 CHAPTER 40 THE PINCHES MAKE A NEW ACQUANTANCE AND HAVE FRESH ACCASION FOR SURPRISE AND WONDER There was a ghostly air about these uninhabited chambers in the temple, and attending every circumstance of Tom's employment there, which had a strange charm in it. Every morning when he shut his door at Islington, he turned his face towards an atmosphere of unaccountable fascination, as surely as he turned it to the London smoke, and from that moment it thickened round and round him all day long, until the time arrived for going home again, and leaving it like a motionless cloud behind. It seemed to Tom every morning that he approached this ghostly mist and became enveloped in it by the easiest succession of degrees imaginable. Passing from the roar and rattle of the streets into the quiet courtyards of the temple was the first preparation. Every echo of his footsteps sounded to him like the sound from the old walls and pavements, wanting language to relate the histories of the dim, dismal rooms, to tell him what lost documents were decaying in forgotten corners of the shut-up cellars, from whose lattices such moldy sighs came breathing forth as he went past, to whisper of dark bins of rare old wine bricked up in vaults among the old foundations of the halls, or mutter in a lower tone yet darker legends of the cross-legged knights whose marble effigies were in the church. With the first planting of his foot upon the staircase of his dusty office, all these mysteries increased, until, ascending step by step as Tom ascended, they attained their full growth in the solitary labors of the day. Every day brought one recurring, never-failing source of speculation. This employer, would he come today, and what would he be like? For Tom could not stop short at Mr. Fipps. He quite believed that Mr. Fipps had spoken truly when he said he acted for another. But what manner of man that other was became a full-blown flower of wonder in the garden of Tom's fancy, which never faded or got trodden down? At one time he conceived that Mr. Pexnip, repenting of his falsehood, might, by 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 himself, that he confided it to John Westlock on the very same day, informing John that he would rather ply for hire as a porter than fall so low in his own esteem as to accept the smallest obligation from the hands of Mr. Pexnip. But John assured him that he, Tom Pinch, was far from doing justice to the character of Mr. Pexnip yet, if 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 black, and at the same time distinctly perceived with the naked eye twelve first-rate comets careering round those planets. In which unusual state of things, he said, and not before, it might become not absolutely lunatic to suspect Mr. Pexnip of anything so monstrous. In short, he laughed the idea down completely, and Tom, abandoning it, was thrown upon his beamons again for some other solution. In the meantime, Tom attended to his duties daily and made considerable progress with the books, which were already reduced to some sort of order, and made a great appearance in his fairly written catalogue. During his business hours he indulged himself occasionally with snatches of reading, which were often indeed a 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 morning in case his strange employer should appear and ask what had become of it, he led a happy, quiet, studious kind of life after his own heart. But though the books were never so interesting and never so full of novelty to Tom, they could not so enchain him in those mysterious chambers as to render him unconscious for a moment of the lightest sound. Every footstep on the flags without set him listening attentively, and when it turned into that house and came up the stairs he 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 mind, the folly of which his common sense could readily discover, but which his common sense was quite unable to keep away notwithstanding. That quality being with most of us in such a case, like the old French police, quick at detection but very weak as a preventive power. Misgivings, undefined, absurd, inexplicable, that there was someone hiding in the inner room, walking softly overhead, peeping in through the door-chink, doing something stealthy anywhere where he was not, came over him a hundred times a day, making it pleasant to throw up the sash and hold communication even with the sparrows who had built in the roof and waterspout and were twittering about the windows all day long. He sat with the outer door wide open at all times that he might hear the footsteps as they entered and turned off into the chambers on the lower floor. He formed odd prepossessions too regarding strangers in the streets and would say within himself of such or such a man who struck him as having anything uncommon in his dress or aspect. I shouldn't wonder now if that were he, but it never was. And though he actually turned back and followed more than one of these suspected individuals in a singular belief that they were going to the place he was then upon his way from, he never got any other satisfaction by it than the satisfaction of knowing it was not the case. Mr. Phipps of Austin Friars rather deepened than illumined the obscurity of his position for on the first occasion of Tom's waiting on him to receive his weekly pay, he said, oh, by the by, Mr. Pinch, you needn't mention it, if you please. Tom thought he was going to tell him a secret, so he said that he wouldn't on any account and that Mr. Phipps might entirely depend upon him. But as Mr. Phipps said very good in reply and nothing more, Tom prompted him. Not on any account, repeated Tom. Mr. Phipps repeated, very good. You were going to say, Tom hinted, oh, dear no, cried Phipps, not at all. However, seeing Tom confused, he added, I mean that you needn't mention any particulars about your place of employment to people generally. You'll find it better not. I have not had the pleasure of seeing my employer yet, sir, observed Tom, putting his weak salary in his pocket. Haven't you, said Phipps? No, I don't suppose you have, though. I should like to thank him and to know that what I have done so far is done to his satisfaction, faltered Tom. Quite right, said Mr. Phipps with a young one, 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 engagement, sir, or render me useless. Oh, dear no, retorted Phipps, plenty to do, plenty 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. Phipps expressed himself for the double meaning, he had good reason for doing so. But now a circumstance occurred which helped to divert Tom's thoughts from even this mystery and to divide them between it and a new channel which 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 morning, it was his habit to take a long walk before going to the temple, and naturally inclining as a stranger towards those parts of the town which were conspicuous for the life and animation pervading them, he became a great frequenter of the marketplaces, bridges, and especially the steamboat wharves, for it was very lively and fresh to see the people hurrying away upon their many schemes of business or pleasure, and 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 be, no one seemed to know, at a very early hour, the habits of the people of the house in which they lodged corresponded with their own, thus they had often finished their breakfast and were out in the summer air by seven o'clock. After a two-hour stroll, they parted at some convenient point, Tom going to the temple and his sister returning home as methodically as you please. Many and many a pleasant stroll they had in Covent Garden Market snuffing up the perfume of the fruits and flowers, wondering at the magnificence of the pineapples and melons, catching glimpses down side avenues of rows and rows of old women seated on inverted baskets, shelling peas, looking on utterable things at the fat bundles of asparagus, with which the dainty shops were fortified as with a breastwork. And at the herbalist's doors, gratefully inhaling scents as a veal stuffing yet uncooked, dreamily mixed up with capsicums, brown paper, seeds, even with hints of lusty snails and fine young curly leeches. Many and many a pleasant stroll they had among the poultry markets, where ducks and fowls, with necks unnaturally long, lay stretched out in pairs ready for cooking. Where there were speckled eggs and mossy baskets, white country sausages beyond impeachment by surviving cat or dog or horse or donkey, new cheeses to any wild extent, live birds in coops and cages looking much too big to be natural, in consequence of those receptacles being much too little, rabbits alive and dead innumerable, many a pleasant stroll they had among the cool, refreshing silvery fish stalls, with the kind of moonlight effect about their stocking trade, accepting always for the ruddy lobsters. Many a pleasant stroll among the wagon loads of fragrant hay, beneath which dogs and tired wagoners lay fast asleep, oblivious of the pie men and the public house, but never half so good a stroll as down among the steamboats on a bright morning. There they lay alongside of each other, hard and fast forever to all appearance, but designing to get out somehow and quite confident of doing it. And in that faith, shoals of passengers and heaps of luggage were proceeding hurriedly on board. Little steamboats dashed up and down the stream incessantly, tears upon tears of vessels, scores of masts, labyrinths of tackle, idle sails, splashing oars, gliding rowboats, lumbering barges, sunken piles with ugly lodgings for the water rat within their mud-discolored nooks, church steeples, warehouses, house roofs, arches, bridges, men and women, children, casks, cranes, boxes, horses, coaches, idlers and hard laborers. There they were all jumbled up together any summer morning, far beyond Tom's power of separation. In the midst of all this turmoil there was an incessant roar from every packet's funnel which quite expressed and carried out the uppermost emotion of the scene. They all appeared to be perspiring and bothering themselves exactly as their passengers did. They never left off fretting and chafing in their own horse manner once, but were always panting out without any stops. Come along, do make haste, I'm very nervous. Come along, O 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 off and had got safely out into the current, on the smallest provocation they began again, for the bravest packet of them all, being stopped by some entanglement in the river, would 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 so, in a state of mind bordering on distraction, would be last seen drifting slowly through the mist into the summer light beyond that made it red. Tom's ship, however, or at least the packet boat in which Tom and his sister took the greatest interest on one particular occasion, was not off yet by 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 women obviously bound for Gravesend, but turning a deaf ear to all representations that this particular vessel was about to sail for Antwerp, persisted in secreting baskets of refreshments behind bulkheads, and water casts and under seats, and very great confusion prevailed. It was so amusing that Tom, with Ruth upon his arm, stood looking down from the wharf, as nearly regardless as it was in the nature of flesh and blood to be, of an elderly lady behind him who had brought a large umbrella with her and 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 wind pipe, consequent upon its having caught him round the throat. Soon after disengaging himself with perfect good humor, he had a sensation of the ferrule in his back, immediately afterwards of the hook entangling his ankles, then of the umbrella generally wandering about his hat and flapping at it like a great bird, and lastly of a poke or thrust below the ribs which gave him such exceeding anguish that he could not refrain from turning round to offer a mild remonstrance. Upon his turning round he found the owner of the umbrella struggling on tiptoe with a countenance expressive of violent animosity to look down upon the steamboats, from which he inferred that she had attacked him, standing in the front row by design and as her natural enemy. What a very ill-natured person you must be, said Tom. The lady cried out fiercely, Where is the police? Meaning the constabulary, and went on to say, shaking the handle of the umbrella at Tom, that but for them fellers never being in the way when they was wanted she'd have given him in charge, she would. If they greased the whiskers less in mind of the duties which they're paid so heavy for a little more, she observed, no one needn't be drove mad by scouting so. She had been grievously knocked about, no doubt, for her bonnet was bent into the shape of a cocked hat. Being a fat little woman, too, she was in a state of great exhaustion and intense heat. Instead of pursuing the altercation, therefore, Tom 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 package without wanting to go aborting of it, can 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 creature, as ever I was with in trying times, returned the lady, somewhat softened. And there are many in their numbers ever brought it as a charge again myself that I was anything but mild and equal in my spirits. Never mind a contradicting of me, if you seem to feel it does you good, ma'am. I often says, for well you know that Ceri may be trusted not to give it back again, but I will not denige that I am warranted and wexed this day, and with good region, Lord forbid. But this time, Mrs. Gamp, for it was no other than that experienced practitioner, had, with Tom's assistance, squeezed and worked herself into a small corner between Ruth and the rail, where, after breathing very hard for some little time, and performing a short series of dangerous evolutions with her umbrella, she managed to establish herself pretty comfortably. And which of all them smoking monsters as the Antwerks boat I wonder, goodness me, cried Mrs. Gamp, what boat did you want, asked Ruth, the Antwerks package? Mrs. Gamp replied, I will not deceive you, my sweet, why should I? That is the Antwerp package in the middle, said Ruth. And I wish it was in Jonah's belly I do, cried Mrs. Gamp, appearing to confound the prophet with the wail in this miraculous aspiration. Ruth said nothing in reply, but as Mrs. Gamp laying her chin against the cool iron of the rail, continued to look intently at the Antwerp boat, and every now and then to give a little groan, she inquired whether any child of hers was going aboard that morning, or perhaps her husband, she said kindly. Which shows, said Mrs. Gamp, casting up her eyes, what a little way you've traveled into this wail of life, my dear young creedor, as a good friend of mine has frequent made remark to me, which her name, my love, is Harris. Mrs. Harris stood the square and up the steps, a turn and round by the tobacco shop. Oh, sary, sary, little do we know what lies before us. Mrs. Harris, ma'am, I says, not much, it's true, but more than you suppose. Our calculations, ma'am, I says, respecting what the number of a family will be, comes most times within one, and oftener than you would suppose, exact. Sary, says Mrs. Harris, in an awful way, tell me, what is my individual number? No, Mrs. Harris, I says to her, excuse me if you please. My own, I says, has fallen out of three pair backs, and had damp doorsteps settled on their lungs, and one was turned up smiling in a bedstead unbeknown. Therefore, ma'am, I says, seek not to participate, but take them as they come and as they go. Mine, says Mrs. Gamp, mine is all gone, my dear young chick, and as to husbands, there's a wooden leg gone likewise home to its account, which in its constancy of walking into wine vaults, and never coming out again, till fetched by force, was quite as weak as flesh, if not weaker. When she had delivered this oration, Mrs. 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 has owned the name of man could do it. Tom and his sister glanced at each other, and Ruth, after a moment's hesitation, asked Mrs. Gamp what troubled her so much. My dear, returned that lady, dropping her voice, you are single, ain't you? Ruth laughed, blushed, and said yes. Your sluck, proceeded Mrs. Gamp for all parties, but others is married, and in the marriage state, and there is a dear young creed are coming down this morning to that very package, which is no more fit to trust herself to see than nothing is. She paused here to look over the deck of the packet in question, and on the steps leading down to it, and on the gangways, seeming to have thus assured herself that the object of her commiseration had not yet arrived. She raised her eyes gradually up to the top of the escape pipe, and indignantly apostaphized the vessel. Oh, drat you, said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her umbrella at it. You're a nice, spluttering, nizzy monster for a delicate young creed are to go and be a passenger by, ain't you? You never do no harm in that way, do you? With your hammering, and roaring, and hissing, and lamp-iling, you brute! Them confusion steamers, said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her umbrella again, has done more to throw us out of our regular work and bring a wince on at times when nobody counted on them, especially them screeching railroad ones, than all the other frights that ever was took. I have heared of one young man, a guard upon a railway, only three years opened, well does Mrs. Harris know him, which indeed he is her own relation by her sister's marriage with a master's soire, as his godfather at this present time to six and twenty blessed little strangers, equally unexpected, and all of them named after the in-jeans as was the cause. Ugh, said Mrs. Gamp, resuming her apostrophe, one might easy know you as a man's invention from your disregardlessness of the weakness of our natures, so one might, you brute. It would not have been unnatural to suppose, from the first part of Mrs. Gamp's lamentations, that 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, where she interrupted herself at this point and exclaimed, there she identically goes, poor sweet young creedor, there she goes, like a lamb to the sacrifice. If there's any illness when that vessel gets to see, said Mrs. Gamp, prophetically, it's murder, and I'm the witness for the persecution. She was so very earnest on the subject that Tom's sister, being as kind as Tom himself, could not help saying something to her and reply. Pray, which is the lady, she inquired, in whom you are so much interested. There, grown Mrs. Gamp, there she goes, across in the little wooden bridge at this minute. She's a-slippin' on a bit of orange peel, tightly clutching her umbrella, what a turn it gave me. Do you mean the lady, who is with that man, wrapped up from head to foot in a large cloak, so 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 wrist, then? He seems to be hasty with her indeed. Now he's a-taking of her down into the closed cabin, said Mrs. Gamp impatiently. What's the man about? The deuces in him, I think. Why can't he leave her in the open air? He did not, whatever his reason was, but led her quickly down and disappeared himself without loosening his cloak or 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 round, just when Mrs. Gamp concluded her apostrophe to the steam engine, and on his right arm, Ruth being on his left, he found their landlord to his great surprise. He was not so much surprised at the man's being there as that 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 pardon, Mr. Pinch, he said in his ear. I am rather infirm and out of breath, and my eyes are not very good. I am not as young as I was, sir. You don't see a gentleman in a large cloak down yonder with a lady on his arm, a lady in a veil and a black shawl, do you? If he did not, it 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 Tom as 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. Yes, yes, replied the other with keen impatience. A gentleman muffled up from head to foot, strangely muffled up for such a morning as this, like an invalid with his hand to his face at this minute, perhaps. No, no, no, not there, he added, following Tom's gaze, the other way in that direction down yonder. Again he indicated, but this time in his hurry with his outstretched finger the very spot on which the progress of these persons was checked at that moment. There are so many people in so much motion and so many objects, said Tom, that I find it difficult to. No, I really don't see a gentleman in a large cloak and a lady in a black shawl. There's a lady in a red shawl over there. No, no, no, cried his landlord, pointing 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 minute with the folds of a great cloak trailing down after him? The very man returned to the other, not looking at what Tom pointed out, however, but at Tom's own face. Will you do me a kindness, sir, a 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 employers, but I am late in finding him and not being as young as I have been should never be able to make my way on board and off the deck again in time. Will you pardon my boldness and do me that great kindness? His hands shook and his face bespoke the utmost interest and agitation as he pressed the letter upon Tom and pointed to its destination like 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 returned, which would be immediately, and ran down the steps with all the expedition he could make. There were so many people going down, so many others coming up, such heavy goods in course of transit to and fro, such a ringing of bell blowing off of steam and shouting of men's voices that he had much to do to force his way or keep in mind to which boat he was going. But he reached the right one with good speed and going down the cabin stairs immediately described the object of his search standing at the upper end of the saloon with his back towards him, reading some notice which was hung against the wall. As Tom advanced to give him the letter, he started hearing footsteps and 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 say what 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 asked the moment since to give you this letter. You were pointed out to me, but I didn't know you in your strange dress. Take it. He did so, opened it and 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 there and a hoarse voice calling down the steps, inquired if there was any to go ashore. Yes, cried Jonas, I am coming. Give me time, where's that woman? Come back, come back here. He threw open another door as he spoke and dragged rather than led her forth. She was pale and frightened and amazed to see her old acquaintance, but had no time to speak, for 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 me or I shall be the death of you or someone else. Stop there, stop, we're for the shore. Do you hear, we're for the shore. He turned, even in the madness of his hurry, and scowling darkly back at Tom shook his clenched hand at him. There are not many human faces capable of the expression with which he accompanied that gesture. He dragged her up and Tom followed them, across the deck over the side, along the crazy plank and up the steps. He dragged her fiercely, not bestowing any look on her, but gazing upwards all the while among the faces of the wharf. Suddenly he turned again and said to Tom with a tremendous oath, where is he? Before Tom, in his indignation and amazement, could return an answer to a question he so little understood, a gentleman approached Tom behind and saluted Jonas Chuzzawit by name. He was a gentleman of foreign appearance with a black mustache and whiskers, and addressed him with a polite composure, strangely different from his own distracted and desperate manner. Chuzzawit, my good fellow, said the gentleman, raising his hat in compliment to Mrs. Chuzzawit. I ask your pardon, 20,000 times, I am most unwilling to interfere between you and a domestic trip of this nature, always so very charming and refreshing, I know, although I have not the happiness to be a domestic man myself, which is the great infelicity of my existence. But the beehive, my dear friends, the beehive, will you introduce me? This is Mr. Montague, said Jonas, whom the words appeared to choke. The most unhappy and most penitent of man, Mrs. Chuzzawit, pursued that gentleman, for having been the means of spoiling this excursion, but as I tell my friend, the beehive, the beehive, you projected a short little continental trip, my dear friend, of 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 this city must be paramount to every other consideration when there is honey to be made, and that is my best excuse. Here is a very singular old female dropping curtsies on my right, said Montague, breaking off in his discourse and looking at Mrs. Gamp, who is not a friend of mine. Does anybody know her? Ah, well, they knows me. Bless their precious heart, said Mrs. Gamp. Not forgetting your own merry one, sir, and long may it be so. Wishing as every one, she delivered this in the form of a toast or sentiment, was as merry and as handsome looking as a little bird has whispered me a certain gent is, which I will not name, for fear I give offense when none is due. My precious lady, here she stopped short in her merriment for she had, until now, affected to be vastly entertained. You're too pale by half. You are here too, are you, Mother Jonas? Eh, God, there are enough of you. I hope, sir, returned Mrs. Gamp, dropping an indignant curtsy. As no bones is broke by me and Mrs. Harris, a walking down upon a public wharf, which was the very words she says to me, although there was the last I ever had to speak, was these. Sarri, she says, is it a public wharf? Mrs. Harris, I make the answer, can you doubt it? You have knowed me now, ma'am, eight and 30 year, and did you ever know me go or wish to go where I was not made welcome? Say the words. No, Sarri, Mrs. Harris says, contrary quite, and well, she knows it too. I am but a poor woman, but I've been sought after, sir, though you may not think it. I've been knocked up at all hours of the night and warned out by a many landlords and consequence of being mistook for fire. I goes out working for my bread, just true, but I maintains my independency with your kind leave, and which I will till death. I has my feelings as a woman, sir, and I have been a mother like ways, but touch of pipkin as belongs to me or make the least remarks on what I eat or drinks, and though you was the favoritist young forehead hussy of a servant gallant has ever come into a house, either you leaves the place or me. My earnings is not great, sir, but I will not be imposed upon. Bless the babe and save the mother as my mortar, sir, but I make so free as add to that, don't try no impugition with the nus, for she will not aber it. Mrs. Gamp concluded by drawing her shawl tightly over herself with both hands, and, as usual, referring to Mrs. Harris for full corroboration of these particulars. She had that peculiar trembling of the head, which, in ladies of her excitable nature, may 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 her and 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 look which long lived in Tom's memory and which he often recalled afterwards. I am upon my life, said Montague. Why did you make it necessary? With the same dark glance as before, Jonas replied after 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 bound and in the other's power, but had a sullen and suppressed devil within him which he could not quite resist. His very gait as they walked away together was like that of a fettered man but striving to work out at his clenched hands, knitted brows and fast-set lips was 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 is so unconscious of any impression from it that although Tom had been one of the chief actors, it was like a dream. No one had noticed him after they had left the packet. He had stood behind Jonas and so near him that he could not help hearing all the past. He had stood there with his sister on his arm expecting 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 action they were all gone. He gazed round for his landlord but he had done that more than once already and no such man was to be seen. He was still pursuing this search with his eyes when he saw a hand beckoning to him from a hackney coach and hurrying towards it found it was Mary's. She addressed him hurriedly but bent out of the window that she might not be overheard by her companion, Mrs. Gamp. What is it? she said. Good heaven, what is it? Why did he tell me last night to prepare for a long journey and why have you brought us back like criminals, dear Mr. Pinch? She clasped her hands distractedly. Be merciful to us. Whatever this dreadful secret is, be merciful and God will bless you. If any power of mercy lay with me, cried Tom, trust me, you shouldn't ask in vain but I am far more ignorant and weak than you. She withdrew into the coach again and he saw the hand waving towards him for a moment but whether in reproachfulness or in credulity or misery or grief or sad adieu or what else he could not, being so hurried, understand. She was gone now and Ruth and he were left to walk away in wonder. Had Mr. Nadget appointed the man who never came to meet him upon London Bridge that morning, he was certainly looking over the parapet and down upon the steamboat wharf at that moment. It could not have been for pleasure if he never took pleasure. No, he must have had some business there. End of chapter 40. Chapter 41 of Life and Adventures of Martin Chuselwit. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Life and Adventures of Martin Chuselwit by Charles Dickens. Chapter 41. Mr. Jonas and his friend arriving at a pleasant understanding set forth upon an enterprise. The office of the Anglo-Bengali disinterested loan and life assurance company being near at hand and Mr. Montague driving Jonas straight there, they had very little way to go. But the journey might have been one of several hours duration without provoking a remark from either, for it was clear that Jonas did not mean to break the silence which prevailed between them and that it was not as yet his dear friend's cue to tempt them into conversation. He had thrown aside his cloak as having now no motive for concealment and with that garment huddled on his knees, sad 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 been within a few minutes when Tom encountered him so unexpectedly on board the packet or 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, hunted and beset. But there was now a dawning and increasing purpose in his face which changed it very much. It was gloomy, distrustful, lowering, pale with anger and defeat. It still was humbled, abject, cowardly and mean but let the conflict go on as it would. There was one strong purpose wrestling with every emotion of his mind and casting the whole series down as they arose. Not pre-possessing an appearance at the best of times, it may be readily supposed that he was not so now. He had left deep marks of his front teeth and 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-possessed indeed as men quite otherwise than brave are known to be in desperate extremities. And when the carriage stopped, he waited for no invitation but leapt heartily out and went upstairs. The chairman followed him and closing the boardroom door as soon as they had entered threw himself upon a sofa. Jonas stood before the window looking down into the street and leaned against the sash resting his head upon his arms. This is not handsome, Cheslowit, said Montague at length, not handsome upon my soul. What would you have me do? He answered, looking round abruptly. What do you expect? Confidence, my good fellow, some confidence, said Montague in an injured tone. E, cod, you show great confidence in me, retorted Jonas, don't you? Do I not, said his companion, raising his head and looking at him, but 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? Come, come, a foreign boat, my friend, an early hour, a figure wrapped up for disguise. Who said? If you didn't mean to jilt me, why were you there? If you didn't mean to jilt me, why 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 street and resting his head upon his arms. Now chuzzle with, said Montague, notwithstanding what has passed, I will be playing with you. Are you attending to me there? I only see your back. I hear you, go on. I say that notwithstanding what has passed, I will be playing with you. You said that before, and I have told you once, I heard you say it, go on. You are a little chafed, but I can make allowance for that. And I'm fortunately myself in the very best of tempers. Now, let us see how circumstances stand. A day or two ago I mentioned to you, my dear fellow, that I thought I had discovered, will you hold your tongue? said Jonas, looking fiercely round and glancing at the door. Well, well, said Montague, judicious, quite correct. My discoveries being published would be like many other men's discoveries in this honest world of no further use to me. You see, chuzzle with, how ingenuous and frank I am in showing you the weakness of my own position. To return, I make or think I make a certain discovery, which I take an early opportunity of mentioning in your ear. In that spirit of confidence, which I really hoped did prevail between us, and 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. But, my good fellow, you have been weak. What I wish to point out to you is that you have been weak. I may desire to turn this little incident to my account. Indeed, I do. I'll not deny it. But my account does not lie in probing it or using it against you. What do you call using it against me? Asked Jonas, who had not yet changed his attitude. Oh, said Monty G with a laugh. We'll not enter into that. Using it to make a beggar of me, is that the use you mean? No. He cod, muttered Jonas bitterly. 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 us, certainly. And to keep quiet, said Monty G, you promised me you would. And you must. I say it plainly, chuzzle-wit. You must. Reason the matter. If you don't, my secret is worthless to me. And being so, it may as well become the public property as mine. Better, for I shall gain some credit bringing it to light. I want you, besides to act as a decoy, in a case I have already told you of. You don't mind that, I know. You care nothing for the man. You care nothing for any man. You are too sharp, so am I, I hope. And could bear any loss of his with pious portitude. You have tried to escape from the first consequence. You cannot escape it, I assure you. I have shown you that today. Now, I am not a moral man, you 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 neighbor, and the people in the best repute the most. Why do you give me this trouble? It must come to a friendly agreement or an unfriendly crash. It must. If the former, you are very little hurt. If the latter, well, you know best what is likely to happen then. Jonas left the window and 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 breast or 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 morning and making better terms with you from a distance. To be sure, to be sure, replied Montague, nothing more natural. I foresaw that and provided against it. But I am afraid I am interrupting you. How the devil pursued Jonas with a still greater effort. You made choice of your messenger and where you found him I will not ask you. I owed him one good turn before today. If you are so careless of men in general as you said you were just now, you are quite indifferent to what becomes of such a crop-tailed curse 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 face he would have seen that Montague was evidently unable to comprehend his meaning. But continuing to stand before him with his furtive gaze directed as before and pausing here only to moisten his dry lips with his tongue the 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 demeanor. He kept it riveted on one spot with which his thoughts had manifestly nothing to do, like as a juggler walking on a cord or wire to any dangerous end holds some object in his sight to steady him and never wanders from it lest he trip. Montague was quick in his rejoinder, though 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 proceeded with a savage sneer that got the better of him for the moment, may be true and may be false. Whichever it is I dare say I am no worse than other men. Not a bit said, take 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. I returned the other gruffly. Is it known to anybody else? Come, don't waver about that. No, said Montague, without the smallest hesitation. What would it be worth, do you think, unless I had the keeping of it? Now for the first time Jonas looked at him. After a pause he put out his hand and said with a laugh, Come, make things easy to me and I'm yours. I don't know that I may not be better off here after all than if I had gone away this morning. So here I am and here I'll stay now, take your oath. He cleared his throat for he was speaking hoarsely and sat in a lighter tone. Shall I go to peck sniff? When, say when. Immediately, cried Montague, he cannot be enticed too soon. He cod, cried Jonas, of the wild laugh. There's some fun in catching that old hypocrite. I hate him. Shall I go tonight? I. This, said Montague ecstatically, is like business. We understand each other now. Tonight my good fellow, by all means. Come with me, cried Jonas, we must make a dash. Go down in state and carry documents, for he's a deep file to deal with and must be drawn on with an artful hand, or he'll not follow. I know him. As I can't take your lodging, though your dinner is down, I must take you. Will you come tonight? His friend appeared to hesitate, and neither to have anticipated this proposal nor to relish it very much. We can concert our plans upon the road, said Jonas. We must not go direct to him, but cross over from some other place, and turn out of our way to see him. I may not want to introduce you, but I must have you on the spot. I know the man, I tell you. But what if the man knows me, said Montague, shrugging 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? God, you were another figure when I saw you first. Ha, ha, ha! I see the wrents and patches now. No false hair then, no black dye. You were another sort of joker in those days, you were. You even spoke different then. You've acted the gentleman so seriously since that you've taken in yourself. If he should know you, what does it matter? Such a change is the proof of your success. You know that, or you would not have made yourself known to me. Will you come? My good fellow, said Montague, still hesitating. I can trust you alone. Trust me. E. Codjume, trust me now far enough. I'll try to go away no more, no more. He stopped and 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 conversation, and which had gone on rapidly increasing with almost every word he had spoken from the time when he looked his honorable friend in the face until now, did not subside, but remaining at its height abided 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 circumstance. It abided by him. It was not like the effect of wine or any ardent drink, for 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 day, with no reserve or caution, he remained exactly the same man, and his spirits neither rose nor fell in the least observable degree. Deciding after some discussion to travel at night in order that the day's business might not be broken in upon, they took counsel together in reference to the means. Mr. Montague, being of opinion that four horses were advisable, at all events for the first stage, as throwing a great deal of dust into people's eyes in more senses than one. A traveling chariot and four lay under orders for nine o'clock. Jonas did not go home, observing that his being obliged to leave town on business in so great a hurry would be a good excuse for having turned back so unexpectedly in the morning. So he wrote a note for his portmanteau and sent it by a messenger who duly brought his luggage back with a short note from that other piece of luggage, his wife, expressive 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 sufficient, in defiance of the English grammar to express a negative, she kept away. Mr. Montague, being much engaged in the course of the day, Jonas bestowed his spirits chiefly on the doctor with whom he lunched in the medical officer's own room. On his way thither, encountering Mr. Naget in the outer room, he bantered that stealthy gentleman on always appearing anxious to avoid him and inquired if he were afraid of him. Mr. Naget slyly answered, no, but he believed it must be his way as he had been charged with much the same kind of thing before. Mr. Montague was listening to, or to speak with greater elegance, he overheard this dialogue. As soon as Jonas was gone he beckoned Naget to him with the feather of his pen and whispered in his ear, who gave him my letter this morning. My lodger, sir, said Naget behind the palm of his hand. How came that about? I found him on the wharf, sir, being so much hurried and you not arrived it was necessary to do something. It fortunately occurred to me that if I gave it him myself I could be of no further use. I should have been blown upon immediately. Mr. Naget, you are a jewel, said Montague, patting him on the back. What's your lodger's name? Pinch, sir, Thomas Pinch. Montague reflected for a little while and then asked, from the country, do you know? From Wiltshire, sir, he told me. They parted without another word. To see Mr. Naget's bow when Montague and he next met and 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 meanwhile, Mr. Jonas and the doctor made themselves very comfortable upstairs over a bottle of the old Madeira and some sandwiches. For the doctor, having been already invited to dine below at six o'clock, preferred a light repast for lunch. It was advisable, he said, in two points of view, first as 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 digestion, Mr. Chesilwit, my dear sir, said the doctor, smacking his lips after a glass of wine. For depend upon it, it is worth preserving. It must be in admirable condition, sir, perfect chronometer work. Otherwise your spirits could not be so remarkable. Your bosom's lord sits lightly on its throne, Mr. Chesilwit, as what's his name says in the play. I wish he said it in a play which did anything like come and justice to our profession, by the by. There is an apothecary in that drama, sir, which is a low thing, vulgar, sir, out of nature altogether. Mr. Joblin pulled out his shirt full of fine linen as though he would have said, This is what I call nature in a medical man, sir, and looked at Jonas for an observation. Jonas not being in a condition to pursue the subject took up a case of lancets that was lying on the table and opened it. Ah, said the doctor, leaning back in his chair, I always take him out of my pocket before I eat. My pockets are rather tight. 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 steel, doctor, good steel, eh? Yes, replied the doctor with the faltering modesty of ownership. One might open a vein pretty dexterously with that, Mr. Chesilwit. It has opened a good many in its time, I suppose, said Jonas, looking at it with a growing interest. Not a few, my dear sir, not a few. It has been engaged in a pretty good practice, I believe I may say, replied the doctor. The coughing is if the matter of fact were so very dry and literal that he couldn't help it. In a pretty good practice, repeated the doctor, putting another glass of wine to his lips. Now, could you cut a man's throat with such a thing as this, demanded Jonas? Oh, certainly, certainly, if you took him in the right place, return to the doctor. It all depends upon that. Where you have your hand now, eh? cried Jonas, bending forward to look at it. Yes, said the doctor, that's the jugular. Jonas in his vivacity made a sudden sawing in the air, so 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. No, no, said the doctor, shaking his head. Edge tools, edge tools, never play with them. A very remarkable instance of the skillful use of edge tools, by the way, occurs 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. I, said Jonas, how was that? Why, sir, return jobbling? The thing lies in a nutshell. A certain gentleman was found one morning in an obscure street lying in an angle of a doorway. I should rather say leaning in an upright position in the angle of a doorway, and supported consequently by the doorway. Upon his waistcoat there was one solitary drop of blood. He was dead and cold and had been murdered, sir. Only one drop of blood, said Jonas. Sir, that man, replied the doctor, had been stabbed to the heart. Had been stabbed to the heart with such dexterity, sir, that he had died instantly and had blood internally. It was supposed that a medical friend of his, to whom suspicion attached, had engaged him in conversation on some pretense, had taken him very likely by the button in a conversational manner, had examined his ground at leisure with his other hand, had marked the exact spot drawn out the instrument whatever it was when he was quite prepared, and done the trick, suggested Jonas. Exactly so, replied the doctor. It was quite an operation in its way, and very neat. The medical friend never turned up, and, as I tell you, he had the credit of it. Whether he did it or not, I can't say. But having had the honor to be called in with two or three of my professional brethren on the occasion, and having assisted to make a careful examination of the wound, I have no hesitation in saying that it would have reflected credit on any medical man, and that in an unprofessional person it could not be considered, either as an extraordinary work of art, or the result of a still more extraordinary, happy and favorable conjunction of circumstances. His hearer was so much interested in this case that the doctor went on to elucidate it with the assistance of his own finger and thumb and waistcoat, and at Jonas' request he took the further trouble of going into a corner of the room and alternately representing the murdered man and the murderer, which he did with great effect. The bottle being emptied and the story done, Jonas was in precisely the same boisterous and unusual state as when they had sat down. If, as Jobling theorized, his good digestion were the cause, he must have been a very ostrich. At dinner it was just the same, and after dinner, too, though wine was drunk in abundance and 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 cards and a bottle of wine, and with these things under his cloak went down to the door. Out of the way, Tom Thumb, and get to bed. This was the salutation he bestowed on Mr. Bailey, who, booted and wrapped up, stood at the carriage door to help him in. To bed, sir, I'm going, too, said Bailey. He alighted quickly and walked back into the hall where Montague was lighting a cigar, conducting Mr. Bailey with him by the collar. You are not going to take this monkey of a boy, are you? Yes, said Montague. He gave the boy a shake and threw him roughly aside. There was more of his familiar self in the action than in anything he had done that day, but he broke out laughing immediately afterwards, and making a thrust at the doctor with his hand in imitation of his representation of the medical friend, went out to the carriage again and took his seat. His companion followed immediately. Mr. Bailey climbed into the rumble. It will be a stormy night, exclaimed the doctor, as they started. 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 fulfillment of his prophecy may be taken as an instance of his professional tact. Four, unless the threatening aspect of the night had been perfectly plain and unmistakable, Mr. 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 hot, silent nights when 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 travelers on open plains and lonely ships at sea struck by lightning. Lightning flashed and quivered on the black horizon even now, and hollow murmurings were in the wind as though it had been blowing where the thunder rolled, and still was charged with its exhausted echoes. But the storm, though gathering swiftly, had not yet come up, and the prevailing stillness was the more solemn from the dull intelligence that seemed to hover in the air of noise and conflict to fire off. It was very dark, but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated in a furnace and were growing cold. These had been advancing steadily and slowly, but they were now motionless, or nearly so. As the carriage clattered round the corners of the streets, it passed at every one and not of persons who had come there, many from their houses close at hand, without hats, to look up at that quarter of the sky, and now a very few large drops of rain began to fall and thunder rumbled in the distance. Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage with his bottle resting on his knee, and gripped as tightly in his hand as if he would have ground its neck to powder if he could. Slowly attracted by the night he had laid aside the pack of cards upon the cushion, and with the same involuntary impulse, so intelligible to both of them as not to occasion a remark on either side, his 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 London, or as clear of it as travelers can be whose way lies on the western road within a stage of that enormous city. Occasionally they encountered a foot passenger hurrying to the nearest place of shelter, or some unwieldy cart proceeding onward at a heavy trot with the same end in view. Little clusters of such vehicles were gathered round the stable yard or baiting place of every wayside tavern, while their drivers watched the weather from the doors and open windows, or made merry within. Everywhere the people were disposed to bury each other company rather than sit alone, so that groups of watchful faces seemed to be looking out upon the night, and them, from almost every house they passed. It may appear strange that this should have disturbed Jonas, or rendered him uneasy, but it did. After muttering to himself and often changing his position, he drew up the blind on his side of the carriage and turned his shoulder sulkily towards it. But he neither looked at his companion, nor broke the silence which prevailed between them, and which had fallen so suddenly upon himself by addressing a word to him. The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, the rain poured down like heaven's wrath, surrounded at one moment by intolerable light, and at the next by pitchy darkness they still pressed forward on their journey. Even when they arrived at the end of the stage, and might have tarried, they did not, but ordered horses out immediately, nor had this any reference to some five minutes lull which 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 words and might have tarried very well, they seemed to feel by joint consent that onward they must go. Louder and louder the deep thunder rolled as through the myriad halls of some vast temple in the sky, fiercer and brighter became the lightning, more and more heavily the rain poured down. The horses, they were traveling 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 sat, and forward they went, as if they were led on by an invisible attraction. The eye, partaking of the quickness of the flashing light, saw in its every gleam a multitude of objects which it could not see at steady noon and fifty times that period. Bells and steeples, with the rope and wheel that moved them, ragged nests of birds and cornices and nooks, faces full of consternation and the tilted wagons that came tearing past, their frightened teams ringing out a warning which the thunder drowned. Harrows and plows left out in fields, miles upon miles of hedge-divided country, with the distant fringe of trees as obvious as the scarecrow in the bean field close at hand. In a trembling, vivid, flickering instant everything 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 illusion which suddenly rose before the startled eyes of Montague and the carriage, and as rapidly disappeared. He thought he saw Jonas with his hand lifted and the bottle clenched in it like a hammer, naking 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 day with a wild hatred and fear which might have rendered a wolf a less terrible companion. He uttered an involuntary exclamation and called to the driver who brought his horses to a stop with all speed. It could hardly have been as he supposed for although he had not taken his eyes off his companion and had not seen him move, he 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 to the other, that I have not closed my eyes. When you have sworn it, said Jonas, composedly, we had better go on again if you have only stopped for that. He uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth and putting it to his lips took a long draft. I wish we had never started on this journey. This is not, said Montague, recoiling instinctively and speaking in a voice that betrayed his agitation. This is not a night to travel in. He codged you right there, returned Jonas, and we shouldn't be out in it, but for you, if you hadn't kept me waiting all day we might have been at Salisbury by this time, snug a bed and fast asleep. What are we stopping for? His companion put his head out of window for a moment and drawing it in again observed, 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, thank you, 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 lightning, I dare say, whoever else is. Go on, driver, we had better have him inside, perhaps. He muttered with a laugh, and the horses. Don't go too fast, cried Montague to the postelion, 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 so, as they moved forward again. Montague took little or no heed of what he said, but repeated that it was not a night for traveling and showed himself both then and afterwards unusually anxious. From this time Jonas recovered his former spirit, if such a term may be employed to express the state in which he had left the city. He had his bottle off and at his mouth, roared out snatches of songs without the least regard to time or tune or voice or anything but loud discordance, and urged his silent friend to be merry with him. You're the best company in the world, my good fellow, said Montague with an effort, and in general irresistible. But tonight, do you hear it? Eekad, I hear and see it, too, cried Jonas, shading his eyes for the moment from the lightning which was flashing, not in any one direction, but all around them. What of that? It don't change you nor me nor our affairs. Chorus, chorus. It may lighten and storm till it hound 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 doomed to be rifled and riven. That must be a precious old song he added with an oath as he stopped short in a kind of wonder at himself. I haven't heard it since I was a boy, and how it comes into my head now, unless the lightning put it there. I don't know. Can't hurt the dead. No, no, and won't save the head. No, no, no, ha, ha, ha. His mirth was of such a savage and extraordinary character, and was in an inexplicable way at once so suited to the night, and yet such a coarse intrusion on its terrors, that his fellow traveler, always a coward, shrunk from him in positive fear. Instead of Jonas being his tool and instrument, their places seemed to be reversed. But there was reason for this, too, Montague thought, since the sense of his debasement might naturally inspire such a man with the wish to assert a noisy independence, and in that license to forget his real condition. Being quick enough in reference to such subjects of contemplation, he was not long in taking this argument into account and giving it its full weight. But still he felt a vague sense of alarm, and was depressed and uneasy. He was certain he had not been asleep, but his eyes might have deceived him. For looking 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 hand he 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 gesture, and not the working of his fancy. The most that could be said of it was that it was quite in keeping with the rest of his diabolical fun, and 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 Jonas he would restrain him with an iron curb. In the meantime, that he could not do better than leave him to take his own way and preserve his own peculiar description of good humor after 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 de-camp across the water, and 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 Jonas, who appeared to have dismissed reflection altogether, entertained himself as before. They agreed that they would go to Salisbury and would cross to Mr. Pexnips in the morning, and at the prospect of deluding that worthy gentleman the spirits of his amiable son-in-law became more boisterous than ever. As the night wore on the thunder died away, but still rolled gloomily and mournfully in the distance. The lightning, too, though now comparatively harmless, was yet bright and frequent. The rain was quite as violent as it had ever been. It was their ill fortune at about the time of dawn and in the last stage of their journey to 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 day, and the various objects in their view were presented in indistinct and exaggerated shapes, which they would not have worn by night. They gradually became less and less capable of control, until, taking a sudden fright at something by the roadside, they dashed off while they, down a steep hill, flung the driver from his saddle, drew the carriage to the brink of a ditch, stumbled headlong down and threw it crashing over. The travelers had opened the carriage door and had either jumped or fallen out. Jonas was the first to stagger to his feet. He felt sick and weak and very giddy, and reeling to a five-barred gate stood holding by it, looking drowsily about as the whole landscape swam before his eyes. But by degrees he grew more conscious and presently observed that Montague was lying senseless in the road within a few feet of the horses. In an instant, as if his own faint body was suddenly animated by a demon, he ran to the horses' heads and pulling at their bridles with all his force, set 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 this, he fought and contended with them like a man possessed, making them wilder by his cries. "'Whoop!' cried Jonas. "'Whoop!' again! "'Another! "'A little more! "'A little more! "'Up, ye devils! "'Hello!' As he heard the driver who had risen and was hurrying up, crying to him to desist, his violence increased. "'Hello, hello!' 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 life saved Montague's by dragging him through the mire and water out of the reach of present harm. That done he ran to Jonas, and with the aid of his knife they very shortly disengaged the horses from the broken chariot and got them cut and bleeding on their legs again. The postillion and Jonas had now leisure to look at each other, which they had not had yet. "'Presence of mind, presence of mind!' cried Jonas, throwing up his hands wildly. "'What would you have done without me?' "'The other gentleman would have done badly without me,' returned the man, shaking his head. "'You should have moved him first. I gave him up for dead.' "'Presence of mind, you croaker, presence of mind!' cried Jonas, with a harsh, loud laugh. "'Was he struck, do you think?' They both turned to look at him. Jonas muttered something to himself when he saw him sitting up beneath the hedge, looking vacantly around. "'What's the matter?' asked Montague. "'Is anybody hurt?' "'Hey, cod!' said Jonas. "'It don't seem so. There are no bones broken after all.' They raised him, and he tried to walk. He was a good deal shaken and trembled very much. But with the exception of a few cuts in the bruises, this was all the damage he had sustained. "'Cuts and bruises, eh?' said Jonas. "'We've all got them. Only cuts and bruises, eh?' "'I wouldn't have given six pence for the gentleman's head and half a dozen seconds more for all his only cut and bruised,' observed the post-boy. "'If ever you're in an accident of this sort again, sir, which I hope you won't be, never you pull at the bridle of a horse that's down when there's a man's head in the way. "'That can't be done twice without there being a dead man in the case. "'I would have ended in that this time, as sure as ever, you were born if I hadn't come up just when I did.' Jonas replied by advising him with a curse to hold his tongue and to go somewhere, whether he was not very likely to go of his own accord. But Montague, who had listened eagerly to every word, himself diverted the subject by exclaiming, "'Where's the boy?' "'Ee, God, I forgot that, monkey,' said Jonas. "'What's become of him?' Every 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 neighboring field, to all appearance dead. "'When I said tonight that 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?' "'Why, what should I call a sign of it?' asked Montague hurriedly. "'What do you mean?' "'I mean,' said Jonas, stooping down over the body. "'Then I had never heard you were his father "'or had any particular reason to care much about him. "'Hello, hold up there.' "'But the boy was past holding up, "'or being held up or 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 injured, "'and took the lad in his arms as well as he could, "'while Montague and Jonas, leading the other horse "'and carrying a trunk between them, "'walked by his side toward Salisbury. "'You'd get there in a few minutes "'and be able to send assistance to meet us "'if you went forward, post-boy,' said Jonas. "'Try it on.' "'No, no,' cried Montague. "'You will keep together.' "'Why, what a chicken you are. "'You are not afraid of being robbed, are you?' said Jonas. "'I am not afraid of anything,' replied the other, "'whose looks and manner were in flat contradiction "'to his words, but we'll keep together.' "'You are mighty anxious about the boy a minute ago,' said Jonas. "'I suppose you know that he may die in the meantime.' "'I, I, 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 embarrassed, "'or their own stiff and sore condition. "'After a sufficiently long and painful walk, "'they arrived at the inn, "'and having knocked the people up, "'being yet very early in the morning, "'sent out messengers to see to the carriage "'and its contents, "'and roused a surgeon from his bed "'to tend the chief sufferer. "'All the service he could render, "'he rendered promptly and skillfully, "'but he gave it as his opinion "'that the boy was laboring under a severe concussion "'of the brain, "'and that Mr. Bailey's mortal course was run. "'If Montague's strong interest in the announcement "'could have been considered as unselfish in any degree, "'it might have been a redeeming trait "'in a character that had no such liniments to spare. "'But it was not difficult to see "'that for some unexpressed reason, "'best appreciated by himself, "'he attached a strange value to the company "'and presence of this mere child. "'When, after receiving some assistance "'from the surgeon himself, "'he retired to the bedroom prepared for him, "'and it was broad day, "'his 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. "'A thousand which shall go forward first, "'and I will follow in my own time. "'I'll have no more of this,' he added, "'wiping his damp forehead. "'Twenty-four hours of this would turn my hair gray. "'After examining his chamber "'and looking under the bed and in the cupboards "'and even behind the curtains, "'with unusual caution, "'although it was, as has been said, broad day, "'he double-locked the door by which he had entered "'and retired to rest. "'There was another door in the room, "'but it was locked on the outer side. "'And with what place it communicated, he 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 knew and yet did not know, "'for although he was heavily responsible for it "'and a party to it, "'he was harassed even in his vision "'by a distracting uncertainty "'in reference to its import. "'Incoherently entwined with this stream was another, "'which represented it as the hiding place of an enemy, "'a shadow, a 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, "'Naget and he and a strange man "'with a bloody smear upon his head "'who told him that he had been his playfellow "'and told him, too, "'the real name of an old schoolmate, "'forgotten until then, "'worked with iron plates and nails "'to make the door secure. "'But though they worked never so hard, "'it was all in vain, "'for the nails broke or changed to soft twigs "'or what was worse to worms between their fingers. "'The wood of the door splintered and crumbled "'so 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 man or beast, "'he 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 creature's name "'and said that he would whisper it. "'At this the dreamer fell upon his knees, "'his whole blood thrilling with inexplicable fear "'and held his ears. "'But looking at the speaker's lips, "'he saw that they formed the utterance of the letter J "'and crying out aloud that the secret was discovered "'and they were all lost. "'He awoke, awoke to find Jonas standing "'at his bedside watching him "'and that very door wide open. "'As their eyes met, Jonas retreated a few paces "'and mounting you spraying out of bed. "'Hey there,' said Jonas, "'you're all alive this morning. "'Live?' the other stammered "'as 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 passage "'and was coming out to order breakfast. "'There's no bell in my room.' "'Not that you had in the meantime, "'admitted the man with his hot water and boots, "'who hearing this said, yes there was, "'and passed into the adjoining room "'to point it out at the head of the bed. "'I couldn't find it then,' said Jonas. "'It's all the same. Shall I order breakfast?' "'Montague answered in the affirmative. "'When Jonas had retired whistling through his own room, "'he opened the door of communication "'to take out the key and fasten it on the inner side, "'but it was taken out already. "'He dragged a table against the door "'and sat down to collect himself "'as 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 presentiment or superstition that it was an evil journey "'did not at all deter him from doing the evil "'for which the journey was undertaken. "'With this in view, he dressed himself "'more carefully than usual "'to make a favorable impression on Mr. Pecksniff "'and reassured by his own appearance, "'the beauty of the morning, "'and the flashing of the wet boughs outside his window "'in the merry sunshine, "'was soon sufficiently inspirited "'to swear a few round oaths "'and hum the fag end of a song. "'But he still muttered to himself at intervals for all that. "'I'll travel home alone.'" End of Chapter 42 Chapter 43, Part 1 of Life and Adventures of Martin Chesowitz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Life and Adventures of Martin Chesowitz, by Charles Dickens. Chapter 43 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. Part 1. On the night of the storm, Mrs. Lupin, hostess of the Blue Dragon, sat by herself in her little bar. Her solitary condition, or the bad weather, or both united, made Mrs. Lupin thoughtful, not to say sorrowful. As she sat with her chin upon her hand, looking out through a low black lattice, rendered dim in the brightest daytime by clustering vine leaves, she shook her head very often and said, Dear me, oh dear, dear me. It was a melancholy time, even in the snugness of the dragon bar. The rich expanse of cornfield, pastureland, green slope, and gentle undulation with its sparkling brooks, its many hedge rows, and its clumps of beautiful trees was black and dreary from the diamond panes of the lattice away to the far horizon where the thunder seemed to roll along the hills. The heavy rain beat down the tender branches of vine and jasmine and trampled on them in its fury. And when the lightning gleamed, it showed the tearful leaves shivering and cowering together at the window and tapping at it urgently as if beseeching to be sheltered from the dismal night. As a mark of her respect for the lightning, Mrs. Lupin had removed her candle to the chimneypiece. Her basket of needlework stood unheeded at her elbow. Her supper, spread on a round table, not far off, was untasted and the knives had been removed for fear of attraction. She had sat for a long time with her chin upon her hand, saying to herself at intervals, Dear me, ah, dear, dear me. She was on the eve of saying so once more when the latch of the house door closed to keep the rain out, rattled on its well-worn catch, and a traveler came in who, shutting it after him and walking straight up to the half-door of the bar, said, rather gruffly, a pint of the best old beer here. He had some reason to be gruff, for if he had passed the day in a waterfall, he could scarcely have been wetter than he was. He was wrapped up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coat and had an oil-skin hat on from the capacious brim of which the rain fell trickling down upon his breast and back and shoulders. Judging from a certain liveliness of chin, he had so pulled down his hat and pulled up his collar to defend himself from the weather that she could only see his chin and even across that he drew the wet sleeve of his shaggy coat as she looked at him. Mrs. Lupin set him down for a good-natured fellow, too. A bad night observed the hostess cheerfully. The traveler shook himself like a newfoundland dog and said it was, rather. There's a fire in the kitchen, said Mrs. Lupin, and very good company there. Hadn't you better go and dry yourself? No thanky, said the man, glancing 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 traveler, or I should most likely have took it a fortnight. Your health, ma'am. Mrs. Lupin thanked him, but in the act of lifting the tankard to his mouth, he changed his mind and put it down again, throwing his body back and looking about him stiffly. As the man does, who was wrapped up and has his hat low down over his eyes, he said, what do you call this house? Not the dragon, do you? Mrs. Lupin complacently made answer. Yes, the dragon. Why, then, you've got a sort of relation to mind here, ma'am, said the traveler, 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 piece and said with her back towards the traveler, nobody should be made more welcome at the dragon, master, than anyone who brought me news of Mark, but it's many and many a long day and months since he left here and England, and whether he's alive or dead, poor fellow heaven above us only knows. She shook her head and her voice trembled. Her hand must have done so too for the light required a deal of trimming. Where did he go, ma'am? Asked the traveler in a gentler voice. He went, said Mrs. Lupin, with increased distress, to America. He was always tender-hearted and kind, and perhaps at this moment may be lying in prison under sentence of death for taking pity on some miserable black and helping the poor runaway creature 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 fairly and give an equal chance to everyone? Quite subdued by this time, Mrs. Lupin sobbed and was retiring to a chair to give her grief free vent when the traveler caught her in his arms and she uttered a glad cry of recognition. Yes, I will, cried Mark. Another, one more, 20 more. You didn't know me in that hat and coat. I thought you would have known me anywheres, 10 more. So I should have known you if I could have seen you, but I couldn't, and you spoke so gruff. I didn't think you could speak gruff to me, Mark, at first coming back. 15 more, said Mr. Tapley. How handsome and how young you look. Six more. The last half doesn't want a fair one. It must be done over again. Lord bless you, what a treat it is to see you. One more. Well, I never was so jolly. Just a few more on account of there not being any credit in it. When Mr. Tapley stopped in these calculations in simple addition, he did it, not because he was at all tired of the exercise, but because he was out of breath. The pause reminded him of other duties. Mr. Martin Chuzzlewitz outside, he said. I left him under the cart shed while I came on in to see if there was anybody here. We want to keep quiet tonight until we know the news from you and what it's best for us to do. There's not a soul in the house except the kitchen company, returned the hostess. If they were to know you had come back, Mark, they'd have a bonfire in the street, late as it is. But they mustn't know it tonight, my precious soul, said Mark, so have the house shut and the kitchen fire made up. And when it's all ready, put a light in the window and we'll come in. One more. Along to here about old friends, you'll tell me all about them, won't you? Mr. Pinch and the butcher's dog down the street and the terrier over the way and the wheelwrights and every one of them. When I first caught sight of the church tonight, I thought the steeple would have choked me. I did. One more, won't you? Not a very little one to finish off with. You have had plenty, I am sure, said the hostess. Go along with your foreign manners. That ain't foreign, bless you, cried Mark. Native is oysters, that is. One more because it's native as a mark of respect for the land we live in. This don't count as between you and me, you understand, said Mr. Tapley. I ain't a kissing you now, you'll observe. I have been among the Patriots. I'm a kiss in my country. It would have been very unreasonable to complain of the exhibition of his patriotism with which he followed up this explanation, that it was at all lukewarm or indifferent. When he had given full expression to his nationality, he hurried off to Martin while Mrs. Lupin in a state of great agitation and excitement prepared for their reception. The company soon came tumbling out, insisting to each other that the dragon clock was half an hour too fast and that the thunder must have affected it. Impatient, wet, and weary though they were, Martin and Mark were overjoyed to see these old faces and watched them with delighted interest as they departed from the house and passed close by them. There's the old tailor, Mark, whispered Martin. There he goes, sir, a little bandier than he was, I think, sir, ain't he? His figure's so far altered as it seems to me that you might wheel a rather larger barrel between his legs as he walks than you could have done conveniently when we knowed him. There's Sam, a coming out, sir. I had to be sure, cried Martin, Sam the Hossler. I wonder whether that horse of peck sniffs is alive still. Not a doubt in it, sir, returned Mark. That's a description of animal, sir, as will go on in a bony way peculiar to himself for a long time and get into the newspapers that last under the title of Singler Tenacity of Life in a Quadruped, as if he had ever been alive in all his life worth mentioning. There's the clerk, sir, weary drunk as usual. I see him, said Martin, laughing, but my life how wet you are, Mark. I am, what do you consider yourself, sir? Oh, not half as bad, said his fellow traveler with an air of great vexation. I told you not to keep on the windy side, Mark, 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 me, sir, said Mark, after a short silence, if I may make so bold as say so, to hear you were going on in that their uncommon, considerate way of yours, which I don't mean to attend to never, but which ever since that time when I was floored and eaten you have showed. I'm, Mark, said Martin, the less we say of that, the better. Do I see the light yonder? That's the light, cried Mark. Lord bless her what bristness she possesses. Now for it, sir, neat wines, good beds, and first-rate entertainment for man or beast. The kitchen fire burnt clear and red. The table was spread out, the kettle boiled, the slippers were there, the boot jack too. Sheets of ham were there, cooking on the gridiron. Half a dozen eggs were there, poaching in the frying pan. A plethora cherry brandy bottle was there, winking at a foaming jug of beer upon the table. Rare provisions were there, dangling from the rafters, as if you had only to open your mouth and something exquisitely ripened good would be glad of the excuse for tumbling into it. Mrs. Lupin, who for their sakes had dislodged the very cook, high 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, being in that respect all one, Martin hugged her instantly. Mr. Tapley, as if the idea were quite novel and had never occurred to him before, followed with much gravity on the same side. Little did I ever think, said Mrs. Lupin, adjusting her cap and laughing hardly, yes, and blushing too. Often as I have said that Mr. Peck sniffs 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 sure that any one of them would ever make so free as you, Mr. Martin, and still less that I shouldn't be angry with him, but should be glad with all my heart to be the first to welcome him home from America, with Mark Tapley for his friend, Mrs. Lupin, interposed Martin, for his friend, said the hostess, evidently gratified by this distinction, but at the same time admonishing Mr. Tapley with a fork to remain at a respectful distance. Little did I ever think that, but still less that I should ever have the changes to relate that I shall have to tell you of when you have done your supper. Good heaven, cried Martin, changing color, what changes? She, said the hostess, is quite well, and now at Mr. Peck's niffs. Don't be at all alarmed about her, she is everything you could wish. It's of no use mincing matters or making secrets, is it, added Mrs. Lupin. I know all about it, you 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? No, no, 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 50 questions in the meantime, I won't answer one. She was so positive that there was nothing for it, but to get the supper over as quickly as possible, and as they had been walking a great many miles and had fasted since the middle of the day, they did no great violence to their own inclinations and falling on it tooth and nail. It took rather longer to get through than might have been expected, for half a dozen times when they thought they had finished, and Mrs. Lupin exposed the fallacy of that impression triumphantly. But at last, in the course of time and nature, they gave in. Then, sitting with their slippered feet stretched out upon the kitchen hearth, which was wonderfully comforting, for the night had grown by this time raw and chilly, and looking with involuntary admiration at their dimpled, buxom-blooming hostess as the firelight sparkled in her eyes and glimmered in her raven hair that composed themselves to listen to her news. Many were the exclamations of surprise which interrupted her when she told them of the separation between Mr. Pexniff and his daughters and between the same good gentleman and Mr. Pinch, but these were nothing to the indignant demonstrations of Martin when she related, as the common talk of the neighborhood, what entire possession he had obtained over the mind and person of old Mr. Cheslowit, and what high honor he designed for Mary. On receipt of this intelligence, Martin's slippers flew off in a twinkling and he began pulling on his wet boots with that indefinite intention of going somewhere instantly and doing something to somebody which is the first safety valve of a hot temper. He, said Martin, smooth-tongued villain that he is. He, give me that other boot, Mark. Where was your thinking of going to, sir? Inquired Mr. Tapley, drying the soul at the fire and 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 here, do you? The imperturbable Mark confessed that he did. You do, retorted Martin angrily, I much obliged to you. What do you take me for? I take you for what you are, sir, said Mark, and consequently I'm quite sure that whatever you do will be right and sensible. The boot, sir? Martin darted an impatient look at him without taking it and walked rapidly up and down the kitchen several times with one boot and a stocking on. But mindful of his Eden resolution, he 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 boot, Jack, laid his hand on Mark's shoulder to steady himself, pulled the boot off, picked up his slippers, put them on and sat down again. He could not help thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets and muttering at intervals, pecsniff too, that fellow, upon my soul, indeed, what next, and so forth. Nor could he help occasionally shaking his fist at the chimney with the very threatening countenance. But this did not last long and he heard Mrs. Lupin out, if not with composure, at all events in silence. As to Mr. Pecsniff himself, observed the hostess in conclusion, spreading out the skirts of her gown with both hands and nodding her head a great many times as she did so, I don't know what to say. Somebody must have poisoned his mind or influenced him in some extraordinary way. I cannot believe that such a noble-spoken gentleman would go and do wrong in his own accord. A noble-spoken gentleman? How many people are there in the world who for no better reason uphold their pecsniffs to the last and abandon virtuous men when pecsniffs breathe upon them? As to Mr. Pinch, pursued the landlady, if ever there was a dear, good, pleasant, worthy soul alive, Pinch and no other is his name. But how do we know that old Mr. Chuzzlewood himself was not the cause of difference arising between him and Mr. Pecsniff? No one but themselves can tell, for Mr. Pinch has a proud spirit, though he has such a quiet way, and when he left us and was so sorry to go, he scorned to make his story good, even to me. Poor old Tom, said Martin, in a tone that sounded like remorse. It's a comfort to know, resumed the landlady, that he has his sister living with him and is doing well. Only yesterday he sent me back by post a little, here the color came into her cheeks. A little trifle I was bold enough to lend him when he went away, saying with many thanks that he had good employment and 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 banknote come back to me as I was to see that. Kindly said and heartily said Martin, is it not, Mark? She can't say anything that does not possess them qualities, returned to Mr. Tapley, which as much belongs to the dragon as its license. And now that we have got quite cool and fresh to the subject again, sir, what will you do? If you're not proud and can make up your mind to go through with what you spoke of coming along, that's the course for you to take. If you started wrong with your grandfather, which you'll excuse my taking the liberty of saying, appears to have been the case, up with you, sir, and tell him so and make an appeal to his affections. Don't stand out. He's a great deal older than you. And if he was hasty, you was hasty too. Give way, sir, give way. The eloquence of Mr. Tapley was not without its effect on Martin, but he still hesitated and expressed his reason thus. That's all very true and perfectly correct, Mark. And if it were a mere question of humbling myself before him, I would not consider it twice. But don't you see that being wholly under this hypocrite's government and having, if what we hear be true, no mind or will of his own, I throw myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of Mr. Pecksniff. And when I am rejected and spurned away, said Martin, turning crimson at the thought, it is not by him my own blood stirred against me, but by Pecksniff. Pecksniff, Mark. Well, but we know beforehand, returned the politic, Mr. Tapley, that Pecksniff is a wagabond, a scoundrel, and a willow. A most pernicious villain, said Martin. A most pernicious willow, we know that beforehand, sir, and consequently it's no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow Pecksniff, cried Mr. Tapley in the fervor of his eloquence. Who's he? It's not in the nature of Pecksniff to shame us, unless he agreed with us or done us a service. And in case he offered any audacity of that description, we could express our sentiments in the English language, I hope. Pecksniff, repeated Mr. Tapley with an effable disdain. What's Pecksniff? Who's Pecksniff? Where's Pecksniff that he's to be so much considered? We're not a calculating for ourselves. He laid uncommon emphasis on the last syllable of that word and looked full in Martin's face. We're making an effort for a young lady, likewise, as has undergone her share. And whatever little hope we have, this here Pecksniff is not to stand in its way, I expect. I never heard of any act of parliament as was made by Pecksniff. Pecksniff, why, I 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 Pecksniff, if you like, but I wouldn't condescend no further. The amazement of Mrs. Lupin, and indeed of Mr. Tapley himself, for that matter, at this impassioned flow of language was immense. But Martin, after looking thoughtfully at the fire for a short time, said, you are right, Mark. Right or wrong, it shall be done. I'll do it. One word more, sir, 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 morning, but let this here dear friend of ours, Mr. Tapley bestowed a smile upon the hostess, prepare her for what's going to happen, and carry any little messages may be agreeable. She knows how, don't you? Mrs. Lupin laughed and tossed her head. Then you go in bold and free as a gentleman should. I haven't done nothing underhanded, says you. I haven't been skulking about the premises. Here I am. Forgive me. I ask your pardon. God bless you. Martin smiled, but felt that it was good advice, not withstanding, and resolved to act upon it. When they had ascertained from Mrs. Lupin that Pexnip 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 bed, intent upon the morrow. In pursuance of their project, as agreed upon at this discussion, Mr. Tapley issued forth next morning after breakfast, charged with a letter from Martin to his grandfather, requesting 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 season, he soon arrived at Mr. Pexnip'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 about, or whether he was thinking at all, he straightaway knocked. A person of Mr. Tapley's observation could not long remain insensible to the fact that Mr. Pexnip was making the end of his nose very blunt against the glass of the parlor window in 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 enemy by perching himself on the top step and presenting the crown of his hat in that direction. But possibly Mr. Pexnip had already seen him, for Mark soon heard his shoes creaking as he advanced to open the door with his own hands. Mr. Pexnip was as cheerful as ever and sang a little song in the passage. How do you do, sir? said Mark. Oh, cried Mr. Pexnip. Tapley, I believe, the prodigal returned. We don't want any beer, my friend. Thank you, sir, said Mark. I couldn't accommodate you if you did. A letter, sir, wait for an answer. For me, cried Mr. Pexnip, and an answer, eh? Not for you, I think, sir, said Mark, pointing out the direction. Chuzzle-wit, I believe the name is, sir. Oh, returned Mr. Pexnip, thank you. Yes, who's it from, my good young man? The gentleman it comes from wrote his name inside, sir, returned Mr. Tapley with extreme politeness. I see him assigning of it at the end while I was awaiting. And he said he wanted an answer, did he? Asked Mr. Pexnip in his most persuasive manner. Mark replied in the affirmative. He shall have an answer, certainly, said Mr. Pexnip, tearing the letter into small pieces as mildly as if that were the most flattering attention a correspondent could receive. Have the goodness to give him that, with my compliments, if you please, good morning. Whereupon he handed Mark the scraps, retired and shut the door. Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotions and returned to Martin at the dragon. They were not unprepared for such a reception and suffered an hour or so to elapse before making another attempt. When this interval had gone by, they returned to Mr. Pexnip's house in company. Martin knocked this time while Mr. Tapley prepared himself to keep the door open with his foot and shoulder when anybody came, and by that means secure and enforced parlay. But this precaution was needless, for the servant girl appeared almost immediately. Rushing quickly past her, as he had resolved in such a case to do, Martin, closely followed by his faithful ally, opened to the door of that parlor in which he knew a visitor was most likely to be found, passed at once into the room and stood without a word of notice or announcement in the presence of his grandfather. Mr. Pexnip also was in the room and merry. In the swift instant of their mutual recognition, Martin saw the old man droop his gray head and hide his face in his hands. It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most careless day, the slingering remnant of the old man's ancient love, this buttress of a ruined tower he had built up in the time gone by, with so much pride and hope would have caused a pang in Martin's heart. But now changed for the better in his worst respect, looking through an altered medium on his former friend, the guardian of his childhood, so broken and bowed down, resentment, sullenness, self-confidence and pride were all swept away before 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 them the reproachful and irrevocable past. He hurriedly advanced to seize the old man's hand in his when Mr. Pexnip interposed himself between them. No, young man, said Mr. Pexnip, striking himself upon the breast and stretching out his other arm towards his guest as if it were a wing to shelter him. No, sir, none of that. Strike here, sir, here. Launch your arrows at me, sir, if you'll have the goodness, not at him. Grandfather, cried Martin, hear me. I implore you, let me speak. Would you, sir? Would you, said Mr. Pexnip, dodging about so as to keep himself always between them? Is it not enough, sir, that you come into my house like a thief in the night, or I should rather say for we can never be too particular on the subject of truth, like a thief in the daytime, bringing your disillute companions with you to plant themselves with their backs against the insides and parlor doors and prevent the entrance or issuing forth of any of my household? Mark had taken up this position and held it quite unmoved. But would you also strike at venerable virtue, would you? Know that it is not defenseless. I will be its shield, young man. Assail me, come on, sir, fire away. Pexnip, said the old man in a feeble voice, calm yourself, be quiet. I can't be calm, cried Mr. Pexnip, 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 man, stretching out his hand, and let me see what it is I used to love so dearly. It is right that you should see it, my friend, said Mr. Pexnip. It is well that you should see it, my noble sir. It is desirable that you should contemplate it in its true proportions. Behold it, there it is, sir, there it is. End of chapter 43, part one.