold mansend her home
straightor it will be the worse for her. Haha! You carry it
with a high handtoo! But it isn't hanging yet for a man to keep a
penn'orth of poison for his own purposesand have it taken from him
by two old crazy jolter-heads who go and act a play about it. Ha
ha! Do you see the door?'

His base triumphstruggling with his cowardiceand shameand
guiltwas so detestablethat they turned away from himas if he
were some obscene and filthy animalrepugnant to the sight. And
here that last black crime was busy with him too; working within him
to his perdition. But for thatthe old clerk's story might have
touched himthough never so lightly; but for thatthe sudden
removal of so great a load might have brought about some wholesome
change even in him. With that deed donehowever; with that
unnecessary wasteful danger haunting him; despair was in his very
triumph and relief; wildungovernableraging despairfor the
uselessness of the peril into which he had plunged; despair that
hardened him and maddened himand set his teeth a-grinding in a
moment of his exultation.

'My good friend!' said old Martinlaying his hand on Chuffey's
sleeve. 'This is no place for you to remain in. Come with me.'

'Just his old way!' cried Chuffeylooking up into his face. 'I
almost believe it's Mr Chuzzlewit alive again. Yes! Take me with


you! Staythoughstay.'

'For what?' asked old Martin.

'I can't leave herpoor thing!' said Chuffey. 'She has been very
good to me. I can't leave herMr Chuzzlewit. Thank you kindly.
I'll remain here. I haven't long to remain; it's no great matter.'

As he meekly shook his poorgrey headand thanked old Martin in
these wordsMrs Gampnow entirely in the roomwas affected to
tears.

'The mercy as it is!' she said'as sech a deargoodreverend
creetur never got into the clutches of Betsey Prigwhich but for me
he would have doneundoubted; facts bein' stubborn and not easy
drove!'

'You heard me speak to you just nowold man' said Jonas to his
uncle. 'I'll have no more tampering with my peopleman or woman.
Do you see the door?'

'Do YOU see the door?' returned the voice of Markcoming from that
direction. 'Look at it!'

He lookedand his gaze was nailed there. Fatalill-omened
blighted thresholdcursed by his father's footsteps in his dying
hourcursed by his young wife's sorrowing treadcursed by the
daily shadow of the old clerk's figurecursed by the crossing of
his murderer's feet--what men were standing in the door way!

Nadgett foremost.

Hark! It came onroaring like a sea! Hawkers burst into the street
crying it up and down; windows were thrown open that the inhabitants
might hear it; people stopped to listen in the road and on the
pavement; the bellsthe same bellsbegan to ring; tumbling over
one another in a dance of boisterous joy at the discovery (that was
the sound they had in his distempered thoughts)and making their
airy play-ground rock.

'That is the man' said Nadgett. 'By the window!'

Three others came inlaid hands upon himand secured him. It was
so quickly donethat he had not lost sight of the informer's face
for an instant when his wrists were manacled together.

'Murder' said Nadgettlooking round on the astonished group. 'Let
no one interfere.'

The sounding street repeated Murder; barbarous and dreadful Murder.
MurderMurderMurder. Rolling on from house to houseand echoing
from stone to stoneuntil the voices died away into the distant
humwhich seemed to mutter the same word!

They all stood silent: listeningand gazing in each other's faces
as the noise passed on.

Old Martin was the first to speak. 'What terrible history is this?'
he demanded.

'Ask HIM' said Nadgett. 'You're his friendsir. He can tell you
if he will. He knows more of it than I dothough I know much.'

'How do you know much?'


'I have not been watching him so long for nothing' returned
Nadgett. 'I never watched a man so close as I have watched him.'

Another of the phantom forms of this terrific Truth! Another of the
many shapes in which it started up about himout of vacancy. This
manof all men in the worlda spy upon him; this manchanging his
identity; casting off his shrinkingpurblindunobservant
characterand springing up into a watchful enemy! The dead man
might have come out of his graveand not confounded and appalled
him more.

The game was up. The race was at an end; the rope was woven for his
neck. Ifby a miraclehe could escape from this straithe had
but to turn his face another wayno matter whereand there would
rise some new avenger front to front with him; some infant in an
hour grown oldor old man in an hour grown youngor blind man with
his sight restoredor deaf man with his hearing given him. There
was no chance. He sank down in a heap against the walland never
hoped again from that moment.

'I am not his friendalthough I have the honour to be his
relative' said Mr Chuzzlewit. 'You may speak to me. Where have
you watchedand what have you seen?'

'I have watched in many places' returned Nadgett'night and day.
I have watched him latelyalmost without rest or relief;' his
anxious face and bloodshot eyes confirmed it. 'I little thought to
what my watching was to lead. As little as he did when he slipped
out in the nightdressed in those clothes which he afterwards sunk
in a bundle at London Bridge!'

Jonas moved upon the ground like a man in bodily torture. He
uttered a suppressed groanas if he had been wounded by some cruel
weapon; and plucked at the iron band upon his wristsas though (his
hands being free) he would have torn himself.

'Steadykinsman!' said the chief officer of the party. 'Don't be
violent.'

'Whom do you call kinsman?' asked old Martin sternly.

'You' said the man'among others.'

Martin turned his scrutinizing gaze upon him. He was sitting lazily
across a chair with his arms resting on the back; eating nutsand
throwing the shells out of window as he cracked themwhich he still
continued to do while speaking.

'Aye' he saidwith a sulky nod. 'You may deny your nephews till
you die; but Chevy Slyme is Chevy Slyme stillall the world over.
Perhaps even you may feel it some disgrace to your own blood to be
employed in this way. I'm to be bought off.'

'At every turn!' cried Martin. 'Selfselfself. Every one among
them for himself!'

'You had better save one or two among them the trouble then and be
for them as well as YOURself' replied his nephew. 'Look here at
me! Can you see the man of your family who has more talent in his
little finger than all the rest in their united brainsdressed as a
police officer without being ashamed? I took up with this trade on
purpose to shame you. I didn't think I should have to make a
capture in the familythough.'


'If your debaucheryand that of your chosen friendshas really
brought you to this level' returned the old man'keep it. You are
living honestlyI hopeand that's something.'

'Don't be hard upon my chosen friends' returned Slyme'for they
were sometimes your chosen friends too. Don't say you never
employed my friend Tiggfor I know better. We quarrelled upon it.'

'I hired the fellow' retorted Mr Chuzzlewit'and I paid him.'

'It's well you paid him' said his nephew'for it would be too late
to do so now. He has given his receipt in full; or had it forced
from him rather.'

The old man looked at him as if he were curious to know what he
meantbut scorned to prolong the conversation.

'I have always expected that he and I would be brought together
again in the course of business' said Slymetaking a fresh handful
of nuts from his pocket; 'but I thought he would be wanted for some
swindling job; it never entered my head that I should hold a warrant
for the apprehension of his murderer.'

'HIS murderer!' cried Mr Chuzzlewitlooking from one to another.

'His or Mr Montague's' said Nadgett. 'They are the sameI am
told. I accuse him yonder of the murder of Mr Montaguewho was
found last nightkilledin a wood. You will ask me why I accuse
him as you have already asked me how I know so much. I'll tell you.
It can't remain a secret long.'

The ruling passion of the man expressed itself even thenin the
tone of regret in which he deplored the approaching publicity of
what he knew.

'I told you I had watched him' he proceeded. 'I was instructed to
do so by Mr Montaguein whose employment I have been for some time.
We had our suspicions of him; and you know what they pointed atfor
you have been discussing it since we have been waiting hereoutside
the room. If you care to hearnow it's all overin what our
suspicions beganI'll tell you plainly: in a quarrel (it first came
to our ears through a hint of his own) between him and another
office in which his father's life was insuredand which had so much
doubt and distrust upon the subjectthat he compounded with them
and took half the money; and was glad to do it. Bit by bitI
ferreted out more circumstances against himand not a few. It
required a little patiencebut it's my calling. I found the nurse
--here she is to confirm me; I found the doctorI found the
undertakerI found the undertaker's man. I found out how the old
gentleman thereMr Chuffeyhad behaved at the funeral; and I found
out what this man' touching Lewsome on the arm'had talked about
in his fever. I found out how he conducted himself before his
father's deathand how since and how at the time; and writing it
all downand putting it carefully togethermade case enough for Mr
Montague to tax him with the crimewhich (as he himself believed
until to-night) he had committed. I was by when this was done. You
see him now. He is only worse than he was then.'

Ohmiserablemiserable fool! ohinsupportableexcruciating
torture! To find alive and active--a party to it all--the brain and
right-hand of the secret he had thought to crush! In whomthough he
had walled the murdered man upby enchantment in a rockthe story
would have lived and walked abroad! He tried to stop his ears with


his fettered armsthat he might shut out the rest.

As he crouched upon the floorthey drew away from him as if a
pestilence were in his breath. They fell offone by onefrom that
part of the roomleaving him alone upon the ground. Even those who
had him in their keeping shunned himand (with the exception of
Slymewho was still occupied with his nuts) kept apart.

'From that garret-window opposite' said Nadgettpointing across
the narrow street'I have watched this house and him for days and
nights. From that garret-window opposite I saw him return home
alonefrom a journey on which he had set out with Mr Montague.
That was my token that Mr Montague's end was gained; and I might
rest easy on my watchthough I was not to leave it until he
dismissed me. Butstanding at the door oppositeafter dark that
same nightI saw a countryman steal out of this houseby a sidedoor
in the courtwho had never entered it. I knew his walkand
that it was himselfdisguised. I followed him immediately. I lost
him on the western roadstill travelling westward.'

Jonas looked up at him for an instantand muttered an oath.

'I could not comprehend what this meant' said Nadgett; 'buthaving
seen so muchI resolved to see it outand through. And I did.
Learningon inquiry at his house from his wifethat he was
supposed to be sleeping in the room from which I had seen him go
outand that he had given strict orders not to be disturbedI knew
that he was coming back; and for his coming back I watched. I kept
my watch in the street--in doorwaysand such places--all that
night; at the same windowall next day; and when night came on
againin the street once more. For I knew he would come backas
he had gone outwhen this part of the town was empty. He did.
Early in the morningthe same countryman came creepingcreeping
creeping home.'

'Look sharp!' interposed Slymewho had now finished his nuts.
'This is quite irregularMr Nadgett.'

'I kept at the window all day' said Nadgettwithout heeding him.
'I think I never closed my eyes. At nightI saw him come out with
a bundle. I followed him again. He went down the steps at London
Bridgeand sunk it in the river. I now began to entertain some
serious fearsand made a communication to the Policewhich caused
that bundle to be--'

'To be fished up' interrupted Slyme. 'Be aliveMr Nadgett.'

'It contained the dress I had seen him wear' said Nadgett;
'stained with clayand spotted with blood. Information of the
murder was received in town last night. The wearer of that dress is
already known to have been seen near the place; to have been lurking
in that neighbourhood; and to have alighted from a coach coming from
that part of the countryat a time exactly tallying with the very
minute when I saw him returning home. The warrant has been outand
these officers have been with mesome hours. We chose our time;
and seeing you come inand seeing this person at the window--'

'Beckoned to him' said Marktaking up the thread of the narrative
on hearing this allusion to himself'to open the door; which he did
with a deal of pleasure.'

'That's all at present' said Nadgettputting up his great
pocketbookwhich from mere habit he had produced when he began his
revelationand had kept in his hand all the time; 'but there is


plenty more to come. You asked me for the factsso far I have
related themand need not detain these gentlemen any longer. Are
you readyMr Slyme?'

'And something more' replied that worthyrising. 'If you walk
round to the officewe shall be there as soon as you. Tom! Get a
coach!'

The officer to whom he spoke departed for that purpose. Old Martin
lingered for a few momentsas if he would have addressed some words
to Jonas; but looking roundand seeing him still seated on the
floorrocking himself in a savage manner to and frotook Chuffey's
armand slowly followed Nadgett out. John Westlock and Mark Tapley
accompanied them. Mrs Gamp had tottered out firstfor the better
display of her feelingsin a kind of walking swoon; for Mrs Gamp
performed swoons of different sortsupon a moderate noticeas Mr
Mould did Funerals.

'Ha!' muttered Slymelooking after them. 'Upon my soul! As
insensible of being disgraced by having such a nephew as myselfin
such a situationas he was of my being an honour and a credit to
the family! That's the return I get for having humbled my spirit-such
a spirit as mine--to earn a livelihoodis it?'

He got up from his chairand kicked it away indignantly.

'And such a livelihood too! When there are hundreds of mennot fit
to hold a candle to merolling in carriages and living on their
fortunes. Upon my soul it's a nice world!'

His eyes encountered Jonaswho looked earnestly towards himand
moved his lips as if he were whispering.

'Eh?' said Slyme.

Jonas glanced at the attendant whose back was towards himand made
a clumsy motion with his bound hands towards the door.

'Humph!' said Slymethoughtfully. 'I couldn't hope to disgrace him
into anything when you have shot so far ahead of me though. I
forgot that.'

Jonas repeated the same look and gesture.

'Jack!' said Slyme.

'Hallo!' returned his man.

'Go down to the doorready for the coach. Call out when it comes.
I'd rather have you there. Now then' he addedturning hastily to
Jonaswhen the man was gone. 'What's the matter?'

Jonas essayed to rise.

'Stop a bit' said Slyme. 'It's not so easy when your wrists are
tight together. Now then! Up! What is it?'

'Put your hand in my pocket. Here! The breast pocketon the left!'
said Jonas.

He did so; and drew out a purse.

'There's a hundred pound in it' said Jonaswhose words were almost
unintelligible; as his facein its pallor and agonywas scarcely


human.

Slyme looked at him; gave it into his hands; and shook his head.

'I can't. I daren't. I couldn't if I dared. Those fellows below--'

'Escape's impossible' said Jonas. 'I know it. One hundred pound
for only five minutes in the next room!'

'What to do?' he asked.

The face of his prisoner as he advanced to whisper in his earmade
him recoil involuntarily. But he stopped and listened to him. The
words were fewbut his own face changed as he heard them.

'I have it about me' said Jonasputting his hands to his throat
as though whatever he referred to were hidden in his neckerchief.
'How should you know of it? How could you know? A hundred pound
for only five minutes in the next room! The time's passing. Speak!'

'It would be more--more creditable to the family' observed Slyme
with trembling lips. 'I wish you hadn't told me half so much. Less
would have served your purpose. You might have kept it to yourself.'

'A hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room! Speak!'
cried Jonasdesperately.

He took the purse. Jonaswith a wild unsteady stepretreated to
the door in the glass partition.

'Stop!' cried Slymecatching at his skirts. 'I don't know about
this. Yet it must end so at last. Are you guilty?'

'Yes!' said Jonas.

'Are the proofs as they were told just now?'

'Yes!' said Jonas.

'Will you--will you engage to say a--a Prayernowor something of
that sort?' faltered Slyme.

Jonas broke from him without replyingand closed the door between
them.

Slyme listened at the keyhole. After thathe crept away on tiptoe
as far off as he could; and looked awfully towards the place. He
was roused by the arrival of the coachand their letting down the
steps.

'He's getting a few things together' he saidleaning out of
windowand speaking to the two men belowwho stood in the full
light of a street-lamp. 'Keep your eye upon the backone of you
for form's sake.'

One of the men withdrew into the court. The otherseating himself
self on the steps of the coachremained in conversation with Slyme
at the window who perhaps had risen to be his superiorin virtue of
his old propensity (one so much lauded by the murdered man) of being
always round the corner. A useful habit in his present calling.

'Where is he?' asked the man.

Slyme looked into the room for an instant and gave his head a jerk


as much as to say'Close at hand. I see him.'

'He's booked' observed the man.

'Through' said Slyme.

They looked at each otherand up and down the street. The man on
the coach-steps took his hat offand put it on againand whistled
a little.

'I say! He's taking his time!' he remonstrated.

'I allowed him five minutes' said Slyme. 'Time's more than up
though. I'll bring him down.'

He withdrew from the window accordinglyand walked on tiptoe to the
door in the partition. He listened. There was not a sound within.
He set the candles near itthat they might shine through the glass.

It was not easyhe foundto make up his mind to the opening of the
door. But he flung it wide open suddenlyand with a noise; then
retreated. After peeping in and listening againhe entered.

He started back as his eyes met those of Jonasstanding in an angle
of the walland staring at him. His neckerchief was off; his face
was ashy pale.

'You're too soon' said Jonaswith an abject whimper. 'I've not
had time. I have not been able to do it. I--five minutes more--two
minutes more!--only one!'

Slyme gave him no replybut thrusting the purse upon him and
forcing it back into his pocketcalled up his men.

He whinedand criedand cursedand entreated themand struggled
and submittedin the same breathand had no power to stand. They
got him away and into the coachwhere they put him on a seat; but
he soon fell moaning down among the straw at the bottomand lay
there.

The two men were with him. Slyme being on the box with the driver;
and they let him lie. Happening to pass a fruiterer's on their way;
the door of which was openthough the shop was by this time shut;
one of them remarked how faint the peaches smelled.

The other assented at the momentbut presently stooped down in
quick alarmand looked at the prisoner.

'Stop the coach! He has poisoned himself! The smell comes from this
bottle in his hand!'

The hand had shut upon it tight. With that rigidity of grasp with
which no living manin the full strength and energy of lifecan
clutch a prize he has won.

They dragged him out into the dark street; but juryjudgeand
hangmancould have done no moreand could do nothing now. Dead
deaddead.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

IN WHICH THE TABLES ARE TURNEDCOMPLETELY UPSIDE DOWN


Old Martin's cherished projectsso long hidden in his own breast
so frequently in danger of abrupt disclosure through the bursting
forth of the indignation he had hoarded up during his residence with
Mr Pecksniffwere retardedbut not beyond a few hoursby the
occurrences just now related. Stunnedas he had been at first by
the intelligence conveyed to him through Tom Pinch and John
Westlockof the supposed manner of his brother's death; overwhelmed
as he was by the subsequent narratives of Chuffey and Nadgettand
the forging of that chain of circumstances ending in the death of
Jonasof which catastrophe he was immediately informed; scattered
as his purposes and hopes were for the momentby the crowding in of
all these incidents between him and his end; still their very
intensity and the tumult of their assemblage nerved him to the rapid
and unyielding execution of his scheme. In every single
circumstancewhether it were cruelcowardlyor falsehe saw the
flowering of the same pregnant seed. Self; graspingeagernarrowranging
overreaching self; with its long train of suspicions
lustsdeceitsand all their growing consequences; was the root of
the vile tree. Mr Pecksniff had so presented his character before
the old man's eyesthat he--the goodthe tolerantenduring
Pecksniff--had become the incarnation of all selfishness and
treachery; and the more odious the shapes in which those vices
ranged themselves before him nowthe sterner consolation he had in
his design of setting Mr Pecksniff right and Mr Pecksniff's victims
too.

To this work he broughtnot only the energy and determination
natural to his character (whichas the reader may have observed in
the beginning of his or her acquaintance with this gentlemanwas
remarkable for the strong development of those qualities)but all
the forced and unnaturally nurtured energy consequent upon their
long suppression. And these two tides of resolution setting into
one and sweeping onbecame so strong and vigorousthatto prevent
themselves from being carried away before itHeaven knows where
was as much as John Westlock and Mark Tapley together (though they
were tolerably energetic too) could manage to effect.

He had sent for John Westlock immediately on his arrival; and John
under the conduct of Tom Pinchhad waited on him. Having a lively
recollection of Mr Tapleyhe had caused that gentleman's attendance
to be securedthrough John's meanswithout delay; and thusas we
have seenthey had all repaired together to the City. But his
grandson he had refused to see until to-morrowwhen Mr Tapley was
instructed to summon him to the Temple at ten o'clock in the
forenoon. Tom he would not allow to be employed in anythinglest
he should be wrongfully suspected; but he was a party to all their
proceedingsand was with them until late at night--until after they
knew of the death of Jonas; when he went home to tell all these
wonders to little Ruthand to prepare her for accompanying him to
the Temple in the morningagreeably to Mr Chuzzlewit's particular
injunction.

It was characteristic of old Martinand his looking on to something
which he had distinctly before himthat he communicated to them
nothing of his intentionsbeyond such hints of reprisal on Mr
Pecksniff as they gathered from the game he had played in that
gentleman's houseand the brightening of his eyes whenever his name
was mentioned. Even to John Westlockin whom he was evidently
disposed to place great confidence (which may indeed be said of
every one of them)he gave no explanation whatever. He merely
requested him to return in the morning; and with this for their
utmost satisfactionthey left himwhen the night was far advanced


alone.

The events of such a day might have worn out the body and spirit of
a much younger man than hebut he sat in deep and painful
meditation until the morning was bright. Nor did he even then seek
any prolonged reposebut merely slumbered in his chairuntil seven
o'clockwhen Mr Tapley had appointed to come to him by his desire;
and came--as fresh and clean and cheerful as the morning itself.

'You are punctual' said Mr Chuzzlewitopening the door to him in
reply to his light knockwhich had roused him instantly.

'My wishessir' replied Mr Tapleywhose mind would appear from
the context to have been running on the matrimonial service'is to
lovehonourand obey. The clock's a-striking nowsir.'

'Come in!'

'Thank'eesir' rejoined Mr Tapley'what could I do for you first
sir?'

'You gave my message to Martin?' said the old manbending his eyes
upon him.

'I didsir' returned Mark; 'and you never see a gentleman more
surprised in all your born days than he was.'

'What more did you tell him?' Mr Chuzzlewit inquired.

'Whysir' said Mr Tapleysmiling'I should have liked to tell
him a deal morebut not being ablesirI didn't tell it him.'

'You told him all you knew?'

'But it was precious littlesir' retorted Mr Tapley. 'There was
very little respectin' you that I was able to tell himsir. I only
mentioned my opinion that Mr Pecksniff would find himself deceived
sirand that you would find yourself deceivedand that he would
find himself deceivedsir.'

'In what?' asked Mr Chuzzlewit.

'Meaning himsir?'

'Meaning both him and me.'

'Wellsir' said Mr Tapley. 'In your old opinions of each other.
As to himsirand his opinionsI know he's a altered man. I know
it. I know'd it long afore he spoke to you t'other dayand I must
say it. Nobody don't know half as much of him as I do. Nobody
can't. There was always a deal of good in himbut a little of it
got crusted oversomehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that
'ere crust myselfbut--'

'Go on' said Martin. 'Why do you stop?'

'But it--well! I beg your pardonbut I think it may have been you
sir. Unintentional I think it may have been you. I don't believe
that neither of you gave the other quite a fair chance. There! Now
I've got rid on it' said Mr Tapley in a fit of desperation: 'I
can't go a-carryin' it about in my own mindbustin' myself with it;
yesterday was quite long enough. It's out now. I can't help it.
I'm sorry for it. Don't wisit on himsirthat's all.'


It was clear that Mark expected to be ordered out immediatelyand
was quite prepared to go.

'So you think' said Martin'that his old faults arein some
degreeof my creationdo you?'

'Wellsir' retorted Mr Tapley'I'm werry sorrybut I can't unsay
it. It's hardly fair of yousirto make a ignorant man conwict
himself in this waybut I DO think so. I am as respectful disposed
to yousiras a man can be; but I DO think so.'

The light of a faint smile seemed to break through the dull
steadiness of Martin's faceas he looked attentively at him
without replying.

'Yet you are an ignorant manyou say' he observed after a long
pause.

'Werry much so' Mr Tapley replied.

'And I a learnedwell-instructed manyou think?'

'Likewise wery much so' Mr Tapley answered.

The old manwith his chin resting on his handpaced the room twice
or thrice before he added:

'You have left him this morning?'

'Come straight from him nowsir.'

'For what does he suppose?'

'He don't know what to supposesirno more than myself. I told him
jest wot passed yesterdaysirand that you had said to meCan
you be here by seven in the morning?and that you had said to him
through meCan you be here by ten in the morning?and that I had
said "Yes" to both. That's allsir.'

His frankness was so genuine that it plainly WAS all.

'Perhaps' said Martin'he may think you are going to desert him
and to serve me?'

'I have served him in that sort of waysir' replied Markwithout
the loss of any atom of his self-possession; 'and we have been that
sort of companions in misfortunethat my opinion ishe don't
believe a word on it. No more than you dosir.'

'Will you help me to dressand get me some breakfast from the
hotel?' asked Martin.

'With pleasuresir' said Mark.

'And by-and-bye' said Martin'remaining in the roomas I wish you
to dowill you attend to the door yonder--give admission to
visitorsI meanwhen they knock?'

'Certainlysir' said Mr Tapley.

'You will not find it necessary to express surprise at their
appearance' Martin suggested.

'Oh dear nosir!' said Mr Tapley'not at all.'


Although he pledged himself to this with perfect confidencehe was
in a state of unbounded astonishment even now. Martin appeared to
observe itand to have some sense of the ludicrous bearing of Mr
Tapley under these perplexing circumstances; forin spite of the
composure of his voice and the gravity of his facethe same
indistinct light flickered on the latter several times. Mark
bestirred himselfhoweverto execute the offices with which he was
entrusted; and soon lost all tendency to any outward expression of
his surprisein the occupation of being brisk and busy.

But when he had put Mr Chuzzlewit's clothes in good order for
dressingand when that gentleman was dressed and sitting at his
breakfastMr Tapley's feelings of wonder began to return upon him
with great violence; andstanding beside the old man with a napkin
under his arm (it was as natural and easy to joke to Mark to be a
butler in the Templeas it had been to volunteer as cook on board
the Screw)he found it difficult to resist the temptation of
casting sidelong glances at him very often. Nayhe found it
impossible; and accordingly yielded to this impulse so oftenthat
Martin caught him in the fact some fifty times. The extraordinary
things Mr Tapley did with his own face when any of these detections
occurred; the sudden occasions he had to rub his eyes or his nose or
his chin; the look of wisdom with which he immediately plunged into
the deepest thoughtor became intensely interested in the habits
and customs of the flies upon the ceilingor the sparrows out of
doors; or the overwhelming politeness with which he endeavoured to
hide his confusion by handing the muffin; may not unreasonably be
assumed to have exercised the utmost power of feature that even
Martin Chuzzlewit the elder possessed.

But he sat perfectly quiet and took his breakfast at his leisureor
made a show of doing sofor he scarcely ate or drankand
frequently lapsed into long intervals of musing. When he had
finishedMark sat down to his breakfast at the same table; and Mr
Chuzzlewitquite silent stillwalked up and down the room.

Mark cleared away in due courseand set a chair out for himin
whichas the time drew on towards ten o'clockhe took his seat
leaning his hands upon his stickand clenching them upon the
handleand resting his chin on them again. All his impatience and
abstraction of manner had vanished now; and as he sat there
lookingwith his keen eyessteadily towards the doorMark could
not help thinking what a firmsquarepowerful face it was; or
exulting in the thought that Mr Pecksniffafter playing a pretty
long game of bowls with its ownerseemed to be at last in a very
fair way of coming in for a rubber or two.

Mark's uncertainty in respect of what was going to be done or said
and by whom to whomwould have excited him in itself. But knowing
for a certainty besidesthat young Martin was comingand in a very
few minutes must arrivehe found it by no means easy to remain
quiet and silent. Butexcepting that he occasionally coughed in a
hollow and unnatural manner to relieve himselfhe behaved with
great decorum through the longest ten minutes he had ever known.

A knock at the door. Mr Westlock. Mr Tapleyin admitting him
raised his eyebrows to the highest possible pitchimplying thereby
that he considered himself in an unsatisfactory position. Mr
Chuzzlewit received him very courteously.

Mark waited at the door for Tom Pinch and his sisterwho were
coming up the stairs. The old man went to meet them; took their
hands in his; and kissed her on the cheek. As this looked


promisingMr Tapley smiled benignantly.

Mr Chuzzlewit had resumed his chair before young Martinwho was
close behind thementered. The old manscarcely looking at him
pointed to a distant seat. This was less encouraging; and Mr
Tapley's spirits fell again.

He was quickly summoned to the door by another knock. He did not
startor cryor tumble downat sight of Miss Graham and Mrs
Lupinbut he drew a very long breathand came back perfectly
resignedlooking on them and on the rest with an expression which
seemed to say that nothing could surprise him any more; and that he
was rather glad to have done with that sensation for ever.

The old man received Mary no less tenderly than he had received Tom
Pinch's sister. A look of friendly recognition passed between
himself and Mrs Lupinwhich implied the existence of a perfect
understanding between them. It engendered no astonishment in Mr
Tapley; foras he afterwards observedhe had retired from the
businessand sold off the stock.

Not the least curious feature in this assemblage wasthat everybody
present was so much surprised and embarrassed by the sight of
everybody elsethat nobody ventured to speak. Mr Chuzzlewit alone
broke silence.

'Set the door openMark!' he said; 'and come here.'

Mark obeyed.

The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all
knew it. It was Mr Pecksniff's; and Mr Pecksniff was in a hurry
toofor he came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he
stumbled twice or thrice.

'Where is my venerable friend?' he cried upon the upper landing; and
then with open arms came darting in.

Old Martin merely looked at him; but Mr Pecksniff started back as if
he had received the charge from an electric battery.

'My venerable friend is well?' cried Mr Pecksniff.

'Quite well.'

It seemed to reassure the anxious inquirer. He clasped his hands
andlooking upwards with a pious joysilently expressed his
gratitude. He then looked round on the assembled groupand shook
his head reproachfully. For such a man severelyquite severely.

'Ohvermin!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Ohbloodsuckers! Is it not
enough that you have embittered the existence of an individual
wholly unparalleled in the biographical records of amiable persons
but must you noweven nowwhen he has made his electionand
reposed his trust in a Numblebut at least sincere and
disinterested relative; must you nowvermin and swarmers (I regret
to make use of these strong expressionsmy dear sirbut there are
times when honest indignation will not be controlled)must you now
vermin and swarmers (for I WILL repeat it)take advantage of his
unprotected stateassemble round him from all quartersas wolves
and vulturesand other animals of the feathered tribe assemble
round--I will not say round carrion or a carcassfor Mr Chuzzlewit
is quite the contrary--but round their prey; their prey; to rifle and
despoil; gorging their voracious mawsand staining their offensive


beakswith every description of carnivorous enjoyment!'

As he stopped to fetch his breathhe waved them offin a solemn
mannerwith his hand.

'Horde of unnatural plunderers and robbers!' he continued; 'leave
him! leave himI say! Begone! Abscond! You had better be off!
Wander over the face of the earthyoung sirslike vagabonds as you
areand do not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the
grey hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I
have the honour to act as an unworthybut I hope an unassuming
prop and staff. And youmy tender sir' said Mr Pecksniff
addressing himself in a tone of gentle remonstrance to the old man
'how could you ever leave methough even for this short period! You
have absented yourselfI do not doubtupon some act of kindness to
me; bless you for it; but you must not do it; you must not be so
venturesome. I should really be angry with you if I couldmy
friend!'

He advanced with outstretched arms to take the old man's hand. But
he had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within
its grasp. As he came smiling onand got within his reachold
Martinwith his burning indignation crowded into one vehement
burstand flashing out of every line and wrinkle in his facerose
upand struck him down upon the ground.

With such a well-directed nervous blowthat down he wentas
heavily and true as if the charge of a Life-Guardsman had tumbled
him out of a saddle. And whether he was stunned by the shockor
only confused by the wonder and novelty of this warm receptionhe
did not offer to get up again; but lay therelooking about him with
a disconcerted meekness in his face so enormously ridiculousthat
neither Mark Tapley nor John Westlock could repress a smilethough
both were actively interposing to prevent a repetition of the blow;
which the old man's gleaming eyes and vigorous attitude seemed to
render one of the most probable events in the world.

'Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!' said Martin; 'or I can't
help it. The strong restraint I have put upon my hands has been
enough to palsy them. I am not master of myself while he is within
their range. Drag him away!'

Seeing that he still did not riseMr Tapleywithout any compromise
about itactually did drag him awayand stick him up on the floor
with his back against the opposite wall.

'Hear merascal!' said Mr Chuzzlewit. 'I have summoned you here to
witness your own work. I have summoned you here to witness it
because I know it will be gall and wormwood to you! I have summoned
you here to witness itbecause I know the sight of everybody here
must be a dagger in your meanfalse heart! What! do you know me as
I amat last!'

Mr Pecksniff had cause to stare at himfor the triumph in his face
and speech and figure was a sight to stare at.

'Look there!' said the old manpointing at himand appealing to
the rest. 'Look there! And then--come hithermy dear Martin--look
here! here! here!' At every repetition of the word he pressed his
grandson closer to his breast.

'The passion I feltMartinwhen I dared not do this' he said
'was in the blow I struck just now. Why did we ever part! How could
we ever part! How could you ever fly from me to him!'


Martin was about to answerbut he stopped himand went on.

'The fault was mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so today
and I have known it long; though not so long as I might have done.
Marymy lovecome here.'

As she trembled and was very palehe sat her in his own chairand
stood beside it with her hand in his; and Martin standing by him.

'The curse of our house' said the old manlooking kindly down upon
her'has been the love of self; has ever been the love of self.
How often have I said sowhen I never knew that I had wrought it
upon others.'

He drew one hand through Martin's armand standing sobetween
themproceeded thus:

'You all know how I bred this orphan upto tend me. None of you
can know by what degrees I have come to regard her as a daughter;
for she has won upon meby her self-forgetfulnessher tenderness
her patienceall the goodness of her naturewhen Heaven is her
witness that I took but little pains to draw it forth. It blossomed
without cultivationand it ripened without heat. I cannot find it
in my heart to say that I am sorry for it nowor yonder fellow
might be holding up his head.'

Mr Pecksniff put his hand into his waistcoatand slightly shook
that part of him to which allusion had been made; as if to signify
that it was still uppermost.

'There is a kind of selfishness' said Martin--'I have learned it in
my own experience of my own breast--which is constantly upon the
watch for selfishness in others; and holding others at a distance
by suspicions and distrustswonders why they don't approachand
don't confideand calls that selfishness in them. Thus I once
doubted those about me--not without reason in the beginning--and
thus I once doubted youMartin.'

'Not without reason' Martin answered'either.'

'Listenhypocrite! Listensmooth-tonguedservilecrawling
knave!' said Martin. 'Listenyou shallow dog. What! When I was
seeking himyou had already spread your nets; you were already
fishing for himwere ye? When I lay ill in this good woman's house
and your meek spirit pleaded for my grandsonyou had already caught
himhad ye? Counting on the restoration of the love you knew I
bore himyou designed him for one of your two daughters did ye? Or
failing thatyou traded in him as a speculation which at any rate
should blind me with the lustre of your charityand found a claim
upon me! Whyeven then I knew youand I told you so. Did I tell
you that I knew youeven then?'

'I am not angrysir' said Mr Pecksniffsoftly. 'I can bear a
great deal from you. I will never contradict youMr Chuzzlewit.'

'Observe!' said Martinlooking round. 'I put myself in that man's
hands on terms as mean and baseand as degrading to himselfas I
could render them in words. I stated them at length to himbefore
his own childrensyllable by syllableas coarsely as I couldand
with as much offenceand with as plain an exposition of my
contemptas words--not looks and manner merely--could convey. If I
had only called the angry blood into his faceI would have wavered
in my purpose. If I had only stung him into being a man for a


minute I would have abandoned it. If he had offered me one word of
remonstrancein favour of the grandson whom he supposed I had
disinherited; if he had pleaded with methough never so faintly
against my appeal to him to abandon him to misery and cast him from
his house; I think I could have borne with him for ever afterwards.
But not a wordnot a word. Pandering to the worst of human
passions was the office of his nature; and faithfully he did his
work!'

'I am not angry' observed Mr Pecksniff. 'I am hurtMr Chuzzlewit;
wounded in my feelings; but I am not angrymy good sir.'

Mr Chuzzlewit resumed.

'Once resolved to try himI was resolute to pursue the trial to the
end; but while I was bent on fathoming the depth of his duplicityI
made a sacred compact with myself that I would give him credit on
the other side for any latent spark of goodnesshonour
forbearance--any virtue--that might glimmer in him. For first to
last there has been no such thing. Not once. He cannot say I have
not given him opportunity. He cannot say I have ever led him on.
He cannot say I have not left him freely to himself in all things;
or that I have not been a passive instrument in his handswhich he
might have used for good as easily as evil. Or if he canhe Lies!
And that's his naturetoo.'

'Mr Chuzzlewit' interrupted Pecksniffshedding tears. 'I am not
angrysir. I cannot be angry with you. But did you nevermy dear
sirexpress a desire that the unnatural young man who by his wicked
arts has estranged your good opinion from mefor the time being;
only for the time being; that your grandsonMr Chuzzlewitshould
be dismissed my house? Recollect yourselfmy Christian friend.'

'I have said sohave I not?' retorted the old mansternly. 'I
could not tell how far your specious hypocrisy had deceived him
knave; and knew no better way of opening his eyes than by presenting
you before him in your own servile character. Yes. I did express
that desire. And you leaped to meet it; and you met it; and turning
in an instant on the hand you had licked and beslaveredas only
such hounds canyou strengthenedand confirmedand justified me
in my scheme.'

Mr Pecksniff made a bow; a submissivenot to say a grovelling and
an abject bow. If he had been complimented on his practice of the
loftiest virtueshe never could have bowed as he bowed then.

'The wretched man who has been murdered' Mr Chuzzlewit went on to
say; 'then passing by the name of--'

'Tigg' suggested Mark.

'Of Tigg; brought begging messages to me on behalf of a friend of
hisand an unworthy relative of mine; and finding him a man well
enough suited to my purposeI employed him to glean some news of
youMartinfor me. It was from him I learned that you had taken
up your abode with yonder fellow. It was hewho meeting you here
in townone evening--you remember where?'

'At the pawnbroker's shop' said Martin.

'Yes; watched you to your lodgingand enabled me to send you a
bank-note.'

'I little thought' said Martingreatly moved'that it had come


from you; I little thought that you were interested in my fate. If
I had--'

'If you had' returned the old mansorrowfully'you would have
shown less knowledge of me as I seemed to beand as I really was.
I hoped to bring you backMartinpenitent and humbled. I hoped to
distress you into coming back to me. Much as I loved youI had
that to acknowledge which I could not reconcile it to myself to avow
thenunless you made submission to me first. Thus it was I lost
you. If I have hadindirectlyany act or part in the fate of that
unhappy manby putting meanshowever smallwithin his reach
Heaven forgive me! I might have knownperhapsthat he would misuse
money; that it was ill-bestowed upon him; and that sown by his hands
it could engender mischief only. But I never thought of him at that
time as having the disposition or ability to be a serious impostor
or otherwise than as a thoughtlessidle-humoureddissipated
spendthriftsinning more against himself than othersand
frequenting low haunts and indulging vicious tastesto his own ruin
only.'

'Beggin' your pardonsir' said Mr Tapleywho had Mrs Lupin on his
arm by this timequite agreeably; 'if I may make so bold as say so
my opinion isas you was quite correctand that he turned out
perfectly nat'ral for all that. There's surprisin' number of men
sirwho as long as they've only got their own shoes and stockings
to depend uponwill walk down hillalong the gutters quiet enough
and by themselvesand not do much harm. But set any on 'em up with
a coach and horsessir; and it's wonderful what a knowledge of
drivin' he'll showand how he'll fill his wehicle with passengers
and start off in the middle of the roadneck or nothingto the
Devil! Bless your heartsirthere's ever so many Tiggs a-passin'
this here Temple-gate any hour in the daythat only want a chance
to turn out full-blown Montagues every one!'

'Your ignoranceas you call itMark' said Mr Chuzzlewit'is
wiser than some men's enlightenmentand mine among them. You are
right; not for the first time to-day. Now hear me outmy dears.
And hear meyouwhoif what I have been told be accurately stated
are Bankrupt in pocket no less than in good name! And when you have
heard meleave this placeand poison my sight no more!'

Mr Pecksniff laid his hand upon his breastand bowed again.

'The penance I have done in this house' said Mr Chuzzlewit'has
earned this reflection with it constantlyabove all others. That
if it had pleased Heaven to visit such infirmity on my old age as
really had reduced me to the state in which I feigned to beI
should have brought its misery upon myself. Ohyou whose wealth
like minehas been a source of continual unhappinessleading you
to distrust the nearest and dearestand to dig yourself a living
grave of suspicion and reserve; take heed thathaving cast off all
whom you might have bound to youand tenderlyyou do not become in
your decay the instrument of such a man as thisand waken in
another world to the knowledge of such wrong as would embitter
Heaven itselfif wrong or you could ever reach it!'

And then he told them how he had sometimes thoughtin the
beginningthat love might grow up between Mary and Martin; and how
he had pleased his fancy with the picture of observing it when it
was newand taking them to taskapartin counterfeited doubtand
then confessing to them that it had been an object dear to his
heart; and by his sympathy with themand generous provision for
their young fortunesestablishing a claim on their affection and
regard which nothing should witherand which should surround his


old age with means of happiness. How in the first dawn of this
designand when the pleasure of such a scheme for the happiness of
others was new and indistinct within himMartin had come to tell
him that he had already chosen for himself; knowing that hethe old
manhad some faint project on that headbut ignorant whom it
concerned. How it was little comfort to him to know that Martin had
chosen Herbecause the grace of his design was lostand because
finding that she had returned his lovehe tortured himself with the
reflection that theyso youngto whom he had been so kind a
benefactorwere already like the worldand bent on their own
selfishstealthy ends. How in the bitterness of this impression
and of his past experiencehe had reproached Martin so harshly
(forgetting that he had never invited his confidence on such a
pointand confounding what he had meant to do with what he had
done)that high words sprung up between themand they separated in
wrath. How he loved him stilland hoped he would return. How on
the night of his illness at the Dragonhe had secretly written
tenderly of himand made him his heirand sanctioned his marriage
with Mary; and howafter his interview with Mr Pecksniffhe had
distrusted him againand burnt the paper to ashesand had lain
down in his bed distracted by suspicionsdoubtsand regrets.

And then he told them howresolved to probe this Pecksniffand to
prove the constancy and truth of Mary (to himself no less than
Martin)he had conceived and entered on his plan; and howbeneath
her gentleness and patiencehe had softened more and more; still
more and more beneath the goodness and simplicitythe honour and
the manly faith of Tom. And when he spoke of Tomhe said God bless
him; and the tears were in his eyes; for he said that Tom
mistrusted and disliked by him at firsthad come like summer rain
upon his heart; and had disposed it to believe in better things.
And Martin took him by the handand Mary tooand Johnhis old
friendstoutly too; and Markand Mrs Lupinand his sisterlittle
Ruth. And peace of minddeeptranquil peace of mindwas in Tom's
heart.

The old man then related how nobly Mr Pecksniff had performed the
duty in which he stood indebted to societyin the matter of Tom's
dismissal; and howhaving often heard disparagement of Mr Westlock
from Pecksniffian lipsand knowing him to be a friend to Tomhe had
usedthrough his confidential agent and solicitorthat little
artifice which had kept him in readiness to receive his unknown
friend in London. And he called on Mr Pecksniff (by the name of
Scoundrel) to remember that there again he had not trapped him to do
evilbut that he had done it of his own free will and agency; nay
that he had cautioned him against it. And once again he called on
Mr Pecksniff (by the name of Hang-dog) to remember that when Martin
coming home at lastan altered manhad sued for the forgiveness
which awaited himhePecksniffhad rejected him in language of
his ownand had remorsely stepped in between him and the least
touch of natural tenderness. 'For which' said the old man'if the
bending of my finger would remove a halter from your neckI
wouldn't bend it!'

'Martin' he added'your rival has not been a dangerous onebut
Mrs Lupin here has played duenna for some weeks; not so much to
watch your love as to watch her lover. For that Ghoul'--his
fertility in finding names for Mr Pecksniff was astonishing--'would
have crawled into her daily walks otherwiseand polluted the fresh
air. What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can
hold it.'

Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist.
Wellwell!


But it was good in him that even thenin his high fortune and
happinesswith her lips nearly printed on his ownand her proud
young beauty in his close embracehe had a hand still left to
stretch out to Tom Pinch.

'OhTom! Dear Tom! I saw youaccidentallycoming here. Forgive
me!'

'Forgive!' cried Tom. 'I'll never forgive you as long as I live
Martinif you say another syllable about it. Joy to you both! Joy
my dear fellowfifty thousand times.'

Joy! There is not a blessing on earth that Tom did not wish them.
There is not a blessing on earth that Tom would not have bestowed
upon themif he could.

'I beg your pardonsir' said Mr Tapleystepping forward'but yow
was mentionin'just nowa lady of the name of Lupinsir.'

'I was' returned old Martin

'Yessir. It's a pretty namesir?'

'A very good name' said Martin.

'It seems a'most a pity to change such a name into Tapley. Don't
itsir?' said Mark.

'That depends upon the lady. What is HER opinion?'

'Whysir' said Mr Tapleyretiringwith a bowtowards the buxom
hostess'her opinion is as the name ain't a change for the better
but the indiwidual may beandthereforeif nobody ain't
acquainted with no jest cause or impedimentet cetrerthe Blue
Dragon will be con-werted into the Jolly Tapley. A sign of my own
inwentionsir. Wery newconwivialand expressive!'

The whole of these proceedings were so agreeable to Mr Pecksniff
that he stood with his eyes fixed upon the floor and his hands
clasping one another alternatelyas if a host of penal sentences
were being passed upon him. Not only did his figure appear to have
shrunkbut his discomfiture seemed to have extended itself even to
his dress. His clothes seemed to have grown shabbierhis linen to
have turned yellowhis hair to have become lank and frowsy; his
very boots looked villanous and dimas if their gloss had departed
with his own.

Feelingrather than seeingthat the old man now pointed to the
doorhe raised his eyespicked up his hatand thus addressed him:

'Mr Chuzzlewitsir! you have partaken of my hospitality.'

'And paid for it' he observed.

'Thank you. That savours' said Mr Pecksnifftaking out his
pocket-handkerchief'of your old familiar frankness. You have paid
for it. I was about to make the remark. You have deceived mesir.
Thank you again. I am glad of it. To see you in the possession of
your health and faculties on any termsisin itselfa sufficient
recompense. To have been deceived implies a trusting nature. Mine
is a trusting nature. I am thankful for it. I would rather have a
trusting naturedo you knowsirthan a doubting one!'


Here Mr Pecksniffwith a sad smilebowedand wiped his eyes.

'There is hardly any person presentMr Chuzzlewit' said Pecksniff
'by whom I have not been deceived. I have forgiven those persons on
the spot. That was my duty; andof courseI have done it.
Whether it was worthy of you to partake of my hospitalityand to
act the part you did act in my housethatsiris a question which
I leave to your own conscience. And your conscience does not acquit
you. Nosirno!'

Pronouncing these last words in a loud and solemn voiceMr
Pecksniff was not so absolutely lost in his own fervour as to be
unmindful of the expediency of getting a little nearer to the door.

'I have been struck this day' said Mr Pecksniff'with a walking
stick (which I have every reason to believe has knobs upon it)on
that delicate and exquisite portion of the human anatomy--the brain.
Several blows have been inflictedsirwithout a walking-stick
upon that tenderer portion of my frame--my heart. You have
mentionedsirmy being bankrupt in my purse. YessirI am. By
an unfortunate speculationcombined with treacheryI find myself
reduced to poverty; at a timesirwhen the child of my bosom is
widowedand affliction and disgrace are in my family.'

Here Mr Pecksniff wiped his eyes againand gave himself two or
three little knocks upon the breastas if he were answering two or
three other little knocks from withingiven by the tinkling hammer
of his conscienceto express 'Cheer upmy boy!'

'I know the human mindalthough I trust it. That is my weakness.
Do I not knowsir'--here he became exceedingly plaintive and was
observed to glance towards Tom Pinch--'that my misfortunes bring
this treatment on me? Do I not knowsirthat but for them I never
should have heard what I have heard to-day? Do I not know that in
the silence and the solitude of nighta little voice will whisper
in your earMr ChuzzlewitThis was not well. This was not well,
sir!Think of thissir (if you will have the goodness)remote
from the impulses of passionand apart from the specialitiesif I
may use that strong remarkof prejudice. And if you ever
contemplate the silent tombsirwhich you will excuse me for
entertaining some doubt of your doingafter the conduct into which
you have allowed yourself to be betrayed this day; if you ever
contemplate the silent tomb sirthink of me. If you find yourself
approaching to the silent tombsirthink of me. If you should wish
to have anything inscribed upon your silent tombsirlet it be
that I--ahmy remorseful sir! that I--the humble individual who has
now the honour of reproaching youforgave you. That I forgave you
when my injuries were freshand when my bosom was newly wrung. It
may be bitterness to you to hear it nowsirbut you will live to
seek a consolation in it. May you find a consolation in it when you
want itsir! Good morning!'

With this sublime addressMr Pecksniff departed. But the effect of
his departure was much impaired by his being immediately afterwards
run againstand nearly knocked downby a monstrously excited
little man in velveteen shorts and a very tall hat; who came
bursting up the stairsand straight into the chambers of Mr
Chuzzlewitas if he were deranged.

'Is there anybody here that knows him?' cried the little man. 'Is
there anybody here that knows him? Ohmy starsis there anybody
here that knows him?'

They looked at each other for an explanation; but nobody knew


anything more than that here was an excited little man with a very
tall hat onrunning in and out of the room as hard as he could go;
making his single pair of bright blue stockings appear at least a
dozen; and constantly repeating in a shrill voice'IS there anybody
here that knows him?'

'If your brains is not turned topjy turjeyMr Sweedlepipes!'
exclaimed another voice'hold that there nige of yournI beg you
sir.'

At the same time Mrs Gamp was seen in the doorway; out of breath
from coming up so many stairsand panting fearfully; but dropping
curtseys to the last.

'Excuge the weakness of the man' said Mrs Gampeyeing Mr
Sweedlepipe with great indignation; 'and well I might expect itas
I should have know'dand wishin' he was drownded in the Thames
afore I had brought him herewhich not a blessed hour ago he nearly
shaved the noge off from the father of as lovely a family as ever
Mr Chuzzlewitwas born three sets of twinsand would have done it
only he see it a-goin' in the glassand dodged the rager. And
neverMr SweedlepipesI do assure yousirdid I so well know
what a misfortun it was to be acquainted with youas now I do
which so I saysirand I don't deceive you!'

'I ask your pardonladies and gentlemen all' cried the little
barbertaking off his hat'and yours tooMrs Gamp. But--but' he
added this half laughing and half crying'IS there anybody here
that knows him?'

As the barber said these wordsa something in top-bootswith its
head bandaged upstaggered into the roomand began going round and
round and roundapparently under the impression that it was walking
straight forward.

'Look at him!' cried the excited little barber. 'Here he is!
That'll soon wear offand then he'll be all right again. He's no
more dead than I am. He's all alive and hearty. Aint youBailey?'

'R--r--reether soPoll!' replied that gentleman.

'Look here!' cried the little barberlaughing and crying in the
same breath. 'When I steady him he comes all right. There! He's
all right now. Nothing's the matter with him nowexcept that he's
a little shook and rather giddy; is thereBailey?'

'R--r--reether shookPoll--reether so!' said Mr Bailey. 'Whatmy
lovely Sairey! There you air!'

'What a boy he is!' cried the tender-hearted Pollactually sobbing
over him. 'I never see sech a boy! It's all his fun. He's full of
it. He shall go into the business along with me. I am determined
he shall. We'll make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the
sporting branch (what a one he'll be for the matches!) and me the
shavin'. I'll make over the birds to him as soon as ever he's well
enough. He shall have the little bullfinch in the shopand all.
He's sech a boy! I ask your pardonladies and gentlemenbut I
thought there might be some one here that know'd him!'

Mrs Gamp had observednot without jealousy and scornthat a
favourable impression appeared to exist in behalf of Mr Sweedlepipe
and his young friend; and that she had fallen rather into the
background in consequence. She now struggled to the front
thereforeand stated her business.


'WhichMr Chuzzlewit' she said'is well beknown to Mrs Harris as
has one sweet infant (though she DO not wish it known) in her own
family by the mother's sidekep in spirits in a bottle; and that
sweet babe she see at Greenwich Faira-travelling in company with a
pink-eyed ladyProoshan dwarfand livin' skelintonwhich judge
her feelings when the barrel organ playedand she was showed her own
dear sister's childthe same not bein' expected from the outside
picterwhere it was painted quite contrairy in a livin' statea
many sizes largerand performing beautiful upon the Arpwhich
never did that dear child know or do; since breathe it never didto
speak on in this wale! And Mrs HarrisMr Chuzzlewithas knowed me
many yearand can give you information that the lady which is
widdered can't do better and may do worsethan let me wait upon
herwhich I hope to do. Permittin' the sweet faces as I see afore
me.'

'Oh!' said Mr Chuzzlewit. 'Is that your business? Was this good
person paid for the trouble we gave her?'

'I paid hersir' returned Mark Tapley; 'liberal.'

'The young man's words is true' said Mrs Gamp'and thank you
kindly.'

'Then here we will close our acquaintanceMrs Gamp' retorted Mr
Chuzzlewit. 'And Mr Sweedlepipe--is that your name?'

'That is my namesir' replied Pollaccepting with a profusion of
gratitudesome chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his
hand.

'Mr Sweedlepipetake as much care of your lady-lodger as you can
and give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such' said
old Martinlooking gravely at the astonished Mrs Gamp'as hinting
at the expediency of a little less liquorand a little more
humanityand a little less regard for herselfand a little more
regard for her patientsand perhaps a trifle of additional honesty.
Or when Mrs Gamp gets into troubleMr Sweedlepipeit had better
not be at a time when I am near enough to the Old Bailey to
volunteer myself as a witness to her character. Endeavour to
impress that upon her at your leisureif you please.'

Mrs Gamp clasped her handsturned up her eyes until they were quite
invisiblethrew back her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to
her heated brow; and in the act of saying faintly--'Less liquor!--
Sairey Gamp--Bottle on the chimney-pieceand let me put my lips to
itwhen I am so dispoged!'--fell into one of the walking swoons; in
which pitiable state she was conducted forth by Mr Sweedlepipewho
between his two patientsthe swooning Mrs Gamp and the revolving
Baileyhad enough to dopoor fellow.

The old man looked about himwith a smileuntil his eyes rested on
Tom Pinch's sister; when he smiled the more.

'We will all dine here together' he said; 'and as you and Mary have
enough to talk ofMartinyou shall keep house for us until the
afternoonwith Mr and Mrs Tapley. I must see your lodgings in the
meanwhileTom.'

Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She would go with them.

'Thank youmy love' said Mr Chuzzlewit. 'But I am afraid I must
take Tom a little out of the wayon business. Suppose you go on


firstmy dear?'

Pretty little Ruth was equally delighted to do that.

'But not alone' said Martin'not alone. Mr WestlockI dare say
will escort you.'

Whyof course he would: what else had Mr Westlock in his mind? How
dull these old men are!

'You are sure you have no engagement?' he persisted.

Engagement! As if he could have any engagement!

So they went off arm-in-arm. When Tom and Mr Chuzzlewit went off
arm-in-arm a few minutes after themthe latter was still smiling;
and reallyfor a gentleman of his habitsin rather a knowing
manner.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

WHAT JOHN WESTLOCK SAID TO TOM PINCH'S SISTER; WHAT TOM PINCH'S
SISTER SAID TO JOHN WESTLOCK; WHAT TOM PINCH SAID TO BOTH OF THEM;
AND HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY

Brilliantly the Temple Fountain sparkled in the sunand laughingly
its liquid music playedand merrily the idle drops of water danced
and dancedand peeping out in sport among the treesplunged
lightly down to hide themselvesas little Ruth and her companion
came toward it.

And why they came toward the Fountain at all is a mystery; for they
had no business there. It was not in their way. It was quite out
of their way. They had no more to do with the Fountainbless you
than they had with--with Loveor any out-of-the-way thing of that
sort.

It was all very well for Tom and his sister to make appointments by
the Fountainbut that was quite another affair. Becauseof
coursewhen she had to wait a minute or twoit would have been
very awkward for her to have had to wait in any but a tolerably
quiet spot; but that was as quiet a spoteverything consideredas
they could choose. But when she had John Westlock to take care of
herand was going home with her arm in his (home being in a
different direction altogether)their coming anywhere near that
Fountain was quite extraordinary.

Howeverthere they found themselves. And another extraordinary
part of the matter wasthat they seemed to have come thereby a
silent understanding. Yet when they got therethey were a little
confused by being therewhich was the strangest part of all;
because there is nothing naturally confusing in a Fountain. We all
know that.

What a good old place it was! John said. With quite an earnest
affection for it

'A pleasant place indeed' said little Ruth. 'So shady!'

Oh wicked little Ruth!


They came to a stop when John began to praise it. The day was
exquisite; and stopping at allit was quite natural--nothing could
be more so--that they should glance down Garden Court; because
Garden Court ends in the Gardenand the Garden ends in the River
and that glimpse is very bright and fresh and shining on a summer's
day. Thenohlittle Ruthwhy not look boldly at it! Why fit that
tinypreciousblessed little foot into the cracked corner of an
insensible old flagstone in the pavement; and be so very anxious to
adjust it to a nicety!

If the Fiery-faced matron in the crunched bonnet could have seen
them as they walked awayhow many years' purchase might Fiery Face
have been disposed to take for her situation in Furnival's Inn as
laundress to Mr Westlock!

They went awaybut not through London's streets! Through some
enchanted citywhere the pavements were of air; where all the rough
sounds of a stirring town were softened into gentle music; where
everything was happy; where there was no distanceand no time.
There were two good-tempered burly draymen letting down big butts of
beer into a cellarsomewhere; and when John helped her--almost
lifted her--the lightesteasiestneatest thing you ever saw-across
the ropethey said he owed them a good turn for giving him
the chance. Celestial draymen!

Green pastures in the summer tidedeep-littered straw yards in the
winterno start of corn and clovereverto that noble horse who
WOULD dance on the pavement with a gig behind himand who
frightened herand made her clasp his arm with both hands (both
hands meeting one upon the another so endearingly!)and caused her
to implore him to take refuge in the pastry-cook'sand afterwards
to peep out at the door so shrinkingly; and thenlooking at him
with those eyesto ask him was he sure--now was he sure--they might
go safely on! Oh for a string of rampant horses! For a lionfor a
bearfor a mad bullfor anything to bring the little hands together
on his arm again!

They talkedof course. They talked of Tomand all these changes
and the attachment Mr Chuzzlewit had conceived for himand the
bright prospects he had in such a friendand a great deal more to
the same purpose. The more they talkedthe more afraid this
fluttering little Ruth became of any pause; and sooner than have a
pause she would say the same things over again; and if she hadn't
courage or presence of mind enough for that (to say the truth she
very seldom had)she was ten thousand times more charming and
irresistible than she had been before.

'Martin will be married very soon nowI suppose?' said John.

She supposed he would. Never did a bewitching little woman suppose
anything in such a faint voice as Ruth supposed that.

But seeing that another of those alarming pauses was approaching
she remarked that he would have a beautiful wife. Didn't Mr
Westlock think so?

'Ye--yes' said John'ohyes.'

She feared he was rather hard to pleasehe spoke so coldly.

'Rather say already pleased' said John. 'I have scarcely seen her.
I had no care to see her. I had no eyes for HERthis morning.'

Ohgood gracious!


It was well they had reached their destination. She never could
have gone any further. It would have been impossible to walk in
such a tremble.

Tom had not come in. They entered the triangular parlour together
and alone. Fiery FaceFiery Facehow many years' purchase NOW!

She sat down on the little sofaand untied her bonnet-strings. He
sat down by her sideand very near her; veryvery near her. Oh
rapidswellingbursting little heartyou knew that it would come
to thisand hoped it would. Why beat so wildlyheart!

'Dear Ruth! Sweet Ruth! If I had loved you lessI could have told
you that I loved youlong ago. I have loved you from the first.
There never was a creature in the world more truly loved than you
dear Ruthby me!'

She clasped her little hands before her face. The gushing tears of
joyand prideand hopeand innocent affectionwould not be
restrained. Fresh from her full young heart they came to answer
him.

'My dear love! If this is--I almost dare to hope it isnow--not
painful or distressing to youyou make me happier than I can tell
or you imagine. Darling Ruth! My own goodgentlewinning Ruth! I
hope I know the value of your heartI hope I know the worth of your
angel nature. Let me try and show you that I do; and you will make
me happierRuth--'

'Not happier' she sobbed'than you make me. No one can be
happierJohnthan you make me!'

Fiery Faceprovide yourself! The usual wages or the usual warning.
It's all overFiery Face. We needn't trouble you any further.

The little hands could meet each other nowwithout a rampant horse
to urge them. There was no occasion for lionsbearsor mad bulls.
It could all be doneand infinitely betterwithout their
assistance. No burly drayman or big butts of beerwere wanted for
apologies. No apology at all was wanted. The soft light touch fell
coylybut quite naturallyupon the lover's shoulder; the delicate
waistthe drooping headthe blushing cheekthe beautiful eyes
the exquisite mouth itselfwere all as natural as possible. If all
the horses in Araby had run away at oncethey couldn't have
improved upon it.

They soon began to talk of Tom again.

'I hope he will be glad to hear of it!' said Johnwith sparkling
eyes.

Ruth drew the little hands a little tighter when he said itand
looked up seriously into his face.

'I am never to leave himAM Idear? I could never leave Tom. I
am sure you know that.'

'Do you think I would ask you?' he returnedwith a--well! Never
mind with what.

'I am sure you never would' she answeredthe bright tears standing
in her eyes.


'And I will swear itRuthmy darlingif you please. Leave Tom!
That would be a strange beginning. Leave Tomdear! If Tom and we
be not inseparableand Tom (God bless him) have not all honour and
all love in our homemy little wifemay that home never be! And
that's a strong oathRuth.'

Shall it be recorded how she thanked him? Yesit shall. In all
simplicity and innocence and purity of heartyet with a timid
gracefulhalf-determined hesitationshe set a little rosy seal
upon the vowwhose colour was reflected in her faceand flashed up
to the braiding of her dark brown hair.

'Tom will be so happyand so proudand glad' she saidclasping
her little hands. 'But so surprised! I am sure he had never thought
of such a thing.'

Of course John asked her immediately--because you know they were in
that foolish state when great allowances must be made--when SHE had
begun to think of such a thingand this made a little diversion in
their talk; a charming diversion to thembut not so interesting to
us; at the end of whichthey came back to Tom again.

'Ah! dear Tom!' said Ruth. 'I suppose I ought to tell you
everything now. I should have no secrets from you. Should IJohn
love?'

It is of no use saying how that preposterous John answered her
because he answered in a manner which is untranslatable on paper
though highly satisfactory in itself. But what he conveyed wasNo
no nosweet Ruth; or something to that effect.

Then she told him Tom's great secret; not exactly saying how she had
found it outbut leaving him to understand it if he liked; and John
was sadly grieved to hear itand was full of sympathy and sorrow.
But they would tryhe saidonly the moreon this account to make
him happyand to beguile him with his favourite pursuits. And
thenin all the confidence of such a timehe told her how he had a
capital opportunity of establishing himself in his old profession in
the country; and how he had been thinkingin the event of that
happiness coming upon him which had actually come--there was another
slight diversion here--how he had been thinking that it would afford
occupation to Tomand enable them to live together in the easiest
mannerwithout any sense of dependence on Tom's part; and to be as
happy as the day was long. And Ruth receiving this with joythey
went on catering for Tom to that extent that they had already
purchased him a select library and built him an organon which he
was performing with the greatest satisfactionwhen they heard him
knocking at the door.

Though she longed to tell him what had happenedpoor little Ruth
was greatly agitated by his arrival; the more so because she knew
that Mr Chuzzlewit was with him. So she saidall in a tremble:

'What shall I dodear John! I can't bear that he should hear it
from any one but meand I could not tell himunless we were
alone.'

'Domy love' said John'whatever is natural to you on the impulse
of the momentand I am sure it will be right.'

He had hardly time to say thus muchand Ruth had hardly time to-just
to get a little farther off--upon the sofawhen Tom and Mr
Chuzzlewit came in. Mr Chuzzlewit came firstand Tom was a few
seconds behind him.


Now Ruth had hastily resolved that she would beckon Tom upstairs
after a short timeand would tell him in his little bedroom. But
when she saw his dear old face come inher heart was so touched
that she ran into his armsand laid her head down on his breast and
sobbed out'Bless meTom! My dearest brother!'

Tom looked upin surpriseand saw John Westlock close beside him
holding out his hand.

'John!' cried Tom. 'John!'

'Dear Tom' said his friend'give me your hand. We are brothers
Tom.'

Tom wrung it with all his forceembraced his sister ferventlyand
put her in John Westlock's arms.

'Don't speak to meJohn. Heaven is very good to us. I--' Tom
could find no further utterancebut left the room; and Ruth went
after him.

And when they came backwhich they did by-and-byeshe looked more
beautifuland Tom more good and true (if that were possible) than
ever. And though Tom could not speak upon the subject even now;
being yet too newly gladhe put both his hands in both of John's
with emphasis sufficient for the best speech ever spoken.

'I am glad you chose to-day' said Mr Chuzzlewit to John; with the
same knowing smile as when they had left him. 'I thought you would.
I hoped Tom and I lingered behind a discreet time. It's so long
since I had any practical knowledge of these subjectsthat I have
been anxiousI assure you.'

'Your knowledge is still pretty accuratesir' returned John
laughing'if it led you to foresee what would happen to-day.'

'WhyI am not sureMr Westlock' said the old man'that any great
spirit of prophecy was neededafter seeing you and Ruth together.
Come hitherpretty one. See what Tom and I purchased this morning
while you were dealing in exchange with that young merchant there.'

The old man's way of seating her beside himand humouring his voice
as if she were a childwas whimsical enoughbut full of
tendernessand not ill adaptedsomehowto little Ruth.

'See here!' he saidtaking a case from his pocket'what a
beautiful necklace. Ah! How it glitters! Earringstooand
braceletsand a zone for your waist. This set is yoursand Mary
has another like it. Tom couldn't understand why I wanted two.
What a short-sighted Tom! Earrings and braceletsand a zone for
your waist! Ah! Beautiful! Let us see how brave they look.
Ask Mr Westlock to clasp them on.'

It was the prettiest thing to see her holding out her roundwhite
arm; and John (oh deepdeep John!) pretending that the bracelet was
very hard to fasten; it was the prettiest thing to see her girding
on the precious little zoneand yet obliged to have assistance
because her fingers were in such terrible perplexity; it was the
prettiest thing to see her so confused and bashfulwith the smiles
and blushes playing brightly on her facelike the sparkling light
upon the jewels; it was the prettiest thing that you would seein
the common experiences of a twelvemonthrely upon it.


'The set of jewels and the wearer are so well matched' said the old
man'that I don't know which becomes the other most. Mr Westlock
could tell meI have no doubtbut I'll not ask himfor he is
bribed. Health to wear themmy dearand happiness to make you
forgetful of themexcept as a remembrance from a loving friend!'

He patted her upon the cheekand said to Tom:

'I must play the part of a father hereTomalso. There are not
many fathers who marry two such daughters on the same day; but we
will overlook the improbability for the gratification of an old
man's fancy. I may claim that much indulgence' he added'for I
have gratified few fancies enough in my life tending to the
happiness of othersHeaven knows!'

These various proceedings had occupied so much timeand they fell
into such a pleasant conversation nowthat it was within a quarter
of an hour of the time appointed for dinner before any of them
thought about it. A hackney-coach soon carried them to the Temple
however; and there they found everything prepared for their
reception

Mr Tapley having been furnished with unlimited credentials relative
to the ordering of dinnerhad so exerted himself for the honour of
the partythat a prodigious banquet was servedunder the joint
direction of himself and his Intended. Mr Chuzzlewit would have had
them of the partyand Martin urgently seconded his wishbut Mark
could by no means be persuaded to sit down at table; observingthat
in having the honour of attending to their comfortshe felt
himselfindeedthe landlord of the Jolly Tapleyand could almost
delude himself into the belief that the entertainment was actually
being held under the Jolly Tapley's roof.

For the better encouragement of himself in this fableMr Tapley
took it upon him to issue divers general directions to the waiters
from the hotelrelative to the disposal of the dishes and so forth;
and as they were usually in direct opposition to all precedentand
were always issued in his most facetious form of thought and speech
they occasioned great merriment among those attendants; in which Mr
Tapley participatedwith an infinite enjoyment of his own humour.
He likewise entertained them with short anecdotes of his travels
appropriate to the occasion; and now and then with some comic
passage or other between himself and Mrs Lupin; so that explosive
laughs were constantly issuing from the side-boardand from the
backs of chairs; and the head-waiter (who wore powderand kneesmalls
and was usually a grave man) got to be a bright scarlet in
the faceand broke his waistcoat-strings audibly.

Young Martin sat at the head of the tableand Tom Pinch at the
foot; and if there were a genial face at that boardit was Tom's.
They all took their tone from Tom. Everybody drank to him
everybody looked to himeverybody thought of himeverybody loved
him. If he so much as laid down his knife and forksomebody put
out a hand to shake with him. Martin and Mary had taken him aside
before dinnerand spoken to him so heartily of the time to come
laying such fervent stress upon the trust they had in his completion
of their felicityby his society and closest friendshipthat Tom
was positively moved to tears. He couldn't bear it. His heart was
fullhe saidof happiness. And so it was. Tom spoke the honest
truth. It was. Large as thy heart wasdear Tom Pinchit had no
room that day for anything but happiness and sympathy!

And there was Fipsold Fips of Austin Friarspresent at the
dinnerand turning out to be the jolliest old dog that ever did


violence to his convivial sentiments by shutting himself up in a
dark office. 'Where is he?' said Fipswhen he came in. And then
he pounced on Tomand told him that he wanted to relieve himself of
all his old constraint; and in the first place shook him by one
handand in the second place shook him by the otherand in the
third place nudged him in the waistcoatand in the fourth place
said'How are you?' and in a great many other places did a great
many other things to show his friendliness and joy. And he sang
songsdid Fips; and made speechesdid Fips; and knocked off his
wine pretty handsomelydid Fips; and in shorthe showed himself a
perfect Trumpdid Fipsin all respects.

But ah! the happiness of strolling home at night--obstinate little
Ruthshe wouldn't hear of riding!--as they had done on that dear
nightfrom Furnival's Inn! The happiness of being able to talk
about itand to confide their happiness to each other! The
happiness of stating all their little plans to Tomand seeing his
bright face grow brighter as they spoke!

When they reached homeTom left John and his sister in the parlour
and went upstairs into his own roomunder pretence of seeking a
book. And Tom actually winked to himself when he got upstairs; he
thought it such a deep thing to have done.

'They like to be by themselvesof course' said Tom; 'and I came
away so naturallythat I have no doubt they are expecting meevery
momentto return. That's capital!'

But he had not sat reading very longwhen he heard a tap at his
door.

'May I come in?' said John.

'Ohsurely!' Tom replied.

'Don't leave usTom. Don't sit by yourself. We want to make you
merry; not melancholy.'

'My dear friend' said Tomwith a cheerful smile.

'BrotherTom. Brother.'

'My dear brother' said Tom; 'there is no danger of my being
melancholyhow can I be melancholywhen I know that you and Ruth
are so blest in each other! I think I can find my tongue tonight
John' he addedafter a moment's pause. 'But I never can tell you
what unutterable joy this day has given me. It would be unjust to
you to speak of your having chosen a portionless girlfor I feel
that you know her worth; I am sure you know her worth. Nor will it
diminish in your estimationJohnwhich money might.'

'Which money wouldTom' he returned. 'Her worth! Ohwho could
see her hereand not love her! Who could know herTomand not
honour her! Who could ever stand possessed of such a heart as hers
and grow indifferent to the treasure! Who could feel the rapture
that I feel to-dayand love as I love herTomwithout knowing
something of her worth! Your joy unutterable! NonoTom. It's
mineit's mine.

'NonoJohn' said Tom. 'It's mineit's mine.'

Their friendly contention was brought to a close by little Ruth
herselfwho came peeping in at the door. And ohthe lookthe
glorioushalf-proudhalf-timid look she gave Tomwhen her lover


drew her to his side! As much as to say'YesindeedTomhe will
do it. But then he has a rightyou know. Because I AM fond of
himTom.'

As to Tomhe was perfectly delighted. He could have sat and looked
at themjust as they werefor hours.

'I have told Tomloveas we agreedthat we are not going to
permit him to run awayand that we cannot possibly allow it. The
loss of one personand such a person as Tomtooout of our small
household of threeis not to be endured; and so I have told him.
Whether he is considerateor whether he is only selfishI don't
know. But he needn't be consideratefor he is not the least
restraint upon us. Is hedearest Ruth?'

Well! He really did not seem to be any particular restraint upon
them. Judging from what ensued.

Was it folly in Tom to be so pleased by their remembrance of him at
such a time? Was their graceful love a follywere their dear
caresses follieswas their lengthened parting folly? Was it folly
in him to watch her window from the streetand rate its scantiest
gleam of light above all diamonds; folly in her to breathe his name
upon her kneesand pour out her pure heart before that Being from
whom such hearts and such affections come?

If these be folliesthen Fiery Face go on and prosper! If they be
notthen Fiery Face avaunt! But set the crunched bonnet at some
other single gentlemanin any casefor one is lost to thee for
ever!

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

GIVES THE AUTHOR GREAT CONCERN. FOR IT IS THE LAST IN THE BOOK

Todger's was in high featherand mighty preparations for a late
breakfast were astir in its commercial bowers. The blissful morning
had arrived when Miss Pecksniff was to be united in holy matrimony
to Augustus.

Miss Pecksniff was in a frame of mind equally becoming to herself
and the occasion. She was full of clemency and conciliation. She
had laid in several caldrons of live coalsand was prepared to
heap them on the heads of her enemies. She bore no spite nor malice
in her heart. Not the least.

QuarrelsMiss Pecksniff saidwere dreadful things in families; and
though she never could forgive her dear papashe was willing to
receive her other relations. They had been separatedshe observed
too long. It was enough to call down a judgment upon the family.
She believed the death of Jonas WAS a judgment on them for their
internal dissensions. And Miss Pecksniff was confirmed in this
beliefby the lightness with which the visitation had fallen on
herself.

By way of doing sacrifice--not in triumph; notof coursein
triumphbut in humiliation of spirit--this amiable young person
wrotethereforeto her kinswoman of the strong mindand informed
her that her nuptials would take place on such a day. That she had
been much hurt by the unnatural conduct of herself and daughters
and hoped they might not have suffered in their consciences. That


being desirous to forgive her enemiesand make her peace with the
world before entering into the most solemn of covenants with the
most devoted of menshe now held out the hand of friendship. That
if the strong-minded women took that handin the temper in which it
was extended to hersheMiss Pecksniffdid invite her to be
present at the ceremony of her marriageand did furthermore invite
the three red-nosed spinstersher daughters (but Miss Pecksniff did
not particularize their noses)to attend as bridesmaids.

The strong-minded women returned for answerthat herself and
daughters wereas regarded their consciencesin the enjoyment of
robust healthwhich she knew Miss Pecksniff would be glad to hear.
That she had received Miss Pecksniff's note with unalloyed delight
because she never had attached the least importance to the paltry
and insignificant jealousies with which herself and circle had been
assailed; otherwise than as she had found themin the
contemplationa harmless source of innocent mirth. That she would
joyfully attend Miss Pecksniff's bridal; and that her three dear
daughters would be happy to assiston so interestingand SO VERY
UNEXPECTED--which the strong-minded woman underlined--SO VERY
UNEXPECTED an occasion.

On the receipt of this gracious replyMiss Pecksniff extended her
forgiveness and her invitations to Mr and Mrs Spottletoe; to Mr
George Chuzzlewit the bachelor cousin; to the solitary female who
usually had the toothache; and to the hairy young gentleman with
the outline of a face; surviving remnants of the party that had once
assembled in Mr Pecksniff's parlour. After which Miss Pecksniff
remarked that there was a sweetness in doing our dutywhich
neutralized the bitter in our cups.

The wedding guests had not yet assembledand indeed it was so early
that Miss Pecksniff herself was in the act of dressing at her
leisurewhen a carriage stopped near the Monument; and Mark
dismounting from the rumbleassisted Mr Chuzzlewit to alight. The
carriage remained in waiting; so did Mr Tapley. Mr Chuzzlewit
betook himself to Todger's.

He was shownby the degenerate successor of Mr Baileyinto the
dining-parlour; where--for his visit was expected--Mrs Todgers
immediately appeared.

'You are dressedI seefor the wedding' he said.

Mrs Todgerswho was greatly flurried by the preparationsreplied
in the affirmative.

'It goes against my wishes to have it in progress just nowI assure
yousir' said Mrs Todgers; 'but Miss Pecksniff's mind was set upon
itand it really is time that Miss Pecksniff was married. That
cannot be deniedsir.'

'No' said Mr Chuzzlewit'assuredly not. Her sister takes no part
in the proceedings?'

'Ohdear nosir. Poor thing!' said Mrs Todgersshaking her
headand dropping her voice. 'Since she has known the worstshe
has never left my room; the next room.'

'Is she prepared to see me?' he inquired.

'Quite preparedsir.'

'Then let us lose no time.'


Mrs Todgers conducted him into the little back chamber commanding
the prospect of the cistern; and theresadly different from when it
had first been her lodgingsat poor Merryin mourning weeds. The
room looked very dark and sorrowful; and so did she; but she had one
friend beside herfaithful to the last. Old Chuffey.

When Mr Chuzzlewit sat down at her sideshe took his hand and put
it to her lips. She was in great grief. He too was agitated; for
he had not seen her since their parting in the churchyard.

'I judged you hastily' he saidin a low voice. 'I fear I judged
you cruelly. Let me know that I have your forgiveness.'

She kissed his hand again; and retaining it in hersthanked him in
a broken voicefor all his kindness to her since.

'Tom Pinch' said Martin'has faithfully related to me all that you
desired him to convey; at a time when he deemed it very improbable
that he would ever have an opportunity of delivering your message.
Believe methat if I ever deal again with an ill-advised and
unawakened naturehiding the strength it thinks its weaknessI will
have long and merciful consideration for it.'

'You had for me; even for me' she answered. 'I quite believe it.
I said the words you have repeatedwhen my distress was very sharp
and hard to bear; I say them now for others; but I cannot urge them
for myself. You spoke to me after you had seen and watched me day
by day. There was great consideration in that. You might have
spokenperhapsmore kindly; you might have tried to invite my
confidence by greater gentleness; but the end would have been the
same.'

He shook his head in doubtand not without some inward selfreproach.


'How can I hope' she said'that your interposition would have
prevailed with mewhen I know how obdurate I was! I never thought
at all; dear Mr ChuzzlewitI never thought at all; I had no
thoughtno heartno care to find one; at that time. It has grown
out of my trouble. I have felt it in my trouble. I wouldn't recall
my trouble such as it is and has been--and it is light in comparison
with trials which hundreds of good people suffer every dayI know-I
wouldn't recall it to-morrowif I could. It has been my friend
for without it no one could have changed me; nothing could have
changed me. Do not mistrust me because of these tears; I cannot
help them. I am grateful for itin my soul. Indeed I am!'

'Indeed she is!' said Mrs Todgers. 'I believe itsir.'

'And so do I!' said Mr Chuzzlewit. 'Nowattend to memy dear.
Your late husband's estateif not wasted by the confession of a
large debt to the broken office (which documentbeing useless to
the runawayshas been sent over to England by them; not so much for
the sake of the creditors as for the gratification of their dislike
to himwhom they suppose to be still living)will be seized upon
by law; for it is not exemptas I learnfrom the claims of those
who have suffered by the fraud in which he was engaged. Your
father's property was allor nearly allembarked in the same
transaction. If there be any leftit will be seized onin like
manner. There is no home THERE.'

'I couldn't return to him' she saidwith an instinctive reference
to his having forced her marriage on. 'I could not return to him.'


'I know it' Mr Chuzzlewit resumed; 'and I am here because I know
it. Come with me! From all who are about meyou are certain (I
have ascertained it) of a generous welcome. But until your health
is re-establishedand you are sufficiently composed to bear that
welcomeyou shall have your abode in any quiet retreat of your own
choosingnear London; not so far removed but that this kind-hearted
lady may still visit you as often as she pleases. You have suffered
much; but you are youngand have a brighter and a better future
stretching out before you. Come with me. Your sister is careless
of youI know. She hurries on and publishes her marriagein a
spirit which (to say no more of it) is barely decentis unsisterly
and bad. Leave the house before her guests arrive. She means to
give you pain. Spare her the offenceand come with me!'

Mrs Todgersthough most unwilling to part with heradded her
persuasions. Even poor old Chuffey (of course included in the
project) added his. She hurriedly attired herselfand was ready to
departwhen Miss Pecksniff dashed into the room.

Miss Pecksniff dashed in so suddenlythat she was placed in an
embarrassing position. For though she had completed her bridal
toilette as to her headon which she wore a bridal bonnet with
orange flowersshe had not completed it as to her skirtswhich
displayed no choicer decoration than a dimity bedgown. She had
dashed inin factabout half-way throughto console her sister
in her afflictionwith a sight of the aforesaid bonnet; and being
quite unconscious of the presence of a visitoruntil she found Mr
Chuzzlewit standing face to face with herher surprise was an
uncomfortable one.

'Soyoung lady!' said the old maneyeing her with strong
disfavour. 'You are to be married to-day!'

'Yessir' returned Miss Pecksniffmodestly. 'I am. I--my dress
is rather--reallyMrs Todgers!'

'Your delicacy' said old Martin'is troubledI perceive. I am
not surprised to find it so. You have chosen the period of your
marriage unfortunately.'

'I beg your pardonMr Chuzzlewit' retorted Cherry; very red and
angry in a moment; 'but if you have anything to say on that subject
I must beg to refer you to Augustus. You will scarcely think it
manlyI hopeto force an argument on mewhen Augustus is at all
times ready to discuss it with you. I have nothing to do with any
deceptions that may have been practiced on my parent' said Miss
Pecksniffpointedly; 'and as I wish to be on good terms with
everybody at such a timeI should have been glad if you would have
favoured us with your company at breakfast. But I will not ask you
as it is; seeing that you have been prepossessed and set against me
in another quarter. I hope I have my natural affections for another
quarterand my natural pity for another quarter; but I cannot
always submit to be subservient to itMr Chuzzlewit. That would be
a little too much. I trust I have more respect for myselfas well
as for the man who claims me as his Bride.'

'Your sistermeeting--as I think; not as she saysfor she has said
nothing about it--with little consideration from youis going away
with me' said Mr Chuzzlewit.

'I am very happy to find that she has some good fortune at last'
returned Miss Pecksnifftossing her head. 'I congratulate herI
am sure. I am not surprised that this event should be painful to


her--painful to her--but I can't help thatMr Chuzzlewit. It's
not my fault.'

'ComeMiss Pecksniff!' said the old manquietly. 'I should like
to see a better parting between you. I should like to see a better
parting on your sidein such circumstances. It would make me your
friend. You may want a friend one day or other.'

'Every relation of lifeMr Chuzzlewitbegging your pardon; and
every friend in life' returned Miss Pecksniffwith dignity'is
now bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long as Augustus is my
ownI cannot want a friend. When you speak of friendssirI must
begonce for allto refer you to Augustus. That is my impression
of the religious ceremony in which I am so soon to take a part at
that altar to which Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at
any timemuch less in a moment of triumphtowards any one; much
less towards my sister. On the contraryI congratulate her. If
you didn't hear me say soI am not to blame. And as I owe it to
Augustusto be punctual on an occasion when he may naturally be
supposed to be--to be impatient--reallyMrs Todgers!--I must beg
your leavesirto retire.'

After these words the bridal bonnet disappeared; with as much state
as the dimity bedgown left in it.

Old Martin gave his arm to the younger sister without speaking; and
led her out. Mrs Todgerswith her holiday garments fluttering in
the windaccompanied them to the carriageclung round Merry's neck
at partingand ran back to her own dingy housecrying the whole
way. She had a leanlank bodyMrs Todgersbut a well-conditioned
soul within. Perhaps the good Samaritan was lean and lankand
found it hard to live. Who knows!

Mr Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with his eyesthatuntil she
had shut her own doorthey did not encounter Mr Tapley's face.

'WhyMark!' he saidas soon as he observed it'what's the
matter?'

'The wonderfulest ewentsir!' returned Markpumping at his voice
in a most laborious mannerand hardly able to articulate with all
his efforts. 'A coincidence as never was equalled! I'm blessed if
here ain't two old neighbours of ournsir!'

'What neighbours?' cried old Martinlooking out of window.
'Where?'

'I was a-walkin' up and down not five yards from this spot' said Mr
Tapleybreathless'and they come upon me like their own ghostsas
I thought they was! It's the wonderfulest ewent that ever happened.
Bring a feathersomebodyand knock me down with it!'

'What do you mean!' exclaimed old Martinquite as much excited by
the spectacle of Mark's excitement as that strange person was
himself. 'Neighbourswhere?'

'Heresir!' replied Mr Tapley. 'Here in the city of London! Here
upon these very stones! Here they aresir! Don't I know 'em? Lord
love their welcome facesdon't I know 'em!'

With which ejaculations Mr Tapley not only pointed to a decentlooking
man and woman standing bybut commenced embracing them
alternatelyover and over againin Monument Yard.


'NeighboursWHERE? old Martin shouted; almost maddened by his
ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door.

'Neighbours in America! Neighbours in Eden!' cried Mark.
'Neighbours in the swampneighbours in the bushneighbours in the
fever. Didn't she nurse us! Didn't he help us! Shouldn't we both
have died without 'em! Haven't they come a-strugglin' backwithout
a single child for their consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!'

Away he went againin a perfectly wild statehugging themand
skipping round themand cutting in between themas if he were
performing some frantic and outlandish dance.

Mr Chuzzlewit no sooner gathered who these people werethan he
burst open the coach-door somehow or otherand came tumbling out
among them; and as if the lunacy of Mr Tapley were contagioushe
immediately began to shake hands tooand exhibit every demonstration
of the liveliest joy.

'Get upbehind!' he said. 'Get up in the rumble. Come along with
me! Go you on the boxMark. Home! Home!'

'Home!' cried Mr Tapleyseizing the old man's hand in a burst of
enthusiasm. 'Exactly my opinionsir. Home for ever! Excuse the
libertysirI can't help it. Success to the Jolly Tapley! There's
nothin' in the house they shan't have for the askin' forexcept a
bill. Home to be sure! Hurrah!'

Home they rolled accordinglywhen he had got the old man in again
as fast as they could go; Mark abating nothing of his fervour by the
wayby allowing it to vent itself as unrestrainedly as if he had
been on Salisbury Plain.

And now the wedding party began to assemble at Todgers's. Mr
Jinkinsthe only boarder invitedwas on the ground first. He wore
a white favour in his button-holeand a bran new extra super
double-milled blue saxony dress coat (that was its description in the
bill)with a variety of tortuous embellishments about the pockets
invented by the artist to do honour to the day. The miserable
Augustus no longer felt strongly even on the subject of Jinkins. He
hadn't strength of mind enough to do it. 'Let him come!' he had
saidin answer to Miss Pecksniffwhen she urged the point. 'Let
him come! He has ever been my rock ahead through life. 'Tis meet he
should be there. Haha! Ohyes! let Jinkins come!'

Jinkins had come with all the pleasure in lifeand there he was.
For some few minutes he had no companion but the breakfastwhich
was set forth in the drawing-roomwith unusual taste and ceremony.
But Mrs Todgers soon joined him; and the bachelor cousinthe hairy
young gentlemanand Mr and Mrs Spottletoearrived in quick
succession.

Mr Spottletoe honoured Jinkins with an encouraging bow. 'Glad to
know yousir' he said. 'Give you joy!' Under the impression that
Jinkins was the happy man.

Mr Jinkins explained. He was merely doing the honours for his
friend Moddlewho had ceased to reside in the houseand had not
yet arrived.

'Not arrivedsir!' exclaimed Spottletoein a great heat.

'Not yet' said Mr Jinkins.


'Upon my soul!' cried Spottletoe. 'He begins well! Upon my life and
honour this young man begins well! But I should very much like to
know how it is that every one who comes into contact with this
family is guilty of some gross insult to it. Death! Not arrived
yet. Not here to receive us!'

The nephew with the outline of a countenancesuggested that perhaps
he had ordered a new pair of bootsand they hadn't come home.

'Don't talk to me of Bootssir!' retorted Spottletoewith immense
indignation. 'He is bound to come here in his slippers then; he is
bound to come here barefoot. Don't offer such a wretched and
evasive plea to me on behalf of your friendas Bootssir.'

'He is not MY friend' said the nephew. 'I never saw him.'

'Very wellsir' returned the fiery Spottletoe. 'Then don't talk
to me!'

The door was thrown open at this junctureand Miss Pecksniff
enteredtotteringand supported by her three bridesmaids. The
strong-minded woman brought up the rear; having waited outside until
nowfor the purpose of spoiling the effect.

'How do you doma'am!' said Spottletoe to the strong-minded woman
in a tone of defiance. 'I believe you see Mrs Spottletoema'am?'

The strong-minded woman with an air of great interest in Mrs
Spottletoe's healthregretted that she was not more easily seen.
Nature erringin that lady's caseupon the slim side.

'Mrs Spottletoe is at least more easily seen than the bridegroom
ma'am' returned that lady's husband. 'That isunless he has
confined his attentions to any particular part or branch of this
familywhich would be quite in keeping with its usual proceedings.'

'If you allude to mesir--' the strong-minded woman began.

'Pray' interposed Miss Pecksniff'do not allow Augustusat this
awful moment of his life and mineto be the means of disturbing
that harmony which it is ever Augustus's and my wish to maintain.
Augustus has not been introduced to any of my relations now present.
He preferred not.'

'WhythenI venture to assert' cried Mr Spottletoe'that the man
who aspires to join this familyand "prefers not" to be introduced
to its membersis an impertinent Puppy. That is my opinion of
HIM!'

The strong-minded woman remarked with great suavitythat she was
afraid he must be. Her three daughters observed aloud that it was
'Shameful!'

'You do not know Augustus' said Miss Pecksnifftearfully'indeed
you do not know him. Augustus is all mildness and humility. Wait
till you see Augustusand I am sure he will conciliate your
affections.'

'The question arises' said Spottletoefolding his arms: 'How long
we are to wait. I am not accustomed to wait; that's the fact. And
I want to know how long we are expected to wait.'

'Mrs Todgers!' said Charity'Mr Jinkins! I am afraid there must be
some mistake. I think Augustus must have gone straight to the


Altar!'

As such a thing was possibleand the church was close at handMr
Jinkins ran off to seeaccompanied by Mr George Chuzzlewit the
bachelor cousinwho preferred anything to the aggravation of
sitting near the breakfastwithout being able to eat it. But they
came back with no other tidings than a familiar message from the
clerkimporting that if they wanted to be married that morning they
had better look sharpas the curate wasn't going to wait there all
day.

The bride was now alarmed; seriously alarmed. Good Heavenswhat
could have happened! Augustus! Dear Augustus!

Mr Jinkins volunteered to take a caband seek him at the newlyfurnished
house. The strong-minded woman administered comfort to
Miss Pecksniff. 'It was a specimen of what she had to expect. It
would do her good. It would dispel the romance of the affair.' The
red-nosed daughters also administered the kindest comfort. 'Perhaps
he'd come' they said. The sketchy nephew hinted that he might have
fallen off a bridge. The wrath of Mr Spottletoe resisted all the
entreaties of his wife. Everybody spoke at onceand Miss
Pecksniffwith clasped handssought consolation everywhere and
found it nowherewhen Jinkinshaving met the postman at the door
came back with a letterwhich he put into her hand.

Miss Pecksniff opened ituttered a piercing shriekthrew it down
upon the groundand fainted away.

They picked it up; and crowding roundand looking over one
another's shouldersreadin the words and dashes followingthis
communication:

'OFF GRAVESEND.

'CLIPPER SCHOONERCUPID

'Wednesday night

'EVER INJURED MISS PECKSNIFF--Ere this reaches youthe undersigned
will be--if not a corpse--on the way to Van Dieman's Land. Send
not in pursuit. I never will be taken alive!

'The burden--300 tons per register--forgiveif in my distractionI
allude to the ship--on my mind--has been truly dreadful. Frequently
--when you have sought to soothe my brow with kisses--has selfdestruction
flashed across me. Frequently--incredible as it may
seem--have I abandoned the idea.

'I love another. She is Another's. Everything appears to be
somebody else's. Nothing in the world is mine--not even my
Situation--which I have forfeited--by my rash conduct--in running
away.

'If you ever loved mehear my last appeal! The last appeal of a
miserable and blighted exile. Forward the inclosed--it is the key
of my desk--to the office--by hand. Please address to Bobbs and
Cholberry--I mean to Chobbs and Bolberry--but my mind is totally
unhinged. I left a penknife--with a buckhorn handle--in your
work-box. It will repay the messenger. May it make him happier than
ever it did me!

'OhMiss Pecksniffwhy didn't you leave me alone! Was it not


cruelCRUEL! Ohmy goodnesshave you not been a witness of my
feelings--have you not seen them flowing from my eyes--did you not
yourselfreproach me with weeping more than usual on that dreadful
night when last we met--in that house--where I once was peaceful-though
blighted--in the society of Mrs Todgers!

'But it was written--in the Talmud--that you should involve yourself
in the inscrutable and gloomy Fate which it is my mission to
accomplishand which wreathes itself--e'en now--about in temples.
I will not reproachfor I have wronged you. May the Furniture make
some amends!

'Farewell! Be the proud bride of a ducal coronetand forget me!
Long may it be before you know the anguish with which I now
subscribe myself--amid the tempestuous howlings of the--sailors

'Unalterably

'Never yours

'AUGUSTUS.'

They thought as little of Miss Pecksniffwhile they greedily
perused this letteras if she were the very last person on earth
whom it concerned. But Miss Pecksniff really had fainted away. The
bitterness of her mortification; the bitterness of having summoned
witnessesand such witnessesto behold it; the bitterness of
knowing that the strong-minded women and the red-nosed daughters
towered triumphant in this hour of their anticipated overthrow; was
too much to be borne. Miss Pecksniff had fainted away in earnest.

What sounds are these that fall so grandly on the ear! What
darkening room is this!

And that mild figure seated at an organwho is he! Ah Tomdear
Tomold friend!

Thy head is prematurely greythough Time has passed thee and our
old associationTom. Butin those sounds with which it is thy
wont to bear the twilight companythe music of thy heart speaks
out--the story of thy life relates itself.

Thy life is tranquilcalmand happyTom. In the soft strain
which ever and again comes stealing back upon the earthe memory of
thine old love may find a voice perhaps; but it is a pleasant
softenedwhispering memorylike that in which we sometimes hold
the deadand does not pain or grieve theeGod be thanked.

Touch the notes lightlyTomas lightly as thou wiltbut never
will thine hand fall half so lightly on that Instrument as on the
head of thine old tyrant brought down veryvery low; and never will
it make as hollow a response to any touch of thineas he does
always.

For a drunkenbeggingsqualidletter-writing mancalled Pecksniff
with a shrewish daughterhaunts theeTom; and when he makes
appeals to thee for cashreminds thee that he built thy fortunes
better than his own; and when he spends itentertains the alehouse
company with tales of thine ingratitude and his munificence towards
thee once upon a time; and then he shows his elbows worn in holes
and puts his soleless shoes up on a benchand begs his auditors
look therewhile thou art comfortably housed and clothed. All


known to theeand yet all borne withTom!

Sowith a smile upon thy facethou passest gently to another
measure--to a quicker and more joyful one--and little feet are used
to dance about thee at the soundand bright young eyes to glance up
into thine. And there is one slight creatureTom--her child; not
Ruth's--whom thine eyes follow in the romp and dance; whowondering
sometimes to see thee look so thoughtfulruns to climb up on thy
kneeand put her cheek to thine; who loves theeTomabove the
restif that can be; and falling sick oncechose thee for her
nurseand never knew impatienceTomwhen thou wert by her side.

Thou glidestnowinto a graver air; an air devoted to old friends
and bygone times; and in thy lingering touch upon the keysand the
rich swelling of the mellow harmonythey rise before thee. The
spirit of that old man deadwho delighted to anticipate thy wants
and never ceased to honour theeis thereamong the rest;
repeatingwith a face composed and calmthe words he said to thee
upon his bedand blessing thee!

And coming from a gardenTombestrewn with flowers by children's
handsthy sisterlittle Ruthas light of foot and heart as in old
dayssits down beside thee. From the Presentand the Pastwith
which she is so tenderly entwined in all thy thoughtsthy strain
soars onward to the Future. As it resounds within thee and without
the noble musicrolling round ye bothshuts out the grosser
prospect of an earthly partingand uplifts ye both to Heaven!