 CHAPTER 10 Containing the Sequel of the Midshipman's Disaster Mr. Bagstock, after long and frequent observation of Paul across Princess's place, through his double-barreled opera-glass, and after receiving many minute reports, daily, weekly, and monthly, on that subject, from the native who kept himself in constant communication with Miss Tox's maid for that purpose, came to the conclusion that Donby, sir, was a man to be known, and that J.B. was the boy to make his acquaintance. Miss Tox, however, maintaining her reserved behaviour, and frigidly declining to understand a major whenever he called, which he often did, on any little fishing excursion connected with this project, the major, in spite of his constitutional toughness and slinus, was feigned to leave the accomplishment of his desire in some measure to chance, which, as he was used to observe with chuckles at his club, has been fifty to one in favour of J.B., sir, ever since his elder brother died of yellowjack in the West Indies. It was some time coming to his aid in the present instance, but it befriended him at last. When the dark servant, with full particulars, reported Miss Tox absent on Brighton's service, the major was suddenly touched with affectionate reminiscences of his friend Bill Bitherstone of Bengal, who had written to ask him, if he ever went that way, to bestow a call upon his only son. But when the same dark servant reported Paul at Mrs. Pipchins, and the major, referring to the letter favoured by Master Bitherstone on his arrival in England, to which he had never had the least idea of paying any attention, saw the opening that presented itself. He was made so rabid by the gout, with which he happened to be then laid up, that he threw a footstool at the dark servant in return for his intelligence, and swore he would be the death of the rascal before he had done with him, which the dark servant was more than half disposed to believe. At length, the major being released from his fit, went one Saturday growling down to Brighton, with the native behind him, apostrophizing Miss Tox all the way, and gloating over the prospect of carrying by Storm the distinguished friend to whom she attached so much mystery, and for whom she had deserted him. Would you, ma'am? Would you? said the major, straining with vindictiveness, and swelling every already swollen vein in his head. Would you give Joey B. the go-by, ma'am? Not yet, ma'am. Not yet. Damn not yet, sir. Joe's awake, ma'am. Tankstuck is alive, sir. J.B. knows a move or two, ma'am. Josh has his weather eye open, sir. You'll find him tough, ma'am. Tough, sir. Tough is Joseph. Tough and devilish sly. And very tough indeed Master Bitherstone found him, when he took that young gentleman out for a walk. But the major, with his complexion like a stilted cheese, and his eyes like a prawns, went roving about, perfectly indifferent to Master Bitherstone's amusement, and dragging Master Bitherstone along, while he looked about him high and low for Mr. Donby and his children. In good time, the major, previously instructed by Mrs. Pipchen, spied out Paul and Florence, and bore down upon them. There being a stately gentleman, Mr. Donby doubtless, in their company. Charging with Master Bitherstone into the very heart of the little squadron, it fell out, of course, that Master Bitherstone spoke to his fellow sufferers. Upon that the major stopped to notice and admire them, remembered with amazement, that he had seen and spoken to them at his friend Miss Tox's, in Princess's place. Opined that Paul was a devilish fine fellow, and his own little friend, inquired if he remembered Joey B. the major, and finally, with a sudden recollection of the conventionalities of life, turned and apologized to Mr. Donby. But my little friend here, sir, said the major, makes a boy of me again. An old soldier, sir. Major Bagstock, at your service, is not ashamed to confess it. Here the major lifted his hat. Damn, sir! cried the major with sudden warmth. I envy you. Then he recollected himself and added, excuse my freedom. Mr. Donby begged he wouldn't mention it. An old campaigner, sir, said the major. A smoke-dried sunburnt, used up, invalidated old dog of a major, sir, was not afraid of being condemned for his whim by a man like Mr. Donby. I have the honor of addressing Mr. Donby, I believe. I am the present unworthy representative of that name, major. Returned Mr. Donby. By Jesus, said the major. It's a great name. It's a name, sir, said the major firmly, as if he defied Mr. Donby to contradict him, and would feel it his painful duty to bully him if he did. That is known and honored in the British possessions abroad. It is a name, sir, that a man is proud to recognize. There is nothing adulatory in Joseph Bagstock, sir. His Royal Highness the Duke of York observed on more than one occasion, there is no adulation in Joey. He is a plain old soldier as Joe. He is tough to a fault as Joseph. But it's a great name, sir. By the Lord it's a great name, said the major solemnly. You are good enough to rate it higher than it deserves, perhaps, major. Returned Mr. Donby. No, sir, said the major in a severe tone. No, Mr. Donby. Let us understand each other. That is not the Bagstock vain, sir. You don't know Joseph B. He is a blunt old blade is Josh. No flattery in him, sir. Nothing like it. Mr. Donby inclined his head, and said he believed him to be in earnest, and that his high opinion was gratifying. My little friend here, sir, croaked the major, looking as amably as he could on Paul, will certify for Joseph Bagstock that he is a thoroughgoing, downright, plain spoken old Trump, sir. And nothing more. That boy, sir, said the major in a lower tone, will live in history. That boy, sir, is not a common production. Take care of him, Mr. Donby. Mr. Donby seemed to intimate that he would endeavor to do so. Here is a boy here, sir, pursued the major confidentially, and giving him a thrust with his cane. Son of Bitherstone of Bengal. Bill Bitherstone, formerly of ours. That boy's father and myself, sir, were sworn friends. Wherever you went, sir, you heard of nothing but Bill Bitherstone and Joe Bagstock. Am I blind to that boy's defects? Why, no means. He's a fool, sir. Mr. Donby glanced at the libeled master Bitherstone, of whom he knew at least as much as the major did, and said in quite a complacent manner, Really? That is what he is, sir, said the major. He's a fool. Joe Bagstock never mints his matters. The son of my old friend, Bill Bitherstone of Bengal, is a born fool, sir. Here the major laughed till he was almost black. My little friend is destined for a public school, I presume, Mr. Donby, said the major, when he had recovered. I am not quite decided, returned Mr. Donby. I think not. He is delicate. If he's delicate, sir, said the major, You're right. None but the tough fellows could live through it, sir, at Sandhurst. We put each other to the torture there, sir. We roasted the new fellows at a slow fire, and hung them out of a three-pair-of-stairs window with their heads downwards. Joseph Bagstock, sir, was held out of the window by the heels of his boots for thirteen minutes by the college-clock. The major might have appealed to his countenance and corroboration of this story. It certainly looked as if he had hung out a little too long. But it made us what we were, sir, said the major, settling his shirt-frill. We were iron, sir, and it forged us. Are you remaining here, Mr. Donby? I generally come down once a week, major, return that gentleman. I stay at the Bedford. I shall have the honour of calling at the Bedford, sir, if you'll permit me, said the major. Joey B., sir, is not in general a calling man, but Mr. Donby's is not a common name. I am much indebted to my little friend, sir, for the honour of this introduction. Mr. Donby made a very gracious reply, and made a bag-stock, having patted Paul on the head, and said of Florence that her eyes would play the devil with the youngsters before long, and the oldsters, too, sir, if you come to that, added the major, chuckling very much. Stirred up Master Bitherstone with his walking-stick, and departed with that young gentleman at a kind of half-trot, rolling his head and coughing with great dignity as he staggered away with his legs very wide asunder. In fulfilment of his promise, the major afterwards called on Mr. Donby, and Mr. Donby, having referred to the army list, afterwards called on the major. Then the major called at Mr. Donby's house in town, and came down again in the same coach as Mr. Donby. In short, Mr. Donby and the major got on uncommonly well together, and uncommonly fast, and Mr. Donby observed at the major, to his sister, that besides being quite a military man, he was really something more, as he had a very admirable idea of the importance of things unconnected with his own profession. At length, Mr. Donby, bringing down Miss Tox and Mrs. Chick to see the children, and finding the major again at Brighton, invited him to dinner at the Bedford, and complimented Miss Tox highly beforehand on her neighbour and acquaintance. My dearest Louisa, said Miss Tox to Mrs. Chick, when they were alone together on the morning of the appointed day. If I should seem at all reserved to major bank stock, or under any constraint with him, promise me not to notice it. My dear Lucretia, returned Mrs. Chick, what mystery is involved in this remarkable request? I must insist upon knowing. Since you are resolved to exhort a confession from me Louisa, said Miss Tox instantly, I have no alternative but to confide to you that the major has been particular. Particular, repeated Mrs. Chick, the major has long been very particular indeed, my love, in his attentions, said Miss Tox. Occasionally they have been so very marked that my position has been one of no common difficulty. Is he in good circumstances? inquired Mrs. Chick. I have every reason to believe, my dear. Indeed I may say I know. Returned Miss Tox, that he is wealthy, he is truly military and full of anecdote. I have been informed that his valour, when he was in active service, knew no bounds. I am told that he did all sorts of things in the peninsula, with every description of firearm, and in the East and West Indies, my love. I really couldn't undertake to say what he did not do. Very creditable to him indeed, said Mrs. Chick, extremely so, and you have given him no encouragement, my dear. If I were to say, Louisa, replied Miss Tox, with every demonstration of making an effort that rent her soul, that I never encouraged the major bank stock slightly, I should not do justice to the friendship which exists between you and me. It is perhaps hardly in the nature of woman to receive such attentions as the major once lavished upon myself, without betraying some sense of obligation. But that is past, long past. Between the major and me there is now a yawning chasm. And I will not feign to give encouragement, Louisa, where I cannot give my heart, my affections, said Miss Tox. But, Louisa, this is madness, and departed from the room. All this, Mrs. Chick communicated to her brother before dinner, and it by no means indisposed Mr. Dombie to receive the major with unwonted cordiality. The major, for his part, was in a state of plethoric satisfaction that knew no bounds, and he coughed, and choked, and chuckled, and gasped, and swelled, until the waiters seemed positively afraid of him. Your family monopolizes Joe's light, sir, said the major, when he had saluted Miss Tox. Joe lives in darkness. Princess's place is changed into Kamchatka in the winter time. There is no ray of sun, sir, for Joey be ye now. Miss Tox is good enough to take a great deal of interest in Paul, major. He turned Mr. Dombie on behalf of that blushing virgin. Damn, sir, said the major, I'm jealous of my little friend. I'm pining away, sir. The bag-stock breed is degenerating in the forsaken person of old Joe. And the major, becoming bluer and bluer, and puffing his cheeks further and further over the stiff ridge of his tight cravat, stared at Miss Tox until his eyes seemed as if he were at that moment being overdone before the slow fire at the military college. Notwithstanding the palpitation of the heart which these illusions occasioned her, they were anything but disagreeable to Miss Tox, as they enabled her to be extremely interesting, and to manifest an occasional incoherence and distraction which she was not at all unwilling to display. The major gave her abundant opportunities of exhibiting this emotion, being profuse in his complaints at dinner of her desertion of him and Princess's place, and as he appeared to derive great enjoyment from making them, they all got on very well. None the worse on account of the major taking charge of the whole conversation, and showing as great an appetite and that respect as in regard of the various dainties on the table, among which he may be almost said to have wallowed, greatly to the aggravation of his inflammatory tendencies. Mr. Dombie's habitual silence and reserve yielding readily to this usurpation, the major felt that he was coming out and shining, and in the flow of spirits thus engendered, rang such an infinite number of new changes on his own name that he quite astonished himself. In a word, they were all very well pleased. The major was considered to possess an inexhaustible fund of conversation, and when he took a late farewell after a long rubber, Mr. Dombie again complimented the blushing mistox on her neighbour and acquaintance. But all the way home to his own hotel, the major incessantly said to himself, and of himself, Sly sir, Sly sir, devilish sly. And when he got there, sat down in a chair, and fell into a silent fit of laughter, with which he was sometimes seized, and which was always particularly awful. It held him so long on this occasion, that the dark servant who stood watching him at a distance, but dared not for his life approach, twice or thrice gave him over for lost. His whole form, but especially his face and head, dilated beyond all former experience, and presented to the dark man's view nothing but a heaving mass of indigo. At length he burst into a violent paroxysm of coughing, and when that was a little better, burst into such ejaculations as the following. Would you, ma'am? Would you? Mrs. Dombie, eh, ma'am? I think not, ma'am. Not why Joe B can put a spoke in your wheel, ma'am. JB's even with you now, ma'am. He isn't altogether bowled out yet, sir. Isn't bag stock? She's deep, sir. Deep. But Josh is deeper. Wide awake as old Joe, broad awake and staring, sir. There was no doubt of this last assertion being true, and to a very fearful extent, as it continued to be during the greater part of that night, which the major chiefly passed in similar exclamations, diversified with fits of coughing and choking, that startled the whole house. It was on the day after this occasion, being Sunday, when, as Mr. Dombie, Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox were sitting at breakfast, still eulogising the major, Florence came running in, her face suffused with a bright colour, and her eyes sparkling joyfully, and cried, Papa! Papa! Here's Walter, and he won't come in. Who? cried Mr. Dombie. What does she mean? What is this? Walter, Papa! said Florence timidly, sensible of having approached the presence with too much familiarity, who found me when I was lost. Does she mean young gay, Louisa? inquired Mr. Dombie, hitting his brows. Really, this child's manners have become very boisterous. She cannot mean young gay, I think. See what it is, will you? Mrs. Chick hurried into the passage, and returned with the information that it was young gay, accompanied by a very strange-looking person, and that young gay said he would not take the liberty of coming in, hearing Mr. Dombie was at breakfast, but would wait until Mr. Dombie should signify that he might approach. Tell the boy to come in now, said Mr. Dombie. Now, gay, what is the matter? Who sent you down here? Was there nobody else to come? I beg your pardon, sir. returned Walter. I've not been sent. I've been so bold as to come on my own account, which I hope you'll pardon when I mention the cause. Mr. Dombie, without attending to what he said, was looking impatiently on either side of him, as if he were a pillar in his way, at some object behind. What's that? said Mr. Dombie. Who is that? I think you have made some mistake in the door, sir. Oh! I'm very sorry to entude with any one, sir. cried Walter hastily. But this is—this is Captain Cuttle, sir. Waller, my lad. Observed the Captain in a deep voice. Stand, boy! At the same time, the Captain, coming a little further in, brought out his wide suit of blue, his conspicuous shirt-collar, and his knobby nose in full relief, and stood bowing to Mr. Dombie, and waving his hook politely to the ladies, with a hard-glazed hat in his one hand, and a red equator round his head, which had newly imprinted there. Mr. Dombie regarded this phenomenon with amazement and indignation. And seemed by his looks to appeal to Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox against it. Little Paul, who had come in after Florence, backed towards Miss Tox, as the Captain waved his hook, and stood on the defensive. Now, gay! said Mr. Dombie. What have you got to say to me? Again the Captain observed, as a general opening of the conversation, that could not fail to profitiate all parties. Waller! Stand, boy! I am afraid, sir! began Walter, trembling, and looking down at the ground, that I take a very great liberty in coming. Indeed, I am sure I do. I should hardly have had the courage to ask to see you, sir, even after coming down, I am afraid, if I had not overtaken Miss Dombie and— Well! said Mr. Dombie, following his eyes, as he glanced at the attentive Florence, and frowning unconsciously as she encouraged him with a smile. Go on, if you please. Aye, aye! observed the Captain, considering it incumbent on him, as a point of good breeding, to support Mr. Dombie. Well said! Go on, Waller! Captain Cattle ought to have been withered by the look which Mr. Dombie bestowed upon him in acknowledgement of his patronage, but quite innocent of this he closed one eye in reply, and gave Mr. Dombie to understand, by certain significant motions of his hook, that Walter was a little bashful at first, and might be expected to come out shortly. It is entirely a private and personal matter that has brought me here, sir," continued Walter, faltering, and Captain Cattle. Here! interposed the Captain as an assurance that he was at hand, and might be relied upon. Who is a very old friend of my poor uncles, and a most excellent man, sir," pursued Walter, raising his eyes with the look of entreaty in the Captain's behalf, were so good as to offer to come with me which I could hardly refuse. No, no, no! observed the Captain complacently. Of course not! No call for refusing! Go on, Waller! And therefore, sir," said Walter, venturing to meet Mr. Dombie's eye, and proceeding with better courage in the very desperation of the case, now that there was no avoiding it, therefore I have come with him, sir, to say that my poor old uncle is in very great affliction and distress, that through the gradual loss of his business, and not being able to make a payment, the apprehension of which has weighed very heavily upon his mind, months and months, as indeed I know, sir, he has an execution in his house, and is in danger of losing all he has, and breaking his heart, and that if you would, in your kindness, and in your old knowledge of him, as a respectable man, do anything to help him out of his difficulty, sir, we never could thank you enough for it. Walter's eyes filled with tears as he spoke, and so did those of Florence. Her father saw them glistening, though he appeared to look at Walter only. It is a very large sum, sir," said Walter, more than three hundred pounds. My uncle is quite beaten down by his misfortune, it lies so heavy on him, and is quite unable to do anything for his own relief. He doesn't even know yet that I have come to speak to you. You would wish me to say, sir," added Walter after a moment's hesitation, exactly what it is I want. I really don't know, sir. There is my uncle's stock, on which I believe I may say confidently there are no other demands, and there is Captain Cuttle, who would wish to be security, too. I hardly like to mention," said Walter, such earnings as mine, but if you would allow them, accumulate payment, advance, uncle, frugal, honourable old man. Walter trailed off, through these broken sentences, into silence, and stood with downcast head before his employer. Considering this a favourable moment for the display of the valuables, Captain Cuttle advanced to the table, and clearing a space among the breakfast cups at Mr. Dombie's Albo, produced the silver watch, the ready money, the teaspoons, and the sugar tongs, and piling them up into a heap that they might look as precious as possible, delivered himself of these words. Awful oafs better than no bread, and the same remark holds good with crumbs. There is a few, a newity, a one hundred-pound premium also ready to be made over. If there is a man chocked full of science in the world, it's old Saul Gills. If there is a lad of promise, one flowing, added the captain in one of his happy quotations, with milk and honey, it's his nevy. The captain then withdrew to his former place, where he stood arranging his scattered locks with the air of a man who had given the finishing touch to a difficult performance. When Walter ceased to speak, Mr. Dombie's eyes were attracted to little Paul, who, seeing his sister hanging down her head and silently weeping in her commiseration for the distress she had heard, described, went over to her and tried to comfort her, looking at Walter and his father, as he did so, with a very expressive face. After the momentary distraction of Captain Cuttle's address, which he regarded with lofty indifference, Mr. Dombie again turned his eyes upon his son, and sat steadily regarding the child for some moments in silence. What was this dut contracted for? asked Mr. Dombie at length. Who is the creditor? He don't know, replied the captain, putting his hand on Walter's shoulder. I do. It came of helping a man that's dead now, and that's cost my friend Gills many a hundred pound already. More particulars in private, if agreeable. People who have enough to do, to hold their own way, said Mr. Dombie, unobservant of the captain's mysterious signs behind Walter, and still looking at his son, had better be content with their own obligations and difficulties, and not increase them by engaging for other men. It was an act of dishonesty and presumption too, said Mr. Dombie sternly. Great presumption, for the wealthy could do no more. Paul came here. The child obeyed, and Mr. Dombie took him on his knee. If you had money now, said Mr. Dombie, look at me. Paul, whose eyes had wanted to assist her, and to Walter, looked his father in the face. If you had money now, said Mr. Dombie, as much money as Young Gay has talked about, what would you do? Give it to his old uncle, returned Paul. Lend it to his old uncle, eh? It ordered Mr. Dombie. Well, when you are old enough, you know, you will share my money, and we shall use it together. Dombie and son, interrupted Paul, who had been tutored early in the phrase. Dombie and son, repeated his father. Would you like to begin to be Dombie and son now, and lend this money to Young Gay's uncle? Oh, if you please, papa, said Paul, and so would Florence. Girls, said Mr. Dombie, have nothing to do with Dombie and son. Would you like it? Yes, papa, yes. Then you shall do it, returned his father. And you see, Paul, he added, dropping his voice, how powerful money is, and how anxious people are to get it. Young Gay comes all this way to beg for money, and you, who are so grand and great, having got it, are going to let him have it, as a great favour and obligation. Paul turned up the old face for a moment, in which there was a sharp understanding of the reference conveyed in these words. But it was a young and childish face, immediately afterwards, when he slipped down from his father's knee, and ran to tell Florence not to cry any more, for he was going to let Young Gay have the money. Mr. Dombie then turned to a side table, and wrote a note, and sealed it. During the interval, Paul and Florence whispered to Walter, and Captain Cattle beamed on the three, with such aspiring and ineffably presumptuous thoughts, as Mr. Dombie never could have believed in. The note being finished, Mr. Dombie turned round to his former place, and held it out to Walter. Give that, he said, the first thing tomorrow morning to Mr. Carca. He will immediately take care that one of my people releases your uncle from his present position, by paying the amount to diss you, and that such arrangements are made for its repayment, as may be consistent with your uncle's circumstances. You will consider that this is done for you by Master Paul. Walter, in the emotion of holding in his hand the means of releasing his good uncle from his trouble, would have endeavored to express something of his gratitude and joy, that Mr. Dombie stopped him short. You all consider that it is done, he repeated, by Master Paul. I have explained that to him, and he understands it. I wish no more to be said. As he motioned towards the door, Walter could only bow his head and retire. Miss Tox, seeing that the captain appeared about to do the same, interposed. My dear sir! she said addressing Mr. Dombie, at whose munificence both she and Mrs. Chick were shedding tears copiously. I think you have overlooked something. Pardon me, Mr. Dombie. I think in the nobility of your character, and its exalted scope, you have omitted a matter of detail. Indeed, Miss Tox, said Mr. Dombie. The gentleman with the instrument, pursued Miss Tox, glancing at Captain Cuttle, has left upon the table at your elbow. Good Heaven! said Mr. Dombie, sweeping the captain's property from him, as if it were so much crumb indeed. Take these things away. I am obliged to you, Miss Tox. It is like your usual discretion. Have the goodness to take these things away, sir. Captain Cuttle felt he had no alternative but to comply. But he was so much struck by the magnanimity of Mr. Dombie, in refusing treasures lying heaped up to his hand, that when he had deposited the teaspoons and sugar tongs in one pocket, and the ready money in another, and had lowered the great watch down slowly into its proper vault, he could not refrain from seizing that gentleman's right hand in his own solitary left, and while he held it open with his powerful fingers, bringing the hook down upon its palm in a transport of admiration. At this touch of warm feeling and cold iron, Mr. Dombie shivered all over. Captain Cuttle then kissed his hook to the ladies several times, with great elegance and gallantry, and having taken a particular leave of Paul and Florence, accompanied Walter out of the room. Florence was running after them in the earnestness of her heart to send some message to old Sol, when Mr. Dombie called her back, and made her stay where she was. "'Will you never be a Dombie, my dear child,' said Mrs. Chick, with pathetic reproachfulness. "'Dear aunt,' said Florence, "'don't be angry with me. I'm so thankful to papa.' She would have run and thrown her arms about his neck, if she had dared. But as she did not dare, she glanced with thankful eyes towards him, as he sat musing, sometimes bestowing an uneasy glance on her, but for the most part watching Paul, who walked about the room with the new-blown dignity of having let young Gay have the money. And young Gay, Walter, what of him? He was overjoyed to purge the old man's hearth from bailiffs and brokers, and to hurry back to his uncle with the good tidings. He was overjoyed to have it all arranged and settled next day before noon, and to sit down at evening in the little back parlor with old Sol and Captain Cuttle, and to see the instrument-maker already reviving and hopeful for the future, and feeling that the wooden midshipman was his own again. But without the least impeachment of his gratitude to Mr. Dombie, it must be confessed that Walter was humbled and cast down. It is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough wind, that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they might have borne if they had flourished. And now, when Walter found himself cut off from that great Dombie height, by the depth of a new and terrible tumble, and felt that all his old wild fancies had been scattered to the winds in the fall, he began to suspect that they might have led him on to harmless visions of aspiring to Florence in the remote distance of time. The Captain viewed the subject in quite a different light. He appeared to entertain a belief that the interview at which he had assisted was so very satisfactory and encouraging, as to be only a step or two removed from a regular betrothal of Florence to Walter, and that the later transaction had immensely forwarded, if not thoroughly established, the Whittingtonian hopes. Stimulated by this conviction, and by the improvement in the spirits of his old friend, and by his own consequent gaiety, he even attempted in favouring them with the ballad of lovely peg, for the third time in one evening to make an extemporaneous substitution of the name Florence. But finding this difficult, on account of the word peg invariably rhyming to leg, in which personal beauty the original was described as having excelled all competitors, he hit upon the happy thoughts of changing it to flag, which he accordingly did, with an archeness almost supernatural, and a voice quite vociferous, notwithstanding that the time was close at hand when he must seek the abode of the dreadful Mrs. Maxdinger. That same evening the Major was diffuse at his club on the subject of his friend Dombie in the city. Damn, sir! said the Major. He's a prince. Is my friend Dombie in the city? I tell you what, sir. If you had a few more men among you like old Joe Bagstock, and my friend Dombie in the city, sir, you'd do. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Dombie and Son This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Mill Nicholson Dombie and Son by Charles Dickens Chapter 11 Paul's Introduction to a New Scene Mrs. Pipchin's constitution was made of such hard metal, in spite of its liability to the fleshly weaknesses of standing in need of repose after chops, and of requiring to be coaxed to sleep by the soporific agency of sweetbreads, that it utterly set at nought the predictions of Mrs. Wickham, and showed no symptoms of decline. Yet, as Paul's rapt interest in the old lady continued unbated, Mrs. Wickham would not budge an inch from the position she had taken up. Fortifying and entrenching herself on the strong ground of her uncle's Betsy Jane, she advised Miss Berry, as a friend, to prepare herself for the worst, and forewarned her that her aunt might at any time be expected to go off suddenly, like a powder mill. I hope, Miss Berry, Mrs. Wickham would observe, that you'll come into whatever little property there may be to leave. You deserve it, I am sure, for yours is a trying life, though they don't seem much worth coming into. You'll excuse my being so open, in this dismal den. Poor Berry took it all in good part, and drudged and slaved away as usual, perfectly convinced that Mrs. Pipschyn was one of the most meritorious persons in the world, and making every day innumerable sacrifices of herself upon the altar of that noble old woman. But all these immolations of Berry were somehow carried to the credit of Mrs. Pipschyn by Mrs. Pipschyn's friends and admirers, and were made to harmonise with, and carry out, that melancholy fact of the deceased Mr. Pipschyn having broken his heart in the Peruvian mines. For example, there was an honest, grosser, and general dealer in the retail line of business, between whom, and Mrs. Pipschyn, there was a small memorandum book, with a greasy red cover, perpetually in question, and concerning which diverse secret councils and conferences were continually being held between the parties to that register, on the mat in the passage, and with closed doors in the parlour. Nor were there wanting dark hints from Master Bitherstone, whose temper had been made revengeful by the solar heats of India acting on his blood, of balances unsettled, and of a failure, on one occasion within his memory, in the supply of moist sugar at tea-time. This grosser, being a bachelor, and not a man who looked upon the surface for beauty, had once made honourable offers for the hand of Berry, which Mrs. Pipschyn had, with contumely and scorn, rejected. Everybody said how laudable this was in Mrs. Pipschyn, relict of a man who had died of the Peruvian mines, and what a staunch, high, independent spirit the old lady had. But nobody said anything about poor Berry, who cried for six weeks, being soundly rated by her good aunt all the time, and lapsed into a state of hopeless spinsterhood. Berry is very fond of you, ain't she? Paul once asked Mrs. Pipschyn, and they were sitting by the fire with the cat. Yes, said Mrs. Pipschyn. Why? asked Paul. Why? returned the disconcerted old lady. How can you ask such a thing, sir? Why are you fond of your sister Florence? Because she's very good, said Paul. There's nobody like Florence. Well, retorted Mrs. Pipschyn shortly. And there's nobody like me, I suppose. Ain't there really, though? asked Paul, leaning forward in his chair and looking at her very hard. No, said the old lady. I'm glad of that, observed Paul, rubbing his hands thoughtfully. That's a very good thing. Mrs. Pipschyn didn't dare to ask him why, lest she should receive some perfectly annihilating answer. But as a compensation to her wounded feelings, she harassed Master Bithestone to that extent, until bedtime, that it began that very night to make arrangements for an overland return to India, by secreting from his supper a quarter of a round of bread and a fragment of moist Dutch cheese as the beginning of a stock of provision to support him on the voyage. Mrs. Pipschyn had kept watch and ward over little Paul and his sister for nearly twelve months. They had been home twice, but only for a few days, and had been constant in their weekly visits to Mr. Dombie at the hotel. By little and little Paul had grown stronger, and had become able to dispense with his carriage, though he still looked thin and delicate, and still remained the same old, quiet, dreamy child that he had been when first consigned to Mrs. Pipschyn's care. One Saturday afternoon at dusk, great consternation was occasioned in the castle, by the unlooked-for announcement of Mr. Dombie as a visitor to Mrs. Pipschyn. The population of the parlour was immediately swept upstairs, as on the wings of a whirlwind, and after much slamming of bedroom doors and trampling overhead, and some knocking about of Master Bithestone by Mrs. Pipschyn as a relief to the perturbation of her spirits, the black, bombazine garments of the worthy old lady darkened the audience chamber, where Mr. Dombie was contemplating the vacant armchair of his son and heir. Mrs. Pipschyn said, Mr. Dombie, how would you do? Thank you, sir, said Mrs. Pipschyn. I'm pretty well, considering. Mrs. Pipschyn always used that form of words. It meant considering her virtues, sacrifices, and so forth. I can't expect, sir, to be very well, said Mrs. Pipschyn, taking a chair and fetching her breath. But such health as I have, I am grateful for. Mr. Dombie inclined his head with the satisfied air of a patron, who felt that this was the sort of thing for which he paid so much a quarter. After a moment's silence he went on to say. Mrs. Pipschyn, I have taken the liberty of calling to consult you in reference to my son. I have had in my mind to do so for some time past, but have deferred it from time to time in order that his health might be thoroughly re-established. You have no misgivings on that subject, Mrs. Pipschyn? Brighton has proved very beneficial, sir. Returned, Mrs. Pipschyn. Very beneficial indeed. I propose, said Mr. Dombie, his remaining at Brighton. Mrs. Pipschyn rubbed her hands and bent her gray eyes on the fire. But, pursued Mr. Dombie, stretching out his forefinger, but possibly that he should now make a change and lead a different kind of life here. In short, Mrs. Pipschyn, that is the object of my visit. My son is getting on, Mrs. Pipschyn. Really, he is getting on. There was something bellencolley in the triumphant air with which Mr. Dombie said this. It showed how long Paul's childish life had been to him, and how his hopes were set upon a later stage of his existence. Pity may appear a strange word to connect with anyone so haughty and so cold, and yet he seemed a worthy subject for it at that moment. Six years old, said Mr. Dombie, settling his neckcloth, perhaps to hide an irrepressible smile that rather seemed to strike upon the surface of his face and glance away as finding no resting place and to play there for an instant. Dear me, six will be changed to sixteen before we have time to look about us. Ten years, croaked the unsympathetic Pipschyn with a frosty glistening of her hard grey eye and a dreary shaking of her bent head, is a long time. It depends on circumstances, returned Mr. Dombie. At all events, Mrs. Pipschyn, my son is six years old, and there is no doubt, I fear, that in his studies he is behind many children of his age or his youth, said Mr. Dombie, quickly answering what he mistrusted was a shrewd twinkle of the frosty eye. His youth is a more appropriate expression. Now, Mrs. Pipschyn, instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to be before them, far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to mount upon. There is nothing of chance or doubt in the course before my son. His way in life was clear and prepared and marked out before he existed. The education of such a young gentleman must not be delayed. It must not be left imperfect. It must be very steadily and seriously undertaken, Mrs. Pipschyn. Well, sir, said Mrs. Pipschyn, I can say nothing to the contrary. I was quite sure, Mrs. Pipschyn, returned Mr. Dombie approvingly, that a person of your good sense could not and would not. There is a great deal of nonsense, and worse, talked about young people not being pressed too hard at first, and being tempted on, and all the rest of it, sir. Said Mrs. Pipschyn, impatiently rubbing her hooked nose. It never was thought of in my time, and it has no business to be thought of now. My opinion is, keep him at it. My good madam, returned Mr. Dombie, you have not acquired your reputation underservedly, and I beg you to believe, Mrs. Pipschyn, that I am more than satisfied with your excellent system of management, and shall have the greatest pleasure in commending it whenever my poor commendation. Mr. Dombie's loftiness, when he affected to disparage his own importance past all bounds, can be of any service I have been thinking of Dr. Blimbers, Mrs. Pipschyn. My neighbour, sir, said Mrs. Pipschyn, I believe the doctor's is an excellent establishment. I've heard that it's very strictly conducted, and there is nothing but learning going on from morning to night. And it's very expensive, added Mr. Dombie. And it's very expensive, sir. Returned Mrs. Pipschyn, catching at the fact, as if in omitting that, she had omitted one of its leading merits. I have had some communication with the doctor, Mrs. Pipschyn, said Mr. Dombie, hitching his chair anxiously a little nearer to the fire. And he does not consider Paul at all too young for his purpose. He mentioned several instances of boys in Greek at about the same age. If I have any little uneasiness in my own mind, Mrs. Pipschyn, on the subject of this change, it is not on that head. My son, not having known a mother, has gradually concentrated much, too much, of his childish affection on his sister. Whether their separation, Mr. Dombie said no more, but sat silent. Highty-tighty, exclaimed Mrs. Pipschyn, shaking out her black bombazine skirts, and plucking up all the ogres within her. If she don't like it, Mr. Dombie, she must be taught to lump it. The good lady apologised immediately afterwards for using so common a figure of speech, but said, and truly, that that was the way she reasoned with them. Mr. Dombie waited until Mrs. Pipschyn had done bridling and shaking her head, and frowning down a legion of bithystones and pinkies, and then said quietly, but correctively, He, my good madam, He. Mrs. Pipschyn's system would have applied very much the same mode of cure to any uneasiness on the part of Paul, too. But as the hard gray eye was sharp enough to see that the recipe, however Mr. Dombie might admit its efficacy, in the case of the daughter, was not a sovereign remedy for the son. She argued the point, and contended that change and new society and the different form of life he would lead at Dr. Blimbers, and the studies he would have to master would very soon prove sufficient alienations. As this chimed in with Mr. Dombie's own hope and belief, it gave that gentleman a still higher opinion of Mrs. Pipschyn's understanding. And as Mrs. Pipschyn, at the same time, bewailed the loss of her dear little friend, which was not an overwhelming shock to her as she had long expected it, and had not looked in the beginning for his remaining with her longer than three months, he formed an equally good opinion of Mrs. Pipschyn's disinterestedness. It was plain that he had given the subject anxious consideration, for he had formed a plan, which he announced to the ogres, of sending Paul to the doctors as a weekly border for the first half-year, during which time Florence would remain at the castle, that she might receive her brother there on Saturdays. This would wean him by degrees, Mr. Dombie said, possibly with a recollection of his not having been weaned by degrees on a former occasion. Mr. Dombie finished the interview by expressing his hope that Mrs. Pipschyn would still remain in office as general superintendent and overseer of his son, pending his studies at Brighton, and having kissed Paul and shaken hands with Florence and beheld Master Bitherstone in his collar of state, and made Mrs. Panky cry by patting her on the head, in which region she was uncommonly tender on account of a habit Mrs. Pipschyn had of sounding it with her knuckles like a cask, he withdrew to his hotel and dinner, resolved that Paul, now that he was getting so old and well, should begin a vigorous course of education forthwith, to qualify him for the position in which he was to shine, and that Dr. Blimber should take him in hand immediately. Whenever a young gentleman was taken in hand by Dr. Blimber, he might consider himself sure of a pretty tight squeeze. The doctor only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, but he had, always ready, a supply of learning for a hundred, on the lowest estimate, and it was at once the business and delight of his life, to gorge the unhappy ten with it. In fact, Dr. Blimber's establishment was a great hot house in which there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All the boys blew before their time. Mental green peas were produced at Christmas, and intellectual asparagus all the year round. Mathematical gooseberries, very sour ones too, were common at untimely seasons, and from mere sprouts of bushes under Dr. Blimber's cultivation. Every description of Greek and Latin vegetable was got off the driest twigs of boys, under the frostiest circumstances. Nature was of no consequence at all. No matter what a young gentleman was intended to bear, Dr. Blimber made him bear to pattern, somehow or other. This was all very pleasant and ingenious, but the system of forcing was attended with its usual disadvantages. There was not the right taste about the premature productions, and they didn't keep well. Moreover, one young gentleman with a swollen nose and an excessively large head, the oldest of the ten who had gone through everything, suddenly left off blowing one day, and remained in the establishment a mere stalk. And people did say that the doctor had rather overdone it with young toots, and that when he began to have whiskers he left off having brains. Their young toots was, at any rate, possessed of the gruffest of voices and the shrillest of minds, sticking ornamental pins into his shirt, and keeping a ring in his waistcoat pocket to put on his little finger by stealth when the pupils went out walking, constantly falling in love by sight with nursery maids, who had no idea of his existence, and looking at the gas-lighted world over the little iron bars in the left-hand corner window of the front three pairs of stairs, after bedtime, like a greatly overgrown cherub who had sat up aloft much too long. The doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black with strings at his knees and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly polished, a deep voice, and a chin so very double that it was a wonder how he ever managed to shave into the creases. He had likewise a pair of little eyes that were always half shut up, and a mouth that was always half expanded into a grin, as if he had, that moment, posed a boy and were waiting to convict him from his own lips. Inso much that when the doctor put his right hand into the breast of his coat, and with his other hand behind him, and a scarcely perceptible wag of his head, made the commonest observation to a nervous stranger. It was like a sentiment from Sphinx and settled his business. The doctor's was a mighty fine house, fronting the sea. Not a joyful style of house within, but quite the contrary. Sad-colored curtains, whose proportions were spare and lean, hid themselves despondently behind the windows. The tables and chairs were put away in rows, like figures in a sum. Fires were so rarely lighted in the rooms of ceremony that they felt like wells, and a visitor represented the bucket. The dining-room seemed the last place in the world where any eating or drinking was likely to occur. There was no sound through all the house but the ticking of a great clock in the hall, which made itself audible in the very garrets, and sometimes a dull cooing of young gentlemen at their lessons, like the murmurings of an assemblage of melancholy pigeons. Miss Blimber, too, although a slim and graceful maid, did no soft violence to the gravity of the house. There was no light nonsense about Miss Blimber. She kept her hair short and crisp, and wore spectacles. She was dry and sandy with working in the graves of deceased languages. None of your live languages from Miss Blimber. They must be dead, stone dead, and then Miss Blimber dug them up like a ghoul. Mrs. Blimber, her mama, was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that did quite as well. She said at evening parties that if she could have known Cicero, she thought she could have died contented. It was the steady joy of her life to see the doctor's young gentlemen go out walking, unlike all other young gentlemen, in the largest possible shirt-colours and the stiffest possible cravats. It was so classical, she said. As to Mr. Feder, B. A., Dr. Blimber's assistant, he was a kind of human barrel organ, with a little list of tunes at which he was continually working, over and over again, without any variation. He might have been fitted up with a change of barrels, perhaps in early life, if his destiny had been favourable, but it had not been, and he had only one with which, in a monotonous round, it was his occupation to bewilder the young ideas of Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen. The young gentlemen were prematurely full of carking anxieties. They knew no rest from the pursuit of stony-hearted verbs, savage noun-substantives, inflexible syntactic passages, and ghosts of exercises that appeared to them in their dreams. Under the forcing system, a young gentleman usually took leave of his spirits in three weeks. He had all the cares of the world on his head in three months. He conceived bitter sentiments against his parents or guardians in four. He was an old misanthrope in five. Envied Kirchius, that blessed refuge in the earth in six, and the end of the first twelve-month had arrived at the conclusion from which he never afterwards departed, that all the fancies of the poets and lessons of the sages were a mere collection of words and grammar, and had no other meaning in the world. But he went on, blow, blow, blowing in the doctor's hot-house all the time, and the doctor's glory and reputation were great when he took his wintry growth home to his relations and friends. Upon the doctor's doorsteps one day, Paul stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small right hand in his father's, his other hand was locked in that of Florence. How tight the tiny pressure of that one, and how loose and cold the other. Mrs. Pipchin hovered behind the victim, with her sable plumage and her hooked beak, like a bird of ill omen. She was out of breath, for Mr. Dombie, full of great thoughts, had walked fast, and she croaked hoarsely as she waited for the opening of the door. Now, Paul, said Mr. Dombie exultingly, this is the way, indeed, to be Dombie and son, and have money. You are almost a man already. Almost, returned the child. Even his childish agitation could not master the sly and quaint, yet touching look was which he accompanied the reply. It brought a vague expression of dissatisfaction into Mr. Dombie's face, but the door being opened it was quickly gone. Dr. Blimber is at home, I believe, said Mr. Dombie. The man said yes, and as they passed in, looked at Paul as if he were a little mouse, and the house were a trap. He was a weak-eyed young man, with the first faint streaks or early dawn of a grin on his countenance. It was mere imbecility. But Mrs. Pipchin took it into her head, there was impudence, and made a snap at him directly. How dare you laugh behind the gentleman's back! said Mrs. Pipchin, and what do you take me for? I ain't a laughin' at nobody, and I'm sure I don't hate you for nothing, ma'am," returned the young man in consternation. A pack of idle dulls, said Mrs. Pipchin, only fit to be turned spits. Go and tell your master that Mr. Dombie's here, or it'll be the worst for you. The weak-eyed young man went very meekly to discharge himself of this commission, and soon came back to invite them to the doctor's study. You're laughing again, sir," said Mrs. Pipchin, and it came to her turn, bringing up the rear to pass him in the hall. I ain't," returned the young man, grievously oppressed. I never see such a thing as this. What is the matter, Mrs. Pipchin? said Mr. Dombie, looking round, softly, pray. Mrs. Pipchin, in her deference, merely muttered at the young man as she passed on and said, oh, he was a precious fellow. Leaving the young man, who was all meekness and incapacity, affected even to tears by the incident. But Mrs. Pipchin had a way of falling foul of all meek people, and her friends said who could wonder at it, after the Peruvian minds. The doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a globe at each knee, books all round him, Homer over the door, and Minerva on the mantel shelf. And how do you do, sir? he said to Mr. Dombie. And how is my little friend? Grave as an organ was the doctor's speech, and when he ceased, the great clock in the hall seemed, to pour at least, to take him up and to go on saying, How is my little friend? How is my little friend? Over and over and over again. The little friend, being something too small to be seen at all from where the doctor sat, over the books on his table, the doctor made several futile attempts to get a view of him round the legs, which Mr. Dombie perceiving relieved the doctor from his embarrassment, by taking Paul up in his arms, and sitting him on another little table, over against the doctor in the middle of the room. Ha! said the doctor, leaning back in his chair with his hand in his breast. Now I see my little friend. How do you do, my little friend? The clock in the hall wouldn't subscribe to this alteration in the form of words, but continued to repeat, How is my little friend? How is my little friend? Very well. I thank you, sir. Returned Paul, answering the clock quite as much as the doctor. Ha! said Dr. Blimber. Shall we make a ban of him? Do you hear Paul? added Mr. Dombie, Paul being silent. Shall we make a ban of him? repeated the doctor. I had rather be a child, replied Paul. Indeed, said the doctor, why? The child sat on the table looking at him, with a curious expression of suppressed emotion in his face, and beating one hand proudly on his knee, as if he had the rising tears beneath it, and crushed them. But his other hand strayed a little way the while. A little farther, farther from him yet, until it lighted on the neck of Florence. This is why, it seemed to say, and then the steady look was broken up and gone, the working lip was loosened, and the tears came streaming forth. Mrs. Pipchin, said his father in a quarrelous manner, I am really very sorry to see this. Come away from him, do, Miss Dombie! Quoth the matron. Never mind, said the doctor, blandly nodding his head, to keep Mrs. Pipchin back. Never mind, we shall substitute new cares and new impressions, Mr. Dombie, very shortly. You would still wish my little friend to acquire everything, if you please, doctor, returned Mr. Dombie firmly. Yes, said the doctor, who, with his half-shut eyes and his usual smile, seemed to survey Paul with the sort of interest that might attach to some choice little animal he was going to stuff. Yes, exactly. Ha! We shall impart a great variety of information to our little friend, and bring him quickly forward, I daresay. I daresay. Quite a virgin soil, I believe you said, Mr. Dombie. Accept some ordinary preparation at home, and from this lady, replied Mr. Dombie, introducing Mrs. Pipchin, who instantly communicated a rigidity to her whole muscular system, and snorted defiance beforehand, in case the doctor should disparage her. Except so far, Paul has, as yet, applied himself to no studies at all. Dr. Blimber inclined his head in gentle tolerance of such insignificant poaching as Mrs. Pipchin's, and said he was glad to hear it. It was much more satisfactory, he observed, rubbing his hands to begin at the foundation, and again he leered at Paul as if he would have liked to tattle him with the Greek alphabet on the spot. That circumstance indeed, Dr. Blimber, pursued Mr. Dombie, glancing at his little son, and the interview I have already had the pleasure of holding with you, renders any further explanation, and consequently any further intrusion, on your valuable time, so unnecessary, that now, Miss Dombie, said the acid Pipchin, Permit me, said the doctor, one moment. Allow me to present Mrs. Blimber, and my daughter, who will be associated with the domestic life of our young pilgrim to Oobhanas's, Mrs. Blimber. For the lady who had perhaps been in waiting, opportunity entered, followed by her daughter, that fair sexton in spectacles. Mr. Dombie, my daughter Cornelia, Mr. Dombie, Mr. Dombie, my love, pursued the doctor, turning to his wife, is so confiding as to, do you see your little friend? Mrs. Blimber, in an excess of politeness of which Mr. Dombie was the object, apparently did not, for she was backing against the little friend, and very much endangering his position on the table. But, on this hint, she turned to admire his classical and intellectual lineaments, and turning again to Mr. Dombie said with a sigh, that she envied his dear son. Like a beaser, said Mrs. Blimber with uplifted eyes, about to plunge into a garden of the choicest flowers, and sip the sweets for the first time, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Terence, Plautus, Cicero. What a world of honey have we here! It may appear remarkable, Mr. Dombie, in one who is a wife, the wife of such a husband. Hush! Hush! said Dr. Blimber. Five for shame! Mr. Dombie will forgive the partiality of a wife, said Mrs. Blimber with an engaging smile. Mr. Dombie answered, not at all. Applying those words, it is to be presumed to the partiality, and not to the forgiveness. And it may seem remarkable, in one who is a mother also, resumed Mrs. Blimber. And such a mother! observed Mr. Dombie, bowing with some confused idea of being complimentary to Cornelia. That really, pursued Mrs. Blimber, I think if I could have known Cicero, and been his friend, and talked with him in his retirement at Tuscaloom, beautiful Tuscaloom, I could have died contented. A learned enthusiasm is so very contagious, that Mr. Dombie half believes this was exactly his case. And even Mrs. Pippen, who was not, as we have seen, of an accommodating disposition, generally gave utterance to a little sound between a groan and a sigh, as if she would have said that nobody but Cicero could have proved a lasting consolation under that failure of the Peruvian minds, but that he indeed would have been a very Davey lamp of refuge. Cornelia looked at Mr. Dombie through her spectacles, as if she would have liked to crack a few quotations with him from the authority in question. But this design, if she entertained it, was frustrated by a knock at the room door. Who is that? said the doctor. Oh, come in, Toots. Come in. Mr. Dombie, sir. Toots bowed. Quite a coincidence, said Dr. Blimber. Here we have the beginning and the end, Alpha and Omega, our head boy, Mr. Dombie. The doctor might have called him their head and shoulder's boy, for he was at least that much taller than any of the rest. He blushed very much at finding himself among strangers and chuckled aloud. In addition to our little portico, Toots, said the doctor, Mr. Dombie's son. Young Toots blushed again, and finding from a solemn silence which prevailed, that he was expected to say something, said to Paul, How are you? In a voice so deep, and a man so sheepish, that if a lamb had roared, it couldn't have been more surprising. Ask, Mr. Fierro, if you please, Toots, said the doctor, to prepare a few introductory volumes for Mr. Dombie's son, and to allot him a convenient seat for study. My dear, I believe Mr. Dombie has not seen the dormitories. If Mr. Dombie will walk upstairs, said Mrs. Blimber, I shall be more than proud to show him the dominions of the drowsy god. With that, Mrs. Blimber was a lady of great suavity, and a wiry figure, and who wore a cap composed of sky-blue materials, proceeded upstairs with Mr. Dombie and Cornelia, Mrs. Pipchin following, and looking out sharp for her enemy, the footman. While they were gone, Paul sat upon the table, holding Florence by the hand, and glancing timidly from the doctor round and round the room, while the doctor, leaning back in his chair, with his hand in his breast as usual, held a book from him at arm's length, and read. There was something very awful in this manner of reading. It was such a determined, unimpassioned, inflexible, cold-blooded wave going to work. It left the doctor's countenance exposed to view, and when the doctor smiled suspiciously at his author, or knit his brows, or shook his head and made rye faces at him as much as to say, Don't tell me, sir, I know better, it was terrific. Toots, too, had no business to be outside the door, ostentatiously examining the wheels in his watch, and counting his half-crowns. But that didn't last long. For Dr. Blimber happening to change the position of his tight, plump legs, as if he were going to get up, Toots swiftly vanished, and appeared no more. Mr. Dombie and his conductors were soon heard coming downstairs again, talking all the way, and presently they re-entered the doctor's study. I hope, Mr. Dombie, said the doctor laying down his book, that the arrangements meet your approval. They are excellent, sir, said Mr. Dombie. Very fair indeed, said Mrs. Pipchin, in a low voice, never disposed to give too much encouragement. Mrs. Pipchin, said Mr. Dombie, wheeling round, wheel with your permission, doctor, and Mrs. Blimber, visit Paul now and then. Whenever Mrs. Pipchin pleases, observed the doctor. Always happy to see you, said Mrs. Blimber. I think, said Mr. Dombie, I have given all the trouble I need, and may take my leave. Paul, my child, he went close to him as he sat upon the table. Good-bye. Good-bye, papa. The limp and careless little hand that Mr. Dombie took in his, was singularly out of keeping with the wistful face. But he had no part in its sorrowful expression. It was not addressed to him, no, no, to Florence, all to Florence. If Mr. Dombie, in his insolence of wealth, had ever made an enemy, hard to appease and cruelly vindictive in his hate, even such an enemy might have received the pang that wrung his proud heart then, as compensation for his injury. He bent down over his boy, and kissed him. If his sight were dimmed, as he did so, by something that for a moment blurred the little face, and made it indistinct to him, his mental vision may have been, for that short time, the clearer, perhaps. I shall see you soon, Paul. You are free on Saturdays and Sundays, you know. Yes, papa. returned Paul, looking at his sister. On Saturdays and Sundays. And you'll try and learn a great deal here, and be a clever man, said Mr. Dombie. Won't you? I'll try. returned the child, wearily. And you'll soon be grown up now, said Mr. Dombie. Oh, very soon, replied the child. Once more the old, old look passed rapidly across his features, like a strange light. It fell on Mrs. Pipchen, and extinguished itself in her black dress. That excellent ogreous stepped forward to take leave, and to bear off fronts, which he had long been thirsting to do. The move on her part roused Mr. Dombie, whose eyes were fixed on Paul. After patting him on the head, and pressing his small hand again, he took leave of Dr. Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Ms. Blimber, with his usual polite fragility, and walked out of the study. Despite his entreaty, that they would not think of staring, Dr. Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Ms. Blimber all pressed forward to attend him to the hall. And thus Mrs. Pipchen got into a state of entanglement with Ms. Blimber and the doctor, and was crowded out of the study before she could clutch Florence. To which happy accident Paul stood afterwards indebted for the dear remembrance that Florence ran back to throw her arms round his neck, and that hers was the last face in the doorway, turned towards him with a smile of encouragement, the brighter for the tears through which it beamed. It made his childish bosom heave and swell when it was gone, and sent the globes, the books, blind Homer and Minerva swimming round the room. But they stopped all of a sudden, and then he heard the loud clock in the hall, still gravely inquiring, How is my little friend? How is my little friend? As it had done before. He sat with folded hands upon his pedestal, silently listening. But he might have answered, weary, weary, very lonely, very sad. And there with an aching void in his young heart, and all outside so cold and bare and strange, Paul sat as if he had taken life unfurnished, and the upholsterer were never coming.